Zhu Yun felt as though she had dreamed a very long dream — a dream that wound backward through time.
From the moment he told her “I love you,” back to the night they decided together what they were going to build, then further to the lakeside in summer, the swaying willow branches, the sticky heat of perspiration, the New Year’s Eve fireworks.
And the classes they had attended together, the cigarettes they had shared, the roads they had walked…
The tone of his voice when he invited her in. The cold smile he gave when he looked down at her.
Then that sweltering afternoon, the teacher calling roll at the gymnasium entrance in a hoarse, unrelenting shout —
“Class One, Number One — is Li Xun here?”
A voice answered from behind her —
“Here.”
The dream stopped there. She had no memory of anything before that moment, and felt no need for any — it was as though her life had simply begun with that single word.
---
Li Lan was found by chance, by a group of competition students passing through late at night.
Their team’s submission had run into a small technical problem and kept them working until well past midnight. On their way back to the hotel, they tried to take a shortcut through a side path — and the person at the front nearly tripped over something.
In the near-darkness, they made out a figure collapsed on the ground and were so frightened they could barely breathe.
They rushed Li Lan to the hospital. Her vital signs were extremely faint. She was suffering from severe hypothermia and had fallen into a deep, unresponsive coma.
The doctors couldn’t find any identification on her. They searched her belongings and found a phone. Once it was charged, the call history showed nothing but a single name: Li Xun.
By that point, Li Xun had been searching for Li Lan for over ten hours. He had gone to every place he could think of, and at the end had even appealed to the police — who declined on the grounds that she hadn’t been missing for twenty-four hours yet, and advised him to keep checking likely locations.
His emotions had been stretched to a breaking point. When he received the call and arrived at the hospital to find Li Lan barely clinging to life, he came completely undone.
He grabbed one of the students and demanded to know how Li Lan had ended up in that place, his expression so terrifying it looked as though he might tear someone apart. The student — first frightened, then furious — said: are you serious right now? We’re the ones who brought her here. We have a competition tomorrow and we’re still here at this hour. What is wrong with you? How on earth would we know how she got there?
They covered the ambulance costs themselves and left. Li Xun asked the doctor what Li Lan’s condition was. The doctor was noncommittal — said that generally speaking there shouldn’t be any danger to her life, but given that the patient was already seriously ill, her body was in an extremely weakened state, and they could not rule out sudden complications.
Li Xun left the hospital and went to look at the spot outside the venue where Li Lan had collapsed. It was already past seven, but in winter the sun rose late, and the past few days had been overcast; the world outside was still dim and grey.
To the front left of the administrative building stood a vending machine — shut down for the holiday, no one using it. Li Xun walked over, looked up, and noticed a small, unobtrusive security camera mounted above it.
The security guard on duty at the campus watchroom had just gotten out of bed and was scowling at the grim weather. The competition had pushed his rest schedule back, and he was in a foul mood about it.
He was about to wash up when a knock at the door startled him. He opened it to find a tall young man outside — face ashen, eyes threaded with red.
The guard was about to ask who he was, when the young man’s low voice said: I need yesterday’s security footage.
The guard bristled — where do you think you’re from, barging in like this, who do you think you are, where’s your teacher, let me call your —
He didn’t finish the sentence. A sudden pain exploded in his abdomen and he dropped to his knees.
I need yesterday’s security footage. Li Xun withdrew his foot and said it again.
The guard couldn’t stand. Li Xun simply sat down at the computer himself, and within moments had pulled up the previous day’s footage from outside the venue.
The monitor was washed out and grey, like a rag that had never been properly cleaned.
The guard was furious and felt he ought to do something about what had just happened — but he didn’t move, because some instinct told him this silent young man had already slipped somewhat beyond the reach of reason.
---
Inside, the competition was in progress.
It happened to be Fang Zhijing’s group presenting their demonstration. Down at the judges’ panel, Professor Lin sat in the center; he had formed a favorable impression of Fang Zhijing and was quietly praising him to the teacher beside him.
When Li Xun walked into the venue, no one noticed — no one except Fang Zhijing, who spotted him instantly. His speech cut off mid-sentence. He watched Li Xun drawing steadily closer and instinctively stepped back half a pace.
The same suffocating pressure Li Xun had brought with him two years ago had returned.
In that moment, Fang Zhijing forgot entirely that he was in the middle of a competition. His mind raced — had something been exposed? Had the woman told him?
Even so, it wouldn’t matter. There had been no third party present, no witnesses, nothing that could be proven. And in a hall full of people — what could Li Xun possibly do to him here?
With that thought, Fang Zhijing steadied himself and even turned to gesture to the support staff to prepare for the next segment.
In the few seconds that pause lasted, Li Xun had already stepped onto the stage. Fang Zhijing turned back around — and was met with darkness, as his left eye flooded, something gave way inside it, and a thick, viscous warmth began to run.
Then came the pain — a searing, bone-deep agony — and his legs buckled beneath him, and his trousers went wet.
He understood that something had gone very wrong, though not yet how wrong. He lay on the floor, still faintly conscious, his eye a field of red, the whole world shaking along with him, blood and sensation all tangled together. He wanted to scream, but fear had sealed his throat shut — the feeling of being left with no way out, no escape, was absolute.
After that, he knew nothing more.
The entire hall stood frozen in shock — until Professor Lin shot to his feet at the judges’ table and roared at the staff beside him: “What are you waiting for?! Restrain him — now!”
---
Zhu Yun didn’t learn what had happened until three days later.
Her mother sat in the armchair and narrated the events to her in an unhurried tone, sipping tea as she spoke. Because her mother’s manner was so light, Zhu Yun told herself inwardly that this wasn’t anything too serious.
Just a fight. He’d get a disciplinary mark. That would be the end of it.
If it came to it, he could even withdraw from school. It wasn’t the end of the world.
“A disciplinary mark?” Her mother heard this and gave a short, quiet laugh. Then she said, slowly: “Fang Zhijing’s left eye was removed.”
The cold swept through Zhu Yun from head to feet.