That night, Zhou Qiming returned to his rented room earlier than usual.
Not because he had finished his work.
But because his workload had been reduced in the afternoon, and the system had automatically ended his shift.
It was as if someone had pressed "off work" for him ahead of time.
The room was still the same room.
The door closed, blocking out half the noise.
The remaining sound seeped in slowly along the wall, its source unclear, but not particularly loud.
The room was dark.
The window faced the back of another building, so even in daylight, very little light could get in.
He didn't turn on the light immediately.
His shoes were by the door, but he remained standing.
He leaned against the wall, his shoulder pressed against the cold surface.
The refrigerator was humming softly in the corner.
That sound had always been there, but he rarely paid attention to it.
Now he heard it clearly.
It wasn't annoying.
It wasn't reassuring.
It was just there.
He sat on the edge of the bed, but didn't lie down.
His phone rested on his lap, screen down.
It didn't vibrate, nor did it light up.
He wasn't waiting for a message.
He just sat there, inactive.
This continued for a while.
His sense of time began to blur.
It wasn't that it suddenly disappeared, but rather that it lost its meaning.
He later realized that he was waiting for a feeling.
Realizing this, he felt a slight tightness in his chest.
A little uneasy.
The images from the afternoon meeting room flashed before his eyes—the supervisor's hands flipping through documents, the lingering water stains on the desk, and the words, "It's not a layoff."
Those things didn't all rush at once.
They appeared one by one, then slowly dissipated.
He found his body relaxing faster than usual.
Not sleepy.
More like suddenly not wanting to maintain any posture anymore.
Sitting was tiring.
Standing was tiring too.
Lying down became a choice that needed no reason.
He lay on the bed, placing his phone face down on the bedside table. There was no alarm clock.
No sound was played.
He thought he would be awake for a long time.
But his breathing quickly became even.
His consciousness hadn't faded.
It had just become lighter.
As if being diluted little by little.
That familiar feeling of being lifted slowly appeared from behind.
Not all at once.
But first near his shoulder blades, then his back, then his legs.
Very close.
He didn't move.
His body made its own choice.
Light appeared.
Not dazzling, and without direction.
Like a thin layer of brightness, surrounding him.
He couldn't tell if he was lying down or being supported.
It didn't really matter.
What mattered was that his body no longer needed to exert any effort to maintain itself.
This time, he noticed something he hadn't paid much attention to before.
There wasn't nothing here.
It's just that many differences were no longer as important.
He tried to recall the conference table from that afternoon.
The thought had barely formed when he felt a wave of unease.
It was as if something had gently pushed him, making him lose his balance.
That matter didn't seem right here.
This judgment wasn't a simple statement.
It was more like a natural consequence.
It wasn't a rejection.
It was just that he couldn't let go.
Zhou Qiming suddenly felt a sense of relief.
Not joy.
Neither safety nor security.
It was simply that he no longer needed to pretend.
Here, he didn't need a name.
He didn't need a position.
His body wasn't a burden.
It was as if it had been carefully placed.
Each breath was simply breathing.
Just as this state was about to completely stabilize, something suddenly felt off.
Very subtle.
Like water being touched.
And then quickly returning to normal.
He paused, stunned.
It wasn't a sound.
It wasn't a scene.
It was more like a presence that didn't belong to him.
It was brief.
But it definitely happened.
The feeling of being lifted hadn't disappeared.
Only the edges had become a little clearer.
It seemed this place wasn't completely open.
A thought flashed through his mind.
It didn't unfold.
This place wasn't just his.
Just then, a voice appeared.
It wasn't a broadcast.
Nor did it seem to come from the outside.
It felt more like it landed directly in his consciousness.
"You can stay."
The tone was flat.
No conditions.
No explanation.
The sentence itself wasn't frightening.
What made him stop was the feeling that followed.
Staying seemed to mean something would be let go.
And for a moment, he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.
Not just one thing.
More like a whole set.
The light thickened slightly.
The feeling of being lifted became more stable.
As if waiting for his reaction.
He didn't respond immediately. It wasn't hesitation.
It was that he hadn't yet figured out what a response itself meant.
Just then, a sudden jolt of vibration broke in from the other side of reality.
It was urgent.
His phone vibrated on the bedside table.
He jolted awake.
The ceiling reappeared.
The room was still quiet.
Car headlights swept past the window, leaving brief shadows on the wall.
His heart pounded a little erratically.
As if someone had just pulled him back.
His phone screen was lit.
[Mother]: Have you been very tired lately?
[Mother]: I dreamt about you yesterday.
He stared at those two lines for a long time.
He didn't reply immediately.
The voice from earlier still lingered in his mind.
It hadn't completely dissipated.
It wasn't an echo.
More like a trace that hadn't yet disappeared.
He suddenly realized something.
That place was more than just something he'd passed by.
And he himself began to lose his senses—was he approaching there, or was there waiting for him?