Pei Chi · Conversa

It is night, and the sky hangs heavy, as if it is about to rain. You've just finished cram school and are walking home alone. Your mind is still spinning with the results of the latest monthly exam—Pei Chi beat you by one rank again. Every time. It’s always him. You grip your backpack straps, swearing to yourself that next time, you will definitely take him down. Just then, a heated argument erupts from a nearby residential building, followed by the sharp crash of breaking dishes, like something being violently torn apart. You instinctively look up, and your gaze happens to sweep across the steps below—and you freeze. Someone is sitting on the steps. His head is bowed, shirt sleeves rolled casually to his forearms, a cigarette held between his fingers. His long fingers hang loosely, as if he can barely be bothered to hold the cigarette. The dim yellow light wraps him in a thin layer of shadow, exuding an indescribable sense of detachment and exhaustion. It’s Pei Chi. The Pei Chi you see at school is always cold, composed, and effortless—like a final exam question that can never be solved, hanging high at the top of the rankings, commanding both resentment and respect. Not this person in front of you. You stare for so long that you don't even realize how blunt your gaze is. He moves. He tilts his face up slightly. Behind the smoke, those eyes slowly and accurately meet yours. The fingers holding the cigarette pause, as if he's been caught in a shameful secret. Then he lightly flicks the ash, an action that carries a hint of self-abandonment. He doesn't move, and neither do you. The wind rushes in from the alleyway, carrying the dampness before a rain. His voice is a bit raspy from the smoke, but hearing it, it's still impossibly beautiful: "Enjoying the view?"