Ye Weibai was going to die—like a white candle sputtering in dawn wind.

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At seven thirty in the morning, a mellow song drifted like mist, and Ye Weibai surfaced from sleep.

He opened his eyes slowly; sunlight poured through the curtain like pale water and laid warm against his face. His lashes shivered, as if reeds reluctant to let the day begin.

He finally opened them fully. He rose, cut off the phone alarm with a clean tap, and shed his pajamas. He pulled on a fresh white T-shirt and light gray pants, clean as new paper brushed with ash.

Ye Weibai liked white. Pure white isn’t easy to wear, like snow that shows every footprint. But on his not-handsome yet fine-boned face, it fit like frost on bamboo.

He stood before the mirror. Short, tousled hair. A delicate face. One meter seventy-eight of quiet, dressed in white. A bookish stillness rose off him, like pages turned in winter light.

Aside from that slim, youthful face and tranquil air, he looked like any college student—just another pebble on a campus path.

—Except for the black fireball burning behind him like a moon of soot.

The fireball was quiet, its black sparks boiling without a sound, floating at his back like a star that refused to set.

It was shocking. But sadly, no one except Ye Weibai could see it. And so, no one but him could feel the sickening darkness it held, a tar-black tide that smelled of deep seawater and iron.

It felt like staring into the deepest abyss. You hadn’t fallen yet, but darkness and fear poured over you like night rain.

It carried the scent named death.

Yet Ye Weibai, gazing at his reflection, behaved as if he didn’t see the flame at all. He smoothed sleep-ruffled hair like a gardener pressing down a stray leaf, opened the door, and walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face.

Through it all, the black flame floated at his back, keeping exact distance as if measured by a ruler—cold precision in warm air.

He treated it as nothing, the way a fisherman ignores clouds. He finished washing and headed for the kitchen to make breakfast for himself and Ye Fei.

He cracked the second egg and let the yolk slide into the bowl like a small sun. As he whisked, the black fire behind him finally spoke.

It wasn’t some coarse, cold Demon King tone, nor a queen’s icy hauteur. It was a little girl’s plain, tender voice, like a bell in a narrow alley.

“What are you doing?”

Ye Weibai’s hands didn’t stop. “Beating eggs,” he answered softly, like a stream that keeps its course.

“You don’t believe me?” Her surprise pricked like a thorn. She paused, then said, “You will die today.”

Ye Weibai poured the beaten egg into the hot pan. Oil kissed egg with a bright sizzle, and he worked the spatula with an easy rhythm. “I believe it,” he said. “It was only yesterday—strictly speaking, eight hours ago—but your uncanny—mm, magic—left me no choice.”

Anyone shifted in an instant into the vacuum of space, watching the entire moon shatter to dust and then knit itself back together like a broken bowl, wouldn’t doubt that the black flame could take his life.

Egg met oil with a hungry sizzle; gold bloomed, and fragrance rose like steam from a river. Ye Weibai chopped the omelet into fluffy pieces, then dumped in leftover rice, white grains falling like small stones.

Early morning, and he was making egg fried rice.

“Strange person,” the girl said, like a sparrow cocking its head.

Ye Weibai smiled. “Can’t help it. That one likes greasy stuff in the morning,” he said, warmth threading his voice like smoke. “Morning shouldn’t be this heavy, so I keep it lighter.”

Her voice rose, sharp as frost. “I meant you! Do you get that you’re going to die, to vanish from this World like a leaf in flame?”

Ye Weibai stirred the rice, letting grains and egg flowers spread evenly like seeds in tilled soil. “Mm. I get it. It’s a bad thing—then no one will nag her to ease up on spicy, oily foods,” he said, “or remind her not to burn herself out.”

“Be honest. Do you think I’m your fantasy?”

“No. I’m confident I wouldn’t cook up that kind of teenage power-trip,” he said, like someone waving off summer thunder.

“You’re not the first,” she went on, voice drifting like smoke. “Some thought I was their hallucination—until they learned what ‘real’ is.” Her tone fell, glass-cold. “More just slid into hysterical madness.”

“I understand,” Ye Weibai said. “Worse than dying is waiting to die.” He spoke like a winter monk who’s watched snow for years. “Reading the clock while dread swells like black tide—ethics and rules crack. The gentler they are, the wilder they break.”

She was silent for a time. Then her voice cooled, thin as a blade. “You’re really calm—like an outsider watching a storm. Heh. Plenty fake that calm, thinking a calm performance will please me, so I’ll—”

“No share for you.”

