Chapter 1 White Hands
"Xun Ruiwen!"
At the sharp call of his name and the sudden impact of a small object against his back, Xun Ruiwen jolted awake.
He lifted his head, his eyes darting around in bewilderment, soon realizing that his instructor had addressed him.
He remained silent, offering only a nod of acknowledgment, his gaze lingering on the older man.
The instructor, standing at the front, had short black hair, creases at the corners of his eyes, and dark circles that spoke of years spent guiding students.
With a weary sigh, he grumbled, "Class has begun. If you arrive early only to doze off, you might as well be a minute late. I am not your mother, nor am I paid to wake you every time."
The classroom remained silent as the instructor spoke, his voice monotone yet incongruously youthful compared to his appearance.
In that moment, Xun Ruiwen would have preferred the murmur of laughter or the rustle of whispers; instead, an oppressive silence prevailed, with every gaze pressing his head lower toward his desk.
After a pause, Xun Ruiwen cleared his throat and murmured, "It won't happen again, Mr. Sang."
Mr. Sang regarded him for a moment longer before turning away to resume writing on the board.
Only once his attention had shifted from Xun Ruiwen did a voice arise out of the quiet.
A boy seated diagonally from Xun Ruiwen whispered to his friend directly behind him, attempting to catch his attention.
After a few irritating pokes to his shoulder, the third pressing uncomfortably into his shoulder blade, Xun Ruiwen finally turned around, his expression impassive.
The boy seated diagonally leaned over his desk, watching intently as his friend cupped a hand over his mouth and whispered, gesturing with his other hand, "Jun wants his pen back. It's by your feet."
Xun Ruiwen glanced slowly at Wang Jun, then turned back in his seat without a word.
Unamused, he thought to himself, 'The bastard shouldn't have thrown it, then.'
Xun Ruiwen's attention remained fixed on his screen, the classroom's chatter fading into the background.
Without warning, a hand gripped his shoulder.
"Return it now, or we'll report you for stealing."
Xun Ruiwen stayed put, and slowly curled his fingers under his palm.
The grip tightened, and the voice grew louder, drawing the attention of nearby students.
"I'll give you three seconds before I make a scene! Return it."
A sigh escaped Xun Ruiwen's lips, tinged with irritation.
'When are you not making a scene?' he mused, a trace of bitterness winding through his thoughts.
Xun Ruiwen turned his head slightly, murmuring, "Let go of my shoulder, and I'll get it. I can't move if you hold me like this."
The boy sneered, shoving Xun Ruiwen forward as he let go.
A scowl darkened Xun Ruiwen's features as he leaned over the side of his desk, pushing himself to the edge of his seat to reach the blue pen that had rolled behind the desk in front of him.
His fingertips brushed against it, nudging it just out of reach.
'Damn it. How troublesome,' he thought, a quiet grunt escaping as he lifted himself slightly, stretching further.
Suddenly, the boy behind Xun Ruiwen exchanged a glance with his friend, Wang Jun, a silent understanding passing between them.
Wang Jun gave a subtle nod.
Seizing the moment as the instructor turned away, the boy thrust his desk into Xun Ruiwen's chair, producing a resounding bang and a grating scrape across the floor.
The force jerked Xun Ruiwen forward, knocking him off balance.
He instinctively reached out, grasping the back of the chair occupied by the girl in front of him.
She gasped, standing abruptly, and Xun Ruiwen tumbled forward, both he and the chair crashing to the floor.
His face flushed as the teacher's lecture halted.
Aside from the quiet murmurs behind him, the room fell silent once more.
He couldn't make out their words, but he knew who they were.
Propping himself up, he met Mr. Sang's weary gaze.
Without citing his full name, Mr. Sang sighed and addressed him, "It's only the first day; I'll let it slide. Please, compose yourself, Ruiwen, for your sake, if not mine."
Silently, Ruiwen nodded, gripping the blue pen tightly as he stood.
He adjusted the fallen chair of the girl beside him and offered a quick bow in apology.
Returning to his seat, he refrained from returning the pen.
He decided to himself, They can pry it from my dead hand if they want it so badly.
Thankfully, the rest of the class went by without another exchange between them.
Mr. Sang exhaled a weary sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.
It was a habitual gesture that marked the end of morning classes, and most of all a routine that conveyed a silent lament over his career choice.
Despite his apparent exasperation, he maintained a lenient stance toward his students, perhaps stemming from a resigned acknowledgment of his professional obligations.
His primary concern seemed to be delivering lectures; the students' post-class endeavors were of little interest to him.
As long as he could articulate his lessons, he dismissed other matters from his attention.
However, an exception existed within that practice: Xun Ruiwen.
