Chapter 9: Friends
Jiang Yuxin’s pen paused over her notebook, the word “friend” echoing in her mind.
It was a foreign concept, one she’d dismissed long ago.
People were predictable, their thoughts transparent, their motives mundane.
Friends were just another set of strings to pull, another game to play.
But Yin Xiran’s offer felt different—bold, almost challenging, like a move in a chess game she hadn’t anticipated.
She didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the page, but her mind was elsewhere.
Yin Xiran’s mental barrier, Chen Dongyang’s immunity, and now this overture of friendship.
The pieces were aligning, but the board was still unclear.
The classroom buzzed with chatter during the self-study period, students sneaking glances at the new twins.
Yin Qingle was already surrounded by a small group, her shy smile drawing them in like moths to a flame.
Yin Xiran, though, leaned back in her chair, her eyes flickering between Jiang Yuxin and Chen Dongyang with unabashed curiosity.
Chen Dongyang shifted uncomfortably, his pen tapping against his desk.
He could feel Yin Xiran’s gaze, sharp and playful, like she was peeling back his layers for sport.
‘She’s trouble,’ he thought, his exhaustion making him wary.
But unlike Jiang Yuxin’s cold intensity, Yin Xiran’s energy was warm, almost disarming.
He glanced at Jiang Yuxin, wondering what she made of the twins.
Her expression gave nothing away, but he noticed the subtle tension in her shoulders.
She was on edge, too.
When the lunch bell rang, Chen Dongyang grabbed his bag, his heart sinking as he remembered Jiang Yuxin’s latest order.
No text this time—she’d slipped him a note during the break: [Ramen from Ichiban. No seaweed. Green tea, cold.]
He sighed, his wallet practically whimpering as he headed off campus.
Ichiban was a small, cozy shop, its wooden counter lined with steaming bowls.
He ordered the ramen, double-checking the no-seaweed request, and paid with the last of his cash.
‘She’s bleeding me dry,’ he thought, clutching the takeout bag as he hurried back.
On the rooftop, Jiang Yuxin was waiting, her white towel spread out as usual.
She took the ramen without comment, inspecting it with her meticulous care.
“No seaweed?” she asked, her voice cool.
“None,” he said, setting the green tea beside her.
She nodded, opening the container and inhaling the steam.
Chen Dongyang sat across from her, his lunch a stale bread roll from his bag.
She glanced at it, her eyebrow twitching.
“You’re hopeless,” she said, her tone half-exasperated, half-amused. “You’ll collapse if you keep eating like that.”
“I’m surviving,” he said, taking a bite. “Barely.”
She didn’t respond, but her eyes lingered on him, noting the dark circles, the faint tremor in his hands.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” she said suddenly, her voice sharp. “What are you hiding, Chen Dongyang?”
He froze, his bread roll crumbling slightly in his grip.
“Nothing,” he said, his voice too quick. “Just… tired.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he felt that familiar pressure, her power brushing against his mind like a cold wind.
But it slid off, leaving him untouched.
She leaned back, sipping her tea, her expression unreadable.
“You’re a puzzle,” she said softly. “But I’ll solve you.”
He forced a grin, his heart racing.
“Good luck with that.”
As they ate, Jiang Yuxin’s thoughts drifted to Yin Xiran.
That smile, that barrier, that bold offer of friendship.
She was different—not like Chen Dongyang’s stubborn immunity, but something deliberate, controlled.
‘She knows I tried to read her,’ Jiang Yuxin thought, her chopsticks pausing. ‘And she’s not afraid.’
She glanced at Chen Dongyang, who was eating quietly, his exhaustion evident.
He was part of this, too, whether he realized it or not.
And now, with the twins in play, the stakes felt higher.
After lunch, Jiang Yuxin returned to the classroom, her mind still on Yin Xiran.
The twins were at their desks, Yin Qingle chatting softly with a classmate, Yin Xiran flipping through a textbook with a bored expression.
But when Jiang Yuxin passed, Yin Xiran looked up, her smile sharp and knowing.
“Settling in okay?” Yin Xiran asked, her tone light but probing.
Jiang Yuxin didn’t stop, her voice cold.
“Fine.”
Yin Xiran’s smile widened, undeterred.
“Good. Let me know if you ever want to… chat.”
Jiang Yuxin ignored her, taking her seat, but her mind was racing.
Yin Xiran wasn’t just curious.
She was testing her, pushing boundaries.
And Jiang Yuxin didn’t like being tested.
That afternoon, during a break, Chen Dongyang found himself cornered by Yin Qingle.
She approached his desk, her smile shy but genuine.
“Thanks for earlier,” she said, her voice soft. “For catching my notebook.”
He blinked, caught off guard.
“No problem,” he said, scratching his head. “Just reflex.”
She nodded, her cheeks pink.
“You seem nice,” she said, hesitating. “Um… do you know Jiang Yuxin well?”
His stomach twisted.
“Not really,” he said, his voice cautious. “Why?”
Yin Qingle glanced at her sister, then back at him.
“Xiran’s curious about her,” she said quietly. “She thinks Jiang’s… special.”
Chen Dongyang’s heart skipped.
“Special how?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral.
Yin Qingle hesitated, then shook her head.
“Just… special,” she said, smiling faintly. “Anyway, thanks again.”
She walked away, leaving him with a sinking feeling.
That night, Jiang Yuxin sat at her desk, her notebook open.
She wrote two names: Yin Xiran. Yin Qingle.
Below them, a question: What are they hiding?
She tapped her pen, her thoughts spiraling.
Chen Dongyang was a mystery, but the twins were a new variable.
Yin Xiran’s barrier, her bold challenge, her sister’s quiet warmth—it all felt like a puzzle she was meant to solve.
And for the first time, she wasn’t sure she had all the pieces.
She closed her notebook, her lips curving into a rare, genuine smile.
“Let’s see how this plays out,” she whispered, the thrill of the unknown coursing through her.