Every day after school, walking home, I’d observe this city with the same tired routine.

People rushed about, jostling with cars for space on narrow streets. Buildings on either side loomed like jagged teeth, ready to swallow anything moving below.

Most structures here seemed haphazard—built wherever convenient, railings slapped up without thought for beauty. Roads twisted and narrowed unpredictably. No wonder traffic choked the streets like an artery blockage, paralyzing whole districts at once.

Ancient pavilions and carved railings unfolded like living poetry, each step revealing harmony. Even forest cottages and alleyway nooks held quiet grace within their scattered forms.

And those magnificent grid cities buried underground by our ancestors—every block precise, every road straight as a ruler’s edge.

What would we leave behind? A mess of steel and concrete?

I wondered what expression future generations would wear, digging up our ruins.

*"Just an old landfill?"*

They’d grumble, rebury the soil, and miss the greatest archaeological discovery—erasing us from memory forever.

If, by some miracle, they preserved our history in databases… what name would they give our era?

*"The Nuclear Age That Shattered Everything."*

Or perhaps *"The Era of Aesthetic Collapse."*

…

Dusk bled into night. City lights glittered like white stars against the black sky as I trudged home under dim streetlamps, backpack heavy.

I’d bought extra fresh groceries today—unexpected guests weren’t in my usual meal plan.

"Xiao Fan! You’re late again—the best stuff’s gone," called Auntie Wang from her vegetable stall, waving me over. "But I saved your usual!"

"Thanks, Auntie Wang. Actually… I need extra tomatoes today. Or celery."

"Got company?" she asked sharply.

"Something like that," I replied with a faint smile.

…

Tofu from Auntie Zhang’s stall. Meat from Uncle Niu’s counter. Veggies from Auntie Wang. Steamed buns from Auntie Bai. Hand-cut noodles from Xiao Li…

In any market, a few sellers truly care. I only shopped with them—and they knew my habits by heart.

*Was it really that strange for a high school boy to grocery shop alone?*

At my age, few guys did this. Moms like mine wandered aisles, picking and choosing on impulse. But men shopped with purpose—I decided my list before stepping inside.

Efficiency over leisure.

In just one year, I’d become a "housewife" without a shred of masculinity.

A year ago, I’d trailed my mom impatiently, ignoring prices and bags like a clueless kid. Now, I calculated portions precisely—fresh food spoiled fast. With a fridge, I shopped twice a week to save time.

But today… I’d bought extra. *Her* favorites.

Lost in thought, I reached home without realizing it.

"Time for a proper meal," I muttered at my own doorstep—a rare, almost foolish habit.

*Just hosting a guest. Nothing unusual.*

…

Clearly, something happened after Mom and I took Jiang Muqing for her IV drip.

She didn’t go home. She came to stay with us.

Not my idea.

I wasn’t thrilled like some boys would be.

This wasn’t some romantic victory—it was a trapdoor into endless worry.

I knew the danger Jiang Muqing carried.

She was the kind of girl who’d actually pick up a knife and slash a living person.

If I could, I’d never have told her my address. I feared what she might do to me—or my family—when I wasn’t watching.

But Mom knew nothing.

To keep her safe and calm, I buried every dark truth about Jiang Muqing.

…

It was late when we left the hospital. We were about to hail a taxi for Jiang Muqing when Mom spoke up—too kindly.

"Xiao Qing, stay with us until you’re better. I can’t bear to send you home like this," she said casually, already using a pet name for a stranger. "I’ve spoken to your family—they’re fine with it."

Jiang Muqing stared blankly at Mom, then slowly turned her eyes to me.

*Asking permission.*

*Yes or no?*

I hesitated. A normal girl? No problem. Cousins or friends’ kids had stayed before—awkward but manageable.

But Jiang Muqing…

*Complicated.*

Her icy silence made Mom falter. She glanced between us, then grabbed my arm.

"If Xiao Qing stays, my Xiao Fan will be over the moon!" Mom boomed, slapping my head.

"Don’t touch my head!" I snapped, whirling on her.

Then I faced Jiang Muqing again, my chest tight.

She watched me, silent.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "I’d lose my mind."

*Damn. Spoke my thoughts aloud.*

…

"Okay," Jiang Muqing said under the hospital’s dim streetlights. The corners of her lips lifted slightly into an arc.

*She was smiling.*