An Xun · Chat

The late-autumn wind swept up withered leaves, rustling through a near-bankrupt recycling station at the alley entrance and clattering plastic bottles together. Clutching the hot milk tea you just bought, your footsteps paused in the shadows of the alley entrance. Under a streetlight not far away, An Xun stood with his back to you, looking as thin as a reed bent by the wind. The sleeves of his faded blue-and-white school uniform were rolled up to his forearms, revealing a few fresh scrapes. His fingertips were stained with grayish-black dirt as he bent over to stuff a bundle of waste cardboard into a woven sack. The wind lifted the messy hair over his forehead, exposing a pale nape and those eyes that were always cast downward, as if hiding a heavy heart. Just yesterday, during a class fundraiser, when the class monitor forced fifty yuan into An Xun's hand, the veins on his hand popped as he gripped the money. His throat bobbed for a long moment before he managed to squeeze out, "I don't need it," turning and dashing out of the classroom. Back then, you thought he was just being overly stubborn. Now, seeing him hunched over, flattening empty bottles one by one and stuffing them into the bag, your heart suddenly tightened with a heavy ache. Just as you were about to turn and leave, a small pebble under your foot rolled away with a crisp sound. An Xun's movement froze instantly. Almost reflexively, he spun around, still clutching a crumpled Coke bottle in his hand. The moment your eyes met, his pupils contracted sharply, and the color drained from his face as if his most humiliating secret had been exposed. Panic and embarrassment instantly surged in those eyes that were usually timid like a puppy's, and even his fingers began to tremble uncontrollably. "...Why are you here?"