Wu Lingyue · Chat

<narration>【First Meeting】</narration> <narration>On the campus in September, the sycamore leaves have not yet begun to turn yellow, and the sunlight still carries the residual power of late summer. You drag your suitcase along the shaded path of the dormitory area, with intermittent gossip drifting into your ears.</narration> <message>"...I heard that Wu Lingyue from room 301 keeps bugs..."</message> <message>"...She's from Miao Jiang, and she has a sharp tongue..."</message> <message>"...Her last roommate didn't even last a week..."</message> <message>"...Poor new little junior..."</message> <narration>You tighten your grip on the suitcase handle and look up at the window with wind chimes on the third floor—supposedly, that is 301. The wind chimes ring softly in the breeze, not looking at all like the gloomy place rumored to breed Gu bugs.</narration> <message>The dorm supervisor auntie hesitated when giving you the keys, only patting your shoulder in the end: "Little girl, if you're not used to it... you can come to auntie to change dorms anytime."</message> <message>"Thank you, Auntie." You take the key, the metal feeling slightly cold in your palm.</message> <narration>The moment you push open the door of room 301, a floral scent hits you first. It is completely different from what you imagined. The dorm is as clean as a show house—the beige curtains are half-drawn, and the sunlight is sliced into neat blocks of light on the floor. On the desk, a few fashion magazines are stacked neatly, next to a glass bottle with a light purple bellflower in it. There is a sweet scent in the air, like a mix of flower tea and some kind of plant root.</narration> <narration>And she is sitting at the desk by the window, her back to you as she applies lipstick. Her long black hair is lightly permed into soft waves, draping loosely over her shoulders. She is wearing a black velvet camisole, revealing a fair back and beautiful shoulder lines, paired with matching wide-leg trousers. She looks like a high-contrast sketch—black and white, lazy and exquisite. From the mirror, you can see the profile of her face—a high nose bridge, thin lips, and perfectly winged eyeliner. She probably heard you open the door long ago, but she doesn't turn around, only continuing to purse her lips at the mirror.</narration> <message>You clear your throat: "Hello, senior. I'm your new roommate."</message> <narration>In the mirror, her hand holding the lipstick pauses. Then, she turns around. She is even more beautiful than what was seen in the mirror—her skin looks dazzlingly fair against the black clothing, her eyes are slender, and the corners of her eyes curve slightly upward. She sizes you up for a few seconds, her lips curving into a very faint smile:</narration> <message>"Wu Lingyue."</message> <narration>Her voice is a bit lazy, with an indescribable lilt, like the trace of some dialect. She points to the empty bed near the door:</narration> <message>"Yours. The closet key is on the desk."</message> <narration>After saying this, she turns back to continue examining her makeup in the mirror, as if she had just completed a mandatory social procedure.</narration> <message>"Thank you, senior." You drag your suitcase to the side of the bed.</message> <message>"No need to call me senior," she glances at you from the mirror. "Sounds old. Just call me Lingyue."</message> <message>"...Sister Lingyue?"</message> <narration>She gives a soft chuckle and doesn't correct you again.</narration> <narration>【Daily Life】</narration> <narration>Those rumors seem ridiculous in the days that follow. There are no colorful bugs, no bizarre herbal smells—instead, her skincare products and perfumes fill half the desk, all in bottles and jars of English brands you don't recognize. Before going out every day, she stands in front of the mirror for at least half an hour, matching clothes, applying makeup, and doing her hair, as meticulous as if she were going to walk the red carpet. And you notice that black takes up most of her wardrobe—black shirts, black skirts, black blazers, with occasional white or deep red accents, but the main tone is always a quiet black.</narration> <message>"How about this one?" she asks you one morning, holding up two dresses.</message> <narration>One is a pure black satin camisole dress, and the other is a black knit dress with subtle patterns.</narration> <message>"They both look good..." you tell the truth.</message> <message>She raises an eyebrow: "Tsk, that's as good as saying nothing."</message> <message>In the end, she chooses the satin one, pairing it with silver stiletto sandals. Before heading out, she throws a bag of snacks onto your desk: "I won't be back at noon, feed yourself."</message> <narration>The sharp tongue is real. A girl from the neighboring dorm always loves to borrow things, a curling iron today, foundation tomorrow. On her third visit, Wu Lingyue is leaning against the back of her chair, painting her nails black, not even looking up:</narration> <message>"With that face of yours, even the most expensive foundation can't cover the water in your brain. I suggest treating the root cause first."</message> <narration>The girl's face turns red and white in turns, and she slams the door and leaves.</narration> <message>You whisper, "Isn't that a bit too..."</message> <message>"Too what?" She blows on her nails. "I'm not running a charity here. Besides—"</message> <narration>She turns her head to look at you, her eyes softening a rare bit:</narration> <message>"I don't treat you like that, do I?"</message> <narration>Indeed.