The sun filtered lazily through the classroom windows, painting golden stripes across rows of students hunched over their textbooks. It was the first day of midterm exams, and the tension was thick enough to slice with a blade.
Yan Xiyan sat at her desk in the back row, her hands folded neatly over her paper. Her eyes, calm and focused, scanned the questions like a sniper locking on her target. The numbers on the test sheet reminded her faintly of the flashing digits on Sergeant Zhang's reaction board—except today, her life wasn't on the line. Only her cover.
"Pens down!" the invigilator barked as the bell rang. Papers rustled as students sighed in relief or frustration.
Qiao Zeyan, sitting a few seats away, glanced sideways at Yan Xiyan. She hadn't scribbled last-minute answers, hadn't crammed like the rest. No sweat on her brow, no nervous glances. Just eerie calm. Like she was used to much worse.
"Xu—no, Yan Xiyan," he murmured under his breath.
He hadn't forgotten that sparring match weeks ago, when she'd dodged a punch with unnatural precision, or how her fingers trembled slightly whenever she held a pen—as though gripping something heavier in memory. Something like a trigger.
Outside the classroom, students spilled into the hallway. Laughter, groans, gossip. Ordinary sounds.
"Hey, Xiyan!" A girl waved. "We're heading to the milk tea shop. Wanna come?"
"I've got tutoring today," she said with an apologetic smile. "Rain check?"
As the group walked away, Qiao Zeyan stepped beside her, hands in his pockets.
"You're always busy after school. You working part-time or something?"
Yan Xiyan blinked, expression unreadable. "Just extra lessons. Grandpa is strict."
"Strict enough to make you vanish right after school every day?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
She didn't flinch, but he noticed the faint flicker in her gaze. Like a ghost of fear or memory.
"Discipline builds character, Qiao Zeyan," she said calmly. "Maybe you should try it sometime."
"Maybe I will. Maybe I'll start by shadowing you," he said casually, turning away with a small smirk. "Who knows what I'll find."
That night, in the freezing wind of the training yard, Yan Xiyan's boots pounded the dirt. Sweat soaked her back as Sergeant Zhang barked commands.
"Again!"
She dropped flat, rolled, took aim at the paper target a hundred meters out.
Bang!
Direct hit—center of the head.
But even as she reloaded, her mind wasn't in the scope. It was back in the hallway. On Qiao Zeyan's smile.
He was digging. And soon, he might find the blood beneath the moonlight.