He had barely finished the words when the sky opened and dense rain began to fall all around them. In the distance, the sound of a wind-toppled shop sign crashing to the ground echoed from the roadside.

The phone in Lin Weixia’s pocket buzzed in muffled vibration. She pulled it out, glanced at the screen, turned, and walked away — without sparing either of them so much as a backward glance.

The text message on her screen betrayed the sender’s desperate anxiety: 【I’ve been waiting at the park near his house for over two hours and he still hasn’t appeared. I also lost my wallet.】

【The sky’s so dark. I think the typhoon is coming.】

The wind swept a leaf free, and it fluttered down, settling in Lin Weixia’s dark, lustrous hair. Ban Sheng watched the deep green leaf lodged in the black hair of the girl walking away from him, then looked away. He gave the buzz-cut boy a smack on the back of the head and said curtly:

“Let’s go.”

Lin Weixia walked and typed at the same time, her tone reassuring: 【Don’t panic. Send me your address — I’ll come get you.】

After the message was sent, Lin Weixia returned to the café to collect her bag, then came out and flagged down a taxi. She had barely settled into the cab when rain came crashing down in torrents, raindrops hammering against the window in a percussive rhythm.

The whole city dissolved into hazy, damp grey. Traffic was moving slowly; the taxi had gone a stretch before braking sharply. Lin Weixia looked at the red light ahead and couldn’t help herself: “Sir, could you hurry, please?”

The driver was a middle-aged man who laughed openly, his Mandarin tinged with the local dialect: “Miss, with a typhoon on, you can’t rush it. Are you going to see your boyfriend? That’s why you’re so urgent?”

“No — it’s a friend waiting for me.” Lin Weixia replied.

What should have been a twenty-minute drive took nearly forty because of the typhoon, the taxi inching and weaving through the rain. At last they reached the park Liu Sijia had described.

Lin Weixia pushed open the car door; rain swept in diagonally, beading on her clothes. She scrambled out quickly — and stepped squarely into a puddle, yellowish water immediately soaking through her white socks, flooding into her leather shoe, a chill washing up from her foot.

Lin Weixia drew a sharp breath but couldn’t pause to deal with it. She bent down, opened her umbrella, and walked toward the park. She searched the grounds until she finally spotted Liu Sijia in a gazebo.

Liu Sijia had clearly dressed with care today, but she looked rather bedraggled now — the back of her clothes soaked through by the rain, her black eyeliner smudged beneath her lower lids, visibly having cried. While Liu Sijia sat hugging her own shoulders, shivering, a warm apricot-colored knit cardigan fell over her from above. She looked up.

She met a pair of calm amber eyes.

Liu Sijia immediately flung herself forward and embraced her, her throat tight: “Thank you.”

Lin Weixia went rigid for a moment, but then relaxed, raising her hand and patting Liu Sijia gently on the back.

Weide Convenience Store. White fluorescent light cast the interior in a cold pallor. Liu Sijia stood at the counter beside the glass door.

On the counter sat a mostly-eaten portion of fish ball and tofu skewers and a cup of hot Hong Kong-style Ovaltine that was nearly empty. Liu Sijia reached into a cigarette box with practiced ease, drew out a menthol cigarette, and touched the orange flame to it.

“Next time someone doesn’t show up, just go straight home.” Lin Weixia said.

Liu Sijia exhaled a thread of smoke. “I was just bored.”

“Weixia, about tonight—” Liu Sijia hesitated.

Lin Weixia spoke at just the right moment, her voice calm and warm: “Don’t worry. I won’t breathe a word of it.”

Liu Sijia let out a slow breath of relief and flicked ash into the coffee cup. In truth, she had no real friends — when she’d been about to make that phone call, she hadn’t not thought of the girls at school, but in the end she had hesitated.

And in the moment that mattered, she had thought of Lin Weixia. Though her first impression of Lin Weixia had been of someone radiating a distant, cool quality, once they had actually spent time together she’d discovered that Lin Weixia was, in fact, a girl of few complaints and great tolerance.

“The rain has stopped. We can go,” Lin Weixia said.

“All right.” Liu Sijia gathered her things from the table, but as she started heading out she stopped abruptly. “I want to grab something.”

