Chapter 13: Lunch Box
The lunch break bell rang sharply.
The classroom erupted with the clatter of tables and chairs, chaotic footsteps, and the buzz of young voices.
In the corridor, students from different classes merged like a flood, rushing toward the cafeteria.
The teaching building came alive with the primal instinct of “eating.”
But none of it concerned Xiahou Ming.
She lay on the table, unmoving.
Her stomach silently protested from the morning’s tension and hunger.
She’d eaten nothing today, only her mother’s leftovers last night.
“Xiao Ming,” Ling Yicai’s voice came, cautious and tentative, “my mom packed too much food this morning. I can’t finish it alone. Want to eat with me?”
Xiahou Ming looked up at Ling Yicai’s sincere, worried face.
She was starving, and maybe accepting this once wasn’t a big deal—just a free meal.
She almost nodded.
But her eyes flicked to the corner across the classroom.
Yu Yuhui’s seat was empty.
Her heart jolted.
She’s gone.
She’s waiting.
“…Sorry,” she said to Ling Yicai, voice dry, “not today. No appetite.”
“But your face—”
“I’m fine, really.” Xiahou Ming cut her off, standing and heading for the back door.
She didn’t look at Ling Yicai’s disappointed expression, knowing it would make her hate herself more.
*
This was Xiahou Ming’s second time climbing to the rooftop, her movements more practiced.
She knew which loose rails to avoid on the maintenance ladder and found a better foothold to scale the distribution box.
Pushing aside the loose board, the smell of pigeon droppings and dust felt strangely familiar.
She, a former “problem student,” had never come here before.
Was the rooftop a refuge for the lonely, and had she subconsciously joined them in just a week?
She smirked bitterly.
On the rooftop, the wind stung her cheeks.
Yu Yuhui sat on the concrete guardrail, legs dangling over the edge, dozens of meters above the ground.
Her precarious posture looked like an acrobat’s, as if a gust could topple her.
Hearing Xiahou Ming, she turned.
“You’re here,” she said.
Beside her were two worn aluminum lunch boxes.
Xiahou Ming approached but didn’t sit.
The wind whipped the hem of her dark blue skirt against her calves.
She stared at faded cigarette butts at her feet, silent for a long time.
Finally, she looked at Yu Yuhui, expression complex, and pointed tremblingly at her skirt.
“Did you… know who it belonged to?” Her voice was hoarse with nerves.
Yu Yuhui didn’t answer directly.
She grabbed a lunch box and tossed it to Xiahou Ming like a stone.
It was still warm.
“Leftovers from this morning. Won’t poison you.”
Xiahou Ming stared at the heavy lunch box, stunned.
“What,” Yu Yuhui’s lips curled mockingly, “want me to feed you?”
Her stomach growled.
She sat cross-legged on the ground, opened the lunch box.
White rice, topped with scrambled eggs with chives, dried radish, and half a greasy salted duck egg.
Simple, but the warm aroma of oil and food soothed her cramping stomach.
She grabbed the chopsticks and ate voraciously.
This was the first peaceful meal she’d had since becoming a girl.
No mother’s delusional chatter, no Ling Yicai’s pressured kindness—just the food’s taste.
As she ate, Yu Yuhui’s voice drifted down.
“I just wanted to see,” she said in her distinct tone, “what happens when a ‘perpetrator’ wears a ‘victim’s’ skin.”
“Don’t you think?” She looked down at Xiahou Ming. “You understand Wen Xuelan better than anyone now. You’ve felt her fears, enjoyed her ‘beauty.’ A deep resonance has formed between you.”
Xiahou Ming paused, chopsticks lowered, chilled by the words.
“I don’t… fully get it,” she said, chewing. “If that’s true, why help me? Wouldn’t it be more fun to let me crash and burn in public?”
“I didn’t help you. I just found those people… an eyesore.”
“Then I’m not an eyesore? We never even spoke before.”
Xiahou Ming looked up at the thin figure on the guardrail, legs swinging.
Yu Yuhui gazed at the playground below, ignoring the question.
A breeze carried a hint of shampoo, mingling with the food in Xiahou Ming’s throat.
She finished every grain of rice, the fullness making her feel alive again.
Closing the lunch box, she said something unexpected: “Your cooking’s worse than mine.”
Yu Yuhui’s legs stopped swinging.
Her body stiffened.
She whipped her head around, her calm face cracking with surprise and anger—a rare, youthful flaw.
“…What did you say?”
“I said,” Xiahou Ming drawled, savoring a spark of revenge, “the eggs are overcooked, the chives too long, the radish too salty. But the duck egg’s good. Where’d you buy it at the market?”
Yu Yuhui stared, lips twitching as if to retort, but no words came.
A faint blush crept onto her cheeks.
For the first time, Xiahou Ming gained the upper hand in their unequal dynamic.
The rooftop fell into a strange silence—not tense, not heavy.
They gazed at the ant-like students on the playground, enjoying a “normal” lunch break.
After a while, Yu Yuhui jumped down from the guardrail.
To mask her earlier “slip” and regain control, she made a bolder move.
She walked to Xiahou Ming and grabbed her hand.
Her fingers pressed into Xiahou Ming’s palm, grazing a scabbed scratch from last night’s theft.
Yu Yuhui had one too.
“You…!”
“Shh.” Her nails dug into the scab. “Pain is good glue.”
“Let’s go,” she said.
“Where? Class is starting soon,” Xiahou Ming asked.
“Jump off.”
Yu Yuhui’s lips curled into that wicked, controlling smile.
“Go out and play with me.”