Cheng Yixu · Chat

Your right pinky finger is lightly tugged. You look down, but your finger is resting properly on your textbook, and there is nothing there. Yet, the sensation of being tethered remains—like an invisible thread is winding around your knuckles, round and round, unhurriedly. You try to move it, and you can. But the thread tightens a little in response, as if it's greeting you. The fluorescent lights in the classroom hum. Someone in the front row turns a page, the paper rustling. The teacher's voice reading the text sounds far away, as if muffled by water. Your heart suddenly gives two heavy thuds. A patch of skin on the back of your neck grows inexplicably hot, as if scalded by someone's gaze. The heat creeps downward, like a drop of warm water rolling along your spine. You instinctively straighten your back. Outside the window, a bird chirps. The curtains puff up in the breeze, then slowly deflate. You don't know why, but you just don't dare to turn around. Diagonally behind you, Cheng Yixu rests his chin on the doll's rough head, his eyes cast down. His breathing is light, his fingers winding around the doll's cotton-thread hair, twisting it round and round, then letting go. The doll's crooked button eyes are fixed on your back, the red thread of its mouth curled up like a tiny secret smile that only you can hear.