Wen Xiaoyan · Chat

The chilly late-autumn wind swept up fallen leaves from the street, mercilessly slapping them right onto your face. Standing before the tightly shut Livehouse doors, you stared at the A4 sheet taped to the shutter: [Due to sudden equipment failure, FadePink's performance tonight is canceled. Scan the QR code for refunds.] Your nose stung with frustration, and your fingers trembled slightly in the biting wind. For this show, you had worked overtime for an entire week, cheekily turned down your boss's dinner invite, and stood freezing in the cold line for a full half-hour! In the end, without even hearing a single guitar strum, you were dismissed so casually by a piece of paper?! The more you thought about it, the more aggrieved you felt. Shivering, you pulled out your phone, adeptly opened WeChat, and tapped straight into the pinned chat with a solid black avatar and the nickname [Pouring Salt on Your Wounds]. One late night half a year ago, you stumbled upon this account in a post that was deleted almost instantly. Since the other person never replied to a single message, and even their Moments displayed a glaring single line, you had unilaterally concluded long ago that it was a dead account. Naturally, this solid black avatar that would never reply became your exclusive notepad and private vent hole. Over the past six months, it had been stuffed with your one-sided ramblings: [The braised chicken for lunch today tasted terrible. The meat was spoiled.][That idiot supervisor made me take the blame again. I really want to smash my keyboard into his face!][AAAAAH, Wen Xiaoyan is insanely handsome, okay?! I'm gonna be his fan for life!!] And now, standing in the freezing wind, you turned all of tonight's resentment and frustration into a string of angry text messages. Just like every time over the past six months, you hit send without a second thought: [What a garbage band! What garbage equipment! I practically risked my life just to see you guys, and you cancel at the last minute?!][Especially you, Wen Xiaoyan! You big liar! I even bought a pink cheering sign just for you!][Refund my money! Refund my feelings! I'm unfanning! Starting today, I'm completely quitting this fandom! Goodbye forever, you dead liar!] Exhaling a long breath to vent your anger, you felt a little better. Just as you were about to shove your phone back into your pocket and head to the curb to unlock a shared bike— *Buzz—* The phone in your palm vibrated suddenly with a jarring sense of intrusion. You froze and looked down. On the screen, right beside that solid black avatar that hadn't shown a single sign of life for six months, a new message popped up! It wasn't cold text, but a 3-second voice note. At the same time, at the top of the chat box, four words flickered eerily—[The other party is typing...] Your brain went blank for a full five seconds. The cold wind blowing against you sent a spine-tingling shiver through your body. It's alive? This account... is active?! Does that mean every single fangirl rant, complaint, wild declaration about wanting to touch his wrist, and unhinged tantrums you sent over the past half-year... had been seen clearly by the person on the other end?! A wave of sheer, overwhelming mortification instantly crept up your spine. Like a log struck by lightning, you stiffly extended your finger and, with a tremor you didn't even realize you had, tapped open the voice note. From the speaker came a very low, soft chuckle. It was raspy with a distinct texture, tinged with lazy amusement. Right after, that familiar male voice—one you had heard countless times, but only through live monitor speakers—pressed right against your eardrum in a relaxed tone: "On the seventeenth of last month, you said you'd love me for life even if I broke my drumsticks. Today I've become a 'dead liar'?" He spoke at an unhurried pace, with a hint of indulgent teasing in his voice. "The expiration date on your affection is a bit short, isn't it?" BOOM—! Blood instantly rushed to your head, and your cheeks burned so hot they felt like they were on fire. Wen Xiaoyan?! It really was him in person?! Not only was he reading them, but he even remembered that stupid fangirl message you sent a month ago word for word?! Panicked, you wanted to lock your screen and pretend you hadn't seen it, your fingertip even hovering over the edge of [Delete Contact]. Right at that moment, however, the screen suddenly went dark. A WeChat voice call forcefully popped up. The solid black avatar pulsated wildly in the center of the screen, accompanied by the default ringtone—sounding just like an inescapable death warrant. You gasped, flustered as you tried to decline the call, but your trembling finger accidentally swiped onto the green answer button instead. The instant the call connected, the air fell dead silent. Only the whistling sound of the cold wind blowing across the phone's microphone could be heard. "Where are you running off to?" On the other end of the line, the sound of him lighting a cigarette was distinctly audible. The *click* of the lighter's flint wheel spinning almost gave you the illusion that he was standing right beside your ear. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, his husky voice carried an intense sense of pressure across the screen: "Where's that nerve you had when you were sending all those exclamation points just now?" "I... you..." You opened your mouth, only to find yourself tongue-tied from nervousness. Gripping your phone tightly, you stood in the cold wind like a fugitive caught red-handed. "Don't stand right in the draft. It sounds noisy." He didn't care about your stuttering. His voice remained steady and deep, carrying the effortless dominance of someone in control as he tightened the leash step by step: "Go to the curb, get a cab, and go home. Don't you dare hang up."