novelraw Chapter 14
Chapter 14
Chapter 14
Click-clack-click-clack. The sewing machine droned on the desktop, but Ye Shiyu's eyes gradually lost focus. The once-soothing rhythm now grated on her nerves. She reached out and flicked the switch, silencing it.
Music still played from her phone; the screen had been left on. She'd been distracted all evening.
Lips pressed together, Ye Shiyu took a deep breath, stood, and picked up the empty water glass. Whenever she felt anxious or restless, she drank water by the liter.
Right now Mom and... him... were probably still talking.
Fine. Let them talk.
Tonight, she would have her own "talk" with him.
She tightened her grip on the phone and glass, opened her bedroom door, and headed downstairs.
Halfway down she noticed Yan Huan's door standing ajar, the room beyond dark.
A faint sob drifted up from the first floor.
Ye Shiyu frowned and stepped into the living room. Ye Lan sat on the sofa, an open photo album on her lap, tears streaming through her fingers. Auntie Chen sat beside her, rubbing her back and passing tissue after tissue; a small mountain of crumpled paper had already collected on the coffee table.
Yan Huan was nowhere in sight.
Ye Shiyu said nothing; she already knew.
He's gone?
Why?
Even without an answer, relief and delight bubbled up first.
Seeing her daughter, Auntie Chen spoke while patting Ye Lan's shoulder.
"Shiyu... Xiao Huan left. He made you some double-skin milk—try it."
Ye Lan lifted her face, tears glistening. The raw sorrow in her mother's eyes twisted something inside Ye Shiyu. She glanced at the custard.
"He left—why?"
"I... I don't know," Ye Lan whimpered. "Everything was fine, and then—just like that."
She pouted at Shiyu, who instinctively looked away, afraid her own relief might show. Tear-blurred, Ye Lan didn't notice.
"I searched Linmen for so long just to bring him home," she sobbed. "I promised your godmother I'd look after him. Yulu—what do I do?"
Mom, when you love something, you lose all rationality. You'd pluck down the stars for it. At work you're so logical—why can't you let him leave that easily?
Yet hearing her mother cry, Ye Shiyu clenched her teeth.
"When did he leave?"
"About five or six minutes ago," Auntie Chen said. "Your mom wanted to drive him, but it's late and he wouldn't let her. He'll probably take the bus back to South District—the stop's quite a walk."
Ye Shiyu looked at her still-weeping mother.
"I'll bring him back."
Ye Lan lifted her head, startled.
"Shiyu, I'll come with you."
"No, Mom. Let me. Peers communicate better."
Ye Shiyu set the glass down and walked to the door.
Between her pale fingers the phone flipped over; the screen glowed deep violet—her private "method of peer communication."
If hypnosis could make Mom smile...
As for her own irritation? Later, like in the movies, she could use the app to make him... disappear... whenever Mom no longer cried over his leaving.
She slipped on her shoes and left.
Yan Huan had taken his luggage, so it was already past eight. The bus stop was outside the compound; to catch him before he boarded, Ye Shiyu quickened her pace.
Inside the upscale estate, lamps stood close together, banishing every patch of night. Outside the gate, however, ornamental lights were spaced far apart, turning the road into a string of bright islets separated by seas of shadow.
Ye Shiyu crossed from light to darkness and back, until the lonely bus shelter appeared ahead. Buses to South District ran every fifteen minutes; half the shelter's lamp was broken, leaving one side bright, the other black.
Her sharp eyes found the boy at once: handsome, single shoulder-strap bag, Bluetooth earphones, standing under the working light farther down. He wore the same uniform jacket from Friday, the beige shirt beneath. Head bowed, phone in hand, waiting.
Ye Shiyu stepped off the island of light into the dark and called,
"Yan Huan."
He was watching a TED talk, volume low; the voice reached him immediately. He turned, surprised.
Shiyu stood in the shadows beyond the shelter.
Yan Huan adjusted his expression and smiled.
"Sis Shiyu, what are you doing here?"
He glanced at her thin dress. "It's cold out—you're not wearing enough."
"Why leave?" she cut in.
Yan Huan chuckled. "I'm not used to living here. South District feels like home; moving to Jinghe brings hassles."
Ye Shiyu stopped just outside the shelter, studying his face under the lamp. His smile was as sunny as ever, revealing nothing.
She looked away into the darkness.
"Come back. Mom's heartbroken; she cares about you."
