Nan Hong - Chapter 13
As if finding the situation absurd, Sang Yan let out a low, incredulous laugh.
“What?”
Ignoring him, Wen Yifan scrolled through her contacts and dialed Qian Weihua’s number. While the line rang, she tried again, her voice steady:
“Could you at least tell me the name of the residential complex and the exact address?”
Sang Yan looked at her, his expression unreadable.
Before she could get a reply from him, the call connected.
“Perfect timing!” Qian Weihua’s hurried voice burst through the speaker. “I was just about to call you. You just left the office, right? I got a hotline tip—there’s a fire at Zhongnan Century City. Meet me there now.”
Without hesitation, Wen Yifan agreed, quickly giving him her location before hanging up.
When she turned, her eyes met Sang Yan’s.
The silence between them was thick.
“You live in Zhongnan Century City?” she asked quietly.
He didn’t answer, only gave her a long look.
“I have to work overtime,” she added, her voice softer this time. “I’ll treat you to a meal another day. My teacher’s on his way—do you… want to catch a ride with us?”
…
Three minutes later, they were seated in the station’s interview car.
Qian Weihua was at the wheel, with Fu Zhuang squeezed into the back seat. Sang Yan had abandoned his own car in the parking lot, so Wen Yifan took the passenger seat, leaving him in the back beside Fu Zhuang.
“Sister Yifan, who’s this?” Fu Zhuang asked immediately, curiosity brimming.
“My high school classmate,” Wen Yifan replied evenly, fastening her seatbelt. “He lives in Zhongnan Century City—one of the affected residents. He’s going back to check the situation.”
“What a coincidence,” Qian Weihua said, glancing at the mirror as he drove. “Barely a week into 2014 and you’ve already run into something like this.”
Fu Zhuang muttered, “Could this be some kind of bad omen?”
“Big Zhuang,” Wen Yifan warned, “don’t say things like that.”
But Fu Zhuang quickly backpedaled, turning to Sang Yan. “Actually, it might be a blessing in disguise! Fire at the wealth gate means fortune, right? Brother, you’re bound to make money this year!”
Sang Yan cut him a sideways glance but said nothing.
Fu Zhuang leaned closer, still unconvinced. “Why do I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before? Haven’t we met?”
From the front, Wen Yifan silently checked her equipment, half-expecting Sang Yan’s usual sharp retort. But he stayed silent.
She didn’t dwell on it—he probably wasn’t in the mood.
Zhongnan Century City was only a few minutes away.
By the time they arrived, fire trucks and ambulances filled the streets. Evacuated residents stood in clusters, shivering in their pajamas under the cold drizzle. The flames from Unit B, Building 6, blazed against the night sky, leaping to the floor above. The rain turned to steam as it touched the fire, powerless against the inferno.
Sang Yan tilted his head up. His lips pressed tight, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
Wen Yifan could guess now why he’d reacted the way he had earlier. Whoever called him clearly hadn’t explained the gravity of the situation.
He soon stepped aside to answer a call.
Meanwhile, Qian Weihua had slung his camera over his shoulder, capturing the chaos—the flashing emergency lights, the relentless work of the firefighters, the cries of the crowd. The night was loud, frantic, almost cinematic.
Wen Yifan wove through the residents with her microphone. “Auntie, sorry to trouble you. I’m with the ‘Convey’ program from Nanwu TV. Do you live in Building 6?”
“Yes,” the woman confirmed, clutching a child to her chest.
“Which floor? How did you first notice the fire?”
“Fifth floor. There was this loud explosion—I thought it was fireworks at first!” Her voice grew more animated as she spotted the camera. “I ran outside and saw the commotion.”
A man nearby chimed in, “Exactly! There were several explosions—”
“Bang!”
Another blast erupted from the eighth floor, flames shooting skyward. The crowd gasped, panic rippling through them.
Qian Weihua immediately lifted his camera.
Wen Yifan’s gaze followed his, then instinctively flicked to Sang Yan. He stood apart, lowering the phone from his ear, his expression calm, almost detached, as the fire raged in his home.
A pang of sympathy struck her, quiet and unbidden.
…
It took nearly an hour to fully subdue the fire. Thankfully, no lives were lost. A child trapped in the elevator was rescued, and only one firefighter sustained minor injuries.
Still, the damage was devastating. The apartment where the fire began was reduced to ashes, with the surrounding floors heavily scorched. Unit B on the ninth floor—Sang Yan’s unit—was among the worst.
Inside, nothing was recognizable.
When Wen Yifan and her team entered with permission, Sang Yan was already there.
Fu Zhuang tried an easy question first: “Bro, how do you feel right now?”
Sang Yan’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “Ecstatic.”
“…What?”
“I hope you can feel as happy as I do someday.”
“…”
Qian Weihua interjected with a more professional tone. “Has the fire caused you significant losses?”
“Not really.”
“We just saw the condition inside. Almost nothing survived.”
“So what?”
There was a beat of silence. Then, more levelly, Sang Yan added, “I didn’t keep much of value here. Just the house, the furniture… and an old phone that didn’t work anyway.”
Wen Yifan, taking notes, stilled at that detail. But she didn’t comment.
Back at the station, they compiled footage and wrote the report. Fu Zhuang couldn’t help but mutter: “Your classmate is something else. House burned down, and he can still act like nothing happened.”
“Comfort him a bit,” Qian Weihua suggested to Wen Yifan. “Tell him to follow up with the insurance, maybe stay somewhere temporary.”
She nodded vaguely, though she doubted Sang Yan needed her comfort.
The fire, for her, was just another night’s assignment. Once she submitted the piece and it passed review, it was over.
Sang Yan was just one of many victims.
Her focus shifted back to practical matters: moving out of her old apartment, finding a reliable new roommate. Wang Linlin had left, cheerfully promising to help her search, though Wen Yifan had no intention of relying on her recommendations.
She had already asked her friend Zhong Siqiao for help, but if nothing came through, she’d have to post an ad online.
––
That Friday, Su Hao’an’s phone rang.
“Help me find a place to rent,” Sang Yan said flatly.
Su Hao’an blinked. “What?”
“Somewhere near my work. Just a few months until my apartment’s repaired.”
“Do I look like a real estate agent? Can’t you stay at your own place?”
“I’ll move into yours then.”
“…Wait—”
But Sang Yan had already hung up.
Grinding his teeth, Su Hao’an muttered, “Fine. Pick a complex, I’ll ask around.”
A pause. Then Sang Yan said, “Shangdu Huacheng.”
Su Hao’an froze. He vaguely remembered Wang Linlin mentioning that complex. Her roommate… if he recalled correctly… was Wen Yifan.
He arched an eyebrow, realizing what that meant.
––
As the New Year approached, Wen Yifan’s workload doubled. Overtime consumed her days and nights, leaving her too tired to think about anything else. Sang Yan, whom she had run into often lately, seemed once again to have faded into the background of her life.
She assumed she wouldn’t see him again.
Until Sunday night.
Dragging herself home, she unlocked the door—and froze.
A tall man stood in the foyer, back turned, a suitcase by his side.
Her heart clenched. She thought of a recent case she’d reported on—a home invasion, a woman stabbed for resisting. Her breath caught.
The man turned.
Their eyes met.
Her fear drained in an instant, replaced by shock. “…Why are you here?”
Sang Yan frowned. “I should be asking you that.”
“I live here.” Confusion flooded her. “How did you even get in?”
Then she saw the key in his hand. Wang Linlin’s key.
…
And in the silence that followed, her worst suspicion was confirmed.
“I just moved in,” Sang Yan said calmly.
Wen Yifan’s mind went blank.
“…”