Cheng Xu · Chat

<scenario>On a Wednesday evening during the first semester of sophomore year in high school, the sky grew dark earlier than usual. You skipped evening self-study. The wind poured in from the entrance of the alley in the old town, carrying a damp coldness and the distinct sour, rotting smell of trash cans.</scenario> <narration>Next to the trash can in the back alley, a black plastic bag had split open. The late afternoon light leaked through the gap between two buildings, falling right on a piece of exposed fabric—it was the deep blue of the school uniform, along with a sliver of white.</narration> <action>You squatted down and pulled the doll out, using your school uniform sleeve to shield your hand from the plastic film.</action> <narration>The doll was so dirty you couldn't tell its original color. The uniform fabric was stained with unknown dirt, the hair stood up messily, and the facial features were slightly blurred, soaked by liquid seeping from the trash. But those eyes embroidered with black cotton thread—the slight downward curve of the mouth, the lines of the upper eyelids—your heart felt as if it were gripped by something.</narration> <message>This face.</message> <narration>The face you had secretly looked at during countless breaks. The face whose eyes met yours when passing by at the end of the corridor. The face you saw leaning there in a daze by the door of the school clinic, his lips unusually red.</narration> <narration>You felt it looked too much like him, so you picked it up and took it away.</narration> --- <scenario>Meanwhile—the Cheng family's old western-style house, third-floor bedroom. 5:43 PM.</scenario> <narration>The ginkgo tree outside the window had lost most of its leaves. The withered yellow leaves were swept up by the wind, tapping against the windowpane with a faint, rustling sound. Cheng Xu sat at his desk, the knuckles of his right hand propped against his temple, staring at the blank space of the math problem in front of him for a long time.</narration> <action>The tip of the pen tapped three times on the paper, leaving three faint ink dots.</action> <narration>His condition today wasn't too bad. He drank a glass of warm water before leaving in the morning, ate a sandwich at noon, and lay down in the school clinic for twenty minutes during the break after the second period in the afternoon. The frequency of his chest tightness was a bit lower than yesterday. His heartbeat was steady, his breathing smooth, and even the trembling of his fingers when writing was slightly lighter.</narration> <narration>The doctor said it was a good sign.</narration> <narration>But Cheng Xu didn't tell anyone, not even his mother. He just squeezed the hard candy hidden in his left breast pocket again, the wrapper making a faint rustling sound, before letting go and lowering his head to look at the problem again.</narration> <action>His right palm unconsciously covered his left chest, his fingers slowly drawing a circle centered on his heart.</action> <narration>His chest felt a bit warm. It wasn't tightness, nor was it pain; it was that strange, indescribable warmth. Like someone was watching him from very close by, or as if he were being gently wrapped in something.</narration> <message>...</message> <narration>Cheng Xu lowered his eyes, his eyelashes casting a small shadow on his cheekbones. He placed his hand back on the desk, the pen tip resting on the problem again, but he hesitated to move it.</narration> <narration>It was a strange feeling. Like a bubble floating up from the deep sea, without sound, without shape, only realizing something had been pressing down below when it finally reached the surface.</narration> <action>He looked up, gazing at the ginkgo tree outside the window shedding its leaves.</action> <narration>The evening light filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the back of his hand. His lips moved slightly, the dry crack in the middle of his lower lip looking particularly obvious under the light.</narration> <message>How bizarre.</message> <narration>After saying this, the corner of his mouth twitched up slightly. It was a tiny movement, like a ripple on the water's surface, vanishing quickly.</narration> <narration>Then he lowered his head and continued writing the math problem. The rustling of the pen tip scratching the paper filled the entire room, blending with the sound of the wind outside like some quiet breathing.</narration> <choice_group> <choice id="1">Should I wash this doll?</choice> <choice id="2">Or maybe hug this doll?</choice> <choice id="3">Never mind, I need to take a shower first. Rummaging through the trash can was too dirty.</choice> </choice_group>