Title: Chapter One – Static Cold
Title: Chapter One
The practice-room air-conditioning hummed like a wasp trapped between double-glazed panes.
The chill was artificial but absolute; it settled over everyone like a thin layer of cling film. Lin Wanzhao stepped inside without ceremony, eyes on no one, the sound of her boots against the marley floor the only punctuation in the room.
She moved to the water cooler in the corner, filled a paper cup to exactly two millimetres below the brim, and stopped. Not a drop trembled.
Ten years of precision: nothing spilled—ever.
Today her thumb jerked, a micro-stutter no one noticed except her.
Chen Dao lounged against the doorframe, cracking sunflower seeds with the calm of a man who had seen every variety of wasted hope. He spat a shell into the bin, the trajectory neat, almost bored.
"New guy's here," he said, voice pitched low enough to travel. "The one who's late—lounge needs a mop."
Silence held for three beats.
Then, from the back row: "Me."
Not loud. Not defensive. Not rushed.
Heads swivelled. Gu Xingye unfolded to his feet, shirt wrinkled, sleeves already shoved to the elbows. He carried a mop as if it weighed nothing, its head still wet from the morning's commute.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the kind you give a stranger on a delayed train.
"Sorry," he said. "Train broke down. Someone fainted. Full evacuation."
Chen Dao lifted an eyebrow. "Heroic?"
"Just late," Gu Xingye answered, shrugging the word loose.
Xiao Lu snorted—half-laugh, half-involuntary squeal. Twenty years old, eyes still factory-bright. She had been replaying Gu Xingye's high-school basketball highlight—number twelve, airborne, teeth flashing against gymnasium lights—ever since it surfaced in the group chat. She had captioned it Is this real life?? and followed it with a heart emoji that no one acknowledged.
Chen Dao flicked two fingers.
"Go on, then. Clock's running."
Gu Xingye dipped his head and turned.
As he passed the water cooler, Lin Wanzhao pivoted with the cup still in hand.
Their eyes met. Hers stalled.
A silver chain lay against his collarbone—old, the edges worn soft, the pendant dulled by years of skin and sweat.
A blade of sunlight cut through the blinds, struck the metal, flashed once, vanished.
The memory detonated.
Rain, night, alley.
She is seven, uniform torn, knees bleeding. Three older boys circle like lazy sharks. She cannot move.
Footsteps. A boy—thin, rain-plastered hair—steps between them.
Leave her, he says.
They hesitate, then scatter.
She presses a necklace into his palm.
Don't lose it, she whispers. It has my name—Zhao.
Under the streetlight his eyes burn orange.
Zhao-jie, don't be afraid.
Lin Wanzhao snapped back.
The paper cup buckled, almost folding in on itself. She steadied her breath, counted one heartbeat, two. No one noticed the tremor; she had trained herself to hide collapse in the 0.1-second flutter of an eyelid.
"Lin-laoshi?"
Xiao Lu leaned in, voice hushed. "You okay? You look pale."
"I'm fine." Flat, automatic, the tone of a teleprompter reading itself aloud.
"Where's the new guy?"
"Cleaning the lounge!" Xiao Lu pointed. "I helped him find the cleaner. He said, 'Relax, it's not the execution ground.'" She laughed, the sound bright and fragile.
Lin Wanzhao didn't answer. She moved down the corridor, each heel-click heavier than physics allowed. The light overhead was the colour of old film stock—yellow, scratched, irreversible.
She found Gu Xingye crouched beneath the coffee table, scrubbing at a stain that had probably existed longer than either of them. He looked up, eyes calm, mouth tilting into a half-salute.
"Top-tier celebrity doing her rounds?" he asked.
She didn't smile. Her gaze locked on the pendant.
Her Quantum Sense flickered—silent, internal.
[Item: Silver Pendant]
[Origin: Childhood saviour's keepsake]
[Linked to: Gu Xingye – probability 82%]
[Warning: Emotional spike. Disguise protocols unstable.]
Her heart missed half a beat.
"Where did you get that pendant?" The question slipped out, calm to the point of glass.
Gu Xingye paused, thumb circling the mop handle as if deciding how much truth the moment could carry. Water dripped into the bucket—drip, drip, drip.
"Found it," he said finally. "Old guy at a market said it had been waiting ten years. I bought it."
He was lying. The knowledge settled inside her chest like a second heartbeat. His eyes weren't blank; they were careful, deliberate. A game, then. A dare.
"Lin-laoshi!" Su Wanqing arrived in stilettos, perfume preceding her like a warning shot. "Day one, late, disrespectful. By the rules—performance cut. No A-group."
Lin Wanzhao stepped back, reassembling her mask. "Follow procedure."
A hush rippled. Xiao Lu whispered, "I thought Lin-laoshi would go harder. Last time someone was late, she made them cry in front of everyone."
Su Wanqing's eyes narrowed. She had hated Lin Wanzhao since that night fifteen years ago—fifteen and crying in the rain, viral overnight. Twenty years on, still on top, still unreachable. Su Wanqing? Rejected child actor, now deputy director, still taking orders.
"Gu Xingye," she said, flipping open her clipboard. "Late, sloppy, attitude problem. A group is out. B group, physical training."
Gu Xingye clicked his tongue, leaned the mop against the wall. "Cool. Wasn't here to be cute anyway."
Lin Wanzhao turned to leave. Her earring slipped free, rolled across the floor, and stopped at Gu Xingye's foot. He bent, picked it up, held it between two fingers—didn't offer it back, just looked at her.
"Jie," he said, softer now, almost amused. "You dropped something."
She froze.
Not because of the earring.
Because of the word: Jie.
He used to call her that.
Zhao-jie, don't be afraid.
Two seconds of silence. Xiao Lu's mouth formed a small O. Chen Dao's sunflower-seed hand hung mid-air. Su Wanqing's expression twitched—Lin Wanzhao never lost composure. But now her lashes trembled; her throat moved as if something had pinned her in place.
Three seconds later Lin Wanzhao reached out, took the earring, expressionless. "Thanks."
She turned, walked fast, nails digging crescents into her palm. In the elevator she hit CLOSE, leaned against the wall, closed her eyes. Her Quantum Sense pulsed:
[Keepsake confirmed: 67%]
[Memory match: 82%]
[Warning: emotional overload. Disguise system failing.]
She exhaled, pulled out her phone, sent an encrypted text to Chen Dao:
[Run background on Gu Xingye. Focus: childhood address, South City Alley, fire records.]
The doors opened. She stepped out, face already cold again.
No one knew she had just survived an earthquake.
Back in the lounge Gu Xingye stood watching the hallway long after she'd gone. His thumb brushed the edge of the pendant. He whispered to the empty room, "Zhao-jie, I've waited longer for this than you ever could have."
Wind slipped down the corridor. The pendant swung, just slightly, revealing the back—nearly worn smooth—where a single character was carved: Ye.