Yan Huan blinked, then pointed to the bench inside. "Sit a minute, sis."
Ye Shiyu hesitated, then perched at the far end of the bench, still half in shadow. The lamplight brushed her exquisite profile.
Yan Huan stared at the empty road and asked softly,
"Sis Shiyu... you actually hate me, don't you?"
Ye Shiyu's pupils shrank; her fingers tightened around her phone, but she said nothing.
Yan Huan turned to her, embarrassed, hands clasped.
"Don't worry—I never told Auntie Ye, and she'd never think that."
"You've misunderstood."
From the unlit side of the platform, Ye Shiyu spoke up in protest.
"Maybe it's just my imagination, Shiyu sis."
Yan Huan didn't press the point; he merely went on in that same calm voice.
"I've never had parents. After all these years it would be a lie to say I've never wanted a warm family.
"When someone as gentle and kind as Auntie Ye reached out, I was truly happy—really, I longed for someone like her, someone who'd care for me like a mother."
Even without hypnosis, the raw sincerity in his words made Ye Shiyu draw a shaky breath.
He wasn't trying to paint himself as pitiable, though—he was talking about her.
"Shiyu sis, you lost your father when you were small and grew up alone with Auntie Ye. Our situations are similar, so I understand how you feel.
"If my mother were still alive and she brought home some other child—no matter who, no matter what—watching her lavish that child with care would make me jealous and hurt."
At that, Ye Shiyu looked quickly at the handsome boy whose gaze was drifting downward. Her lips parted of their own accord.
Even while speaking of such sorrow, Yan Huan's smile never faltered.
"I know how painful it is to have precious love taken away. My parents were taken by disaster, by fate—I couldn't fight it, couldn't change it.
"Precisely because I know that pain, how could I bear to be the source of yours?"
Ye Shiyu's fingers trembled; the phone in her grip quivered as though it might slip free.
. . .
She couldn't speak; she could only stare at Yan Huan's smile—at something she couldn't comprehend.
That incomprehensible thing was tearing her heart open, exposing—
—a small, frantic flutter.
Thump... thump...
Just as her eyes widened and her lips parted in helpless confusion, Yan Huan seemed to remember something; he swung his backpack to his front.
"Oh, right, Shiyu sis—this is for you."
He unzipped the bag and drew out a folded gift bag.
From inside he produced several items.
First was the jellyfish key-chain she'd hunted for yesterday, her name tag still attached—proof that Yan Huan hadn't simply bought a replacement.
The other two were new: a square resin block encasing a crystal jellyfish that looked as if it were dancing in water, and a soft plush jellyfish toy.
"This..."
Ye Shiyu stared blankly at the key-chain he placed in her hand; the other two he merely showed her before tucking them back into the bag.
"I saw how much it meant to you yesterday, so I went back early this morning. You must've dropped it at the aquarium—I found it there. The other two are just something I picked up because Auntie Ye said you like jellyfish. If they're not to your taste, don't worry about it."
So he'd risen at dawn and gone all the way to the aquarium just to search for her key-chain—
while she'd spent the morning secretly spying on him changing and nursing ugly thoughts.
"Why... didn't you give it to me earlier?"
If he'd handed it over this morning, maybe she wouldn't have sulked all day, wouldn't have snapped at him.
"I planned to give it to you at school tomorrow," Yan Huan said with a wry smile.
"If I'd given it to you today, I was afraid Auntie Ye would insist I stay for dinner and never let me leave."
. . .
Ye Shiyu stared at him, uncomprehending, as he held the gift bag out from the light.
From the shadows she reached for it—slowly, as though any sudden movement might shatter everything.
The feeling she couldn't name spread through her like wildfire, threatening to burn her up.
Only then did she remember how, these past two days, he'd taken care of her without fail.
The polite greeting the day before yesterday.
Yesterday, stepping in to help her wrest the key-chain from strangers, then searching with her for hours when she lost it.
This morning, up at dawn to find the key-chain and buy gifts; at lunch he'd made dessert, snagged her a spot in a popular elective, sensed she didn't want to see the movie and suggested the supermarket instead.
Even at parting, he'd made double-skin milk pudding for her and her mother.
She'd noticed every one of those things—so why had none of them surfaced until now?
Because hatred and anger are like a tide.
When the tide surges in, the shells of "good memories" on the beach are drowned; you can't see them no matter how hard you look.
And so only slander and insult remain.
Thump... thump... thump...
