Chapter 23: Stirring Up Trouble

“…You okay?”

Hua Qi’an asked softly.

The scene looked utterly eerie no matter how she sliced it.

Why was Chen Zhiyan sitting in a pitch-black classroom, staring into a mirror?

And still with her head down.

Was she unwell?

But even as Hua Qi’an asked, Chen Zhiyan remained utterly still.

It made her wonder if she’d dozed off.

Hua Qi’an finally noticed the exposed skin.

Deathly pale, almost sickly.

Not the healthy kind of fair—more a pallid blue tinge.

An ominous feeling welled up; Hua Qi’an’s brows furrowed.

But as she debated approaching to check on Chen Zhiyan, the figure before her suddenly spoke.

[Do you need something from me?]

Her voice was flat, emotionless—like a machine reciting pre-programmed text.

The toneless quality sent chills creeping up the spine.

But Hua Qi’an exhaled in relief instead.

She’d half-feared Chen Zhiyan had passed out or worse.

At least she was awake—that simplified things.

Hua Qi’an pulled the pink envelope and bouquet from her bag.

She extended them toward Chen Zhiyan.

But the girl didn’t budge, maintaining her prior pose.

Hua Qi’an simply set them on the desk before her.

Chen Zhiyan stirred.

She raised a hand, taking the envelope.

Hua Qi’an noted the striking red cord on her left wrist.

The vivid crimson stood out starkly against the pallid skin.

[…You like me?]

Chen Zhiyan spoke again.

Still that flat, mechanical monotone.

Yet for some reason, the words warped faintly in Hua Qi’an’s ears.

Like a poorly tuned old radio signal.

Hua Qi’an blinked in a daze but snapped back, eyeing Chen Zhiyan in confusion.

Even asked directly, the girl kept her head bowed, face hidden.

Maybe she’d misheard.

Hua Qi’an didn’t dwell, shaking her head naturally.

“My roommate asked me to pass these to you.”

“She’s the one who likes you.”

Chen Zhiyan meant nothing socially to her, so Hua Qi’an’s reply stayed neutral—framing it as zero personal stake.

Though Hua Qi’an couldn’t see Chen Zhiyan’s face, she sensed a stiffening.

The hand holding the envelope moved like a rusted gear, halting before slowly withdrawing.

The letter dropped back to the desk.

With only the podium lamp on, the fourth row stayed dim.

Single light source stretching the vanity mirror’s shadow long.

It blanketed the letter and flowers entirely.

Hua Qi’an’s own shadow elongated across desk and floor too.

Perhaps because the room’s rear half lay unlit in gloom…

Hua Qi’an hadn’t spotted Chen Zhiyan’s shadow.

“…”

Having retrieved her pen and delivered the items, Hua Qi’an saw no reason to linger.

“If that’s all, I’ll head out.”

She zipped her bag, gave the bowed-head Chen Zhiyan one last glance, and turned for the door.

[…]

She couldn’t fathom why Chen Zhiyan sat mirror-gazing in the dark classroom, but it was likely her own business.

Since she didn’t seem in need of aid, she’d leave when done.

The building emptied evenings, but locks came after nine.

Plenty of time till then.

Exiting, she cast a final look back.

Chen Zhiyan remained as at the start: head down, motionless.

Just with the pink letter and bouquet added to her desk.

Leaving the building, Hua Qi’an walked toward the school gate.

Next: straight to the dorm.

Tomorrow afternoon free—ample for scouting a new phone and self-defense gear.

Logistics pinged: the “company’s” package arriving morning.

Hua Qi’an was curious what they’d send.

But she never expected running into someone utterly unforeseen on the path.

“…Chen Zhiyan?”

Spotting the familiar figure, Hua Qi’an frowned.

Chen Zhiyan seemed equally startled to see her there.

Their eyes met on the road.

Awkward silence thickened the air.

Hua Qi’an recalled spotting her in the classroom earlier; her presence here meant she’d left shortly after.

Multiple routes from the building—Chen Zhiyan must’ve taken a different one, converging here.

With that rationalization, Hua Qi’an’s taut nerves eased.

She always defaulted to reasonable explanations for the inexplicable.

Hua Qi’an eyed Chen Zhiyan’s empty hands.

Looks like she’d ditched Zhao Yingying’s flowers and letter.

But that had zilch to do with her.

They weren’t close; she’d said her piece in class—so Hua Qi’an planned to ignore her and continue to the gate.

But unexpectedly, Chen Zhiyan called out.

“You’re Hua Qi’an from my elective, right?”

Chen Zhiyan initiated conversation.

Evening teaching area lit only by roadside lamps.

Their shadows stretched long under the glow.

Hua Qi’an halted, blank-faced at Chen Zhiyan, motive unclear.