Lin Weixia stood behind her and waited patiently as Liu Sijia looked for a brand of cigarettes called Yellow Crane Tower.

The cashier shook their head. Liu Sijia’s shoulders sank.

If memory served — Lin Weixia recalled — Yellow Crane Tower was precisely what Ban Sheng had been smoking during the altercation in the alley.

Lin Weixia knit her brows the slightest amount. Was someone like him worth it?

At nine o’clock that evening, the two parted ways at the convenience store entrance. Lin Weixia came home, pulled off her soaked shoes and socks, and went to shower.

She came out afterward in a white cotton spaghetti-strap dress, tilting her head and shaking the water from her ear. At the sharp movement, her right ear gave a throb of ringing.

Lin Weixia sat down, draped a towel over her half-damp hair, and worked through it unhurriedly while she turned on the old desktop computer in the room. It started up slowly, spinning and grinding for what seemed like an age before finally loading.

On her phone were messages from Fang Mo, who had helpfully and enthusiastically sent Lin Weixia the names of the school’s forum, discussion board, and internal network.

Shortly after, Fang Mo sent another message: By the way — some time ago, someone set up a new website in Shengao’s discussion community called YCH or something. Not that anyone goes on it.

Lin Weixia browsed through the school’s internal network and forum pages, then logged into the site called YCH. The page was bare and crudely made — a field of black, its color scheme oppressive and cold.

It was divided into two sections: one for exposés, one for messages.

Both sections had zero posts. The site’s total view count was 13.

Lin Weixia had her hand on the mouse and was about to drag the cursor to close the site when she noticed one more unread text message on her phone. She tapped it open — it was from Liu Sijia:

【Let’s have lunch together tomorrow. The housekeeper is cooking — I’ll have her make a portion for you too.】

Lin Weixia replied: 【Sounds good. 🥂】

Liu Sijia: 【❤️❤️ Love you~】

The next day — it happened to be a Monday — Liu Sijia walked into the classroom with her schoolbag, and as she took out her English textbook, she happened to glance at the seat next to her. Still empty.

Though it was September, Nanjiang was still swelteringly muggy. Outside, the sun was bright enough to make one squint. The flame trees in the school grounds still blazed in vivid red.

Lin Weixia had been at the school only a few days, but she had already observed many things. The students divided themselves into small factions, and from a broader view, the A-students and the F-students seemed separated by an invisible line — two large, distinct camps.

On Africa’s great migration, wildebeest crossing the river to avoid being eaten by crocodiles press together in a vast, dark mass, moving as one herd to reach the other side safely.

People are no different.

Humans are social creatures, needing to gather and travel together for safety. Lin Weixia understood this — she just hadn’t expected the dynamic to be this pronounced at Shengao.

When the bell rang for the last class of the morning, students started packing their things. They immediately banded together to find their companions, while those left behind sat at their desks in lost uncertainty, only able to rush out alone.

Lin Weixia sat at her desk, watching Liu Sijia’s row at the front. A cluster of girls had gathered around her, chatting prettily about where to eat.

Lin Weixia slowly packed up her pencil case. Among the voices, one was deliberately louder than the rest: “Sijia, how about we eat on the rooftop terrace today?”

Liu Sijia smiled and declined: “I have plans with someone today. Another time.”

Then Liu Sijia turned her bright eyes toward Lin Weixia. Her tone was warmer than it had been at the start of term — ever since that typhoon night, the earlier distance and condescension had all but evaporated, replaced with simple, easy closeness:

“Weixia, ready?”

In an instant the mood went slightly taut. For a brief moment expressions varied around the room, but then the atmosphere softened back into light-hearted chatter. The girls said things like “we’ll head off first” as they filtered away.

When they had all gone and the classroom fell quiet, Lin Weixia stood and was making her way through the aisle when she noticed, in the corner, a very small and thin girl sitting hunched in on herself. Her complexion was sallow; she had retreated into the corner, hidden behind a thick fringe of hair cut bluntly at the brow, her whole presence radiating gloom.

Had Lin Weixia not happened to look exactly in her direction, it would have been easy for the girl to go entirely unnoticed — automatically overlooked by everyone around her, like a patch of shadow at the base of the wall.