“Wh—?”

“Egg fried rice,” Ye Weibai said. “Not enough leftovers. Only two bowls. None for you.”

“Are you kidding?!” The flame popped. The girl’s voice shot up like a spark catching dry grass. “I won’t eat!”

“Really?”

“I won’t eat! I don’t need to eat—human food!”

“Pity,” he said. He filled one pink bowl and one blue, steam rising like banners, and carried them to the living room.

“I was hoping to win you over with food,” Ye Weibai chuckled, like a breeze through bamboo. “If I could not die, I’d rather keep living.”

“Human, I think your brain’s cracked,” she said, a chill threading her words like winter in a well. “There are things more terrifying than death, and than waiting for death.”

Ye Weibai smiled slightly and didn’t answer. He set the bowls down, took a seat, and turned on the TV.

Whoosh!

On the screen, a silver ship slid through a boundless river of stars. Engines roared like caged tigers, blue flames trailed through the black as bright as meteors. Star-sand spun behind like a glittering wake, a kaleidoscope that dazed the eyes.

Ye Weibai stared, stunned by the spectacle. After a moment, he laughed, light as rain. “So fake. There’s no sound in the vacuum of space,” he said. “I keep telling that one to stop with the unscientific sci-fi. So she snuck a movie again last night? I watched her go to bed. How many times is this? Warnings won’t be enough later.”

The air turned cold, like the first breath before snow.

The little girl’s voice cut in, carrying a strange note, like wind under a door.

“Who?”

“Uh, that one—my sister,” Ye Weibai said. He pointed at a double photo on the TV stand. In it, high-school-aged Ye Weibai stood beside a girl his age in a white shirt and denim shorts. Her black hair skimmed her shoulders, skin bright, features lively. Not ladylike at all—she had her arm thrown over Ye Weibai’s shoulder, grinning at his helpless face, a flower-bright smile.

“Ye Fei—though I usually call her ‘that one.’ You can tell from the photo she’s a tomboy, the opposite of me,” he said. “Wild enough to give me headaches.” He said headaches, but a smile tugged his mouth like a sun under cloud; the bond between siblings shone clear.

“She agreed to be good last night, then did it again. Waited till I slept and snuck out.”

Ye Weibai kept talking to himself. The black flame drifted, watching him, and thought it understood. So that’s why you don’t fear death. No—more than not fearing, you long for it, like someone longing for quiet water. If you died inside your own sweet illusion, maybe that would be the kindest gift.

But, human, we can’t let you die happy.

If the black flame had a face, it would be grinning wide with malice, a smile like a cut in velvet.

“No one—there should be no one,” she said.

“I’m at least half a death god. I see clearly: the girl in that photo is already dead.”

Her voice turned razor-sharp, carving off Ye Weibai’s musing. There was naked malice in her tone, cruelty like ice on skin. “In this room, there’s no one but you. Who have you been chatting with, eating with, watching TV with every day?”

What sister? She’s your fantasy. If she ever existed—she’s long dead.

She wanted to shatter his armor, strip off that calm that covered raw bone, and leave the bleeding wound to the air. Only in that hopeless state do humans earn the right to die.

The black flame splattered, little tongues flinging like sparks in dry grass.

Ye Weibai didn’t seem to notice the malice at all. He nodded. “Mm. She should be back around now.”

“Don’t—” the girl began.

The doorbell rang, bright as a struck chime, and cut her words.

“Big bro, I’m back,” a young voice called through the door, fresh as spring.

The little girl snapped her mouth shut.

Ye Weibai didn’t care. He stood, opened the door, and flicked the forehead of the girl outside like tapping a melon.

“What the heck, big bro!” Ye Fei covered her forehead and looked up, face full of annoyance like a puffed cat. She wore a white short top and black athletic shorts; sweat varnished her pale skin, soaking her shirt to the edge. Her black hair stuck damp to her cheeks, and her face held the glow of a morning run.

Ye Fei’s bright eyes glared at Ye Weibai. “You meet a cute, lively sister first thing and that’s how a sis-con says hi?” She stood so close she could have seen the flame, yet didn’t—her gaze slid past the black fire floating at his back.

“Sorry, I don’t have the sis-con tag,” Ye Weibai said. He took the water bottle she handed over and grimaced at her sweat. “You’re drenched. Who’d want to con after you? Shower. Then eat.”