Beneath his indifferent exterior, Mr. Sang harbored a selective sense of responsibility, subtly favoring some students over others.
He attempted to be discreet but invariably delayed his departure until Xun Ruiwen had gathered his belongings and exited.
Xun Ruiwen observed Mr. Sang's feigned busyness; removing and replacing items in his worn leather briefcase without purpose.
Only after Xun Ruiwen left did Mr. Sang follow, leaving the remaining students to their own devices.
This behavior began after an incident toward the end of Xun Ruiwen's first year.
After he returned to retrieve something he had forgotten, Mr. Sang stumbled upon a rapidly escalating confrontation.
The aftermath led to the expulsion of the perpetrators, and Xun Ruiwen chose to suppress the memories of the ordeal.
Strangely, Mr. Sang's attentiveness on this day was overt.
His eyes were fixed on Xun Ruiwen as he packed his belongings, from behind his wooden podium.
He had even abandoned any pretense of organizing his own materials.
In contrast, the boys seated near Xun Ruiwen dawdled, their packing sluggish as they prioritized conversation over making their usual hassle to leave the classroom.
Xun Ruiwen figured the boys were stalling because they wanted to get their pen back without catching Mr. Sang's attention.
Mr. Sang, as sharp as ever, had caught Xun Ruiwen's brief lapse in composure.
To prevent an incident on Xun Ruiwen's behalf, he dismissed the earlier matter with a nonchalant remark.
Xun Ruiwen felt a fleeting sense of gratitude, and perhaps relief, that Mr. Sang remained aware of the incident from two years prior.
However, this acknowledgment was short-lived, as the reason carried a familiar pang of shame.
With his back to the boys, Xun Ruiwen ignored their impatient comments about the teacher and slid the strap of his black nylon backpack over his shoulder.
He bowed his head slightly toward Mr. Sang and exited the classroom with measured steps.
It wasn't until he felt the dampness beneath his bangs that he realized the brief encounter had made him panic.
As he walked down the hallway, he raised his arm to wipe his forehead with his sleeve.
His pace gradually slowed as he walked away from the classroom. Just as he lowered his arm, his sleeve slipped from his grasp, and his fingers brushed his right cheekbone before his arm dropped to his side.
Wanting to be by himself for a bit, Xun Ruiwen spent his break beneath a tree, gazing into the distance as was his custom, unless he felt inclined to draw.
Still, he ended up back in the halls earlier than he needed to, just to avoid any unwanted encounters.
However, when he arrived, he realized he was actually a little late.
He let out a quiet sigh and thought to himself, It's only been a few months, and I'm already mixing up the schedule. I should've come back a few minutes earlier.
The hallways were already populated with students conversing before their classes began.
Though not as crowded as they would be at the last minute, the number was enough to make Xun Ruiwen feel a slight twinge of dread.
As Xun Ruiwen navigated the bustling hallway, he couldn't discern whether his mind was deceiving him or if the earlier classroom incident had indeed become fodder for gossip.
Regardless, the lingering gazes that followed him intensified his unease.
Instinctively, he raised a hand to his face, as if to wipe away an unseen blemish.
This action, however, seemed to draw even more attention, with some students nudging their friends to take notice.
Swallowing hard, he thought, What is it this time? Don't these people have anything better to talk about?
He settled for keeping his eyes on the floor, but it wasn't long before he was nearing a sizable group congregated near the music room, just across from his own classroom.
A wave of nausea swept over Xun Ruiwen.
He quickened his pace, reasoning that enduring a brief moment of attention was preferable to prolonged discomfort.
His steps grew heavier, each footfall echoing the mounting pressure within him.
He bowed his head so low that his hair obscured his vision.
The murmur of voices swelled around him as he tightened his grip on his bag's strap, bracing himself to slip swiftly into the classroom.
Then, unexpectedly, he collided head-on with someone.
Both parties grunted upon impact, as a few onlookers gasped, but the other person emitted the louder sound.
Thankfully, neither fell; they merely stumbled backward.
Despite this, Xun Ruiwen teetered on the brink of a nervous breakdown.
Why now? he lamented internally.
He immediately lifted his gaze to identify the individual he'd bumped into, hoping to offer a succinct apology before making a hasty retreat.
Xun Ruiwen found himself uncharacteristically trapped in place, his usual stoic facade wavering as he faced the person before him.
The boy had a soft, oval-shaped face framed by tousled, medium-length brown hair that parted naturally down the middle.
His expression was nearly unreadable, yet the subtle brightness in his eyes illuminated his entire face.
Xun Ruiwen surmised that even in anger, the boy would somehow still appear cheerful.
