“What a mess,” he said, like rain streaking a window.

Ye Weibai sagged in his seat like a wilted reed and lifted his head, his eyes skimming the man across from him like a stone over water.

Tall frame, chiseled lines, a gaze deep as a night lake—the textbook handsome type, bright as a blade in sunlight.

But Ye Weibai knew the shine was cosplay paint, a con-goer’s glitter, the kind that shouts for favorite characters like a drum in a crowd.

The Snow Miku on his T-shirt flashed like frost on glass, a banner in winter light.

He was also the manager of Cat House Café, Ye Weibai’s old boss—Li Yilan, a name like ink on ice.

Old boss or not, Ye Weibai was too drained to be polite, his voice flat as a dried leaf: “The con?”

“Canceled,” he said, like a door slamming shut.

“Canceled?” The word hung like fog under a streetlamp.

“Yeah. The promised Miku hologram was fake, a thumbnail moon, glitching like torn clouds, with sound like gravel, so I led the revolt and they axed it.”

“Try that again—with commas,” Ye said, a weary smile like ash on coal.

“We got scammed by the ‘Miku concert’ gimmick, so I trashed the stage,” he said, like a hammer through glass.

“Oh. Very badass,” Ye said, a chuckle like dust in sunbeams.

Li Yilan leaned forward, a hawk over prey, eyes pinning Ye like needles through silk: “And you—did you need a stunt this extreme?”

“You messed up on purpose, cracked the perfect mask you wore in that little girl’s eyes—someone as meticulous as you wouldn’t ‘accidentally’ pick at a wound.”

Li Yilan knew Ye’s sharpness like a blade knows a whetstone, and he believed there were gentler roads, slow as moss, that still led out.

Even he could tell that for that girl, time was the softest salve, like warm rain on a scab.

Ye Weibai let out a breath like steam and sat upright like bamboo after wind: “If you were here all morning, don’t skulk in the corner like a cat behind curtains.”

“Your dodging’s getting sloppy,” Li said, gaze tight as a drawn bow. “What are you rushing toward like a man chased by thunder?”

Ye’s eyes slid sideways, a fish flicking under ripples.

At the counter, Li Mengguo pretended to tally numbers, her ears pricked like a fox in thicket, stealing glances with a chill like frost.

Ye’s look brushed her like a breeze, and she met it, cool as still water, no blush, no fluster, only hard light.

“Zero cuteness,” Ye said with a dry laugh like kindling, then lowered his voice to a whisper soft as mist. “But she’s my adorable junior.”

“I think so too,” Li said, a nod like a pebble dropping in a pond.

“Don’t harass my adorable junior,” Ye said, tone mild as tea.

“Ha? That’s my line—don’t harass my staff,” Li shot back, their bickering easy as a path worn by feet.

“Mm,” Ye hummed, like wind through reeds.

“Even if you say—what?!” The answer wrong-footed Li, his face darkening like a stormbank.

“I’m leaving this city,” Ye said, light as a feather drifting, words bright as a careless grin.

Li Mengguo looked over, puzzled as a sparrow, hearing only the warm tone and seeing only the smile, like sunlight on a wall.

“Relax,” he mouthed, a palm facing down like calming waves.

“You—” Li’s anger cooled like iron in water as he thought of the girl behind him, his voice dropping to ice. “Asking you won’t help.”

“Mm,” Ye said, pausing like a skipped heartbeat. “So. Watch over Guozi for me.”

“She doesn’t like me,” Li said through clenched teeth, the words gritty as sand.

Ye smiled, thoughtful as a moon behind clouds: “And in the end, she won’t like me either.”

“What?!”

“I’m leaving tonight,” Ye said, a clean cut like a blade. “No contact left behind, just footprints in dust.”

“For long?” The question wavered like heat haze.

“Mm… how long? If nothing goes wrong, probably forever,” he said, the word dropping like a stone into a well.

“Bullshit!” Li swore, rare thunder in clear sky, his glare burning like a coal. “Did you kill someone?”

“What horror story are you narrating with that straight face?” Ye said, a smile like a paper fan.

