Liu Ruòruò walked out of the changing room, his hands in the pockets of his work uniform, his fingertips touching the bottle of medicine. He neither looked back nor stopped, his steps steady as he crossed the corridor. Light poured down from above, reflecting off the floor tiles. He remembered a scratch on the back of the server's neck just now, as if it had been grazed by something hard. Now, this bottle of medicine had also changed; the bottle was deformed, there were more pills, and the color was wrong.
He didn't make a fuss.
At nine in the evening, the delivery station was basically empty. He sat on a chair in the corner, pretending to organize orders, but his eyes were fixed on the changing room door. Lǐ Jídù hadn't left yet. That person always left late, claiming it was overtime, but actually just waiting for an opportunity.
Liu Ruòruò could wait.
At seventeen minutes past ten, Lǐ Jídù came out with his bag, looked around, and turned into the restroom. Three minutes later, he returned, holding a small bottle. He walked to Liu Ruòruò's locker, squatted down, took out a key, opened the locker door, put the bottle inside, locked it, and quickly left.
Liu Ruòruò watched from the shadows, unmoving.
Only after the footsteps completely disappeared did he get up and walk to his own locker. The bottle of medicine was still there, exactly the same as the one he had seen just now. He opened it, poured out a pill, and placed it in his palm. Under the light, the edge of the pill was dark, not like something from a legitimate pharmaceutical factory. He smelled it; there was a faint bitter scent, not what a painkiller should smell like.
He put the pill away, locked his locker, and returned to his rented room.
The next morning at six, the alarm clock rang. He rolled over and sat up, fumbled for the bottle of medicine on his nightstand, unscrewed the cap, poured out two pills, and swallowed them. After finishing the water, he put on his work uniform and rode his electric scooter out.
When he made his first delivery, dawn was just breaking. The traffic light at the intersection was red, and he stopped his scooter. Suddenly, his head felt heavy. Everything in front of him began to blur, the streetlights elongated into shadows, and the ground seemed to undulate. He gripped the handlebars, his breathing becoming heavy.
The light turned green, and someone behind him honked.
He pressed the accelerator, and the scooter swerved, nearly hitting the guardrail. His right hand instinctively gripped the handlebars, heat spreading across his palm, as if something was surging beneath his skin. He looked down; a patch of dark markings appeared on the outer side of his wrist, like fish scales, clinging tightly to the metal handle. The scooter instantly stabilized.
He pulled over and took a few deep breaths.
The dizziness didn't recede; it intensified. His temples throbbed, and his ears buzzed. He took out the bottle of medicine and stared at the remaining pills. The image of Lǐ Jídù putting the bottle into the locker last night flashed into his mind.
He turned the scooter around, abandoned the delivery, and headed straight to the pharmacy.
At twenty-three minutes past seven, the pharmacy had just opened. He walked in and handed the bottle of medicine to the female pharmacist behind the counter.
"I'm taking this medicine, and I've been feeling very dizzy today. Am I having an allergic reaction?"
The pharmacist took the bottle, poured out a pill, and compared it on a piece of white paper. She then took out the original packaging and examined it closely.
"This medicine is not right," she said. "The color is too dark, and the edges are uneven. We haven't seen this batch here."
"Could it be fake?"
"More than faked," she said, picking up the pill with tweezers. "This color suggests the illegal addition of psychoactive ingredients. If you continue to take it, you might experience hallucinations, rapid heartbeat, and in severe cases, require hospitalization."
Liu Ruòruò nodded, thanked her, and left with the bottle.
He stood at the entrance of the pharmacy. The wind blew on his face, and his mind cleared a bit. Lǐ Jídù had switched his medicine not to prank him, but to cause him harm. The incident at last night's banquet had escalated, even making it onto the hot search, and Zhāng Wěishàn had lost face. Lǐ Jídù was his dog; dogs bite without their master's command.
He couldn't openly break ties.
At noon, he returned to the delivery station. Lǐ Jídù was drinking water at his workstation. When he saw Liu Ruòruò enter, his eyes flickered.
Liu Ruòruò acted as if nothing had happened and went to pick up a new order. As he passed Lǐ Jídù's desk, he deliberately waved his hand, knocking over the water bucket on the table. Water flowed across the desk and dripped onto the floor.
"Fuck!" Lǐ Jídù jumped up. "Are you blind?!"
"Sorry, sorry," Liu Ruòruò quickly grabbed a rag to wipe. "I didn't notice."
Lǐ Jídù cursed as he cleaned up and bent down to mop the floor. Liu Ruòruò took the opportunity to glance at the locker number written on the back of his work ID – B-14. He also looked at the lock; it was an old-fashioned cross lock, the same type he used.
At eight in the evening, the delivery station was cleared out. He found an excuse to stay on duty, claiming a system malfunction required him to process orders. The security guards patrolled and left.
At precisely ten o'clock, the building became quiet.
He put on his jacket and walked towards the changing room.
Locker B-14 was in the middle of the second row. He took out a spare key from his pocket – borrowed earlier when the air conditioning was being repaired and never returned. He inserted it into the lock and turned it gently. It opened.
He pulled open the locker door. The clothes inside were neatly folded. He reached into the interlayer and his fingertips touched something hard. He took it out: a small white bottle, identical to his own, with the generic name written on the label, but no manufacturer information.
He unscrewed the cap and poured out a pill. The color and shape were exactly the same as the one he had taken from his own locker.
He opened his phone, turned on the video recording function, and filmed the medicine bottle for thirty seconds. Then, he stuffed the empty bottle into his inner pocket, closed the locker door, and locked it.
Everything was restored to its original state.
He walked out of the changing room, his steps unhurried. He returned to the duty desk, sat down, opened his phone's photo album, and repeatedly watched the video. In the footage, the medicine bottle lay quietly in the locker, like a stone buried in the earth.
His palm suddenly felt warm.
He looked down; the Scale pattern under his sleeve bulged slightly, as if moving with life.
He didn't shake his hand or try to hide it, just stared at the screen, watching the video again.
At one in the morning, he rode his scooter home. On the way, he passed a bridge. The wind was strong, making his clothes cling to his body. He stopped, leaned against the railing, took out the empty bottle from his inner pocket, and held it up to his eyes.
There was a string of numbers at the bottom of the bottle, faintly imprinted: X7-92H.
He memorized it.
A black car slowly drove by in the distance. The window tint was very dark, making it impossible to see inside. The headlights swept across the road, illuminating his shoe tips, then moved away.
The car didn't stop. It turned into a small road beside the bridge and disappeared.
Liu Ruòruò put the bottle away and pushed his scooter forward.
He didn't notice that at the end of the bridge, under a streetlamp, a man in a gray jacket was looking down at his phone. On the screen was a recently sent photo – Liu Ruòruò standing by the bridge, holding something in his hand.