She seemed to be waiting for everyone to leave before eating her lunch alone in the empty classroom.

Lin Weixia stopped in the aisle. “Would you like to—”

“Come on.” Liu Sijia urged her forward, reaching out to hook her arm and pull her away. The rest of the sentence — “join us” — lodged in Lin Weixia’s throat.

Liu Sijia walked with her arm linked through Lin Weixia’s toward the cafeteria, and as she thought of the gloomy girl back there, her eyes narrowed and her voice went slightly cold: “Forget about her. She’s a weirdo.”

In the smaller dining room on the second floor of the cafeteria, Liu Sijia took out two lunch boxes and put them in the microwave to heat. The microwave chimed, the boxes were set on the table, and opened — the contents were entirely different from each other.

In front of Lin Weixia: thick-cut veal steak, braised pork ribs, a small portion of okra — richly colored, refined, and thoughtfully prepared.

Liu Sijia saw that Lin Weixia had not yet picked up her chopsticks and said, “The housekeeper made all of this. She’s quite a good cook. Or tell me if there’s something you’d like to eat.”

“All right.”

Lin Weixia looked at Liu Sijia across the table — her face vivid and exquisite, so slender that the bones of her chest were faintly visible at the collar, her wrist emerging from her sleeve bare and delicate, looking as though it might snap.

Liu Sijia had barely eaten a few bites before she set down her chopsticks, propped her chin in her hand, and turned to look at the long line forming not far away. “Do you want bubble tea?”

“If you want some, I’ll go get it.” Lin Weixia said.

“I’ll have unsweetened.”

“All right.”

Ban Sheng had finally exhausted his three days of approved absence. He slept until noon before arriving at school, didn’t stop for lunch, and ran into Qiu Minghua on his way, so they headed to the cafeteria together.

The moment the two boys walked in, they automatically drew the attention of students nearby. Beyond the girls’ habitual glances stolen while pretending to brush their hair aside, there were also people murmuring about him — in unflattering terms, but with cautious, careful posture.

Qiu Minghua immediately understood where the gossip was coming from. He spat out, “That sneaky bastard — how much money has he conned out of that lonely old woman? Your brother gives him a couple of smacks, and he has the nerve to go around telling people you put him in the hospital?”

“If he’s too scared to show his face at school, then fine — but to run his mouth like that…”

Ban Sheng stood in front of the drinks vending machine, pushed open the refrigerator door with one hand, and let the cold air drift over him. Without responding, he simply asked, “What do you want to drink?”

Qiu Minghua’s tirade died mid-sentence — he really had been talking to himself all along. He sighed helplessly: “Mineral water, I guess.”

Bang. The refrigerator door shut. Cold air settled on the knuckles of Ban Sheng’s hand as he tossed the drink to Qiu Minghua and said:

“Don’t mention this outside.”

Qiu Minghua’s face was a picture of grievance and confusion. “Why? Why should you be the one taking all the blame?”

He knew Ban Sheng too well — the guy never cared what others thought of him. No matter how people judged or talked about him, all Ban Sheng cared about was his own state of being.

Everything else was none of his concern.

But this was just too unfair. Qiu Minghua fumed internally.

Ban Sheng didn’t answer. He hooked his index finger through the tab of his cola can — click — bubbles surged up. He took a sip and walked toward the second floor of the cafeteria.

At the landing they ran into Zheng Zhaoxing’s crew. The group was laughing and trading crude jokes among themselves. One boy with glasses, moving too fast, accidentally knocked into Zheng Zhaoxing.

Zheng Zhaoxing’s expression darkened in an instant. He raised his hand and cuffed the boy on the head, cursing: “Watch where you’re going, you idiot.”

The bespectacled boy immediately clapped a hand to his head, saying “sorry” over and over. The group slung several more insults before they let him go.

Zheng Zhaoxing’s face was still sour — until he looked up and spotted Ban Sheng, at which point the menacing look drained from his face, and the people behind him also fell quiet.

