In that rushed call, Mu Xiaowei didn’t tell Yexiaobai the truth, her words tucked like a pebble under her tongue.

"Mu Xiaowei... are you okay?" His voice came thin, like wind slipping through bamboo.

"Nothing happened! That good enough?" Her reply snapped like a brittle twig.

She hung up carrying a sulky heat, her finger cutting the call like a knife severing a red thread.

In truth, fear already sat cold in her chest, a small stone in winter water.

She walked alone through broken walls and dead beams, ruins crouched like old bones under a moon of tarnished silver.

Wind slid sand and grit under her shoes, the rasp like teeth on glass in the throat of night.

No streetlights, only her phone’s thin beam, a paper lantern cutting a narrow path through ink-black air.

Beyond that trembling circle, darkness pooled like a deep lake, while the cloud-veiled moon poured a dim river of light.

On that stranger’s path home, her only companion was the ragged crescent above, a pale boat drifting a silent sky.

If that had been all, it would’ve been a scare without wounds, a shadow that never touched skin.

But it wasn’t. The sky held its breath, and so did she.

She slipped out of the dark into a brighter avenue, relief rising like warm steam—then a harsh panting tore the air behind her.

That breath came close, like an injured beast dragging chains, as if jaws opened one step from her back.

She whipped around, panic a spark in dry grass, and locked eyes with a pair of burning crimson pupils.

Her scream climbed her throat like a startled bird, but in the next blink, the red light snuffed out like a wick.

It felt like a trick of shadow, a mirage thrown by a cruel moon.

She drifted home in a fog, thoughts shuffling like sleepwalkers, and didn’t even answer her parents’ worried voices.

She shut herself in her room, the door a thin shield, her smile painted on like powder to calm their storm.

She told herself there was no proof, only fear weaving pictures, and maybe something had trailed her—a stray dog ghosting the curb.

She chose not to stoke her parents’ worry, their days already labor-heavy, shoulders bowed like saplings in constant wind.

The college entrance exams pressed near, a drumbeat in the house, and she wouldn’t add more weight to their load.

As for Yexiaobai—childhood friends tied like two kites on one string—she would’ve told him, on any other night.

But she remembered gasping up to the fifth floor, lungs burning like paper, and seeing Yexiaobai sneaking peeks at Class One’s doorway.

The image needled her like grit in a shoe, sour and hot, sitting right under the heart.

"What the heck!" Her voice cracked like thunder over a puddle.

"That girl from Class One, again!" Jealous heat pricked like nettles under her skin.

"So many times! And you won’t even tell me who—are we even childhood friends anymore?" The words pounded like fists on a drum.

"Ugh! He makes me so mad! Boiling mad!" Her temper flared like oil in a pan.

She yanked the big tiger plush into her arms, imagining Yexiaobai’s stupid face sewn where its nose should be.

She let out a soft mew and flipped over, straddling the tiger, pressing its stuffed head into her chest like a captured prize.

Her soft, generous chest molded around the poor tiger’s face, squeezing until the plush looked moon-flattened on a tide.

Then a thought struck, freezing her like a deer under sudden light, and she stopped moving.

"What am I doing." The words fell quiet, like petals dropping on a windowsill.

She melted onto the plush, short hair veiling half her rosy cheek, a blush blooming like peach in moonlight.

She whispered, breath warm as tea, "Isn’t this a reward instead? Dumb Yexiaobai."

The next day dawned, and Qinghai City burned hotter, the air a brazen kiln ignoring the citizens’ endless complaints.

Yexiaobai was just another citizen, but also a student, and the morning heat hammered him like sunlight on metal.

Worse, he had to stand at the crossroad and wait, sweat tracking like little rivers down his neck.

Early traffic stayed light, less exhaust thickening the air, but the heat still pressed like a heavy hand on the forehead.

West of the intersection, buildings rose and bunched like cliffs; walk a kilometer, and you reached Mu Xiaowei’s neighborhood.

To the south stood Qingya High School, a top-ranked key school in the city and the province, gates proud as bronze.

Mu Xiaowei passed this crossroad every morning, her route like a habit carved in wood.

"She’s late today." He checked his phone, brows creasing like folded paper. "It’s almost the morning study period."

"Did she avoid me, taking the old route instead? Hey, don’t do me that kind of damage." His joke hung dry as straw.

"What kind of damage?" The voice came level, a still pond with a hint of sleep in its ripples.

He knew the voice on sound alone; Yexiaobai turned and found Zhaomingming, her dark circles like smudged ink under pale skin.

Did she stay up all night? The thought drifted like smoke.

"No." Zhaomingming shook her head, motion neat as a metronome.

"Huh? Did I say that out loud?" His surprise popped like a soap bubble.

"Your face wrote it." Her answer slid like chalk across a board.

"Alright." Yexiaobai rubbed his cheeks, fingers mapping heat like cartographers.

"So what kind of damage?" Zhaomingming pulled the thread back, voice cool as shade.

"Uh, nothing. Zhaomingming, since when are you this nosy?" His puzzlement fluttered like a moth against glass.

She tilted her head, today’s slanted ponytail adding a dash of play, a ribbon dancing on a sleepy mask.

"Temporary attribute added. Not allowed?" Her dry humor clicked like beads.

"Sure, sure." Her earnest gaze pinned him like a butterfly, and Yexiaobai half-laughed, half-surrendered.

"Yes. I want to know." Her words were simple, steady, as rain on stone.

Wow, am I wearing my secrets on my face? The thought skittered like a crab.

"Relax. Only I can read them." She paused, then pressed, "So?" The syllable sat like a pebble in his shoe.

Under that steady ask, silence felt heavier; he sighed like wind through reeds.

"It’s nothing, really. Last night I fought with Mu Xiaowei—well, not a real fight. I just annoyed her."

"Last night?" She tasted the words, slow as chewing mint, the time markers bright as pins.

"And I called to apologize, but I probably made it worse." His smile bent like a bent nail.

"So you’re waiting here to apologize face to face?" Zhaomingming studied him, gaze a thin beam.

Under that look, something felt off, like a note out of tune. "Is there a problem?"

"No. Why not wait and talk at school?" She asked again, footsteps aimed toward the road like arrows.

"Instinct?" He frowned, the crease deepening like a small canyon. "School’s noise and gossip would only stir the mud."

Her tired eyes opened a little, focusing on him, pressure like a hand on the back.

"Strange Yexiaobai." Her verdict fell light, but rang like a bell.

"Huh? How am I strange?" He stumbled after, feet tapping like quick rain.

"In every way." Zhaomingming turned toward the school road, her words trailing like smoke. "You don’t feel it? You seem..."

"Seem what?" He hurried to catch up, but her last murmur dissolved into the morning heat, thin as mist.