Zhongfeng First High School. A thunderclap rolled, and the teaching blocks dropped like tired giants. Not far away, Ouyang and the White Cat crouched in a shadowed corner, watching dust boil up like a sandstorm.

Mood first, then words—Ouyang felt a sour lightness, like tossing a cloak to the wind. “Deed done, sleeves brushed clean, merit and name buried deep. Those students ought to thank me.” He used to wish the school would blow up so class would be canceled, a day of stolen sunlight; that was only a daydream. Now his own hands had lit the fuse. A wish that once lived on clouds had fallen into his palms.

The White Cat had somehow found sunglasses. It wore them, stood on two legs, hands clasped behind its back like a street boss. “At last, the school’s blown. Congratulations, congratulations.”

“But, White Cat… how do I get back to Earth?”

The joy cracked like thin ice. Earth? The word fell like a pebble into a deep well. The White Cat had never heard of it; even leaving this world was a maze—how could it know the road back to Earth?

Silence was a shutter. The cat just stood, its shadow glued to the wall.

A cold draft slid over Ouyang’s skin, knife-sharp under a blazing sun. He shivered; the White Cat shivered too. Together, man and cat turned like reeds in the same wind.

“You two… I finally found you.”

Black dress like a night pond. Hair the green of polished jade streaming over her shoulders. A blue bow resting at her chest like a butterfly. She was a doll-sized girl, pure and delicate, yet when Ouyang met her ice-blue eyes, his heart sank. He lowered his head like a kid caught breaking a window.

“Meow, kid, what now?” The White Cat’s fur stood like thistles. They had only ever escaped Youyun with Ouyang’s bag of tricks; now Ouyang seemed blank as a wiped slate, and the cat had no cards. “Don’t blame me for being heartless. I’ve done my best. Next year on this day, I’ll burn you paper money.”

It tossed the words like dead leaves and slipped away, leaving Ouyang under the sky.

Youyun barely glanced at the fleeing cat. Her gaze pinned Ouyang like a needle, as if to stop him from running again.

“Um… little sister, if you stare at me like that… is something wrong?” Fear first, then the clumsy words. He had stranger-shyness, but she was too adorable, a porcelain doll so flawless it softened his jaw and his guard.

Youyun looked at him, cold as frost. “You still owe me one hundred thousand Imperial credits.”

Debt. The word hit first, heavy as a brick. Then: Imperial credits? The second chill. This wasn’t Earth. Yet he understood her tongue like rain on familiar soil. A poster down the alley wore alien script like crawling vines, and he read it as if it were his own handwriting.

He decided the debtor wasn’t him. It must be Ouyang the Demon King the White Cat kept naming. The cat had mistaken him for the Demon King, and this doll-like girl had, too.

What a pit. He had just landed in this world, was strong-armed into bombing a school like a street ghost, and now he owed a little girl a hundred thousand. This transmigration was one long pothole.

“Little sister… I—I don’t have money. And you must have the wrong guy. I don’t even know that White Cat.” To prove his clean hands, Ouyang laid out his threadbare story—his orphanage days, Earth like a far sea, and how the White Cat had pushed him into the school bombing.

Youyun listened. Her ice-blue eyes blinked once, thinking ripples under a frozen lake. After a long breath, she said, “Bombing the school… thank you. I don’t have to go to class.” Her winter mask cracked into a smile, warm as spring sunlight on new leaves. For a heartbeat Ouyang wanted to scoop the tiny doll into his arms and nuzzle her cheek; then he saw the small knife at her waist like a curved moon and strangled the impulse.

“I’ve seen you. In… that strange dream.” She leaned against the wall like a tired willow, head bowed to old memories. “Back then I was like you, an orphan. You were lucky—you had a dean-grandpa who cared. I…”

“No one tends a blind child who has nothing to do with them. It was cold, and it was lonely.”

Ouyang watched the dim sorrow on her face and felt it flutter like a moth. It was only a dream—why did it cut so deep? Dreams blur when you wake; how could they leave such bones?

