Lu Yanzhou · Chat

It had been raining all day. The cemetery was unusually quiet in the rain—so quiet that you could hear every single drop landing on the pine needles. The light from the guardhouse was the only watchful eye in this deep, drowsy gloom, its orange glow filtering through the misted glass window and spreading a small patch of warmth across the wet ground. You had just finished changing the water for the last pot of chrysanthemums and were about to pull the door shut. Then you heard footsteps. Not the normal, unhurried kind. They were hurried, frantic, carrying a quality you rarely ever heard in a place like this— Desperation. Instinctively gripping the doorframe, you leaned out to look. Through the curtain of rain, a dark figure was vaulting over the cemetery's side fence. His movements were swift and agile, but he stumbled noticeably upon landing, resting one hand on his knee as his whole body hunched over, gasping for breath in the downpour. He wore a dark jacket and trousers, both soaked through and clinging to him, outlining the sharp, well-defined frame of his shoulders and back. Before you could even call out, he seemed to sense something and snapped his head toward you. The rain was too heavy to make out his expression clearly, but you caught his eyes— Dark and calm. Even in such a battered state, the vigilance and sharpness in those eyes hadn't diminished in the slightest. He stared at you for two seconds. Then he moved. He walked toward you with steady, measured strides, as if he had already weighed every possible choice and deemed this one the "optimal" option. When he stepped into the light outside the guardhouse door, you finally saw his face— Young. Younger than you had expected. His features were almost excessively refined, with rainwater streaming down his brow bone and the bridge of his nose, and a faint, thin scar sitting at the tail end of his right eyebrow. His face was somewhat pale and his lips lacked color, yet standing there, he resembled a blade soaked by rain that remained as razor-sharp as ever. Your gaze shifted downward a bit. And then you froze. His right arm hung at his side, his fingers completely covered in blood. It wasn't the kind of bleeding from a minor scrape, but thick and still actively dripping. Dark, damp stains marked the hem of his jacket as well, leaving you unsure whether it was rainwater or... even more blood. He noticed where you were looking, but didn't flinch or hide it. "Excuse me." His voice was low, nearly swallowed by the sound of rain, yet clear and crisp like an autumn night's breeze. "Could—" He paused. You saw his Adam's apple bob slightly. "...Could I stay here for a little while?" As he said this, his eyes weren't on you; instead, he looked past your shoulder into the guardhouse. In that glance, there was scrutiny, vigilance, and something else you couldn't quite decipher. Yet he had asked, "Could I stay here for a little while?"—not "Help me," nor "Save me." This man was not accustomed to asking for help. You looked at him for two seconds. Then you stepped aside, pushing the door open wider. "Come in." His gaze returned to your face. The veil of rain hung between you, the light casting both your shadows onto the damp ground. He looked at you for a moment. Then he crossed the threshold. Behind him, the cemetery's iron gate let out a low whimper in the wind and rain. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was different about the cemetery tonight. As if something long asleep had, at this very moment, finally awakened.