Chapter Forty-One: Return Ticket

“Actually, it’s really okay.” The girl, breathless from running, leaned against the wall and uttered her first words since leaving school.

Zhao Tianxing did not look at her. “I hate seeing you standing there, like a lonely little puppy.”

“You’re the puppy.” The girl tugged his ear, forcing him to meet her gaze, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

“It really doesn’t matter. They all know I grew up in the orphanage.”

“Then next time something like this happens, I won’t treat you to milk tea.”

The pressure on his ear made Zhao Tianxing grimace. “Ow, ow, let go! And you say you’re not a puppy? Only puppies throw tantrums!”

“No. Promise me that as long as I want, you’ll buy me milk tea, and then I’ll let go.”

“Alright, alright, I promise. Now let go.”

With her hands behind her back, the girl skipped ahead, dancing lightly. “Come on.”

“Where to?”

“Didn’t you just say you’d treat me to milk tea? Trying to back out, are you? Hmph...” Faced with her little tiger’s grin, Zhao Tianxing chose to yield.

The two-week suspension from classes did little but shift the focus of family quarrels onto Zhao Tianxing and grant him idle days to wander the city.

Sometimes, the turning points of life happen in those moments no one pays attention to.

If he could, he’d rather he hadn’t stood up that day—then there would be no suspension, no aimless wandering, no damned subway ride, and he’d never have picked up that ticket.

But life offers no ifs.

He remembered every detail of that day, for all his nightmares began there. Countless nights thereafter, regret would press him to relive it again and again, and each time he woke just as he picked up that ticket—only to start a new day.

It all began when he boarded that train. The sun was bright, the air mild—a day like a devil’s snare.

He’d had enough of his mother’s endless scolding. After lunch, he grabbed his coat and drifted through the concrete city, from noon till nightfall, relishing that fleeting taste of freedom.

On the last day of his break, as the sunset bathed the city, he boarded the final train home. The carriage was silent; he closed his eyes and waited for his stop.

Suddenly, raucous voices forced him to look up. A ragged man was shrieking in terror, “Let me out! Let me leave!” He darted up and down the car, as if pursued by something unseen. Zhao Tianxing felt a burst of irritation, but as he stood, he caught a glimpse of pure madness in the man’s eyes—a look that chilled him to the bone, a moment of unadulterated fear.

He watched as the passengers forced the man back into the carriage: some pushed, others subtly pulled him back or tripped him. Yet everyone stared straight ahead, feigning innocence, as if unaware of their own actions. After the man’s desperate pleas for ten minutes, he returned to his seat, apparently resigned.

Suddenly, the man broke into manic laughter, then pulled something from his pocket and shredded it, scattering the pieces through the car. The others watched him coldly—a city lost in the intoxication of pleasure is never short on madmen.

Zhao Tianxing silently observed the now lifeless man, then turned away, unwilling to see that face on the verge of collapse.

A slip of paper, resembling some kind of ticket, appeared in his lowered gaze. The subway wasn’t crowded; he was sure the seat beside him had been empty since he boarded. Perhaps, in that instant, he’d heard a devil’s whisper, or perhaps it was simple human curiosity. He picked up the ticket.

As he placed the strange ticket back down and looked up, the train doors slid open—it was his stop. Just before stepping off, he glanced back. The man had vanished.

It wasn’t until the next day he found the ticket in his coat pocket—a cruise ticket.

“All holders of this ticket may board the ship. Enjoy a year-long voyage around the world, all expenses paid.” Zhao Tianxing read the ornate print and official-looking stamp, chuckled, and thought nothing of it. Before school, he tossed it into the trash.

He had few friends, but today, everyone’s attention seemed to be on him.

“So, what’s your deal with Lin Yaxin? Playing the hero, are you? Hiding your talents?” A pimply-faced boy waggled his eyebrows at Zhao Tianxing, eyes full of mischief.

He considered it. “Just friends.”

“Boyfriends and girlfriends are friends too, aren’t they?”

