The dream was closer now.
Chen Wei stood in the infinite gray hallway. His daughter was ahead of him—not walking away, not waiting. Just standing. Facing him.
He could see her face clearly. Eighteen years old. The face from the photograph he kept in his drawer, the one he never looked at but knew perfectly. She looked tired. But she was smiling. Just a little.
He took a step toward her.
The floor held.
Another step.
She didn't move.
Another.
He was close enough to touch her now. Close enough to see the tears on her cheeks.
Dad.
He reached out.
Why won't you answer?
His hand stopped.
I just want to know you're alive.
He woke up.
---
The ceiling was the same. The water stain in the corner was the same. The silence was the same.
But his hand was reaching for nothing. And his phone was buzzing.
3:17 AM. A call.
He watched the screen light up. Xiaolian's name. Her face—the contact photo was from years ago, a younger version of her, smiling, carefree.
It rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Four.
Then stopped.
He waited.
The voicemail notification appeared.
He stared at it for a long time. Then he put the phone down, face-up, and waited for morning.
---
At 8 PM, Chen Wei walked into the breakroom on Floor 47.
The room was quieter than usual. Lao Xu at the table. Miao Miao by the counter. The Warrior against the wall. No one else.
Lao Xu looked up as Chen Wei entered. His eyes did that thing they did sometimes—the thing that meant he already knew something.
"Sit."
Chen Wei sat. Miao Miao appeared beside him, placed tea in front of him, disappeared. The cup was perfect temperature. It always was.
Lao Xu didn't slide a folder across the table. Didn't mention a cleanup. Just waited.
Chen Wei waited too.
After a long moment, Lao Xu said: "You got a call."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"You didn't answer."
"No."
Another long pause. Lao Xu's coffee sat untouched.
"Why not?"
Chen Wei thought about it. Tried to find words. Couldn't.
"I don't know."
Lao Xu nodded slowly. "That's honest. That's something."
They sat in silence. The breakroom hummed with its impossible frequency.
Then Lao Xu stood. Walked to the door. Paused.
"There's a cleanup. Floor 23. Level 2. Minor deity, domestic. She's been waiting." He didn't turn around. "The call will still be there when you get back."
He left.
Chen Wei sat alone with his tea. The mop leaned against his chair. His phone was in his pocket.
He didn't check it.
---
The apartment was on the twenty-third floor of a high-rise in the west end. Nice building. Doorman. Elevator that required a key card. Chen Wei had none of those things, but the door to the stairwell opened for him anyway. The building knew. They always knew.
Apartment 23C. The door was ajar. Light spilled out. Music—old music, from decades ago, playing softly.
Chen Wei pushed the door open.
Inside, a woman sat on a couch, staring at nothing. She was young—or looked young. Her apartment was immaculate. Expensive furniture. Art on the walls. A kitchen that had probably never been used.
On the coffee table in front of her: a photograph. A man. Smiling. Gone.
She looked up as Chen Wei entered.
"You're the janitor."
"Yes."
"They said you'd come. They said you'd sit." Her voice was flat. Exhausted. "I don't need you to sit. I need you to fix it."
"Fix what?"
She gestured at the apartment. At the photograph. At everything.
"Him. He left. Six months ago. Just—walked out. Didn't say why. Didn't say goodbye. Just... left." Her voice cracked. "I've been here ever since. In this apartment. With his things. His books. His records. His—" She stopped. "I can't leave. If I leave, it's real. If I leave, he's really gone."
Chen Wei looked around the apartment. It was clean. Too clean. Like she'd been cleaning obsessively, trying to keep everything exactly as it had been.
No deviation. No reality glitch. Just grief.
"I'm not here to fix that," he said quietly. "I can't."
"Then why are you here?"
He sat down. On the floor. Across from her couch. Mop across his knees.
"To sit."
She stared at him. "That's it?"
"That's it."
"I don't understand."
"I know." He paused. "My daughter calls me. She's been calling for eight years. I never answer."
The woman blinked. "Why?"
"Because answering means admitting I'm here. And I'm not sure I want to be here."
She looked at him for a long time. Then, quietly: "I know that feeling."
They sat in silence. The music played on. Old songs. Love songs. Songs about people who stayed.
After a long time, she spoke again.
"His name was Wei. Like yours. Different character. He was a good man. I think. I don't know anymore. I don't know what was real and what I imagined."
Chen Wei nodded.
"Do you think about her? Your daughter?"
"Every day."
"Do you ever—" She stopped. "Do you ever think about calling?"
"Every day."
She almost smiled. Almost.
"That's something."
"I don't know what it is. But it's something."
They sat until the music stopped. Until the sun started to lighten the sky outside the window. Until the apartment felt less like a tomb and more like just... an apartment.
Then the woman stood.
"I'm going to make tea," she said. "Do you want some?"
"I have tea." He held up the cup Miao Miao had given him. Still warm. It was always still warm.
She looked at it. Didn't ask.
She went to the kitchen. Made tea. Came back. Sat down.
They drank in silence.
When Chen Wei left, the photograph was still on the coffee table. But the woman was still there too. Drinking tea. Present.
---
Back on Floor 47, the breakroom was empty.
Just the table. The chairs. The vending machine. Miao Miao's tea, waiting for him.
He sat down. Drank it.
Then he pulled out his phone.
The voicemail was still there. Waiting.
He pressed play.
"Dad. It's me. I know you won't answer. You never do. But I just—I wanted to hear your voice. Even the recording. That's pathetic, right? I'm sorry. I don't know why I keep calling. I just—I need to know you're alive. That's all. I'm not mad anymore. I was, for a long time. But now I'm just tired. I just want to know you're okay. Call me. Even once. Just so I know."
He listened to it twice.
Then he put the phone down.
The mop beside him glowed faintly blue.
---
At 6 AM, Chen Wei left the breakroom.
The elevator ride down was quiet. The lobby was empty. The streets were empty. The city was waking up.
He walked home through morning light. The mop leaned against his shoulder. The keys Shi Zong had given him were still in his pocket. His phone was in his other pocket. Warm.
He thought about the woman in the apartment. About Wei. About the photograph on the coffee table.
He thought about his own photograph. Face-down in the drawer. He hadn't looked at it in six months. He knew exactly what it looked like.
He thought about Xiaolian's voice. I just want to know you're alive.
He stopped walking.
Stood on the sidewalk, alone in the dawn, and pulled out his phone.
His thumb hovered over her name.
He thought about the dream. About reaching for her. About almost touching her hand.
He thought about the woman's question: Do you ever think about calling?
Every day.
He pressed call.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
Voicemail.
"You've reached Chen Xiaolian. I can't come to the phone right now. Leave a message and I'll call you back."
A beep.
Chen Wei opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"Xiaolian. It's me. Again. I just—I listened to your message. The new one. I'm alive. I'm okay. I'm—" He stopped. Took a breath. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Call me when you're ready. I'll answer. I promise."
He hung up.
Stared at the phone.
His hands were shaking.
The mop glowed gold.
He didn't notice. But he felt it. Warm against his shoulder. Present.
He walked home. The sun was higher now. The city was waking up. People passed him on the street—ordinary people, going to ordinary jobs, living ordinary lives.
None of them knew he'd just done the hardest thing he'd done in eight years.
None of them knew he was still shaking.
None of them knew that for the first time, he'd said the words out loud.
I'll answer.
He didn't know if she would call. He didn't know if she was ready. He didn't know anything.
But for the first time in eight years, he'd said the words.
And that was something.
---
End of Chapter 9