December 31st—

"I’m performing a dance at our class New Year’s party today! You have to come watch!" Li Yuxin chirped excitedly to her parents. They nodded eagerly. Yumo just shrugged. He knew he wasn’t invited—and even if he were, he couldn’t be in two places at once.

He arrived at school earlier than usual. Starting simple decorations alone, he waited ten minutes before other class officers showed up. Work crawled forward amid growing irritation.

At noon, he teamed up with the art representative to design the backboard bulletin. Then, with the duty students, he strung colorful ribbons and banners across the classroom lights. Afterward, he rushed to help Linqinglan inventory newly arrived medical supplies. The teacher even handed him the keys to lock up.

The afternoon slipped by quickly. Most students buzzed with excitement, their minds already far from lessons.

Finally, dismissal time arrived. The classroom was decorated. Performers had done final checks. The male and female arts committee members rehearsed their scripts. Yumo handled last-minute tasks. The teacher prepared elsewhere in the staff room—

Then it happened.

Squeezing through the rearranged desks, Yumo tripped over someone’s foot.

Falling was no big deal—he’d just get up. But Zhang Yuanzhou suddenly spoke, pointing at a guitar case on the floor:

"Class rep~~ What’s this? You dropped my precious baby."

"………………Huh?"

Yumo frowned. The case looked sturdy, well-padded. How could a fall from desk height break it?

"Hold on—this broke? Let me see—"

He opened the case. Inside lay a high-end electric guitar. One string was snapped. No other visible damage… Wait. Could a string snap that easily from a fall? It almost looked pre-cut.

"I’m talking to you! Class rep, you broke my guitar. How. will. you. pay?"

"Someone tripped me just now. And it’s just a broken string—I saw spare strings in your bag."

"Spares don’t matter! Will you take responsibility or not?"

"For something replaceable like a string? Seriously—"

"Seriously my ass!"

Their argument drew every eye in the classroom. A crowd gathered. Liyu and Tanglingxue pushed to the front. Yumo’s irritation flared.

"Zhang Yuanzhou, stop making trouble! Don’t ruin the party!"

"How do you know you didn’t provoke me? You broke my guitar!"

"I don’t have time for your nonsense!"

"Fuck you!"

*Thud!* Zhang Yuanzhou shoved Yumo hard. He stumbled backward, crashing into a desk.

"What the hell?!"

"Only you get to break my stuff? I can’t demand justice? Big shot, huh?"

"You—"

"Not happy? Come on, hit me! Huh? Go ahead!"

"!!"

Yumo’s fist clenched instantly. This punk was begging for it. Letting him walk all over you—what kind of man does that?

—but at the last second, reason—or something else—slammed his fist down.

What would punching Zhang Yuanzhou solve?

School fights meant parents called at best, suspension at worst. Expulsion if it got serious.

What if someone got hurt? Medical bills?

How would he explain *that* to his parents—strangers who shared his roof?

What would his little sister think?

Would suspension or expulsion go on his permanent record?

Affect college applications?

Damage his credit score later?

Could one reckless moment destroy his whole life?

Question after question, worry after worry, chained his fist down.

He took a deep breath. Lowered his hand. Walked away without another word.

Zhang Yuanzhou’s mocking laughter followed him.

"Hahahaha! Hey, I thought you’d hit me! That’s it? This string’s cheap, but not free—fifty bucks for a set. How’ll you pay?"

"………………"

"Hey~! Hey~! Talking to you! Deaf? A class officer breaks stuff—he pays, right?"

Zhang Yuanzhou poked Yumo’s forehead sharply. Yumo’s jaw twitched. He jerked back, shoved through the crowd, and fled without looking back.

He felt dozens of stares like arrows in his back. Zhang Yuanzhou and his buddies roared with laughter. Snippets reached his ears: "Should’ve fought!" "What a coward…" Each word crawled into his skull like a cockroach.

*(…Pathetic.)*

Reason had won again—avoiding disaster with cold detachment. But what about next time? This kind of random provocation wouldn’t stop. Report it? Maybe. But would that useless homeroom teacher even care?

Thoughts tangled in his head. Before he knew it, he was pedaling his rattling old bike out of school like he was escaping.

Was this cowardice?

Choosing reason over violence that could wreck his future—was that really cowardice?

…Who knew. However he justified it, today he’d been a spineless punching bag who ran from his duties. He was supposed to oversee the New Year’s party tonight. What would everyone think now?

He cycled past streets draped with "Happy New Year!" banners. Joyful crowds celebrated the holiday break. He felt like a stain on the happiness. Pedaling on instinct, he found himself under the river-crossing bridge—the only place that ever calmed him.

He couldn’t stay at school. Couldn’t face home. This was all he had.

Watching the endless river flow, cold damp wind on his face, his mind finally cooled.

He realized he hadn’t eaten dinner. Maybe grab something from a street stall?

He parked his bike, bought a roujiamo stuffed flatbread (with both fatty and lean pork, plus green peppers) at a bridgehead stall. Seeing beer at a nearby convenience store, he bought a few cans too. Maybe drowning sorrows in alcohol worked like in the movies. Returning to the bridge, his mood lifted slightly—

—until he saw he wasn’t alone.

A homeless person lay under the bridge. The same white-haired figure he’d spotted days ago from afar.

She was just a girl. Sixteen or seventeen. A threadbare blanket half-covered her face. Her white hair wasn’t dyed or premature graying—it was a sickly, cotton-like pallor that screamed decay. Her thin arm poked out from the blanket, joints sharp under skin the color of old vegetables. Streetlight from the bridge revealed she hadn’t eaten properly in weeks.

*(…She looks half-dead. Will she freeze out here?)*

Yumo fumbled for his sister’s old phone, hesitating to call 110 and get her to a shelter—when the girl suddenly woke.

Her right eye snapped open, locking onto his. Her left eye…

Was gone.

A dark, empty socket stared back. No eyeball. The sight chilled him.

"…"

"…"

"…Ah. Hello. Sorry to disturb you."

"Mm. It’s fine."

Her voice was a whisper.

*Gurgle~~~~!*

Her stomach growled loudly. She hadn’t eaten in days.

"…………Hungry?"

"A little."

"How long since you ate?"

"Three days."

"Oh…"

Before him sat a starving, half-blind, homeless girl his age—broken by some unknown tragedy.

Yumo had been humiliated at school, suffocated at home… but he had a roof. A warm roujiamo in his hand. Suddenly, his own pain felt small.

An impulse rose in his chest.

"Here… want this?"