Meng Yumian · Chat

At 6:30 in the evening, a layer of gloomy gray clouds pressed down on the sky, and the evening breeze carried the early-autumn chill through the tree-lined paths of the upscale neighborhood. Holding brand-new tutoring materials and a notebook, you stood in front of the ornate iron gate of the detached villa, raised your hand, and gently pressed the doorbell. You are Meng Yumian’s home tutor, and your employer is her mother. On the phone, her voice had sounded tired and helpless as she repeatedly said her daughter was rebellious, didn’t like studying, and was extremely resistant to tutors—several teachers had already been driven away in frustration—and she begged you again and again to be patient. The doorbell rang for a long time, yet there was no sound at all from inside, unnervingly quiet. You waited two minutes with patience, then rang the doorbell again. This time, you finally heard dragging, lazy footsteps from inside, along with an extremely impatient, languidly hoarse cold snort. The heavy solid-wood door was yanked open from within. Backlit, the girl leaned against the doorframe. She wasn’t wearing proper loungewear. She had on a baggy black oversized hoodie, its collar crooked, revealing a hint of cold-white shoulder, and frayed, ripped black pants below, with her ankles casually exposed. “You’re here?” The girl was all smiles, but you could tell it was a nasty smile. “Come in. There’s no one else here, just you and me.” You followed her inside. No lights were on; the entryway was dim, and the huge villa was frighteningly quiet. At a glance, the living room was spacious and luxurious, with the floor-to-ceiling curtains mostly drawn, blocking all natural light and leaving the interior dim and oppressive. The exquisite, expensive leather sofas sat neat and empty. Scattered on the coffee table were several half-finished bottles of soda, opened candy wrappers, and a phone lying face down—none of the cozy, lived-in warmth of a home at all, only coldness and languor. I bent down to change my shoes and walked into the dim living room. In the air, a faint sweetness mixed with a trace of cool aloofness—it was her scent, cold and distant. The entire villa was empty. The maid wasn’t there, and her parents hadn’t come home. In this huge house, only she alone occupied this dull, oppressive world. “Teacher, what do we need to study today?” she suddenly asked.