“With how nosy you are, it tracks,” Li said, stare vicious as a dog’s snarl, worry bleeding through like ink in rain.

Warmth rose in Ye’s chest like a lantern in wind; he smiled it away like a secret. “Wrong guess. I didn’t kill anyone.”

If anything, Ye Weibai was the one marked to die—cut down by a Deity, a verdict cold as starlight.

“All right. You know enough. Don’t tell anyone,” Ye said and stood, a shadow peeling off a wall.

“Where’re you going?” The question snagged like a hook.

“To see my girlfriend,” he said, light as a skip over puddles.

Li almost called him back, lips parting like a door, then shut them, empty as a cooled kiln.

He had no reason to chain Ye to this café like a boat to a rotting pier.

For all his sharp tongue and rumor-swarm, Ye had a girlfriend, a steady flame behind the fluttering paper.

He wasn’t some lonely stray; he had a sunlit calendar, not just late-night screens.

No one had seen her, but her name drifted through his daily talk like a secret scent.

“Guozi, I’m off,” he said, voice soft as evening.

“Not seeing you out,” Li Mengguo said, head down like a shuttered window, tone cool as morning dew. Silence pooled like a puddle, and no bell chimed.

She began to look up—then warmth pressed her crown, a hand kneading like a lazy cat.

Ye ruffled her hair without mercy, fingers combing like wind through wheat, a bit too hard, her head bobbing like a buoy.

She didn’t look up. Her bangs fell like a curtain, hiding her eyes, her voice still cold as a blade. “If my bangs get wrecked, I’ll put volcanic rock and rare reptiles in your lemon tea.”

“Sure,” Ye said, warm as water over stones.

No snappy comeback came, and surprise pricked her like a needle. She tried to raise her head, but his palm held her down, a steady weight like a book.

A thin unease slid through her chest like a chill draft, but her voice stayed cool as porcelain. “Rough day, senpai? If you can’t even snark, you’ve got no reason to live.”

Ye heard the care inside the thorns, sweet as fruit behind leaves. He’d heard it before, yet it still felt charming, awkward turned frank, spring frost melting.

He couldn’t help smiling like sunlight on ice. “Take care of your hair. I like this texture,” he said, words soft as silk.

He let go, reluctant as a hand leaving a warm cup, and left her hair a wrecked cloud.

By the time Li Mengguo looked up, all she caught was his back, a silhouette walking out like a brushstroke.

“Senpai, where are you going?” Her words chased like a sparrow.

“To my girlfriend,” he called, easy as a wave.

…Well, that killed it, she thought, a balloon gone slack.

She swallowed the invitation on her tongue like a pill and watched his back fade like smoke.

Her fingers tightened around the amusement park tickets in her pocket, paper crisp as dry leaves.

They’re good for a week, she told herself, time like a calm river.

There’s still time, she thought, hope like a small flame.

Next time, she decided, a vow like a knot.

…

…

“Hey. That white napkin—why did you tear it?” The small girl’s voice slipped into Ye’s mind like a shadow at noon.

She meant the napkin he tore, slow as falling snow, in front of Xue Yutong as he sent her off from the café.

He didn’t hand it over or keep it whole; he shredded it, white flakes like a quiet snowfall.

Yutong saw it and wavered, a boat hit by crosswind, then like a struck match she raised her head, teeth tight as a trap.

“Don’t get so full of yourself!” she snapped, the fiercest look she’d ever given him, a lightning slash.

Ye didn’t answer straight, his voice drifting like smoke. “Would it help if I told you you won’t have to die?”

“…” Her silence was a black lake.

“Hey, don’t go quiet. That makes me misread,” he said, a laugh like a hollow gourd.

“…Sorry,” she said, the word small as a seed.

“Hey hey, Little Black. Did your character sheet get patched while you went mute?” Ye teased, a grin like a fox’s curl.

“You were the queen of reapers who dines on the despair of the dying,” he said, a line like frost etched on steel.

“At this rate, you don’t tempt me to tease at all—like a drum with no skin,” he added, light as a tossed pebble.