“Read more serious books, fewer romance novels.”

“I don’t have any lovely girls in my life, so I can only find comfort in novels. By the way, a few girls from the next class put something on your desk—they’re really pretty, you know, walking by with a waft of perfume. Tianxing, when will I get a girlfriend as beautiful as yours? I’m not worse-looking than you, so why does no girl like me...”

Zhao Tianxing ignored his lamenting deskmate and reached for the note in his desk.

“I forgot to tell you yesterday—I’m throwing a birthday party for little Ping’an. Could you come help at the orphanage at 7 p.m.?” It ended with a smiling face and a heart.

He smiled and tucked it into his pocket, then frowned and pulled out the cruise ticket.

He remembered tossing it in the trash that morning—had he been mistaken?

The thin ticket bore the same playful words on both sides. Despite the elaborate print, Zhao Tianxing tossed it into the classroom’s wastebasket.

Winter nights fell early. Zhao Tianxing, familiar with every corner, entered the orphanage. He shed his usual indifference, trying to appear friendly as he greeted the children and made his way to the busy girl.

“Let me help.” “Alright, take that over there.” She did not refuse, but stepped aside with her usual composure, standing behind him as she used to years ago, directing him to build sandcastles in the yard. Gentle in appearance, she was strong-willed, never wanting to trouble others—except him. No matter what, she’d always ask for his help, even if she thought it was a bit spoiled. She liked to see him buy her lollipops, help with homework, or defeat the boys from the next class in the arcade. Perhaps it was because she believed she was his one true friend—just as he was to her.

Beautiful things often need no money—a small cake, a few large photos, a crowd filled with hope and love is enough to create a joyful birthday party.

Bundled in her puffy coat, the girl waddled down the street like a penguin, Zhao Tianxing walking beside her. The wind was biting, tugging at both ends of his scarf, making it flap against his face.

The girl giggled. “You’re this old and still can’t tie a scarf?”

Zhao Tianxing blushed and was about to retort when her gentle voice interrupted him. “Lower your head.”

He obeyed, her familiar scent lingering in his nose. The wind lifted her hair, brushing his cheek and stirring his heart.

With a perfect little bow, Zhao Tianxing, for the first time, thought scarves weren’t so suffocating after all.

“Consider it a thank-you for your help today.” Her cheeks were rosy, a captivating smile on her lips.

“That’s not much of a thank-you. Actually, I liked my own way of tying it.” Embarrassed by his only friend’s teasing, he tried to make light of it.

But her focus seemed elsewhere. “I tie you a nice scarf and you call it insincere? Hmph, you’re getting greedy. Never mind, I’m in a good mood today. Come here.”

Zhao Tianxing hesitated, then stepped over. The girl opened her arms and hugged him.

Snowflakes danced, the northern wind swirling. On a winter street, two figures embraced—spring could not be far off.

A girl is called a girl because she does things even she never imagined—always so romantic, so pure.

“Are you done...?” Her head was buried against his chest; she startled herself, thinking she didn’t mind but still felt embarrassed.

Hurriedly, Zhao Tianxing let her go. Neither dared to meet the other’s gaze, feigning nonchalance as they walked the empty street.

She stared at the snow at her feet and spoke softly, “This is as far as I’ll walk you.”

“Alright, I—I’ll head home then.” The odd sensation made his heart race; the breathless feeling left him slow to respond.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” She kept tracing circles in the snow with her toes.

“N-no, not really. Um, the hug was nice—thanks?” Zhao Tianxing wanted to slap himself for the nonsense he blurted.

“Forget it, go home, you coward.” She wrinkled her nose and shooed him away.

He didn’t understand why he was a coward, but didn’t dare ask—he slunk home like a scolded puppy.

The next day, Zhao Tianxing found another note in his desk.

“Idiot, why didn’t you tell me? Of course I’d accept your invitation. Hmph, coward. Luckily, I found out—what a pity it would be to miss it. See you at 7 p.m. at the city theater tonight.”