Zheng Zhaoxing and his crew were Shengao’s notorious bullies, leveraging the influence of their families to make trouble both on and off campus without a shred of restraint. Whenever they caused serious enough trouble to draw school disciplinary action, a parent would appear at the right moment to smooth things over, and since they had no fear of punishment and were well aware that minors had legal protections, the school was helpless against them.

In time, everyone at school learned to steer well clear of them.

Ban Sheng was a different kind of presence in the school — people were also wary of him, but it was a wary respect.

By rights, he and Zheng Zhaoxing’s crew should have been natural allies; Zheng Zhaoxing, with his meager vocabulary, had coined the phrase “combining two greats.”

But Ban Sheng had never once associated with them.

Zheng Zhaoxing had always felt that Ban Sheng was insufferably arrogant, and looked down on all of them from the bottom of his heart.

After a moment, Zheng Zhaoxing, still inclined to make a friendly gesture, forced his expression into something more agreeable: “Come eat together?”

With everyone watching, Ban Sheng walked straight past him, lifting his can of cola and taking a long, slow swallow. He left behind two words:

“Don’t know you.”

The air froze. Zheng Zhaoxing’s face turned dark. Qiu Minghua fell into step behind Ban Sheng, and turned to give the group two middle fingers — one from each hand: “Yeah, what, are you invited to a wedding banquet or something?”

Someone beside Zheng Zhaoxing muttered quietly, “Let it go, Zhaoxing. He’s not someone you want to provoke.”

……

Liu Sijia had not specified what she wanted to drink. Lin Weixia, going by her own taste, ordered two cups of salted lemon seven-up — half-sugar for herself, and specially unsweetened for Liu Sijia. She had just sat back down when she was met with Liu Sijia’s lips, a shade brighter red than usual.

“Ban Sheng is sitting two seats behind you.” Liu Sijia said, and reached for her compact mirror to fix her hair.

Lin Weixia’s movements paused briefly. She looked down at the food in front of Liu Sijia — she had only eaten a third of it.

She then extended the straw, but Liu Sijia immediately closed her hand around Lin Weixia’s and asked: “Weixia, can we trade cups? You have the half-sugar one. I can’t very well bring him the bitter one.”

Lin Weixia nodded agreeably.

“Now I’ll go ask him about standing me up.”

Liu Sijia picked up the cup of salted lemon seven-up. The white plastic bag rustled. She straightened her back and walked in Ban Sheng’s direction.

It was a typhoon day — the light inside was dim — yet the room brightened slightly when Liu Sijia walked through it.

Lin Weixia happened to be seated directly across from them. She looked up. Ban Sheng had ordered a pork chop rice, with a half-finished can of cola beside it.

While waiting for his companion, he sat with an unhurried ease, his jacket hanging open, apparently playing a game — his long, fair neck bent slightly forward, fingers moving rapidly across the screen.

Liu Sijia boldly sat down across from him, curved her fingers, and knocked three times on the table. She pushed the half-sugar salted lemon seven-up across to him and said something Lin Weixia couldn’t make out.

Ban Sheng finally deigned to look up, switched off his phone screen in one motion, and reached out to accept the cup.

Lin Weixia looked away and returned to her meal.

Seven or eight minutes later, Liu Sijia came back. Her whole bearing had softened a degree since returning from Ban Sheng’s table:

“He had a cola right there on his desk, but he still took my salted lemon seven-up.”

“What did he say about standing you up on the weekend?” Lin Weixia asked.

Liu Sijia propped her chin in her hand, picked a cherry tomato from her plate and popped it in her mouth. “He said sorry. And he said — he was pleasantly surprised.”

“He accepted my drink, so I’ll grudgingly forgive him.”

Lin Weixia’s chopsticks paused mid-motion. She looked up — and her gaze met Ban Sheng’s directly. This time his face was close enough to see clearly: short hair, sharply defined features.

He had the face of someone dangerous — the kind that looked like trouble yet drew girls in anyway. Above his eyebrow ran a faint, shallow scar. His eyes, when they fell on her, were so dark they seemed bottomless —

And carried an overwhelming sense of invasion.

Like a leopard deep in the tropical rainforest, coiled and still, ready to strike at any moment.

Lin Weixia watched as he unhurriedly unwrapped a straw and began drinking the cup of salted lemon seven-up that had originally been hers.