The dorm room was quiet, save for the low buzz of the lamp still shining between the two beds. Zinchen Liu lay on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling, the same scene playing over and over in his head like a looping film. The corners of his eyes were heavy, but sleep wouldn't come.
"When will you turn that thing off?" came a groggy voice from the next bed. Wuhao Li rolled over, shielding his eyes from the light with his arm. "It's practically burning holes through my eyelids."
Zinchen didn't respond. He wasn't even looking at the lamp. His mind was far away, still stuck in the shadows behind the cafeteria building—where he had seen them. That men. That camera. That girl.
"There could be more," he murmured, almost to himself.
Wuhao peeked from under his arm. "What?"
Zinchen sat up, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled in thought. "That footage… that camera—it wasn't a one-time thing. If there's one, there could be more. We might be being watched. Monitored. Every step."
Wuhao groaned and buried his face in his pillow. "Are you still talking about that busted CCTV camera you found in the trash? I told you to throw that junk out."
Zinchen ignored the jab. "I have to report it. Headmaster Jian is the only one with enough authority to investigate this further."
Wuhao turned his head, voice sharper now. "Have you lost your mind? Do you even hear yourself?" He sat up slightly, eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You want to walk into Jian's office with that rusted scrap and say, 'Hey, someone's spying on us'? You'll get suspended before you can say surveillance. He'll bury the whole thing and you along with it—for hiding it this long."
Zinchen only smirked.
"What?" Wuhao asked warily. "You're smiling. That's not a good sign."
"I have a plan," Zinchen said, voice calm but sly. "If I play this right, he won't be able to shut me down without exposing himself. I'm going to make it his problem."
Wuhao stared at him for a moment, then sighed and flopped back onto his bed. "Of course you are."
They sat in silence for a while, until Wuhao muttered under his breath, "By the way… do you actually like Hua Rong?"
Zinchen blinked, thrown off. "What?"
"You heard me," Wuhao said, not bothering to sit up again. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're only interested in pissing off Xu Lingwei. That's your real hobby, isn't it?"
Zinchen chuckled, the corner of his lip twitching up. "You're sharp. I like that about you."
"Then let me give you some advice, genius," Wuhao said, voice muffled against his pillow. "Stop doing it."
"Why?"
"Because her life's already hard enough. Don't make it worse."
Zinchen didn't reply immediately. He turned to glance at Wuhao's bed, shadows cutting across his thoughtful face. "Why do you care so much?"
"That's none of your business."
"It is," Zinchen pressed. "You and him. That day. That time. Why were you two even there?"
Wuhao fell silent. Then he turned his back, tugging the blanket up over his shoulder.
"I'm going to sleep," he muttered.
Zinchen let it go—for now. But the smirk never left his lips. He leaned back against his pillow, thoughts spinning.
He had a plan. He had questions. And now, he had more answers to chase.
.....
Hua Rong entered the room quietly, the door creaking only slightly before she eased it shut behind her. She didn't know why she was walking on tiptoes—maybe guilt. Her eyes flicked toward the corner bed where Xu Lingwei lay, motionless under the dim light.
She could've waited until morning. But something—something-some quiet whisper of worry in her chest told her to check.
As she passed her own bed, her steps faltered. A harsh, ragged breath broke through the silence. Her eyes darted to him. His chest rose and fell in uneven heaves, his face pale beneath a sheen of sweat, brows drawn in pain even in sleep. Instinct took over. She crossed the space between them and crouched beside him, placing her palm gently on his forehead.
It was burning.
"Damn it…" she breathed under her breath, springing up.
She rushed outside the room, filling a basin with cold water and grabbing a cloth from the washroom shelf. Back in their room, she placed the water beside his bed, soaking the cloth before gently pressing it against his forehead. He stirred at her touch but couldn't open his eyes—just a low, pained noise escaping his throat.
Her movements were quick but careful, repeating the process—forehead, palms, back to forehead. She wrung and replaced the cloth again and again, determined not to let the fever win.
After what felt like hours, the heat finally started to ease from his skin. His breathing steadied. She leaned back with a sigh of relief, ready to go get medicine, when a hand shot up and grasped her wrist weakly.
His grip was feeble but intent. His half-lidded eyes, dull with fever, looked up at her.
"Where… are you going?" he croaked.
"To get medicine," she whispered, squeezing his hand gently before slipping free and dashing out.
By the time she returned, he had managed to sit halfway up, slumped against the headboard, the blanket slipping off one shoulder. He looked like hell—sweaty, dazed, barely upright.
"Here," she said, breathless but focused. She sat beside him, handing him a couple of cookies wrapped in a napkin. "Eat this first, before the medicine. Or your stomach will kill me later."
He looked at her, really looked at her for a moment—her furrowed brows, lips pressed into a line of worry, the faint puffiness under her eyes that even her usual spirit couldn't hide. Her dark hair was a little messy, tucked behind her ear in a hurry. Under the warm room light, her features looked soft, almost glowing. A girl who always seemed larger than life, now so human, so present.
She caught him staring. "What? Eat, don't just look."
He smiled faintly. "You nag worse than my mother."
"I am saving your life. A little thanks would be appreciated," she muttered, but her tone was light.
He obeyed, nibbling on the cookie slowly while she unwrapped the medicine and poured him a glass of water. She sat on the edge of his bed, watching him carefully, ready to snatch the glass if he got too dizzy.
The room had gone quiet again, the only sound was the slow crinkle of the cookie's wrapper and the soft clink of the medicine blister pack.
Neither said anything after that
She stood, brushing her palms over her knees as if preparing to slip back into her own bed, but then—just as she turned—
"Stay beside me," Xu Lingwei's voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a thread tugging gently on her heart.
Hua Rong stopped.
She didn't argue. Didn't hesitate. She simply returned and sat beside him again, the mattress shifting softly under her weight. Her hand reached out, tentative at first, until her fingers slid slowly through his. He looked down at their joined hands in surprise, the soft heat of her palm lacing against his own.
"What are you doing?" he asked, voice still raspy with remnants of fever.
"I want to keep you only with me," she murmured, eyes downcast but her fingers tightening slightly—as if she feared he might pull away.
A small chuckle rose from him, soft and genuine. "Yeah… you did say that."
"Oh? I even said that?" she blinked, startled, then looked up at him as her cheeks turned a warm shade of pink.
"Even?" he raised an eyebrow playfully, a hint of teasing in his voice. "So, you do remember last night."
She averted her gaze quickly, her face burning, and gripped his hand tighter—nervous energy buzzing in her chest.
"I do," she admitted, barely audible. "I don't want to push you away any longer."
His expression softened. For a long second, he didn't speak—he just watched her, as if memorizing the way she looked in this moment, open and unguarded.
"So," he said at last, with a half-smile tugging at his lips, "are we officially together now?"
She blinked, lips parting in surprise, before she quickly turned away. "No."
He laughed, baffled. "Why?"
"Not now."
"Then when?"
Her gaze returned to him slowly, this time solemn, serious. "First let's get out of here. Or… first let me get out of here."
He stilled. "You want to leave this place?"
"Yes," she replied, her voice almost steady—but there was something in her eyes, something haunted she didn't quite put into words. Maybe she couldn't. Not yet. She didn't explain her reasons, and he didn't press for them.
For now, the weight of truth between them felt enough.
"Fine," he said after a pause, the hint of a promise in his tone. "If that's what you want… then I'll wait."
She looked at him again, her thumb gently brushing over his knuckles. Their fingers remained entangled—not in desperation, but in something quieter. A beginning. A decision.
And just like that, the night folded itself into stillness again—but this time, warmer, steadier.
Together, they let silence speak for them.