Five a.m. Daybreak.

Dusky dawn, where black smudges into white, brushed the city streets like ash on paper.

It was too early. This southern town drifted in half-sleep, gears not yet turning; two or three figures hurried along like lone birds fleeing the cold.

On the road, black sedans slid under the last curtain of night, their taillights dragging ribbons of color across the dim.

To Zhaomingming, the lively town felt frighteningly quiet—less comforting than a crow’s lone cry above her head.

Seventeen, in a clean high school uniform, green backpack snug against her shoulders, she walked the empty shop street. A crow perched on the power line like a black note on a wire. Closed storefronts showed only cold panes of black glass. A few food shops had begun their routine; warm bulbs flicked on, amber pools amid slate.

Passing by, she used a window’s sheen to catch her own reflection.

Her palm touched the chilled glass. The girl behind it looked wrecked, hollowed. If Yexiaobai saw her, he’d doubt his eyes; she was always sleep-heavy and unruffled, as if nothing in this world could shake her—never this raw, never this anxious.

Her ponytail had come undone. Hair fell in disarray. Under her bangs, her pupils trembled, a flinch of nameless dread, a constant urge to run.

“No.”

She clutched the hem of her jacket, whispering in a haze.

“I can’t show up like this.”

She sat down right there.

She opened her bag, pulled out a towel, then rummaged deep. The bag held strange things no senior girl should be lugging around. At last, she fished out a bottle of mineral water.

She took a small sip, relief loosening her face. Then she soaked the towel, and, using the glass as a river’s surface, she washed her cheeks clean.

She tidied, paused, and stared at her loosened hair. A thought struck. She dug again.

Out came a magazine. The cover girl was bright and sleek—a beauty and hair issue.

Zhaomingming smiled and flipped straight to the page of trendy cuts.

Her finger drifted across model after model. Expectation sparked in her eyes like petals catching light.

She stopped.

“This one.”

She said it with a small, sure smile.

…

White residential blocks cast long black shadows, swallowing the trees that lined the sidewalk like waves swallowing shore.

Beneath a canopy of dark green leaves spread like an umbrella, a girl in a black-and-white uniform hugged a green backpack and sat on a red fire hydrant.

Her black hair was tied into a jaunty ponytail. Under a slanted fringe, her half-lidded eyes pooled with drowsiness. Her body told the rest—slender frame inside an oversized jacket, arms looped around the bag, legs tucked close, head nodding like a fishing float in still water.

When Yexiaobai ignored Yexiaokong’s pout, refused her offer to drive him, and headed down alone, this was the scene he saw.

Six-thirty. Night’s ink hadn’t fully thinned. The sun rose wrapped in paler reds, its weak light sliced to shards by towers. The sky held a bruise of dark red. The steel city still tangled with night, a few soft glows sketching a crisp, chill morning.

And in that emptiness, Zhaomingming was somehow there—on the hydrant under the tree across the street—sleeping.

“Morning, Xiaobai.”

She greeted him first. She hadn’t been asleep at all; the moment he stepped out, she lifted her head, raised a hand, and waved like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh—uh, morning.” Her ease was so effortless—as if she’d camped there all night—that he froze for a beat before answering.

Then he blinked back to sense. “Morning my foot—why are you here? You don’t live in this complex, do you?”

“No.”

“Mm…” He walked closer, squinting at her. “So?”

Pale as ever, she looked up at him. “So—not.”

“….” Yexiaobai rubbed his brow. He’d never noticed she had such a literal streak.

She countered, “If I say I waited here on purpose for you, would you believe it?”

“No.” He shook his head.

Her mouth tilted up. “Then pretend I was wandering, passed by, and came in to look.”

“Wandering…” He checked his digital watch. “At dawn? We’ve got class.”

“Right. Class. Let’s go.” She slung on her bag, stood, and strode ahead. No hesitation, like she’d only sat there to wait for him.

“Hey. Wait up.” He jogged after her, watching the swing of her ponytail. “Huh. Zhaomingming, you changed your hair again.”

“Again?”

“Yeah. Yesterday, the day before, and the day before that—you wore different styles.”

“…Mm.”

Her slow reply made him wary—seconds stretched thin. He almost thought he’d stepped on a tripwire. She didn’t turn. He couldn’t see her face. But her pace faltered, and her voice, usually flat as still water, ripple-touched. She tried for casual and asked, soft:

“How… is it?”

“I’m not great with girls’ hairstyles,” Yexiaobai said, smiling, “but if you like it, it’s perfect. And honestly, it looks nice.”

