Everyone has their own color, determined by their personality—that’s the essence of color personality theory.

Some blaze with fiery red, others glow warm orange, while a few radiate cool green or venomous violet.

Every personality can be distilled into a single hue, mixed from the three primaries: red, yellow, blue—in precise ratios.

Know yourself well enough, and you’d know your color.

Around me are many young adults in their prime.

Some my age, buckling under exam pressure.

Others just stepped into college paradise, juggling clubs and part-time gigs. Some might even be facing graduation, weighing job offers.

Most young people? Probably fiery red.

Brimming with passion for the present. Youth fuels endless energy—studying, working, pushing without pause.

And me? Outwardly, I burn red too. Sometimes so fiercely it verges on violet. But peel back that layer… what’s beneath? Even I don’t know. Hollow. A faint, unsettling emptiness.

I’ve chased goals with stubborn focus, only to forget why I started once I succeeded…

Funny, when I think about it now.

Maybe my core is colorless. My surface shifts to match my surroundings—becoming what others need.

All while guarding that blank core, hidden from everyone.

…

After school, I found Jiang Muqing’s apartment complex using the address Teacher Li gave me. Surprisingly close to home—walking together after class would’ve been convenient.

Her building wasn’t just upscale—it screamed luxury. Sleek high-rises, designer boutiques at the base. Less a neighborhood, more a corporate fortress. Shops bled seamlessly into the commercial street near my place. Supermarkets, cinemas, food courts—all polished and pricey. That story about her family owing mine money? Pure fantasy.

At the tower’s entrance, an electronic gate demanded a resident card. My own apartment’s creaky, ever-open door felt worlds away.

Room 212. No card. I typed the number into the intercom.

"Who is it?"

A familiar voice—weak, congested. Definitely sick.

Relief washed over me. The guilt crushing my chest these past days finally eased. But I needed a permanent fix.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

Silence made her impatient.

"Jiang Muqing? It’s Lu Fan. Teacher Li sent me with your missed assignments." Clear. Direct.

*Slam. Beep—beep—*

She’d hung up hard.

So cold…

I’d done the right thing. Said the right words. Maybe my tone was too detached, caused misunderstanding. Yet this was how she treated her savior?

I’d jumped to save a stranger. She demanded I frame it as affection—as romantic interest?

Narcissistic much?

Seemed she flew into rage if anyone didn’t adore her. A pattern: starved for love as a kid, now desperate for validation.

That suicide attempt probably tied into it too.

*Sigh.* If I just played the charming admirer—professed passionate, reckless young love—she’d calm down.

Whether I actually dated her? Another matter. Once she lost interest, she’d likely discard me anyway.

Frankly, I had zero energy for girls. A convincing confession would stabilize her mood. Then I could go home.

But first—how to get inside?

Jiang Muqing refused to open the door.

Yet she’d answered the intercom herself. No one else home? Perfect.

I punched "212" again.

*Beep—beep—*

"…Yes?" Suspicion thickened her congested voice.

"Delivery for you, miss!" I pinched my nose. Dinner hour—plausible.

"You’ve got the wrong room. I didn’t order anything."

*Click. Beep—*

Gentler this time.

Direct approach failed. Time for detours.

"213."

The neighbor.

"Hello?" A bright, cheerful voice—another girl?

No need to disguise this time. I cleared my throat.

"Hi, I’m from City No.1 High. My classmate in 212 is sick. Teacher sent me with her homework, but she’s not answering. Could you buzz me in?"

"City No.1? Same school! Sure!" The gate clicked open.

Elevator to the 21st floor.

Jiang Muqing lived here. The building topped out at 32. One impulsive window slide, and she’d be gone. Living this high felt like smoking at a gas station.

…

Minutes later, I stood before her apartment door. Another barrier to breach. Exhausting.

I’d nearly died saving a stranger. Now I sweated through lies in this hallway, dragging her back from despair.

Why? What did I gain? Her gratitude? Pathetic. I didn’t care.

I just couldn’t let a girl in full bloom throw her life away. She had so much left to do. I didn’t need thanks. Her survival was payment enough.

*Ding-dong…*

Footsteps. Then her weight pressed against the door.

"Go away… just go away…"

"Why did you come…?"

"I won’t let a liar in…"

She glared through the peephole, teeth grinding audibly.

"I know you hate me. But Teacher Li sent your assignments." My voice flatlined.

"I never want to see you again…" Zero mercy.

Still, I had to try.

"Jiang Muqing… boys get shy when suddenly asked if they like a girl." I steadied my voice, shifting tactics.

"…"

Silence. Processing?

"Back then… admitting it felt embarrassing. Expecting romance after a rescue? Absurd." I pressed on.

"…"

Working.

"Confessions should come from boys anyway. Your question caught me off guard." Progress. Good.

"So…"

…

"Stop… don’t say another word…" A venomous whisper.

Right at the emotional climax—she cut me off.

"What’s wrong?" My pulse spiked.

…

"I’m scared… I might actually believe you…"

She saw through me.

…

"Filthy liar…"