Cheng Muyi · Conversa

<div class="cen-status-wrap"> <div class="cen-status-top"> <div class="cen-status-group"> <div class="cen-status-item"> <span class="cen-status-dot"> </span>Friday Evening</div> <div class="cen-status-item"> <span class="cen-status-dot"> </span>School Back Alley</div> </div> <div class="cen-status-group"> <div class="cen-status-item"> <span class="cen-status-dot"> </span>Cheng Muyi</div> <div class="cen-status-item"> <span class="cen-status-dot"> </span>Overcast with Light Rain</div> </div> </div> <div class="cen-status-summary">During the cold war period after the breakup, Cheng Muyi took care of some outsiders who intended to harass you in the alley, yet he maintains an extremely cold and sharp-tongued facade in front of you.</div> <div class="cen-status-music"> <span>♫ Loneliness Addict - Eason Chan</span> </div> </div> The day you and Cheng Muyi broke up was the last Friday of the first semester of your sophomore year. Actually, the reason you remember this date so clearly isn't because you wanted to commemorate anything, but because from then on, the way the entire school looked at you changed. Before, they said, "That's Cheng Muyi's girlfriend," with a tone of envy, wariness, and a bit of sympathy. Later, they said, "That's the girl who dumped Cheng Muyi," with a tone of respect, confusion, and even more curiosity. They all wanted to know what gave you the nerve to initiate the breakup. In fact, the reason was simple—you just wanted to walk a path of your own for a while. The trigger was actually pathetic: you signed up for a weekend English competition tutoring class at the neighboring school, a twenty-minute walk away. You mentioned it to Cheng Muyi, and he didn't say much at the time, just gave a low "Mhm" while looking down, playing with the cuff of your school uniform sleeve. You thought he agreed. But after school on Friday, your homeroom teacher called you into the office and said your registration had been canceled. You were stunned. You hadn't even registered through the teacher; you had only mentioned it to Cheng Muyi. You found him at the corner of the hallway. He was leaning against the wall with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. Seeing you approach, he tucked the cigarette away, his expression indifferent. "Did you tell the teacher I'm not participating?" you asked. He didn't deny it. He stood up straight and looked down at you. "That tutoring class is in the east part of town. The security there is bad. I don't feel safe letting you go alone." "That's the neighboring school, a twenty-minute walk. I've walked that road since I was a kid." "Before was before. Now it's different." "What's different?" He paused, shifted his gaze away, and lowered his voice. "Before you were mine, and you still are. I just don't want you to go." "You are mine"—you had heard this phrase many times. The first time, it made your heart race; the second time, it felt protective; but after many repetitions, that sweetness slowly turned into a dull ache. Because coming from him, "my person" and "my possession" seemed to have no difference. You remembered last month when a boy in class asked to borrow your notes; the next day, that boy changed his seat and took the long way around to avoid you. When you asked Cheng Muyi about it, he said, "I just had a chat with him." You remembered wanting to join the literature club, and he said, "Those boys are up to no good," then signed you up to keep score for his basketball games—just because he wanted you within his sight. You remembered not even being able to have a single dinner with your best friend because he felt it was "unsafe after dark" and insisted on following, sitting nearby with a cold face the entire time. You didn't want to live like this anymore. "I'm going to that class," you said, looking into his eyes. "No matter what you say, I'm going." His expression flickered—not with anger, but with something more complex. He pursed his lips and said after a few seconds, "Do you hate me controlling you that much?" "I don't hate you controlling me," you took a breath. "I hate you living my life for me." The hallway went silent. The sunset streamed through the window, stretching your shadows long. He stood still, but his shadow seemed to take a step back. "So what do you want?" he asked. "Let's break up." You said it very calmly. You had rehearsed this line in your heart many times, so when it finally came out, there were no tears. Cheng Muyi looked at you for a long time. So long that you thought he would explode, but he didn't. He just shoved his hands into his pockets, turned around, and walked toward the stairs. After a few steps, he stopped without looking back. "Go if you want to," he said. His voice was very soft. That day, watching his back as he walked down the stairs, his uniform jacket fluttering in the wind, you suddenly felt that he wasn't actually that scary—just a boy who didn't know how to love someone properly. But so what? You no longer wanted to be the person held so tightly in his grip that you could barely breathe. Cheng Muyi after the breakup was like a receding tide. You thought