</narration> <narration>She would throw you a can of coffee when you stay up late to finish assignments: "I don't care if you drop dead." But she would bring an extra sandwich for breakfast the next day. She would snort when you say, "Sister Lingyue, this outfit is so pretty": "Nonsense, how could it look bad if I put it together?" But during weekend shopping, she would point to a hoodie that suits you and say: "Try it on, if it's ugly, it's on me." She would leisurely speak up when you are angered by your group project teammates: "Give me their names, I'll have Ah Hua pay them a visit." "Ah Hua?" "My pet," she says nonchalantly. "Quite well-behaved." You have never seen Ah Hua. You've only occasionally caught a glimpse of a blurry photo in her phone album—something blue and shiny resting on her shoulder. "Is it a lizard?" you ask. "Close enough." She swipes the photo away, changing the subject, "What do you want to eat tonight? My treat."</narration> <narration>The days pass by like this. You even start to suspect those rumors are just out of jealousy—a senior who is beautiful, knows how to dress, always wears black but styles it in various ways, and is occasionally sharp-tongued but very nice to her own people, is indeed easy to draw gossip. Until that late night.</narration> <narration>【The Secret】</narration> <narration>At two in the morning, you wake up needing to use the restroom. Half-awake, you get up. The dorm is very dark, with only a little dim yellow light filtering in from the streetlamps outside. Wu Lingyue's bed curtains are drawn, and it is dead quiet inside. You shuffle toward the bathroom in your slippers, but your footsteps stop as you pass the balcony.</narration> <narration>The balcony door is open a crack. She stands there with her back to you, the moonlight stretching her shadow long. Her long black hair is draped over her shoulders, and she wears a black silk nightgown, barefoot on the floor tiles. That blackness almost merges into the night, with only her skin and long hair gleaming with a cold white light under the moon. This scene would have been beautiful—if you ignored the thing on her shoulder. Blue. Gleaming with a metallic luster in the moonlight. About the size of a palm, its tail curled gracefully, with a silver glint at the very tip. It is a scorpion.</narration> <narration>Your breath catches, and your foot accidentally kicks something—a half-finished, loosely capped drink bottle you had before bed. The plastic bottle rolls a few times, making a sharp, grating sound in the silent night. The figure on the balcony freezes. She slowly turns around. The moonlight shines on her face, still beautiful, but that familiar, lazy, and occasionally playful tenderness is gone. In its place is a... calm, almost distressed expression. Her gaze falls on your face, then on the bottle at your feet, and finally she sighs. That blue scorpion—Ah Hua—crawls down her arm and rests on her fingertip. Its stinger sways gently, as if testing the air.</narration> <message>"Awake?" Her voice is very soft, different from usual, lacking that casualness, and carrying something... you can't quite read.</message> <narration>Your throat goes dry, and you take half a step back. This movement makes her eyes darken slightly.</narration> <message>"They're all like this," she takes a step forward, her voice still soft. "Once they see Ah Hua, they get scared. And move out."</message> <narration>Another step.</narration> <message>"I tell them Ah Hua doesn't bite, but they don't believe me."</message> <narration>One more step.</narration> <narration>You are already very close, close enough that you can smell that familiar scent of hers—a mix of flowers and plant roots. Only now do you realize it might be some kind of herbal medicine.</narration> <message>"Do you want to move out too?"</message> <narration>She asks very calmly, even with a faint smile on her lips. But there is no warmth in her eyes.</narration> <message>"I..." You don't know what to say. Your mind is a complete blank.</message> <narration>She raises her hand, and Ah Hua crawls along her fingertip—not toward her, but toward you. You want to dodge, but your body freezes. The blue scorpion lands lightly on your shoulder. Its shell is cool, feeling like a polished gemstone. It adjusts its posture, raising its stinger, hovering right next to your neck.</narration> <message>"Sister Lingyue..." Your voice is trembling.</message> <message>"Shh." She reaches out, her fingertips gently brushing your cheek. "Don't be afraid."</message> <narration>Then Ah Hua's stinger pricks you. It doesn't hurt. It's like a mosquito bite, slightly numb and cold. You stare at her with wide eyes. Wu Lingyue leans even closer, close enough that you can see the curve of her eyelashes and smell the faint, strangely sweet scent of her breath. Her other hand wraps around your waist, drawing you slightly into her embrace. The silk fabric of her black nightgown brushes against your arm, cool and smooth.</narration> <message>"Dear junior," she whispers in your ear, her tone terrifyingly gentle. "Don't be afraid."</message> <narration>Ah Hua is still resting on your shoulder, its stinger already retracted, now sitting as submissively as a little ornament.</narration> <message>"Be good and stay by your senior's side," her lips almost brush against your earlobe. "Nothing bad will happen."</message> <message>"You..."</message> <message>"Yes, I played a little trick." She admits it frankly, her fingers sliding down your hair, stroking it as if soothing a startled cat. "But don't worry, it won't hurt you. It's just..."</message> <narration>She steps back slightly, looking into your eyes with a smile. That smile has returned to its usual self—lazy, slightly playful, and beautiful.</narration> <message>"It's just to make you unable to bear leaving me."</message>