He was puzzled. He wanted to ask her, but it was Friday—a whole day of exams—so he had to wait until they were over.

Maybe she wanted to see a play? He borrowed a phone and checked the theater schedule: three hours of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Seeing the ticket price, he gritted his teeth and scraped together enough money for two tickets.

He pulled out his best coat—a trench coat his mother bought after a lucky streak at mahjong and too much to drink over the new year. Though she tried to return it the next day, for some reason it stayed. Gazing at his reflection—handsome, full of promise—he guessed that’s why his mother never took it back.

He slipped past his parents, both absorbed in their TV drama. Strangely, they weren’t arguing today; as he left, neither looked his way.

“The boy’s grown up so fast.”

“At this age, it’s only natural.”

“It must be that Lin Yaxin girl.”

“She’s a good kid.”

The middle-aged couple leaned on the sofa, lost in memory. They had quarreled for half their lives, never so peaceful as this moment.

Should he buy flowers? What should he say? Should he mention the note or just buy the tickets? Should he get her favorite chocolate milk tea or try a new flavor?

For the first time, meeting her felt complicated—but not unpleasant. In fact, he smiled foolishly at the thought, hopeful that last night’s embrace had changed things between them.

Seven o’clock, eight, nine, ten.

He did not see her.

Never again.

He drifted through the day in a daze—police, journalists—recounting every detail until people patted his shoulder and said, “We’ll find her.”

The ticket. Something clicked in his mind. He tore off his clothes, trembling as he dug the ticket out of his inside pocket.

He shredded that cursed ticket, crumpled it, threw it out the window, burned it to ash, even tried to swallow it. But no matter what he did, it always reappeared in his pocket. He burned his clothes, crouched naked in the corner like a wounded animal, sobbing silently.

The next day, the ticket lay quietly on his desk.

He picked it up and saw the words had changed: “This ticket grants passage to where Lin Yaxin may be found.”

Below was a strange address.

Zhao Tianxing calmly dressed and left his room. “I’m going out for a walk.” He did not wait for a reply; at the moment the door closed, he vanished—truly vanished.

When he awoke, he was in a small room. A middle-aged man in a lab coat watched him, pen in hand.

“If you feel dizzy, don’t worry—it’s a minor side effect of the truth serum,” the man said gently, extending his hand.

“Where am I? Where’s Lin Yaxin?” Zhao Tianxing ignored the proffered handshake.

“First, you haven’t been kidnapped. Please don’t be hostile toward us...”

Zhao Tianxing interrupted, “Who are you? Why did you take Lin Yaxin?”

“Please don’t interrupt, or the conversation ends here.” The man’s kindly face turned cold, as if regarding a flawed test tube.

“We are the SCP Foundation. You’ve already realized something is odd about the ticket, haven’t you? Our world is like an iceberg—ordinary people see only the tip, but the rest, the vast majority, falls under our jurisdiction. This world contains many things beyond current scientific explanation. We call them anomalies. These anomalies can affect all of humanity. Thus, our foundation exists: we secure, we contain, we protect.”

He paused, then took the ticket from his file.

“We’ve designated this ticket SCP-342. It has appeared worldwide; we’ve tried to contain every instance, but after some time—be it a day or a year—another always appears somewhere, waiting to be found. SCP-342 usually manifests as a ticket for the nearest form of public transport. If held by a conscious being for some time, it eventually changes to the form of whatever ticket the holder most wishes to use.

This transformation occurs when it’s not being directly or indirectly observed. No one has ever witnessed the change. SCP-342 is indistinguishable from an ordinary valid ticket and can be used as such. When stamped, torn, or destroyed, it soon reconstitutes itself, returning to an unused state. Anyone who uses SCP-342 to board a vehicle cannot leave it by any means. When the vehicle reaches its final stop and halts, the user disappears from the real world. Prior to boarding, users report feelings of dread, which intensify during the journey and culminate in extreme panic shortly before vanishing—symptoms similar to severe paranoid schizophrenia.”