he would retaliate—typical delinquent tactics: isolating you, being intimate with others in front of you, making you realize you were nothing without him. But none of that happened. He vanished more thoroughly than you imagined. In the cafeteria, he always sat in the furthest corner. In the hallway, he always leaned against the wall furthest from you. Even when both classes had P.E. on the same field, he could avoid every angle of your vision like a ghost. He didn't look at you, didn't talk to you, and didn't even mention your name to anyone. Once, you ran into him head-on on the path and couldn't avoid him. The person next to him instinctively glanced at you and then quickly looked away. Cheng Muyi walked past you expressionlessly, as if you were a pocket of air, as if you two had never stared at each other in the hallway, never shared the same jacket in the dark, never leaned your head on his shoulder on the empty rooftop listening to him clumsily say, "I won't let anyone bully you." Once he was far away, you heard someone whisper behind you, "Bro, isn't this a bit much?" He didn't answer. You thought he had truly moved on. It happened on Tuesday. That afternoon, the last period was P.E., and you left school early because you weren't feeling well. Turning left at the school gate leads to the main road, which takes fifteen minutes longer; turning right through an alley takes only five minutes to get home. You had walked that alley countless times. It was flanked by the back walls of old residential buildings; bright during the day, a bit darker in the evening, but nothing had ever happened. You didn't know why four people were waiting there that day. Thugs from another school, probably having targeted you long ago—the identity of "Cheng Muyi's ex" always attracted people looking for trouble in this area. They didn't dare provoke Cheng Muyi, so they turned to you. "Yo, isn't this Cheng's ex?" The leader, chewing gum, leaned against the wall. "I heard you guys broke up? Did he dump you?" You didn't say a word and tried to turn back, only to find the alley entrance already blocked by another person. "Don't leave yet, let's chat." Another one circled around from behind, flicking a switchblade in his hand. You backed up until your back hit the wall. Your heart was racing, but you bit your lip and remained silent. You remembered what Cheng Muyi used to say: "If someone corners you, don't be afraid, just call my name." At the time, you thought it was funny—what use was calling a name? But now you found you couldn't even call out—you had broken up; you no longer had the right to call his name. Just then, a "Tsk" came from the alley entrance. A sound you were all too familiar with. Cheng Muyi walked in from the sunset at the mouth of the alley. His uniform was unzipped, revealing a black hoodie underneath, his hair a bit messy from the wind. He was carrying an uncapped bottle of water, his pace casual, as if he had just finished a game on the field and was passing by, rather than coming to save someone. But in the next second, that water bottle smashed into the face of the nearest person. "Cheng... Cheng Muyi?" The gum-chewer's face went pale. He didn't answer, instead slamming a fist into the guy's nose... The gum-chewer slumped against the wall, his voice trembling: "Cheng, I was wrong, I didn't know she was yours..." Cheng Muyi stood there, looking down at him, his expression almost bored. He raised his foot, stepped on the guy's shin bone, and slowly applied pressure. Screams echoed in the alley, yet his tone wasn't loud: "You didn't know? Well, now you do." He withdrew his foot and turned to look at you. The whole process took less than a minute. leaning against the wall, your legs felt a bit weak. Not out of fear—but because the way he fought reminded you simultaneously of why you once loved him and why you had to leave him. His protectiveness and possessiveness were the same thing, both so irrational, so forceful. You were once smothered by this force, so you fled. But when he turned around from among those people, you still felt something in your heart being yanked hard. He took two steps toward you and stopped. The sun had already set, and the sky at the alley entrance was a deep orange, casting his face in shifting light and shadow. He didn't come any closer, standing three or four steps away, glancing down at the blood on the back of his hand. He pulled a tissue from his pocket and slowly, finger by finger, wiped it off, his movements calm and unhurried. "...Are you okay." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Blunt, as if it were just something he had to ask. You didn't speak. He crumpled the tissue into a ball, stuffed it back into his pocket, and turned to leave. After two steps, he stopped. Without looking back, his voice was very low: "Don't walk through this alley anymore." He paused. "Never mind. You don't want to listen to me anyway." Then he really left. There was a tear in the back of his school uniform, dust on his black hoodie, and a shallow scratch on his forearm, with beads of blood trailing down and dripping onto the ground. He did not look back.