The next second, a teasing glint sparked in her eyes, and her full lips parted: "Oh? You're a bad student who doesn't smoke, yet you won't let me, a good student, indulge?"
Lu Ziyang felt a shiver run down his spine, his body heating up. Just as he prepared to argue, Yaxi suddenly froze, her gaze locking intently over his shoulder.
His back stiffened as he followed her line of sight. The streetlamp illuminated the tranquil lake—empty and serene.
His legs buckled, and he grabbed Yaxi's shoulder. "Damn it, don't scare me like that."
Leaning into his ear, she whispered, "I'm not scaring you. I saw a ghost earlier, wearing a blue hoodie. It ran fast."
Lu Ziyang hurriedly dragged her back to the classroom.
Yaxi was certain—the figure she'd glimpsed was Chen Ling.
The next morning, Saturday, Yaxi hadn't slept much. Before dawn, she went downstairs to throw out the trash. Covering her nose, she stuffed several large bags into the bin and noticed a dried pool of blood nearby.
Her spine stiffened with apprehension, and a voice warned her internally: stay out of it. Yet curiosity drove her forward. Leaning closer, she spotted Chen Ling curled up beside the trash bin.
In that instant, her girlish sentiment got the better of her.
Chen Ling, the radiant moon she thought of day and night, the proud Chen Ling, now lay in the mud, disheveled and filthy. The biting winter wind cut through his thin knit sweater, his lips pale from the cold.
The bitterness she'd clung to for so long melted away pathetically. He had never done her wrong; it was always her own self-pity, her frustration at not receiving his love, that led her to belittle him and torment herself. A flood of pity consumed her, as if she pitied herself reflected in him.
Rubbing her eyes—hot with emotion but icy to the touch—she cautiously reached out, placing her fingers beneath his nose. The faint warmth of his breath brought a surge of relief, as though she'd survived a disaster.
Under the streetlight, she examined his injuries carefully. No stab wounds or cuts, only bruises. Recalling scenes from TV dramas, she checked the back of his head. Thankfully, his fluffy hair revealed no blood. Seizing the opportunity, she ruffled his hair a few times, thinking she might never have such a chance again.
When she checked his legs, she noticed a clear dislocation at the knee. Everything else seemed fine.
Huh? Where did the blood come from?
Taking a step back, she realized the blood was about thirty centimeters away from him. Fighting nausea, she leaned in slightly to sniff it.
…
Chicken blood.
Someone had slaughtered chickens and dumped the mess here. How inconsiderate.
Cursing silently, her heartbeat gradually steadied.
Thank goodness. He was healthy. He was here.
Carrying Chen Ling back home drained every ounce of Yaxi's strength.
The worker's dormitory lacked an elevator, so she shielded his injured knee, ensuring it didn't hit the steps.
She didn't call for help or take him to the hospital.
First, she reasoned that if Chen Ling had ended up here, injured, someone must have been pursuing him—and intending harm. If something serious had happened at home, the school would have issued a statement even if he skipped class. Venturing out openly now risked discovery, and who knew what consequences might follow? Better to wait for him to wake up and explain.
What value could Chen Ling possibly hold that someone would pursue him to such illegal lengths? Apart from family wealth, Yaxi couldn't think of anything else.
Second, she resolved to wait for him to wake up and decide his next move.
She wanted him to choose to stay—not because he wanted to, but because he had nowhere else to go.
She wouldn't force him, only lure him, until she finally had him.