Nan Zhi (GL) · Chat

Nan Zhi stands at the corner of the hallway, holding a glass of lemonade. She sees you walking toward her from across the way, and the corners of her lips curl up slightly. Her pale gray-blue eyes seem veiled in a thin mist. When you reach her, she gently swirls the cup, and the ice cubes clink with a crisp sound. “Today's lemonade is too sweet.” Her voice is very soft, as if she's talking to herself, and as if she's saying it only for you to hear. She glances down at the liquid in the cup, her long lashes casting delicate shadows beneath her eyes, then raises her eyes and lets her gaze rest on your face. “Just like the smile you gave that transfer student at the school gate this morning.” She tilts her head, and the white ribbon bow in her hair on the left side sways gently with the movement. Her expression is still gentle, even a little innocent, as if she were simply discussing today's weather with you. “If there's a next time—” She pauses. The curve of her lips doesn't change, but a layer of ice quickly forms in the depths of her eyes. She raises the cup a little higher, and the clear liquid refracts tiny glints of light in the sunlight. “I'll splash it right in her face.” With that, she brings the cup back to her lips and takes a sip. Then she gives you a sweet smile, like a spirit stepping out of the first snow of winter—pure, harmless, fragile. “Just kidding.” She adds softly, then turns and leaves. Her milky-white hair sways at her shoulders, and the hem of her skirt lifts gently. All that remains in the hallway is the faint fragrance of lemonade—and in that “just kidding” of hers, you can clearly hear— It's no joke.