The strange flutter grew violent. Ye Shiyu lowered her head, suddenly short of breath, her chest tight.
But Yan Huan, accustomed to her silences, didn't notice.
He glanced at the traffic lights down the road.
"The bus looks like it's coming, Shiyu sis."
Ye Shiyu's eyes snapped up; her pupils shrank.
Her gaze collided with the smile he turned toward her.
Thump... thump... thump...
"Then I'll see you at school tomorrow, Shiyu sis."
Looking at that smile, Ye Shiyu's lips trembled; her mask of indifference finally cracked. Something surged in her throat—words she ought to say.
This was the moment to speak, wasn't it?
So why—
why couldn't she, Ye Shiyu, say anything?
Because of the feeling she'd never known before? The tightness in her chest? The breath she couldn't catch?
Thump... thump... thump...
"Wait—"
Yan Huan, rising to leave, paused at the single word.
"Wait a moment."
He looked at her.
"What's wrong?"
. . .
Say something.
He's looking at you, asking you—
Speak.
What should I say?
Thump... thump... thump...
She opened her mouth, but her throat felt frozen.
Looking at the handsome boy in front of her was like seeing something in a shop window—something she wanted more fiercely than she'd ever wanted anything, something the world had made only one of, something that felt as if it belonged to her alone.
She knew better than anyone that he wasn't an object, wasn't a doll.
She ought to speak, to answer his kindness and gentleness the way one human heart answers another.
Not reach out as though buying merchandise, not raise her phone to the cashier to pay.
But—
but she couldn't speak.
So, clumsily, she tried another way to possess him.
Her right hand, still clutching the phone, lifted of its own accord and aimed the screen at Yan Huan.
"!?"
Only after raising the phone did she realize what she'd done.
He'd been so kind; he'd shown her his honest heart—and she—
She chose to hypnotize him?
Ye Shiyu's eyes widened; she gasped, yet the hand she'd raised refused to fall.
Regret, excitement, and that strange flutter crashed together until she could barely breathe, leaving only the thunder in her ears.
Thump... thump... thump...
Yet when she lifted the phone, Yan Huan merely blinked at the screen, then looked back at her in puzzlement and blinked again.
No—
It hadn't worked?
"Why didn't it work?"
For an instant, terror almost swallowed her whole.
Her pupils shrank; some monstrous hunger swelled inside her, and the shadows around her began to writhe.
Luckily, Yan Huan spoke just then.
"Phone out of battery, Shiyu sis?"
"Huh?"
The dread crumbled away like dried mud. She glanced at the screen and winced at the fat, empty-battery icon.
Because she'd left the screen on while sewing, playing music and fretting, the phone had died.
Heat flooded her cheeks.
She turned her face aside, glossy black hair falling to reveal an ear.
With trembling hands she lifted the phone like a shield, trying to block Yan Huan's scorching gaze—but a phone is tiny, and a side view of her flushed face slipped past it anyway.
Crimson spread down her neck; her eyes glistened.
Her voice came small and shaky, a kitten begging for mercy.
"Um... the phone's... dead."
Even her earlobes blushed sakura-pink.
Darkness couldn't hide her any longer; every flicker of shyness was on display.
Yan Huan stared, wide-eyed, then envied vloggers who wore head-cams—he wanted to record the sight.
"Ding-ding... Bus approaching. Please board in order, hold tight, remain seated."
The south-bound bus rolled in just as Shiyu's feet twitched to bolt.
Yan Huan stood instead.
Rustle.
He hadn't boarded. He'd slipped off his school jacket and draped it around her shoulders.
"Huh?"
Someone else's—no, Yan Huan's—jacket settled over her, warm and scented of soap.
Her eyes went round; all resistance slipped away. She simply stood there, phone still raised.
Yan Huan smiled and looked around.
"It's dark between here and your compound, and without a flashlight it'll be tricky. There's a convenience store up ahead—lend you a power bank. Wait here, Shiyu sis. It's chilly; keep the coat."
"...Okay."
She nodded, docile.
The south-bound bus closed its doors and left without him.
Yan Huan jogged across the street.
Head bowed, Shiyu clutched the jacket. Not hers, not even labeled, yet it felt good—warm.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Only when the strange noise quieted did she realize it was her own heart.
She pressed the dark phone to her chest, soaking in the borrowed warmth.
She didn't notice the screen flare purple, a sinister vortex flickering like bad reception. Then darkness again.
Minutes later, warm from the inside out, she heard him call.
