Gou Zai Punishment Division

The winter rain continued, fine and persistent, like a layer of shadow clinging to the city's surface.

Chen Mo opened the tattered black umbrella with deformed ribs and pulled a rusty second-hand bicycle out of the mud and water in the back alley of the patrol office.

The car body was mottled, and the chain made a dry, harsh friction sound when it moved.

A nearly faded sticker was stuck to the bicycle bell, but the words on it were still legible: "Chen Mo, don't be late again."

He glanced at it, his expression unwavering, as if he were looking at a past that had nothing to do with him.

Rain dripped down the edge of the umbrella, he stepped onto the pedals, and rode off into the cold wind.

The streets were deserted, with only the sound of chains echoing through the night.

The tension that had lasted all night actually eased a little in the face of this monotonous and jarring sound.

The tenement buildings on the northern edge of the city are still dark and damp.

The stairwell was covered with moldy little GG stickers, the paint was peeling off the walls, and moss was spreading upwards along the cracks.

He climbed the slippery steps to the fourth floor, took out the same rusty key, and pushed open the peeling wooden door.

After entering the door, he casually hung the key on the iron nail by the door.

He paused slightly halfway through the action, as if he had suddenly realized the existence of this habit, but couldn't remember when it started.

The pause lasted only a very brief moment before he released his grip, letting the key hang down naturally.

The door slammed shut behind them with a dull thud.

Chen Mo exhaled a long breath, the breath carrying a chill.

He was still alive; he crawled back out of that damned machine.

He took off his old gray uniform, which was dripping with mud, and casually hung it on the back of the chair.

On the folded table was a bento box that hadn't been finished last night, the inside of the transparent plastic box damp with moisture.

The rice was hard and clumpy, but a few pieces of oily green vegetables had sprung up around the edges.

He stared at the few pieces of green vegetables for two seconds, quite certain that he hadn't bought them last night.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when he suppressed it.

He didn't pursue the matter further, pulled out a chair, sat down, and started eating.

He paused slightly when he took the first bite; it was warm.

He remembered that the meal had been cold since last night, but he didn't stop.

The second bite, however, revealed a cold, hard texture, like residue just pulled from ice water.

By the third bite, the tip of the tongue could no longer detect any saltiness, blandness, hotness, or coldness; only a clean, blank space remained.

He continued to chew and swallow mechanically, expressionless, as if performing something directly related to survival.

The shadow at my feet moved silently.

The dark shadow crawled up his damp, cold trouser leg and covered his frozen ankles.

The companion spirit "Zero" did not attack.

It simply and greedily devours those unseen things.

The chilling, corpse-like aura it brought back from the basement, along with the faint demonic energy lingering in its nerve endings, was chewed up and swallowed bit by bit.

After being devoured, a small portion of the power flowed back into his body along the shadow, sliding along the flesh and blood, as if returning to its rightful place.

A strange warmth emanated from my ankle.

The next second, a sour and rancid smell exploded in my mouth.

This bento box is indeed spoiled.

Chen Mo put down his chopsticks, his brows furrowing almost imperceptibly.

He then looked down at the dark figure at his feet, a very faint smile appearing on his lips.

The taste was nauseating, but it also meant that the monster had forcibly taken back his sense of taste, which had just been taken away from him.

A grain of rice slipped from the tip of the chopsticks and fell to the ground.

He instinctively wanted to bend down to pick it up, but his movement stopped halfway.

The shadow at my feet moved slightly, a tiny movement, yet it carried an undeniable presence.

Chen Mo glanced at it, but ultimately did not bend down.

The grain of rice lay quietly on the ground for a few seconds before disappearing silently into the shadows, as if it had never existed.

This monster, which could turn on him at any moment, has now become his only roommate.

It ate the pollution for him, regaining his broken humanity, while he provided it with a shelter from the wind and rain.

A person and a shadow maintain a rough and dangerous balance in this drafty room.

He endured the sour taste and finished the rest of the meal.

Pushing the empty lunchbox aside, my fingertips still felt greasy and smelly.

Just as he was about to get up, he suddenly stopped.

There was an extra pair of chopsticks on the table.

It wasn't the pair he was using just now.

The chopsticks were neatly placed side by side on the other side of the table, as if they had just been used and then carefully arranged.

Chen Mo's gaze lingered on the chopsticks for two seconds, then he slowly lowered his head to look at his own hands.

He was indeed only holding one pair in his hands.

The room was so quiet that you could hear the water slowly seeping through the cracks in the walls.

He didn't move immediately, nor did he turn around to look behind him.

A few seconds later, he looked up again at the pair of chopsticks.

The chopsticks were in the same position, but there were some water stains on the table at some point.

The watermark was very faint, extending from the edge of the table.

It was as if something was sitting across from him, eating while resting its wet arm on the table.

His Adam's apple bobbed slightly.

He reached out and picked up the extra pair of chopsticks.

It feels warm to the touch, not like wood placed in a cold room, but more like something that was just held in someone's hand.

He looked at the chopsticks but didn't say anything.

The shadow at my feet shrank slightly at that moment, as if instinctively avoiding something.

He was still alone in the room.

It took him a long time to put the chopsticks back in their place.

The movements were deliberately very light, as if afraid of disturbing the unseen diner opposite.

Then he whispered, "...I'll leave after I finish eating."

no respond.

But a new watermark slowly appeared on the table, as if something had nodded gently.

He didn't look again, turned around and walked to the bedside.

He pulled the crumpled fifty-yuan reimbursement slip from the hidden pocket of his uniform, carefully flattened it, and placed it under the glass mat on the corner of the table.

Underneath the mat is the rent payment reminder for next month.

His gaze lingered on the paper for a moment, his eyes cold to the point of rationality.

Fighting those things head-on will only lead to a faster demise.

The safest shell right now is to bury yourself in the mud, hide your cards well, and be a useless person who worries about the perfect attendance bonus and rent.

Exhaustion then washed over me.

He didn't even bother to wash up, and collapsed onto the hard single bed.

He pulled the old, musty-smelling quilt over his head and face.

However, the body did not truly relax; instead, it remained in a tense state, as if it could be startled awake at any moment.

The sound of rain outside the window was dense, as if it were constantly knocking on this old city.

The room quickly fell into a deathly silence.

Occasionally, a heavy truck would drive by, causing the entire tenement building to resonate slightly.

In the corner of the ceiling, a rusty screw, corroded by moisture over the years, made a barely perceptible sound as it vibrated.

The thread slipped off half a turn.

This slight misalignment caused the water, which was originally flowing down the crack in the wall, to deviate from its course.

A drop of murky water mixed with black mud paused briefly in mid-air, as if being held up by something invisible.

There was no wind in the room.

The next moment, the water droplet fell, drawing a cold and precise arc.

It hit the glass mat on the folding table, splashing water everywhere.

The fifty-yuan reimbursement slip, pressed against the edge, slowly became damp.

The red stamp gradually blurred and spread due to the water stains.

It eventually turned into a blurry, irregular dark red mass, like a bloodstain that hadn't fully dried.

There was still no wind in the room.