“Do you want pain worse than death?” the girl bit back, a hiss like steam, then her voice softened, a dusk wind.

“I only enjoy hurting the dying,” she said, frank as flint. “Their last despair and thrashing are my sweets—like sugar burnt to bitter.”

“But when the living get hurt—” her tone turned sharp as glass, “I hate it, down to the bone.”

“I think that’s crueler,” Ye said, a shrug like drifting ash. “If I’m doomed, can’t I die quietly like a candle?”

“Can’t help it. That’s my ‘setting’,” she said, a cloud’s shadow crossing a field.

…

Right then.

If he asked what that ‘setting’ was, a door would open, a hinge groaning like thunder.

He felt it—knowledge big as a mountain, a plotline veering like a river changing beds.

But he also felt that if he asked and stepped in, something would shift, irreversible as winter.

A cold struck him, sudden as a knife, worse than Little Black’s malice, a night wind through bone.

Black thorns blossomed in his heart, a crown of briars; dirty silt filled his lungs, heavy as swamp; acid breath gnawed his limbs like ants.

It would be worse than his own death, a terror old as caves, his gut said, drum-deep.

Maybe it was a gag order for the World, a taboo like a cliff edge—just hearing it would crush everything like a hammer.

Ye, ever self-centered, thought so with the arrogance of a man talking to the Void.

So he stepped around it like a stone in the path.

“Don’t sweat it too much,” he said, his tone a soft tide. “Yutong understood me.”

“She already knew that story like a scar she’d traced, and when I took out the token and tore it—my meaning was clear as a broken mirror.”

“I’m leaving. I won’t be her tether,” he said, calm as a lake. “Or read it as: sorry, I won’t be your husband.”

“So roundabout,” she said, dry as chalk. “Why not say it straight?”

“Don’t underestimate how tangled humans are,” Ye said, a smile like a crescent moon.

“If you think words cure all, or that saying it makes it understood, you’re wrong—like mist trying to lift a stone,” he said, voice even as rain.

“People trust the truth they uncover themselves,” he added, a lantern lighting slowly. “A wife saying ‘I love you’ means less than the husband reading disgust on her face.”

“Do you need such a pitch-black example?” she asked, a frown like a crease.

“For the record, he chopped her to death, then found it was a misunderstanding,” Ye said, bleak as winter branches.

“…You,” she said, her voice a flat blade.

“Feel a bit better?” Ye said, airy as a cloud. “Someone this dark—if I die, it’s no great loss,” he joked, a shadow smile.

“I wasn’t pitying you,” she said, no ripple on the pond.

“Classic tsundere,” he said, a laugh like windbells. “Keep shifting like this and readers won’t remember you—you’ll die mid-season,” he teased, a paper dart.

“Believe it or not, I can move your hour forward,” she said, cold as a clock.

“I believe you,” he said quickly, hands up like white flags. “Please push it back an hour—better, a hundred years,” he pleaded, light as rain.

“Begging already, Little White?” she said, the nickname dropping like a petal.

Little White, huh?

Ye’s lips lifted, a tide touching shore.

She noticed at once, breath catching like a bird. “What are you smiling at?” she snapped, heat like a blush.

“Nothing,” he said, veering like a fish. “Just that I call you Little Black and you call me Little White; we match like ink and paper—let’s get married,” he didn’t dare say, the thought a spark.

He changed course. “No. We’re here,” he said instead, voice steady as a step.

He stopped at a crosswalk, red light holding him like a hand, and looked across at the cluster of buildings like stacked blocks.

“That’s… an elementary school, right?” the girl said, her tone odd, a note out of tune.

From the gate came the laughter of boys and girls, bright as bells, sweet as peeled oranges.

It was, unmistakably, a primary school, letters clean as chalk: Tian’nan Elementary.

“To avoid confusion, I’ll ask first—your girlfriend’s a teacher?” she said, suspicion coiling like smoke.

“Of course not,” Ye said, grin clear as blue sky.

So your girlfriend’s a little schoolgirl?! Her silence was loud as thunder holding its breath.

…