Different majors, worlds apart in background.

Why approach her?

“You remember that volunteer event we did together?”

Chen Zhiyan stepped closer, face nostalgic.

“I recall… it was at the orphanage.”

Gazing at Hua Qi’an, her eyes seemed to shine, urging recognition.

But Hua Qi’an had no intention of indulging.

“Sorry.”

“Memory’s not my strong suit.”

Just one shared activity—why commit it to vivid recall?

Without Zhao Yingying’s constant yapping, Hua Qi’an wouldn’t have remembered the name at all.

At her reply, Chen Zhiyan blinked, seeming unoffended—merely watching with a subtle gaze.

“But I know you’re Chen Zhiyan.”

After a beat, Hua Qi’an added.

No need for rapport, but no point souring ties outright.

Chen Zhiyan was a campus fixture—bad blood brought no perks.

Basic civility sufficed.

Chen Zhiyan tilted her head at the words, not responding—instead pivoting topics.

“What brings you to the teaching area this late, Qi’an?”

“No evening class, right?”

Hua Qi’an’s brows twitched at the familiar address but held her tongue.

Under lamplight, Chen Zhiyan’s features softened.

So this was her vibe? Calling her “Qi’an” after mere glances…

Hua Qi’an had pegged her for aloof ice queen.

“…That’s an odd question.”

They’d just crossed paths in class—how could Chen Zhiyan ask what she was doing here?

Memory lapse?

“I left my pen in elective hall—went back for it.”

“You were right there; should’ve seen.”

She’d shown restraint not quizzing Chen Zhiyan’s midnight mirror session.

Chen Zhiyan looked baffled.

“Elective classroom?”

Hua Qi’an sighed.

“Didn’t I hand you the letter and flowers? Playing dumb?”

At that, Chen Zhiyan’s eyes widened, as if hearing something unbelievable.

Her ear tips flushed pink.

But as she opened her mouth to probe further, a commotion from the road shattered the moment between her and Hua Qi’an.

“Ah, Zhiyan—you’re here!”

A contrived deep voice boomed from afar.

Hua Qi’an noted how Chen Zhiyan’s once-sparkling eyes dulled at the sound, chill settling in.

Her expression darkened.

But spotting Hua Qi’an still watching, Chen Zhiyan quickly smoothed it, reverting to softness.

Hua Qi’an traced the voice: a guy, entouraged, approaching.

Streetlights made him clear enough.

Gold chain around his neck, hair in flashy curls.

Designer threads—Hua Qi’an didn’t recognize brands.

In his hands: a massive bouquet.

“Wang Chang—what’s this?”

Chen Zhiyan clearly knew the entouraged guy, guessing his intent—her face soured.

Before Wang Chang could speak, his wingmen hooted.

“Sis Chen, Wang bro skipped dinner hearing you were back on campus!”

“Wuhu—talk about devotion!”

“Hangyang’s king of romance!”

“…”

The raucous cheers grated Hua Qi’an’s nerves; she saw them closing in, encircling.

Wang Chang, the center, basked in the flattery; satisfied, he fixed a smoldering gaze on Chen Zhiyan, bouquet thrust forward.

“Zhiyan, I really like you—go out with me!”

He slicked back his hair like a movie heartthrob.

Hua Qi’an caught Chen Zhiyan’s instinctive step back.

Her voice cooled.

“We’re not close enough for you to call me that.”

She frowned at Wang Chang, displeased with the familiarity.

Unnoticed, Wang Chang’s crew had formed a ring.

Hua Qi’an caught in it too, but they blanked her—like she was air.

Logically, she could slip away now—this was Chen Zhiyan’s mess, not hers.

But eyeing Chen Zhiyan, isolated under the lamplight, Hua Qi’an’s feet rooted.

Chen Zhiyan’s fists clenched, eyes shadowed with gloom.

She looked… forlorn.

Hua Qi’an’s breath quickened.

Chen Zhiyan was alone…

Solo in the circle, ears assaulted by “say yes” jeers.

Paths forward and back blocked by the howling crowd.

The scene blurred; her head spun, nausea rising.

Middle school memories overlapped unbidden.

Back then… she couldn’t even recall the confessor’s name…

Yet they’d worn that earnest mask.

All she’d felt was plunging into an ice pit, frozen in place.

It was someone she didn’t like—she should refuse.

But under the endless stares, the relentless cheers, the rejection stuck in her throat.

Would they brand her a buzzkill?

Say she’d humiliated him?

If she spoke…

If she spoke…

Under the needle-prick gazes, her mind held one desperate wish—

Snapping back…

Hua Qi’an realized she’d seized Chen Zhiyan’s red-corded right hand, bolting from the ring.