"Pull an all-nighter? Nah, I’m too old for that—but don’t worry, I’ll stay with you!"
Lizi Sa scratched her head with a sheepish grin.
"My hairline surviving college intact? That’s a miracle. Gotta cherish it! Might doze off later—just nudge me if anything comes up."
She flashed me a thumbs-up.
I nodded quietly, about to offer a polite reply—when my phone screen suddenly lit up.
A message from an unknown number:
*"Why didn’t you come save me today…?"*
A chill shot down my spine. I knew instantly who sent it.
Seeing my frozen expression, Lizi Sa sat up and peered at my screen.
"Who’s this? For you?" she asked, blinking like a clueless goose.
"Guess who? Hint: someone we both know… who’s no longer alive," I muttered, irritation sharp in my voice.
Lizi Sa frowned, then gasped.
"No way! He’s harassing you *now*?"
"Daring to pull something this brazen—the killer’s arrogance is unreal!"
She snatched her phone from her bag, jaw tight.
"Don’t panic. Leave it to me—I’ve got this. Send me the number!"
I nodded. As she readied herself, I began:
"One-three-six… eight-seven-seven-three… two-one…"
My voice cut off.
"Two-one?" Lizi Sa echoed, brow furrowed.
I silently repeated the digits twice. No mistake.
This was *my* number.
Seeing my face drain of color, she fell silent.
"It’s… my number. Why…?" I whispered, terror pooling in my eyes.
*"Answer me, or I’ll come find you…"*
A second text chimed. We both froze.
Lizi Sa narrowed her eyes, killed her screen, and scanned the room warily.
I clutched my phone, trembling. My game glowed untouched on-screen—but who could focus on that now?
Another buzz. Liu Xiaozhen sent a pitch-black photo. Barely visible: a building’s silhouette.
I zoomed in. Recognized the details in seconds.
*My house.*
Fifth floor of a small apartment building. I counted the windows upward again and again.
My breath hitched.
*The light in my unit was on.*
Mom…? Why return *now*?!
Panic seized me. I frantically dialed her number—memorized, like all my important contacts.
Beside me, Lizi Sa typed rapidly, face grim.
*Beep… beep…*
*Beep… beep…*
No answer. Redialed. Still nothing.
Despair crashed over me. I went numb.
"The killer’s near my house! Mom might be home alone—can you get police there?!"
I slapped my cheeks awake, grabbing Lizi Sa’s sleeve.
She sprang into action: heels on, coat grabbed, hand seized. "I’ve alerted police. Send your address—I’ve called a car. We’re going *now*." She dialed while pulling me toward the internet cafe exit.
I instantly accepted her earlier WeChat request and shared my location.
Over her shoulder, I caught her chirpy Mandarin:
"Won’t be back tonight—overtime work!"
"No worries, youth means grinding!"
"Gotta run! You rest early. Bye!"
She was calling family.
And just like that… Lizi Sa felt different. Real. *Reliable.*
_
I’ve always been suspicious—hyper-aware of strangers’ words, gestures, micro-expressions.
In daily life, it’s pointless. Even isolating. But I can’t switch it off.
Maybe it’s just me.
So I only trust those with zero stake in me.
Lizi Sa showed up when I was most frustrated *and* helpless. Frustration screamed *push her away*; helplessness begged *hold on*. Helplessness won.
I’d assumed her presence was transactional—*"pay to solve problems."* That thought left a sour taste.
She hadn’t comforted me much. I’d coped by nitpicking her quirks, venting through sarcasm.
Yeah, I’m sharp-tongued. I speak plainly—but I know the line.
Yet now? She wasn’t materialistic. Not fake.
Honestly? She was *trying*. Hard. Maybe that’s just her charm.
She didn’t fit my "counselor" stereotype—and that mismatch sparked something: trust.
Her effort felt worth far more than fifty bucks.
Plain truth? My payment didn’t deserve this.
A brutal killer lurked near my home—and she was charging in *with* me.
No counselor signs up for this.
In that heartbeat, I *knew*:
Lizi Sa wasn’t thinking about money.
She was worried.
*For my family.*
_
_