"Shiyu sis!"
She rose without thinking.
Yan Huan jogged back and handed her a power bank.
"Here you go."
"Mm."
The word "sis" made her lashes flutter. She plugged in, but the bus had gone; they sat to wait for the next.
Her mind was blank—she'd even forgotten she'd come to fetch him home.
She held his jacket in one fist, his gift bag in the other, listening.
"Keep the coat till you get home. Return it at school whenever."
"Mm."
"The power bank's trickier—you'll need to leave the compound later. If you forget, no big deal."
"All right."
Each nod bared more sakura skin beneath her hair.
Thump. Thump.
The second bus soon arrived.
"Ding-ding... Bus approaching."
Yan Huan slung his bag over a shoulder and smiled.
"Shiyu sis, I'm off. See you at school."
She stood, opened her mouth, but no words came.
As he turned to leave, her hand half reached after him—too late.
He boarded, sat by the window, waved.
"Text me when you're home."
The bus pulled away.
Shiyu sat beneath the dim shelter for a long while before finally heading home.
At the door she met Auntie Ye and Auntie Chen, both slipping on shoes to search for her.
"You're back... I called and called. Only found out from Xiao Huan that your phone died."
"He brought me a power bank."
Ye Lan's gaze flicked to the jacket and gift bag. She pouted, then pulled Shiyu into a hug.
In the end, she hadn't brought him home.
No one said anything more. Ye Lan led her inside.
Auntie Chen took Yan Huan's jacket to wash. Shiyu carried the power bank and remaining gifts to her room.
Soft light filled the space. Instead of returning to her sewing, she flopped onto the bed.
She typed:
"I'm home."
Ping!
Startled, she knocked the gift bag; the round jellyfish plush rolled out—no name, just soft and waiting.
"Got it. Rest early, Shiyu sis. See you at school."
A cat waving good-night followed.
She blinked long lashes, fingers hovering.
Typed and erased, typed and erased.
Finally:
"Mm."
She rolled over, cheek against pillow, eyes moist, and reached toward the jellyfish, pouting.
She inched closer—closer to the jellyfish plush that had no name tag and yet carried Yan Huan's scent—until at last her fingers sank into its soft body.
She stared at the cute jellyfish and didn't move for a long time, didn't fetch a name sticker or do anything else; she simply looked at it.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
After a long silence, she suddenly remembered that just now she'd actually considered hypnotising Yan Huan. The thought made her bury her face in her arms.
"Ugh..."
How could she have done that?
Warm lamplight pooled around her; the scent of flowers drifted through her black waterfall of hair. A muffled voice escaped:
"You're despicable, Ye Shiyu."
The bus rattling toward the South District had no interior lights; the gloom made the silence feel even heavier. The only passenger was Yan Huan. He sat by the window, half-hidden in the dark, his face unreadable.
A pair of emerald-cat eyes flared in the gloom. A body, nearly one with the darkness, padded toward him.
"So that's how it is." Meow-chan's voice sounded in his mind. "No wonder you've been acting so attentive and considerate toward Ye Lan since this morning. The more perfect you pretend to be, the more it inflames Ye Shiyu's possessiveness. Yet you pull back right at the tipping point and let her anger land on empty air—so she's left with nothing but regret."
Neon lights slipped past the windows, painting shifting reflections. From outside, the boy in the dim carriage looked both beautiful and unreachable.
Yan Huan sighed. "Ye Shiyu still has a conscience—at least while the Modifier hasn't taken too strong a hold. What I'm doing is basically acting: playing the flawless, kind younger brother, using her own morality to keep her from wanting to use the Modifier."
In the darkness Meow-chan sensed the weariness in Yan Huan's tone. "You don't need to feel guilty for fooling her. Just now she was ready to use the Modifier on you, meow. Besides, a lot of what you're showing isn't fake—you've only exaggerated it."
"Yeah. But I really didn't expect her to run after me. She hates me so much... yet she loves Auntie Ye so deeply that she'd swallow her pride and come after me. And I—Auntie Ye's been so sincere, and I walked out without giving her a proper reason."
"Mew~"
Meow-chan hopped onto his lap and pressed his warm, plump body against him, trying to offer comfort.
Yan Huan gave a helpless smile and rubbed Meow-chan's soft head. He leaned against the window and stared at his own reflection.
Enveloped by the quiet dark, in the neon-lit silhouette on the glass, a sigh echoed in his mind.
"You're despicable, Yan Huan."