Youyun lifted her head and looked at the sky, a bowl of blue she once couldn’t see. “I yearned for blue sky and drifting clouds. I yearned for grass and trees. I yearned for a world painted in many colors.

One day, something strange found me. With it, I could finally see the world.”

“But the world stayed the same—lonely, empty, quiet. The unloved stayed unloved. Family, friendship, love… all of it buried under stone.

Then, one day, I met you. You risked yourself to protect someone of another race. I thought—someone like you wouldn’t despise even those unlike you. We could be friends.

You told me people were so cold because of the Light Church. They opposed heterosexual love and sent all who loved that way to the stake. We made a promise—if I destroyed the Light Church, you would date me. But the dream was short. I think I lost in it. I didn’t get to see you at the end. I didn’t keep the promise.”

Ouyang froze, a statue under sudden snow. A promise? Dating? He had always been the class mule, bullied by girls and boys alike, carrying chores like buckets. How could a salted fish like him ever be someone’s romance?

He shook his head. The person she meant had to be Ouyang the Demon King. She had the wrong man. And it was only a dream—how could you treat smoke as a stone? Most of all, when faced with a girl this cute, could he bear to wear the Demon King’s mask and lie?

No. Even though, as a kid, the orphanage bully dragged him off to talk “philosophy.” Even though the boys in class forced him to do their homework. Even though the girls tossed every daily chore onto his back.

Monday: Ouyang swept, Ouyang mopped, Ouyang took out trash. Tuesday: Ouyang swept, Ouyang mopped, Ouyang took out trash. Wednesday. Thursday. The week turned like a millstone.

Life had been unfair in a dozen little cuts, but under the dean-grandpa’s teaching, Ouyang never grew a thorn for revenge. He wouldn’t deceive this lethal-cute girl with a borrowed name.

Youyun stepped close; her forehead brushed the tip of his nose like a cool peach. “Ouyang, even though I didn’t finish the promise to destroy the Light Church… will you date me?” She was still a child; saying it took courage drawn like water from deep earth. As the words left, her face bloomed red like a ripe apple.

“Ah!? N—no. I can’t say yes.” His refusal burst out like a cracked drum, courage trembling behind it. He was bullied, yes, but he wouldn’t become a bully. He wouldn’t be scum. What isn’t his will never be his; a counterfeit is only a counterfeit. He hadn’t sunk that low.

He knew if he agreed, time might weave feelings between them. One day, when she learned he wasn’t Ouyang the Demon King, she might forgive him and they would drift together by accident, one of those stories people love to clap for. He wouldn’t accept that. He refused that kind of fate’s shrug.

Youyun’s face tightened. She bit her lower lip; her ice-blue eyes began to breathe cold like a winter cave.

“In that case, you don’t need to exist. You aren’t him. I won’t allow a second face and name to live in this world. He is the only one.”

She drew the small knife from her waist, a sliver of moonlight in her hand.

Wait—were children in this world all like this? One wrong word and it’s blood? Ouyang’s guts went milk-white. This world was bristling with thorns. “Little sister, I can’t do anything about my face. Parents give it; I can’t choose it. If it’s my name you hate, I’ll change it. I won’t be Ouyang—I’ll be Yang Ou.”

He had no spark for resistance, even though she looked like “just a child.”

Panic first, then the steps—he kept backing up, and her knife kept gliding forward like a pearly fish. History really does rhyme. This time there was no White Cat to serve as a shield. In the end, Ouyang ran out of road.

He gave up, shut his eyes, and covered his face like a turtle withdrawing into its shell.

“Little sister… when you do it… make it quick. We have no grudge. Don’t torture me.”

Smack. Something cracked against his skull like a wooden mallet. He waited, counting heartbeats. No blood trickled. He opened his eyes. Youyun had hit him with the knife’s pommel.

“Come back with me.”

Her voice was winter stone. It allowed no answer but yes.