Ye Fei leaned from the entry like a puppy, sniffed, and caught the fragrance. Her eyes lit up like stars. “Egg fried rice? Egg fried rice?”

“Yep. Your favorite.”

“Great! And you say you’re not a sis-con. Want a little fan service, big bro?” She stepped into the living room, then turned, a sly smile climbing like ivy. She caught the hem of her shirt and lifted. A slim, healthy waist flashed, skin like milk, a small belly button, the edge of a sports bra nearly in view. She bit her lip in a fake, playful lure, youth spilling like summer perfume.

Ye Weibai passed her with a blank face, then rapped her forehead again with a knuckle. “Shower.”

“Ow! Big bro, you really don’t know how to enjoy life. This is premium sister content!”

“Uh-huh. I don’t want to hear such embarrassing lines from my own sister,” he sighed, pointing at the bowls. “Five minutes. Or I’m taking yours.”

“Ahhh. Five minutes is too short!” Ye Fei cried, then dashed into the bathroom. Water rose like rain behind the door, and warm orange light slipped into the hall.

“Big bro, my clothes!”

“You little menace,” Ye Weibai laughed, shook his head, and headed for Ye Fei’s bedroom.

After a long silence, the little girl spoke again, voice like a cold thread through cloth. “Human, you’re cruel.”

“That girl isn’t your sister.”

“That girl likes you, doesn’t she? Yet you wrapped her in someone else’s skin. And it’s been like this for a long, long while. Wear a mask that long, and the heart twists until it isn’t hers. Human, if I split your heart like fruit on a block, it’d be night-black, inside and out.”

Every word stabbed for the heart. Ye Weibai kept a faint smile, thin as frost. He acted as if he hadn’t heard the little girl at all, and opened Ye Fei’s bedroom door.

Contrary to his expectations, for all her wild streak, the room matched a girl’s quiet taste. Pink curtains like dawn clouds. Cuddly plush lined up like a parade. But for a sporty girl, the bed was too neat. The quilt lay smooth as a lake. Pillow and teddy bear sat side by side, aligned like museum props. It looked like no one had ever slept there.

“Not much dust either. You really worked at this. You clean every day to perfect the stage, to fake a lived-in scene. Human, you’re delicate, I’ll give you that.” Her praise was winter-cold, sarcasm honed like a knife aimed at Ye Weibai.

This was exactly the outcome she wanted. She meant to slice through his defenses with cold words, to leave his masks in ribbons. Yet it bored her. So far, Ye Weibai didn’t stir at all.

Ye Weibai opened the girl’s wardrobe with practiced hands. He slid out the bottom drawer and took a white set of underwear. He grabbed a black-and-white school uniform. At the bathroom door, he knocked. The door cracked. Steam rushed out like a scented cloud. From the damp fog, a lotus-pale arm reached and took the clothes.

“Wanna wash together, bro?”

Ye Weibai didn’t take the bait. His tone was flat. “You’ve got thirty seconds.”

“Wha— so fast?!”

The bathroom door slammed. A clatter followed, the sound of frantic scrambling.

“Hey, human, is this your daily script? Your self-written, self-directed microfilm?”

“Heh. So you refuse to talk?”

“Human, you’re fragile, aren’t you?”

“How did your sister die? An accident? Maybe she died because of you? At first, the whole World must’ve caved in. Then a ray of light appeared—this girl, right?”

“When did she start playing your sister? You must’ve felt saved, yeah? Your sister resurrected.”

“But in exchange, you shoved this girl off a cliff. She had to ‘die’ forever.”

“Her whole life—she’ll never shed the name ‘Ye Fei.’”

“Her—original name, do you even remember it?”

The little girl kept talking, trying to draw blood. No matter how blunt and cruel the words, Ye Weibai didn’t twitch. He sat on the sofa and watched the TV. On screen, the hero’s spaceship took a hit, then fell like a meteor and landed on an unknown planet.

Ye Weibai sighed. “Xiaohei.”

“X—Xiaohei?!”

Her voice leaped, high and sharp. It made Ye Weibai feel a little embarrassed. She sounded exactly like a cat whose tail he’d just stepped on.

“Don’t like it?”

“Of course I don’t!” The words burst out. Then she seemed to realize herself, shame and fury mixing. “What right do you—”

“Forget that. Xiaohei, could you warm up the egg fried rice? It’s got insulation, but it’s gone a bit cold.”

Huh? Warm it up? Egg fried rice?