“I see.” Joy slid into her tone. She tilted her head slightly. In his view, her side profile curled into a quiet smile.

“You—”

Her voice and smile cut off.

Like a struck bell, she froze.

He almost bumped into her. He opened his mouth, then saw her turn—stiff, inch by inch. As she revealed one eye beneath her slanted fringe, she seemed to catch something, confirm something. Her face locked. Her expression darkened like a wave swallowing light.

She showed him only that one eye. The bang hid the rest. But one flash from that eye knocked the breath from his chest.

She looked like something vast and black had unfolded in front of her.

What happened?

Yexiaobai glanced back. The target wasn’t him; it was behind him.

He turned.

No apocalypse waited there.

His sister, Yexiaokong, stood a step away.

Long hair draped over her shoulders. She wore fresh house clothes: knee-length shorts, smooth legs bare, slippers soft against the pavement.

“Jie.” He frowned, puzzled.

“Aww, can’t leave without your big sister.” She smiled, all warmth. She held out a string of keys. “Don’t forget these.”

“I thought I had mine.” He took them and laughed. “Zhaomingming, this is my sister.”

He moved to step aside and introduce them. But the girl behind him stopped him cold.

“Mm—?”

She had turned around. Her small body pressed tight to his back. Her forehead braced against him. Her fingers clutched his shirt—and trembled.

Not just her hand. Her whole body shivered, a fine shake like leaves in a late wind.

Yexiaobai stood baffled. Was Zhaomingming… afraid? Of what?

“What a shy little thing,” Yexiaokong sang, answering his confusion.

Her eyes teased, like she’d found a kitten curled in a corner.

“So cute. Scared of strangers, huh?”

She reached out slowly, hand arcing over his shoulder toward the girl’s head.

As her hand neared, Zhaomingming hunched tighter, trying to hide her small frame behind him. Yexiaobai felt her trembling climb notch by notch.

At the last moment, he almost expected her to scream and bolt.

“All right, Jie.” He caught his sister’s wrist gently. “Don’t bully her.”

“Seriously.” Yexiaokong pouted. “So girls are more fun than your sister now?”

“What are you talking about.” He could only laugh. “We need to go, or we’ll be late.”

He turned, half guiding, half holding the girl locked stiff as a board, and steered her forward.

“Be safe,” Yexiaokong called. Arms folded, she watched them with a crescent smile.

At the corner, he glanced back. She was still there, looking their way, lips moving. He couldn’t hear.

Once they turned fully, the girl’s shivering eased. He looked down. Her face unclenched; the fear wasn’t so stark.

He finally noticed how she felt in his arms—light as a feather, like she might float off if he let go.

And colder than she should be.

Summer or not, her body shouldn’t be this cold. Even through fabric, the chill seeped into his skin.

It felt like holding a block of ice.

Then he understood why she wore that jacket all year. With a body like this, no wonder.

His arms tightened, almost on their own.

“Xiaobai.”

“Mm?”

“Are you taking advantage of me?”

He froze. Before he could sputter a defense, she pressed lightly and slipped free.

“Nothing happened.” She lifted her chin and declared it.

“Huh?”

“No—thing—hap—pened.” She stared at him, drowsy eyes insistent, beating each word like a drum. Then she just looked, silent.

He nodded, lost, and her gaze finally let go.

“Let’s go. We’ll be late.” She turned first; her sleeves and hair lifted like light wind on water, and she moved on.

They walked in silence. He felt sheepish about his clumsy hold. She twined a finger in her hair, eyes wandering, mind far away.

They reached school. They greeted Mu Xiaowei, already at her desk, then sat and slipped into morning reading.

Yexiaobai still hadn’t asked his two questions.

Zhaomingming, why were you downstairs at my place?

And—

Zhaomingming, did you know Yexiaokong before?

No answers came. Yet as he stole glances at the girl who’d been his desk mate for three years, he felt something had shifted after that odd dawn—just a little closer, just a thin thread tugged tighter.

It always felt distant to Yexiaobai—a clear, breathless wall between them, like still winter glass.

Three years as desk mates with Zhaomingming; their school days ran side by side like two streams. No spats, no raised voices.

He sensed she kept that wall not just from him, but from everyone—an invisible sheet of air you couldn’t push through.

He knew nothing of her—where she lived, what she favored, who waited at her home; her map was blank like fog over a river.

Today, when Zhaomingming pressed against his back, cold and trembling, the chill bit through his shirt like night river water.

At that touch, Yexiaobai felt his fingertips pierce that airy membrane, as if poking through rice paper to the lit room within.

And yet, he still knew nothing of her; the moon stayed veiled behind cloud.