Chapter 11: Rotten Fruit II — Blood and Rust

Tian Mingyuan didn't show up at school the next day.

The official reason was "a sudden high fever," but students whispered that his arm was bandaged—like he was injured.

Song Xiaoyang sat in his seat, expressionless, listening to the murmurs. His fingers tapped lightly on the desk, as if calculating something.

Wang Lei leaned over with a gloating smile.

"Hey, Song Xiaoyang. Heard you had a little 'chat' with the Grim Reaper yesterday? Did he make you cry again?"

Song Xiaoyang slowly looked up, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Wang Lei froze.

Because Song Xiaoyang was smiling.

Not that submissive, fearful smile—this one was… cold, almost pleased. It sent a chill down his spine.

"Yeah," Song Xiaoyang said softly. "We had a good talk."

Wang Lei instinctively took a step back, throat tightening. Something felt off about Song Xiaoyang—seriously off.

Bai Ye sat cross-legged on his desk, her rotting fingers gently running through his hair. Her voice dripped like venomous syrup:

"They're finally afraid of you."

—But fear never makes people retreat. It breeds something darker.

Especially for someone like Wang Lei, who couldn't accept it.

Song Xiaoyang used to be the perfect punching bag—always lowering his head, always silent. But now? Now he dared to fight back?

Unforgivable.

Wang Lei clenched his fists.

He had to remind Song Xiaoyang who really made the rules here.

⸻

Wang Lei had wanted to mess with Song Xiaoyang for a while.

Ever since the "missing hamster" incident, even though Tian Mingyuan had no proof, he hinted that Song might've been behind it. Wang Lei hated being accused—especially by someone like Song Xiaoyang.

Today, he finally found an excuse.

During P.E., they were split into teams for a basketball game. Song, always the weakling, was benched. Wang Lei, one of the starters, deliberately hurled the ball straight at his face.

Smack!

The ball slammed into his nose. Blood gushed instantly. Laughter erupted.

"Can't even catch a ball? What a joke!"

Song Xiaoyang clutched his nose. Blood slipped through his fingers, staining the front of his uniform. He didn't cry. He didn't lower his head. He just looked up—straight at Wang Lei.

That look made Wang Lei pause.

Not fear. Not pleading.

Just… dead calm.

Wang Lei shuddered, then bristled with rage.

"What the hell you looking at?" he stormed over and grabbed Song by the collar. "You wanna fight back now?"

Song didn't answer. He simply raised a hand, wiped the blood from his lips—

And smiled.

Wang Lei's fists tightened.

⸻

After the lunch bell rang, Song Xiaoyang made his way alone to the restroom. He knew Wang Lei would follow—he'd never let an opportunity like this slip by.

Sure enough, the stall door slammed open behind him.

Wang Lei, broad-shouldered and sneering, blocked the entrance. Behind him were his two lackeys: Zhang Hao and Liu Yu. They wore amused grins, like hunters cornering an animal.

"Run, huh? Why aren't you running now?" Wang Lei yanked Song by the hair and dragged him to the girls' restroom next door, slamming him against the sink. The lackeys stood guard outside.

The faucet was turned on. Cold water gushed.

Wang Lei shoved Song's face under the stream.

"Still acting tough? Still smiling?!"

Water surged into his nose and mouth. Song choked, gasped. His fingers clawed at the porcelain basin, fingernails bending backward.

Bai Ye stood behind Wang Lei. Her rotted hand rested on his shoulder, whispering into his ear:

"Kill him."

Song's pupils dilated.

Wang Lei's punch landed in his gut. Song smelled the grease of cheap potato chips and sweat on the guy's hand.

Same routine: dragged to the stall, fists flying. But this time—Song was ready.

He'd already taken off his watch, slipped it into his pocket.

The first punch hit.

He bit the inside of his cheek. Blood pooled beneath his tongue.

"You think you're tough without your teacher, huh?" Wang Lei spat, slamming him against the stall door.

Bai Ye sat swinging her legs atop the toilet tank, her decaying toes brushing against Wang Lei's neck.

"Left pocket," she hissed.

Song's hand crept into his left pocket.

Wang Lei was still ranting, still hitting.

The third blow came—

And Song struck back.

In one swift movement, a rusty bicycle spoke sliced through the air.

Wang Lei screamed.

The jagged metal pierced his thigh. Blood soaked his uniform. Song twisted the spoke, the rust scraping through muscle and tendon with a wet crunch.

"You little—!"

The curses dissolved into howls.

Wang Lei stumbled back, knocking over a trash bin. Used pads and tissues clung to his leg.

Song stood, panting, blood at the corner of his mouth. Still holding the bloodstained weapon.

He didn't stop.

He stepped forward.

Cold eyes. Steady grip.

"What did you just say about my mom?"

Wang Lei shook his head in panic, trying to crawl away. But Song stomped on his ankle—then ripped the spoke out and stabbed the other leg.

Bai Ye laughed. Her voice echoed in the tile-lined space.

Wang Lei stared in horror at the boy in front of him. Those eyes—black and bottomless.

"Remember when you spit in my water bottle?" Song's voice was soft, almost gentle. "Locked me in the storage room? Drew dicks in my textbooks?"

With each word, he stepped closer.

Wang Lei crawled back—until he fell.

The spoke hovered over his throat.

Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open.

"Anyone in here?" The janitor's mop bucket clattered into the doorframe.

Song froze.

Wang Lei seized the chance, shoved him aside, and scrambled out—leaving a trail of blood on the tiles.

"Help! He tried to kill me!" His screams echoed down the corridor.

Behind him, Zhang Hao and Liu Yu finally panicked and bolted.

When the teachers arrived, they found only a bloodied Wang Lei collapsed at the entrance, and Song Xiaoyang at the sink, calmly washing his hands.

The water turned pale pink.

His reflection stared back—calm, cold, expressionless.

"He slipped," Song said. "Stepped on soap. Landed on some trash."

The school nurse rushed in. Wang Lei was pale, trembling from blood loss. A rusted bike spoke was sealed in an evidence bag—but no one noticed the other half still in Song's pocket, stained dark red.

Bai Ye lay across Song's back, her rotting lips brushing his ear.

"Now they'll all be afraid of you."

Outside the infirmary window, Lin Xiaoyu watched it all, her hand crushing a bottle of mineral water.