Her voice went suddenly calm, the calm of a winter lake that hides black ice. “You. Are. Try-ing. To. Die? The twelve hours you have left—you don’t want them?”

Ye Weibai’s smile vanished. His tone went light. “Oh, so there are twelve hours. It’s eight ten now. Twelve hours later, eight ten at night. Looks like I can do a lot.”

She shut up at once.

He’d played her.

This man kept trying to rile me up. I thought he wanted me to kill him. He only wanted that one piece of information.

“Then I’ll be precise. Eight thirteen at night. But what’s the use? Isn’t it kinder to die not knowing, rather than counting down to it?”

Ye Weibai put on that mild smile again, a smile she hated. His tone hovered, almost teasing. “Maybe.”

The smile was quiet, even shy. Yet there wasn’t a strand of fear in it. Somehow, it made her think of that gray-haired man, his grin wild and unrestrained, the storm before ruin.

“You—you deserve to die.”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m going to.”

“Bro, who are you talking to?”

Right then, the bathroom door opened. Ye Fei came out, towel scrubbing her wet hair.

Ye Weibai looked up at her.

Short-haired, she’d changed into her uniform. The damp workout tee was gone. The loose uniform hid the sleek lines of her figure, yet it threw a bright, springy youthfulness over her.

The next second, that prettiness got smashed by her zero-ladylike move.

She grinned and dropped onto the seat beside him. The single-person sofa was wide enough, so the two of them squeezed in.

Ye Fei lifted her arm and hooked it around Ye Weibai’s left shoulder. She leaned in with a laugh. “Miss me already after a few minutes? So much you had to talk to yourself?”

“Hey, you’re still wet. Off.” A scent rolled over him—shampoo and something clean and sweet that was all her. It was dizzying. Ye Weibai didn’t hesitate. He palmed his own sister’s head and pushed her away.

“Eh? This is a girl fresh from the bath, you know. Did you get it wrong? Or did bumping into my body make your heart go thump?”

Ye Weibai couldn’t help it; he laughed. “I’m afraid your runway-flat figure might jab me.”

Ye Fei yelped and sprang up. Her features were fine, her skin pale. She stood at one sixty-three, not short for a girl. The one thing that gnawed at her was the chest that had stopped growing since grade school. It was her biggest taboo. As expected, the cruelest hits come from the ones closest to you.

Ye Fei ground her teeth and lunged, ready to make her brother feel an airstrip’s wrath firsthand. Ye Weibai slipped aside at once.

“Eat your breakfast. You’ve got remedial class later.”

“Ugh… Don’t bring up remedial. Why me? Vacation and I still have to sit through that.” Mentioning it, her mood collapsed like wet paper. She slid off the sofa and shuffled to the side chair. She lifted the egg fried rice, took a deep breath like a foodie smelling spring rain, eyes lighting up, and started to eat.

“You failed.” Ye Weibai shook his head and set a glass of water beside her, just as she nearly choked from wolfing it down.

Her high school had a rule. Fail an exam, and you went to remedial during break, then took a retest. To parents, it sounded responsible. To students who’d slogged a whole term, it was pure salt in the wound.

Ye Fei took a big gulp and said, “I bet Teacher Xiao Yan’s into you. She dragged me down just to get close to you. That fox of a woman. I’m not handing you over! Hmph, I’ll pass that retake for sure!”

Hey, I love your resolve, but is it okay to talk about your homeroom teacher like that?

Ye Weibai laughed under his breath.

“Hey, bro, where are you going this early? Not writing today?” She saw him head toward the entryway. She knew he wrote novels. A flop of an author, sure, but he’d formed the habit: breakfast, then typing.

“Mm. Not in the mood today. Think I’ll take a walk.” Ye Weibai’s voice was calm. “The World’s so big. If I don’t look now, I might not get another chance.”

A cold little laugh sounded behind him, a sound only Ye Weibai could hear.

“Brr…” Ye Fei shivered. “Why the chicken soup talk at dawn? Safe travels. Enjoy the sights.”

“Mm—” Ye Weibai put on his shoes. His hand closed on the doorknob, then stopped. He faced the cold security door. Shadow cut his face in half, hiding his expression. After a long time, he spoke slowly. “Thanks for today.”

The thank-you came out of nowhere. Ye Fei, however, wasn’t surprised.

“I’ve told you a million times. We’re ‘brother and sister.’ No need to thank me.” She swallowed a mouthful, then stressed the words “brother and sister.”

“Mm. I’m heading out.”

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