The Mysterious Stone Bead

"Uncle, could this possibly be jade? It's clearly just an ordinary stone. Ten yuan – take it or leave it." Huo Xuan squatted before the street stall outside the train station, bargaining with the vendor over a pigeon-egg-sized stone bead in his hand.

Though coarse in texture, the stone bead intrigued him with its yin-yang coloration of black and white that vaguely resembled an eyeball at first glance. This peculiar feature had caught Huo Xuan's fancy, prompting him to consider purchasing it as a curiosity.

The vendor glanced at the stone bead, secretly marveling that someone would actually want to buy this worthless rock he'd picked up from a river two days prior. Concealing his delight behind a pained expression, he lamented, "Ah, young man, you drive such a hard bargain! ten then, ten yuan it is. Consider this my lucky first sale of the day – you're getting a steal!"

The vendor's ready agreement immediately sparked buyer's remorse in Huo Xuan. The more he examined the stone, the more it appeared to be nothing but a common pebble, potentially worthless.

"Whatever," he finally shrugged mentally, "It's just ten yuan. Even if it's just a stone, no big loss." He handed over the money and pocketed his acquisition.

At twenty-two, Huo Xuan had been out of college for over a year. Despite tirelessly sending out resumes, his efforts had met with complete silence – no interviews, no callbacks, not even rejection letters. His prolonged unemployment weighed heavily on him, casting a shadow over his days.

Just days prior, Huo Xuan had received an unexpected call from Ye Qian, his former university classmate and the class beauty who had married Chen Fusheng—a wealthy heir from their cohort—after graduation. The invitation to their first alumni gathering carried unspoken undertones, given the unresolved history between the trio. Though aware the event might serve as a platform for their thinly-veiled show-off, Huo Xuan's stubborn nature compelled him to accept nonetheless.

Packing light, he boarded the train with vindictive satisfaction—Ye Qian had offered to reimburse travel expenses, prompting him to deliberately select a 900-yuan premium soft sleeper ticket. If this petty act of making Chen Fusheng foot the bill for luxury accommodations brought minor triumph, so be it.

The deluxe soft sleeper compartment brought instant comfort. With only two berths in the spacious room, Huo Xuan found himself alone when boarding. He stowed his luggage, adjusted the bedding, and settled into restful repose.

As the train began its rhythmic swaying, sleep claimed him effortlessly. In his dreams, a thirty-foot golden Buddha materialized in the void, smiling benevolently with eyes like crescent moons. Suddenly, a beam of golden light shot from the deity's left eye, piercing Huo Xuan's forehead with searing intensity. A sharp pain jolted him awake, his cry echoing through the compartment.

Rubbing his stinging eyes, he muttered, "Ghosts in the daylight? Since when do I get eye grit..." The discomfort gradually subsided just as the compartment door slid open. Light flooded in, framing the silhouette of a strikingly fashionable woman.

She appeared in her mid-twenties, wearing a crimson blazer that accentuated her petite frame. The outfit's daring contrast continued with a black miniskirt and sheer black stockings that sculpted her legs. Her beauty was arresting – an aquiline nose above rosebud lips, eyes framed by lashes that seemed to wield their own magnetism. The white silk blouse beneath her jacket strained slightly against curves that effortlessly commanded Huo Xuan's gaze, her waist narrowing with dangerous grace.

The woman offered Huo Xuan a perfumed smile as she settled onto the opposite berth.

He wrenched his gaze away, returning the courtesy with a stiff nod. Yet within moments, his eyes betrayed him, drifting back like compass needles finding true north.

She was preoccupied with stowing her Louis Vuitton suitcase, granting him dangerous liberty. His stare intensified just as twin waves of heat bloomed behind his eyes. An observer might have caught the golden flicker in his irises - the Buddha's Eye awakening.

His breath hitched. The woman's crimson blazer dissolved like sugar in water, revealing alabaster curves that defied gravity. "Gasp!" The involuntary sound escaped before he could bite his tongue.

She turned sharply, her movement freezing them both in a tableau: his widened eyes drinking in the forbidden panorama of peach-soft breasts tapering to a wasp waist, legs that could launch warships, and the shadowed delta where black lace should have guarded secrets.

"What's wrong with you?" Her voice carried the frost of winter chrysanthemums. Huo Xuan blinked rapidly. The vision shattered like dropped crystal, fabric rematerializing stitch by impossible stitch across her body.

"Must've... dust..." he croaked, throat parched. Yet the burning flush creeping up his neck screamed otherwise - this was no ordinary hallucination.

Her manicured fingers drummed the leather seatback. "Do I make you nervous?" The question came laced with amusement now, her earlier irritation melting under the heat of his crimson ears.

"Ah—no, nothing!" Huo Xuan's voice cracked like overstretched cello strings.

The woman arched an eyebrow but resumed unpacking, her Cartier watch glinting as she folded silk blouses. Huo Xuan's pulse hammered against his ribs. If this isn't hallucination... His traitorous gaze crept back, emboldened by possibility.

This time, the vision unfolded like peeling lacquerware. The crimson blazer dissolved first, revealing lace-edged lingerie clinging to dangerous curves. Then the fabric itself seemed to vaporize, freeing twin marble peaks that swayed hypnotically with the train's rhythm—a gravitational pull defying all laws of physics.

Heat pooled low in his abdomen. So this is how saints fell from grace, he thought wildly, as certain rebellious anatomy stirred traitorously.

"X-ray vision?" His whisper dissolved into the clacking rails. The revelation burned brighter when his gaze plunged deeper—muscle fibers dancing like golden threads, crimson rivers coursing through capillary kingdoms, lungs inflating like sacred bellows with each breath she took.

"Aiya!" He recoiled as her beating heart materialized, its systolic throbs syncing with his own frantic tempo.

"You're pale as rice paper," the woman observed, now seated cross-legged in gray cashmere leggings. Her appraisal traveled from his ink-stained fingers to the nervous bob of his Adam's apple. "First time taking the sleeper?"

Huo Xuan choked out a laugh. "Just... train sickness."

Her perfume—hints of peony over cedar—teased his enhanced senses as she leaned closer. "You university students these days..." The comment trailed off, her crimson nails tapping an unknown rhythm against the window.

His clothes—frayed cuffs betraying their street stall origins at $20-30 a piece—marked him as ordinary. Yet as her gaze swept over him, forbidden voltage-like fantasies sparked: what if those cashmere-clad curves yielded beneath his palms?

Every man carries shadowed territories in his psyche. So long as these remained phantom landscapes—like Huo Xuan's current mental cinema replaying her lingerie in 4K detail—they posed no threat beyond accelerated pulse rates. His x-ray vision lingered at the threshold of decency, a newly-discovered superpower demanding ethical calibration.