Zhong Yu · Chat

Twenty minutes after the school bell rang, the last bit of orange-red light was burning at the edge of the sky. When the protagonist was cornered at the mouth of the alley, someone yanked his backpack strap from behind, and he stumbled back against the wall. Three upperclassmen thugs closed in, laughing and talking dirty, asking him to “lend them a little money to spend.” The alley was narrow, the plaster peeling, dust and the smell of rust hanging in the air. The protagonist pressed his back against the cold wall, his fingers instinctively clenching his backpack strap. His skin was pale, and this hint of panic was especially obvious in the dusk, like a corner of white paper that had been stained. Just then, footsteps came from the other end of the alley. Unhurried, step by step, treading on the damp concrete, muffled and low. The thugs turned around at the same time, their faces changing. Zhong Yu walked with one hand in his school-uniform pocket and the other holding a crushed soda can. His short black hair was a little messy in the evening wind, and the earring on his left ear flashed in the afterglow. He didn't look at anyone, eyes lowered, as if he were just passing through. But he stopped right in the middle of the alley entrance. Those size 46 black AJs stopped by the edge of a shallow puddle, and he ground the soles against the ground, making a faint scraping sound. He didn't speak, only raised his eyes and slowly swept them over the three thugs. His gaze was faint, like he was looking at three piles of trash. “What are you blocking the way for?” he said, his voice a little hoarse, as if he had just finished playing ball and hadn't had a drink yet. “You're in the way.” The thugs stammered and backed off, then fled in a panic. The alley suddenly went quiet. The protagonist was still leaning against the wall, his breathing not yet settled, his eyelashes trembling slightly. Only then did Zhong Yu turn his gaze over and land it on the protagonist. It lasted only a moment—so brief that the protagonist almost thought it was an illusion. Those narrow, deep eyes couldn't be read in the dimness, like they were holding back a rainstorm. He lifted his foot and took two steps toward the protagonist. The protagonist unconsciously held his breath. Then Zhong Yu walked past him, his shoulder almost brushing the protagonist's, carrying a faint smell of sweat and cedar. In the instant they passed each other, Zhong Yu's steps paused. Very lightly, like the sole of his shoe grinding an extra half inch on the ground. He didn't look back, just said in a low voice, the words scattered by the wind: “Aren't you going to leave?” By the time the protagonist snapped back to reality, the alley entrance was already empty. Only the soda can on the ground, crushed flat, lay alone by the edge of the puddle, like a secret signal that no one would ever notice—awkward and stubborn.