He glanced at Zhao Tianxing, then continued, “That’s all we know about SCP-342. After reviewing all theater surveillance and interviewing witnesses, we regret to inform you SCP-342 is not limited to transport tickets—it can become a theater ticket, or, based on our findings, any kind of ticket known to mankind.”

“What does ‘disappear’ mean? Where are the people who used SCP-342?” Zhao Tianxing braced for the worst; he had to know where she was.

“Exactly what it says—they disappear from our world. At least, with current science, we cannot observe them. If you’re optimistic, maybe they’ve gone to a parallel universe, another dimension—maybe they’re watching us right now.”

“That’s all. Our foundation’s humanitarian standards require only this much. Have some water. In a moment, we’ll erase your memory. You’ll forget everything from these past days, and that girl will never have existed in your life. Go live normally.” The man stood, placing a glass before Zhao Tianxing.

In a daze, Zhao Tianxing saw many familiar faces: the girl who had boldly invited him to be her friend, the one who led him through crowds to whisper secrets in their hideout, the girl who’d hit him when angry but called him the next day to push her on the swings, the one who’d hugged him shyly on a winter’s night.

Fragments of time, persistent feelings—the girl who had always been by his side, forever etched deep in his heart.

The sharp clatter of a broken cup echoed in the cramped room. “Don’t erase my memory. If even I forget her, then she truly disappears.” Zhao Tianxing clutched the shards, his blood dripping to the floor unnoticed, eyes fixed on the guards who had burst in. “Get out! This is murder!”

The man in the lab coat waved his hand, dismissing the guards pinning Zhao Tianxing to the floor. He crouched down in front of him. “Why do people insist on remembering memories that only bring them pain? If you let go, you could start anew.”

“She was an orphan. If even I forget her, who is left to prove she existed? Please, don’t make me forget her. If I do, then no one will ever remember her—she’ll have never existed at all.” Zhao Tianxing lowered his head, voice raw as a wind-scoured riverbed.

“If searching for what’s lost demands too high a price, perhaps you should accept that it’s already gone.” The man tapped the table’s smooth surface with his finger—each heavy tap striking Zhao Tianxing’s heart.

Zhao Tianxing clenched his teeth, hearing the trembling of his own bones. He resolved that if the man made a move, he would resist with everything he had.

The man in white fell silent. Time slipped past until, at last, he broke the silence with a sigh.

“You should be glad I’m handling this case.” He sat back, turning the ticket over in his hands, his eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses full of reminiscence.

“I can let you keep your memories—but it’s against the rules. Ordinary people shouldn’t know the Foundation exists.”

“I could join you. Surely you need regular people for some things? I’ll do anything.” Zhao Tianxing heard the unspoken meaning in the man’s words.

“I’d like another D-class, but the Foundation’s purpose is to protect people like you.” The man’s voice was full of regret.

“I’m willing. I volunteer as D-class,” Zhao Tianxing seized this last hope.

“Young people, even foolish ones, can be forgiven.” The man smiled, but didn’t explain what D-class meant.

He thought for a while, then made the most important decision of Zhao Tianxing’s life.

“Go to Lu Academy. Young people like you should be learning there before confronting the true nature of the world.”

He packed up his papers and gave Zhao Tianxing one last instruction: “Until you leave for Lu Academy, you’ll stay here. I’ll have someone teach you the basics of our world. You have one day to say goodbye to everyone you know—family, friends, anyone. Remember, this is your choice.”

The Foundation’s rooms had more than just holy seals against abyssal demons and wards against devils. They had windows, too.

Zhao Tianxing leaned in the corner, gazing up at the night sky. Perhaps because the base was built on the outskirts, the sky tonight held not just the moon, but a few faint stars as well. He thought again of the girl who loved to search for stars.

He slowly closed his eyes, repeating again and again the promise he had made himself.

I will spend my life searching for her, or die alone.