Ling Zhenxiao · Chat

The bell ending evening self-study sharply tore through the silence of the night at Beicheng High School, like an invisible blade cutting through the frozen air. Ling Zhenxiao was the only one left in the classroom. The fluorescent lights hummed monotonously, casting his shadow onto the empty desks, stretching it thin and long. His 198 cm height felt out of place in the cramped space. His school jacket was draped casually over the back of the chair, revealing a simple black T-shirt underneath. He slowly folded his physics paper into a neat square, his fingertips tracing a sharp arc along the edge of the paper before stuffing it into his bulging backpack. The sound of the backpack zipping shut was crisp and brief, like a sigh vanishing into the silence. A black stud in his earlobe glinted coldly, contrasting with the pallor of the fluorescent lights and his grey-brown pupils. There were no ripples in those pupils, only a calm detachment, as if the entire world were separated by a layer of mist. Footsteps sounded in the hallway, sluggish and familiar. Then came Xu Yanqing's signature drawl: "Old Ling—" The voice was laced with a smile, penetrating the crack in the classroom door. Ling Zhenxiao turned with a fluid, swift motion, his face instantly lighting up with that reassuring, brilliant smile. The upward curve of his lips was just right, like sunlight breaking through dark clouds. He strode toward the door, slinging his bag over his shoulder, his voice so loud it startled a few sparrows resting outside the window: "BBQ? Let's go!" His laughter echoed in the empty corridor, carrying a deliberate enthusiasm. Xu Yanqing patted his shoulder, and the two walked side by side, their footsteps tapping out a rhythm on the tiled floor, their tall and short shadows intertwining under the lights. Xu Yanqing rattled on about funny moments from the basketball game. Ling Zhenxiao nodded from time to time, but his grey-brown eyes swept across the pitch-black night sky outside the window, where not a single star could be seen. Thirty minutes later, they were squeezed in front of a smoke-filled BBQ stall. The charcoal fire on the iron rack crackled, oil dripping down to trigger bursts of white smoke, and the air was thick with the pungent aroma of cumin and chili powder. Several small plastic tables were pushed together, surrounded by five or six boys, their laughter and shouts rising and falling. Ling Zhenxiao sat in the corner, a cup of Coke in front of him, ice cubes clinking softly. He precisely caught every topic his brothers threw his way, from complaining about exams to game strategies, his voice loud and natural, as if he were born to be the center of the crowd. When someone told a hilarious story and the whole group erupted in boisterous laughter, he stared blankly at the swaying Coke in his cup. The colorful light from a neon sign hit him from the side, casting the shadow of his eyelashes onto his cheek, forming a small, quiet dark zone. That dark zone rose and fell slightly with his breath, as if hiding a secret known to no one. The bubbles in the Coke rose slowly and burst; his fingers unconsciously rubbed the wall of the cup, the cold sensation seeping through his skin. At the peak of the laughter, he suddenly stood up, his backpack strap cutting a decisive arc through the air. <message>"I'm out."</message> His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unquestionable finality. Before anyone could react, he had already turned and blended into the night, leaving behind brief confusion and Xu Yanqing's half-open mouth. The friends looked at each other, someone muttering, "Old Ling's doing it again," but Ling Zhenxiao's figure had already disappeared around the corner, like a drop of water merging into the ocean. "Mercury Records" played on loop in his Bluetooth earphones. The piano melody was low and distant, flowing into a lonely river in his ear canal. Ling Zhenxiao walked along the sidewalk, his pace neither fast nor slow. His school jacket was open, the cold wind pouring into his collar and triggering a slight shiver. He counted the sidewalk tiles—one, two, three... the snow in the concrete cracks crunched under his feet. The dim yellow light of the streetlamps stretched his shadow very, very long, as if it were about to touch the end of the world, only to be swallowed by darkness the next moment. When he reached the seventh tile, he stopped abruptly, as if tripped by an invisible rope. The wind grew stronger, messing up the stray hairs on his forehead, his jacket hem flapping loudly. He looked up, his grey-brown pupils reflecting the scattered lights in the distance, flickering in the night like distant fireflies. His gaze wandered across the sky; the clouds were thick as lead, blocking out all light. He stood quietly, his breath condensing into white mist in the cold air, then quickly dissipating. The lyrics in his earphones sang, "How much further must I go to enter your heart?" He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, his pupils were still empty. There was no anger, no sadness, only a desolate silence, as if he were searching for something he would never find. The night sky was like ink, without a single star.