The Path to True Partnership

The path to the observatory was secluded; combined with the darkness of night, the passengers likely initially thought Jing Lan was about to drive headlong off the main road.

However, the car’s headlights illuminated the shadows of the roadside bushes, revealing a somewhat narrow concrete path within.

For twenty minutes, the car swayed and wound its way along the mountain road before finally coming to a stop on a patch of gravel atop a small hill, directly in front of a cylindrical building.

Little Lamai tugged at the door handle, but the central locking system remained engaged.

“Get into the habit of observing your surroundings before exiting the car,” Jing Lan instructed, popping another mint into his mouth.

He savored it for a moment, then decided to chew and swallow it whole.

During this season, the mountain was remarkably quiet.

Occasionally, one or two crickets chirped—middle-aged male crickets, having failed at matchmaking the previous autumn, now fruitlessly broadcasted their desperate pleas for a mate.

Beyond that, only a gentle breeze rustled through the bamboo leaves, accompanied by the creaking of swaying bamboo stalks.

The group disembarked and approached the cylindrical building.

The reinforced door remained firmly shut.

“Didn’t Keke tell you how to open the door?” Jing Lan asked Ling Yechen.

Ling Yechen scratched his head.

“Her phone dropped to the ground then; maybe she didn’t have time to say.”

Lui Si stepped closer, trying to push the door.

“Ah, oh~ So close, yet so helpless.

Hasn’t Xiao Lanlan been here before?”

Jing Lan reached out, feeling along the doorframe, but seemed to find nothing.

People in school dorms often left keys on the doorframe, after all.

“I’ve been here once… Keke has a key.”

He then felt under the door crack, but again, came up empty-handed.

“So if she sent us here, she must be certain we can open the door.”

‘What would she think? Smashing the door with a nearby fire extinguisher? Does this observatory have an underground passage? No, Keke isn’t like that; the problem wouldn’t be so complicated.

She always strikes a balance between convenience and reliability.

The key must be nearby, very close to me.’

Jing Lan tried to recall his cousin’s usual way of doing things—decisive and efficient, but she would never leave a key on the doorframe; that would be too risky.

He walked to the window sill next to the door.

There was a deep crack in the brickwork below the window.

If a key were to be slipped in there, it would surely be irretrievable, but—

‘She must have thought this through.

There’s something on me that she knows can be used as a tool—’

He had it.

Jing Lan shifted his backpack to his chest, unzipped the outer pocket, and pulled out his magnetic lock.

He swept it across the crack in the brick wall.

Clink.

A crisp metallic sound.

A key clung to the magnetic lock on his backpack.

****

The observatory had only two floors, yet the first floor alone boasted a remarkable height of approximately five meters, with an internal spiral staircase leading to the second.

Upon entering, Jing Lan immediately closed the reinforced door and pressed a switch beside it.

An LED light flickered on, connected to a large portable power bank.

The room contained a motorcycle, two crates of gasoline, two rows of fire extinguishers, and a plastic storage box filled with instant noodles, compressed biscuits, several large bottles of mineral water, solid alcohol, a small stove, and a solar-powered flashlight.

The strong smell of gasoline on the first floor was overwhelming, so after grabbing some food and drinks, the group ascended to the second floor, guided by a flashlight.

The second floor was the true observation deck, offering expansive views and even a large glass skylight.

Searchlights were positioned in various directions, also connected to the large portable power bank—not for illuminating fires, as fire generates its own light, but to assist border guards in apprehending illegal immigrants.

On the second floor, there was a sofa and a wire-frame bed.

The four of them settled onto the sofa and bed.

Lui Si and Ling Yechen each pulled out their phones.

“Um, everyone, please put your phones down first.”

Driven by an inexplicable intuition, Jing Lan felt it was dangerous for everyone to focus on their own individual interests, so he somewhat abruptly interrupted them.

“I think it might be better if we… coordinate our actions.”

Lui Si tilted her head, crossing her arms.

“You’re right.

Go on.”

Jing Lan sat in the center of the sofa, facing the other three.

“Let me put it this way: you might have heard of a concept called ‘decentralization,’ which means that in a system…

Never mind, there’s no need to get into all that now.

What I want to say is, from now on, we must become true partners to each other.”

“True partners, huh…?” Ling Yechen gazed out the wide, floor-to-ceiling window opposite the wire-frame bed, at the forest beyond, dark as an abyss, devoid of even a single glimmer of light.

“Are you saying we should be more united?”

Jing Lan clarified, “That’s not quite what I meant… I expressed myself poorly just now.

Let me put it this way: although we’ve known each other for a long time, to a large extent, we’ve only gathered together for our own amusement, to satisfy our mutual desire for enjoyment.

We probably aren’t true partners yet.”

Ling Yechen lowered his hands dejectedly, fiddling with the hem of his clothes.

“That sounds rather harsh.”

Jing Lan offered a faint smile.

“Take you, for instance.

As the hired drummer for the ‘Four Color Conjecture’ band, you’ve only ever participated in a single performance, and that was two years ago.

This is only our second time meeting.

“And Lui Si, an online fan of our band, this is our first time meeting.

“I know very little about either of you.

I even know Little Lamai’s father’s surname, but I don’t know Lui Si’s mother’s surname.”

As Jing Lan spoke, his gaze rested on Little Lamai, who sat up straight, staring blankly at the ground.

“Oh, right, Little Lamai, what’s your real name?”

“Wang Yifan,” the boy murmured.

“What an utterly unrelated name to your nickname.”

Jing Lan’s gaze returned to Ling Yechen’s face.

“And you, I only learned your real name this morning.

Before that, I only knew your online ID: Izayoi Ling.

While I’ve long known your family situation isn’t ideal, I’m completely unaware of the more intricate details—”

Ling Yechen sighed softly.

“The same could be said for me.

Just now, when Uncle Lü…

he mentioned your mother, and you seemed… your relationship with your mother was also quite unusual, wasn’t it?”

“She passed away.”

An abrupt silence descended upon the room, as if everyone had collectively held their breath.

Lui Si, clearly uncomfortable with the quiet, immediately picked up the conversation.

“So why does Xiao Lanlan think this mutual understanding is so important?”

“It’s not mutual understanding that’s important, but mutual trust.

Mutual understanding is merely a manifestation of mutual trust.

Because we are very likely to face some extremely dire circumstances next—situations previously confined to thought experiments.

“For example, Yechen, if, at this very moment, you had an opportunity to save me, but it required you to sacrifice your own life, would you be willing?”

Ling Yechen yearned to blurt out the answer he would typically give.

‘My senior has always encouraged me; without him, I might have jumped off a building long ago.

So, giving this life for my senior would be no big deal.’

But what if, hypothetically, a zombie were truly lunging at him right now?

This was the crux of the matter.

This ‘hypothetical’ scenario now resembled an unlocked game level, its colors shifting from dim to vivid, starkly laid out before him, no longer merely a ‘what if’.

“I don’t know.”

Averting his gaze from his senior, he managed to force out four words.