It was unsurprising that the cluster of students near the music room gravitated toward him; his mere presence bled an inviting aura.
Xun Ruiwen's bottom lip twitched as he struggled to formulate an apology. The words had felt unusually warm in his throat.
A fleeting concern crossed his mind—was he about to be sick? Before he could utter a sound, a younger female voice punctured the tension.
The girl, with short, wavy red hair and deep black irises akin to the boy's but darker and more subdued, spoke in a high-pitched tone:
"What's on your face? Is he an art student or a chimney sweep?"
Xun Ruiwen's head snapped in her direction, as his eyes widened slightly.
He stared, dumbfounded, though too overwhelmed to display any emotion.
A few snickers scattered about.
After he became unable to endure the scrutiny any longer, he began to turn away from the boy, resolving to apologize properly if their paths crossed again in solitude.
Before Xun Ruiwen could step back, a firm hand landed on his shoulder.
Panic filled his chest, had he erred by not apologizing immediately? A deeper voice, belonging to a younger male, fell over the murmurs:
"One sec, guys."
Then, the hand released his shoulder only to grasp his forearm, and begin guiding him with unexpected resolve.
Before Xun Ruiwen could fully process the sequence of events, he found himself led into the men's washroom, and positioned sideways in front of the sinks and mirrors.
The boy he'd collided with had taken him by the arm and brought him here.
His eyes flickered around in a moment of disorientation as the sound of running water filled the space.
A few seconds passed before he heard the distinct noise of water being wrung from a cloth.
The cool touch of a damp cloth against Xun Ruiwen's cheek jolted him from his reverie.
A few fingers pressed gently into the side of his jaw, and the cloth moved slowly, wiping back and forth, its chill contrasting with the warmth of his skin.
Instinctively, Xun Ruiwen flinched and pulled away.
The boy's hand followed slightly, as if to reach out, but then hesitated and withdrew.
"What are you doing? What is that—" Xun Ruiwen's voice was low, as his fingers quickly wiped the moisture from his face.
The boy raised an eyebrow and observed Xun Ruiwen's actions with silent enjoyment. Without explanation, he chuckled, as though Xun Ruiwen had made a joke.
Bewildered, Xun Ruiwen wondered further, Who is this person?
As he began to focus more on the boy than his own discomfort, the boy managed to suppress his laughter, reducing it to a controlled giggle.
His words came out in fits, still a bit choppy.
"Shen Rouxian must've been right. You're definitely an art student. Though I've never seen one so unaware of his own face, let alone his surroundings."
Xun Ruiwen was momentarily stunned into silence.
What's wrong with my face? he thought, feeling a tightening in his chest.
He turned his head slowly toward the mirror beside him, though his reflection hadn't seemed to offer any clarity.
That's when his heartbeat seemed to thrum louder in his ears. When?... How long has lead been smeared onto my face?
The boy's laughter returned, but this time it was milder, as he took a few steps closer.
He grasped Xun Ruiwen's jaw again, and gently turned his head to inspect his face more closely.
Feeling an odd sense of exposure, Xun Ruiwen forced his arms to his sides and kept his gaze lowered, refusing to meet his reflection directly.
The boy cleared his throat several times as if only beginning to sense the tension shrouding them.
Xun Ruiwen didn't respond right away. He tried to think, but his attention kept drifting to the steady rhythm of Hua Rouyan's breathing.
After a long pause, he spoke with a soft and reluctant voice, "Xun Ruiwen."
Hua Rouyan hummed thoughtfully as he tilted Xun Ruiwen's head a bit farther up to check if he'd missed wiping any of the lead from under his chin.
The action made Xun Ruiwen feel strangely childish, especially given that this was all a mistake he should've caught himself.
"You don't talk much, I see," Hua Rouyan noted bluntly. "Someone would assume that you were the transfer student here, not me."
Xun Ruiwen's jaw twitched, the remark catching him off guard.
He's a transfer?
The implication piqued his interest, yet again, he offered no response.
When Hua Rouyan finally released his chin and moved back to one of the sinks, Xun Ruiwen took a subtle glance back at his face in the mirror.
Xun Ruiwen's appearance was understated yet distinctive, reflecting a modest refinement that matched his demeanor.
He possessed wheat-colored hair that jutted out in various directions as if perpetually tousled by the wind and left unruly.
The ends were curled slightly and were unevenly trimmed in a manner suggesting a hasty self-cut before a washroom mirror, just enough to keep his bangs from obscuring his vision.
His skin, pale but not sickly, resembled paper bathed in soft light, with a subtle flush that appeared more pronounced under the sun or when unexpectedly the center of attention.
