Taking another job was out of the question. Any work that required frequent interaction with people was unsuitable, and so were positions that demanded fixed office hours.
That said, Ken was hardly without options. His four years of university had not been wasted, nor had the years he spent working thereafter. Aside from overtime, most of his time had not gone into leisure, indulgence, or idle pleasures, but into learning new technologies. Back then, he had imagined that as the company grew—or even went public—he would shoulder greater responsibilities.
He could no longer apply for jobs or clock in at an office, but taking on freelance outsourcing projects from home posed no real problem. He had the connections for that.
The income would certainly be unstable, yet the schedule would be relatively flexible, and he wouldn't need prolonged contact with people. For his current situation, it was a fairly optimal choice.
After several rounds of mutation, not only had his physical capabilities increased dramatically, but his thinking speed and memory had also improved considerably. He could maintain intense focus more easily and sustain long periods of high-intensity work.
Tasks that once took fifty hours could now, under conditions of complete concentration and uninterrupted effort, be finished in under thirty. And those thirty hours could be continuous—no eating, no drinking, no rest—completed in little more than a single day.
Yet Ken did not immediately begin taking on contracts. Ever since returning from the hike with Zhu Ke'er the previous weekend, a new idea had taken root in his mind:
Sell the apartment and return to his hometown.
After graduating, Ken had joined his former company and worked there for seven straight years, effectively becoming one of its earliest core members.
Given his tenure and contributions, his salary—relative to industry standards—was on the low side. But he had never minded. For seven years, he had worked far beyond the infamous 996 schedule, not for the paychecks, but for the company's stock options.
When the company collapsed, those options naturally turned into worthless scraps of paper. Seven years of ambition were severed in an instant. Yet unlike most of his colleagues, Ken had always lived frugally. He had few unnecessary expenses, and nearly all the money he earned over those seven years had gone into purchasing that apartment on the outer ring.
Property on the outer ring could not compare to the inner ring in value, nor did it appreciate as quickly. Even so, over the few years since he bought it, the price had still risen by more than eight thousand per square meter.
If he sold it now, paid off the remaining mortgage, and added his existing savings, he would be left with a little over one million.
In 2019, a million-plus in this city was not a small sum—but neither was it a fortune. It certainly wasn't enough to buy a decent apartment outright.
At first, Ken had thought that if this "illness" were to take his life, the apartment could at least be left to his parents as something tangible for their later years.
Back then, he still held onto the idea of "getting cured," which was why he stayed in this metropolis. If he truly couldn't hold on and had to go to a hospital, the medical conditions and access to information here would undoubtedly be superior.
But after repeated blood consumption and successive mutations, his outlook had shifted dramatically.
Especially after that hike with Zhu Ke'er, he began to feel that distancing himself from crowds and urban life might be the better choice.
Indeed, he no longer had any compelling reason to remain in this city.
As for returning home, he had already thought it through. He would use part of the money to buy a substantial commercial insurance policy for his parents, then set aside the rest. He himself would need very little—enough to last him several years.
If one didn't marry, didn't raise children, and didn't pursue a high standard of living, the cost of merely staying alive was actually quite low.
…
Whether to leave or stay, Ken had yet to make a final decision.
But regardless of the outcome, reclaiming the apartment was a certainty.
The previous tenant was, in fact, the only tenant the apartment had ever had, renting it from the moment it was handed over. Neither side was particularly fussy; whenever issues arose, both were willing to compromise. Over the years, their cooperation had been smooth.
After moving out, the tenant had even taken the trouble to do a basic cleaning, so when Ken arrived, there was no mess waiting for him.
When the apartment was originally delivered, it had come with basic finishing. Ken hadn't spent extra money on renovations, thinking that if he ever moved in himself, he would redo everything properly then. He had only bought a few essential pieces of furniture, along with appliances like an air conditioner and a washing machine. The television and refrigerator had been added later by the tenant.
Though the tenant had been a decent person, they had two children. After several years of living there, the walls and floor tiles naturally showed signs of wear. But since it was inexpensive basic finishing to begin with, Ken didn't mind. He refunded the deposit in full without hesitation.
After a quick additional clean, Ken moved in that very evening. After all, he didn't have much in his rented place—everything was packed up in an hour that morning.
While he was moving his things, a chubby little girl—who looked to be no older than kindergarten age—stood at the doorway of his apartment, licking a lollipop and peering inside.
"Hey there, little one. Do you need something?" Ken asked gently as he walked over.
"Did Brother Xiaomin and Brother Xiaofeng move away?" the little girl asked in a babyish voice, pulling the lollipop from her mouth and craning her neck to look past him.
Ken understood at once. "Brother Xiaomin" and "Brother Xiaofeng" must have been the two boys from the previous tenant's family. If he remembered correctly, they were both already in elementary school.
"Yes, they moved," Ken replied. "But not far—just to the complex next door. Didn't they tell you before they left?"
The little girl pouted, looking unhappy. She didn't answer, turned, and walked away. After a couple of steps, she seemed to remember something, ran back, fished another lollipop out of her pocket, and handed it to Ken.
"Uncle, this is for you."
Ken froze for a moment. He was about to decline, but when he saw the hopeful look in her eyes, he hesitated, then accepted the candy. He patted her head gently. "Thank you. What's your name?"
"My name is Liu Shiling," she said proudly. "Shi like poetry, Ling like a bell. I live in 706, over there!" She pointed to an open door down the corridor.
"So we're neighbors," Ken said with a smile, nodding. "I'll be counting on you from now on, then."
The little girl nodded vigorously. "Mm-hmm! I'll take care of you."
On his first night in his own apartment, Ken didn't go out to familiarize himself with the surroundings. Instead, he lay on his balcony, quietly gazing at the moon hanging in the night sky.
Ever since buying this place, he had imagined countless times what it would feel like when he finally moved in.
In those imaginings, the apartment would have been renovated to his tastes, with new furniture and appliances—and there would already be a woman sharing the home with him.
In some versions of that dream, the apartment itself wasn't even this one. It might have been a high-rise with sweeping river views, a coveted school-district property in the city's core, or a secluded, upscale detached house.
Those visions had once been the most frequent indulgence of his scarce moments of leisure.