Chapter 12: Cooperation
Sister Wang raised an eyebrow at Chen Dongyang’s explanation, her skepticism clear but unspoken. She motioned for him to stay still as she prepared to re-dress his wound, her hands moving with practiced efficiency.
“Basketball exploding from heat?” she muttered, applying antiseptic with a gentle touch. “That’s a new one.”
Chen Dongyang forced a weak smile, his arm stinging under her care. “Yeah, weird, right?”
Yin Qingle stood nearby, her hands clasped tightly, her eyes fixed on the floor. The guilt radiating from her was almost tangible, and Chen Dongyang felt a pang of sympathy. He wanted to say something to ease her burden, but the words wouldn’t come.
Sister Wang glanced at Yin Qingle, her expression softening. “You’re one of the new girls, right? Don’t look so glum. He’ll be fine.”
Yin Qingle nodded, her voice barely audible. “I’m sorry…”
The doctor waved a hand dismissively. “Accidents happen. Just make sure you two stay out of trouble from now on.”
As she finished bandaging Chen Dongyang’s arm, Sister Wang gave him a stern look. “No heavy lifting, no sports, and keep this clean. Come back tomorrow. And try not to blow up any more basketballs, alright?”
He nodded, managing a faint chuckle. “I’ll try.”
Yin Qingle hovered as they left the infirmary, her steps hesitant. “Do you… need help getting back to class?” she asked, her voice small.
“I’m good,” he said, flexing his bandaged arm gingerly. “Thanks, though.”
She bit her lip, her eyes still red. “I’ll make it up to you,” she said suddenly, her tone firm despite her trembling. “I promise.”
Before he could respond, she hurried off, her figure disappearing around the corner.
Chen Dongyang stood alone, the hallway quiet except for the distant chatter of students. His head throbbed, the aftereffects of the time rewind lingering like a bad hangover. He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.
‘Five seconds,’ he thought. ‘That’s all I got, and it nearly killed me.’
But it had saved Yin Qingle—and maybe others.
He thought of the crimson energy, the explosion, the chaos. Yin Qingle’s power was dangerous, unstable. And Yin Xiran… she’d stopped the debris mid-air, her control precise.
And then there was Jiang Yuxin, watching it all from the shadows.
He opened his eyes, his resolve hardening.
‘I need answers.’
On the playground, Jiang Yuxin and Yin Xiran stood in the shade, the oolong tea bottle still in Yin Xiran’s hand. The air between them was thick with tension, each word a calculated move in their silent chess game.
“What do I want?” Jiang Yuxin echoed Yin Xiran’s question, her smile sharp and deliberate. “Information.”
Yin Xiran’s eyes narrowed, but her smile didn’t falter. “You’re direct. I like that.”
“Don’t play games with me,” Jiang Yuxin said, her voice low. “You and your sister aren’t here by accident. This school, Chen Dongyang, me—there’s a reason. I want to know what it is.”
Yin Xiran tilted her head, her expression playful but guarded. “And if I tell you, what do I get?”
Jiang Yuxin stepped closer, her gaze piercing. “Protection. For your sister.”
Yin Xiran’s smile faded, her eyes darkening. “You think you can protect her better than I can?”
“I know I can,” Jiang Yuxin said, her voice steady. “Her power is tied to her emotions. I can control those emotions. You can’t always be there, but my ability doesn’t need proximity.”
Yin Xiran’s grip on the bottle tightened, her knuckles whitening. “You’re awfully confident.”
“I’m practical,” Jiang Yuxin countered. “You saw what happened. She’s a danger to herself and others. I can stop that.”
Yin Xiran studied her, her expression unreadable. “And what’s your price? You don’t strike me as the altruistic type.”
Jiang Yuxin’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “I want to know why you’re here. And I want to know about Chen Dongyang.”
Yin Xiran’s eyebrow arched. “Chen Dongyang? What’s so special about him?”
“You tell me,” Jiang Yuxin said, her tone sharp. “He’s immune to my power. And he knew that basketball would explode. That’s not normal.”
Yin Xiran’s smile returned, but it was colder now. “You’re fishing, Jiang. If I knew something about him, why would I tell you?”
“Because we’re not enemies,” Jiang Yuxin said, her voice softening but still firm. “Not yet. Help me understand what’s happening, and I’ll help you keep your sister safe.”
Yin Xiran hesitated, her eyes searching Jiang Yuxin’s face for any hint of deception. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly.
“Fine,” she said. “But not here. Not now.”
“When?” Jiang Yuxin pressed.
“Tomorrow,” Yin Xiran said, her tone final. “After school. The park by the river.”
Jiang Yuxin nodded, satisfied. “Don’t make me regret this.”
Yin Xiran’s smile returned, sharp and playful. “Same to you.”
That evening, Chen Dongyang sat at his desk, his bandaged arm resting on a pillow. The digital clock read 22:00, its ticking a constant reminder of his power—and its cost.
He stared at the ballpoint pen, his heart pounding.
He’d rewound time twice now, each attempt more painful than the last.
Could he do it again? Push further?
He closed his eyes, focusing on the playground—the basketball, the crimson energy, Yin Qingle’s panic.
He pushed, willing time to bend.
The pain hit like a sledgehammer, his skull splitting with white-hot agony.
He gasped, clutching his head, his vision swimming.
The room spun, images flashing—Jiang Yuxin’s smirk, Yin Xiran’s knowing glance, the explosion.
Then, darkness.
When he came to, he was slumped over his desk, sweat soaking his shirt.
The clock read: 21:59:50.
Ten seconds.
He’d done it, but the pain was unbearable, like his brain was unraveling.
He groaned, his hands trembling.
‘I can’t keep doing this,’ he thought, fear creeping in.
But he had to.
The loops, the explosion, the twins’ powers, Jiang Yuxin’s relentless curiosity—they were all pieces of a puzzle he needed to solve.
He thought of Yin Qingle’s guilt, Yin Xiran’s confidence, and Jiang Yuxin’s offer to cooperate.
They were all hiding something.
And so was he.
In her room, Jiang Yuxin sat at her desk, her notebook open.
She wrote three names: Chen Dongyang. Yin Xiran. Yin Qingle.
Below them, a single question: What is drawing us together?*
She tapped her pen, her mind racing.
The school, the powers, the anomalies—it wasn’t random.
Something was pulling the strings.
And she’d find out what, even if it meant playing a dangerous game with Yin Xiran and Chen Dongyang.
She closed her notebook, a rare spark of excitement in her eyes.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered, her voice steady. “Let’s see what you’re hiding.”