His eyes, wide and muted, shifted between grey and violet, with their hue varying based on his attire.
Xun Ruiwen lifted his gaze from his reflection to Hua Rouyan, and he calmly observed the boy more closely.
The gathering of students in the hallway outside his classroom was likely due to Hua Rouyan's presence.
It was naturally hard to look away once he was looked at.
Hua Rouyan's hair framed his face in soft strands that caught the light, highlighting a warm, sun-drenched hue.
His fair, smooth skin complemented delicate features; a narrow jaw, straight nose, and neatly shaped brows.
His white button-up shirt hung loosely over his lean frame, with faint stripes barely visible from the dappled light in the small windows high on the wall behind him.
A random black strap cut diagonally across his chest, though oddly it wasn't holding anything in place.
Suddenly, Hua Rouyan's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"You would be the first. Everyone seems very talkative; even in my old city, no one was ever really quiet or reserved."
Xun Ruiwen remained silent, adjusting the strap of his bag and keeping his gaze forward. Hua Rouyan continued, undeterred.
"Not that there's anything particularly wrong with that! It just makes you have more of a unique character."
Yanshui, a small town, saw fewer transfers than farewells, with most students leaving quietly.
It was the kind of place where everyone knew your name, your schedule, and even where your bike was parked.
Now, Xun Ruiwen was certain that the cluster of students outside his classroom was due to his arrival.
He didn't respond to Hua Rouyan's observations.
Hua Rouyan was still at the sink, scrubbing the cloth in careful motions, with his sleeves pushed up.
When Xun Ruiwenlowered his eyes to Ruoyan's hands, his fingers betrayed a subtle tremor.
The pallor of his skin was striking, not the usual kind, but a shade reminiscent of color drained away made him develop a small curiosity himself.
"Do you paint?" His eyes stayed fixed on the cloth in Hua Rouyan's hands.
Hua glanced up mid-rinse, and he tilted his head toward the mirror. "Do I give that impression?"
Xun shook his head once.
A small smile tugged at Hua Ruoyan's mouth, it was a fleeting expression that eased his features. "I don't paint much. Very rarely, actually. I used to draw, though. A lot."
"Past?"
"Mm." Hua turned off the faucet, before he wrung out the cloth again, twisting it neatly in his hands. "Just here and there now. Mostly out of boredom. But my main thing is the saxophone. If drawing was how I used to express myself, I guess music is just what I ended up being made for."
Xun Ruiwen tilted his head slightly, a subtle sign of curiosity he chose not to voice.
Hua Rouyan's words slowed as he already began answering, "My eyesight," he began, the words measured. "It used to be fine—good enough to draw. Over time, though... it's gotten worse."
"...Oh." Xun Ruiwen peered down and touched the edge of his own cheek.
"Thanks," he mumbled, referring to the earlier wipe.
Ruoyan gave a tiny shrug as if the act were insignificant.
He turned back to the sink, rinsing the cloth again, his brow furrowed in mild frustration.
"This lead stuff is stubborn," he muttered. "Keeps smearing and getting lighter instead of washing off properly."
Xun paused, observing the grayish streaks swirling in the water. A thought flickered through his mind: 'Ah. That's technically my fault.'
He reached for his bag and spoke quietly. "I can compensate for the handkerchief."
Hua turned off the faucet and gaped at his reflection in the mirror.
"Pfft."
He grinned, shaking his head. "No need. I have like... a dozen. Also, it's not really a handkerchief."
Xun looked up, with an unreadable expression.
"It's one of those silk swabs you slide through wind instruments," Hua explained. "You know, to clear out spit and stuff so it doesn't clog the instrument."
Xun Ruiwen stared at him, his thoughts momentarily derailed by the unexpectedness of the explanation.
Xun Ruiwen's expression remained unchanged, yet an unmistakable horror flickered in his eyes.
Hua Ruoyan froze, and the swab slipped from his grasp, leaving a trail of droplets in the sink.
"Wait, no—!" Ruoyan abruptly yelled with a mix of panic and laughter and gestured his hands frantically. "Not that one! I just got it! I wiped your face with a new one, I swear—never used it before!"
Xun Ruiwen blinked once, then simply exhaled out of his nose.
He hadn't intended to say anything further, uncertain of how to continue or even initiate a conversation.
The first bell chimed, signaling the impending start of class.
Xun moved swiftly to the sink, rinsed his hands, and exited the washroom before Hua Ruoyan could even manage a full breath.
Hua Ruoyan chuckled softly, flicking the remaining droplets from his hand. "Gee, he's fast."
As he stepped out, with the swab dangling from the side of his palm, a thought wavered in his mind. "Why'd he assume I was a painter?"