Volume 1 / Chapter 41: The Empty Classroom

A rainy day.

No golden sunset to soften the sky—just a steady fade into darkness, until night quietly swallowed the horizon.

In the city, lights flickered on one after another. Civilization’s glow kept the metropolis radiant even after dusk. There was never a fear of darkness here.

But in contrast, the school at night was cloaked in shadow.

Most students had gone home long ago. Even the boarding students were gathered in a single lit classroom for evening self-study.

By eight o'clock, even that light would go out, and the students would return to their dormitories—leaving behind silence.

This was Class 2 grade 10's homeroom.

The windows along the corridor had all been shut, but one by the field-facing side remained ajar, letting in a breath of cool wind. It stirred the air in the otherwise sealed classroom, carrying with it the scent of rain and a slight chill.

Class monitor Lǐ Wǎnyán sat quietly at her desk.

She still hadn’t gone home.

The lights were off.

She sat in the dimness, alone, nibbling slowly at a piece of pork floss bread.

It had been handed to her earlier in the day by Gāo Yuán—well, technically, it had been "confiscated" by her.

Tears slid down her cheeks as she chewed. The salty bitterness of sorrow mixed with the bread’s sweetness, making each bite harder to swallow.

By the faint light from outside, the tear stains on her face were just barely visible.

She took a deep breath, trying to will the tears to stop—but instead hiccuped uncontrollably.

In this empty classroom, she bore the weight of everything on her own.

Soft footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by the gentle creak of the classroom door opening.

A tall, sunny-looking boy, around 1.7 meters tall, stepped inside, frowning curiously as he murmured to himself, “Huh? Did the class monitor forget to lock the door today?”

As he spoke, he casually flipped on the light switch.

Click.

The classroom lit up instantly.

The sudden brightness stung Lǐ Wǎnyán’s eyes, and she instinctively shielded them with the back of her hand.

“Eh?! Monitor?” The boy’s surprised voice rang out—it was Ān Ruòsù, a boarding student from Class 2 grade 10.

“…Mm.” Lǐ Wǎnyán responded softly, bowing her head, clearly embarrassed.

“You haven’t gone home yet? Why were you sitting here in the dark…?” Ān Ruòsù asked, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…”

“Then… why aren’t you going home? Don’t want to?” he continued, walking to his seat and pulling out a workbook from the desk drawer.

“Mm.”

“Eh? Won’t your parents worry?” Ān Ruòsù looked at her, eyes clear as glass, genuinely surprised.

To him, the class monitor always came off as disciplined and dependable—not the type to run away from home.

“I don’t want to go back…”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not my home anymore,” Lǐ Wǎnyán’s voice trembled, as if dredging up something terrifying.

“What happened? No matter what it is… you should try talking to your family.” He walked over, workbook in hand. “...Do you want me to get a teacher?”

“No.” She shook her head firmly. “Just let me stay here alone for a while.”

“Alright…” Ān Ruòsù scratched his head. After all, they weren’t exactly close—just classmates. The emotional distance between them kept him from pressing further. When gentle persuasion failed, all he could do was step back.

Inside, Lǐ Wǎnyán felt torn.

She wanted people to leave her alone—but at the same time, desperately hoped someone would comfort her.

But the invisible wall she always put up—her aura of resistance—pushed people away.

Anyone trying to approach her would inevitably be pricked by those unseen thorns.

And most people feared pain. When you're not close to someone, why suffer for them?

After all, from Ān Ruòsù’s perspective, this really had nothing to do with him.

“…Could you turn off the lights before you go?” she asked softly just as he reached the door.

“Oh—sure.” He nodded, switched off the lights, and gently closed the door behind him.

Darkness returned, enveloping the classroom once again.

In that stillness, Lǐ Wǎnyán sat motionless in her chair.

She wasn’t sure if she was asleep… or wide awake.

It was like being trapped between two worlds—real and unreal—and unable to escape either one.

“Monitor? …Monitor?”

The voice broke through the fog.

When she blinked awake, she found herself slumped over the desk—someone had draped a large men's jacket over her shoulders.

It smelled faintly of a young man—not unpleasant, not particularly fragrant, but somehow… comforting.

“You’ll catch a cold if you sleep here like that.” Ān Ruòsù’s voice was so gentle it made her want to cry.

“…You came back?” she mumbled, eyes still half-closed. “Did you forget something again?”

“No, I figured you probably didn’t eat dinner, so I went to the dorm and got you a cup of instant noodles. Uh… it’s already cooked. I added two sausages and a marinated egg.” He set the steaming container of beef-flavored noodles on her desk. “Eat it while it’s still hot.”

Lǐ Wǎnyán stared blankly at the noodles, her gaze slowly drifting upward to Ān Ruòsù’s face.

She looked straight at him until he awkwardly cleared his throat and turned away.

Even though the lights weren’t on, his eyes somehow looked luminous in the darkness.

It was then she noticed the candle.

A single candle, flickering gently in a glass cup. The flame danced as if it might go out at any second.

She couldn’t help but reach out and hold her hand above it, soaking in its warmth.

“Oh, that—uh, I didn’t want to turn the lights back on in case the duty teacher or a guard noticed something strange. You didn’t want the teachers involved, right? So I pulled the curtains shut and just lit this candle.”

“…Where did you get it?” she asked, eyeing the makeshift holder—a repurposed drinking glass with thread marks around the rim. It clearly used to have a lid.

“I made it myself. Got a new cup recently, so I melted some candles in a pot and poured the wax in, stuck in a cotton wick—figured it might come in handy during a blackout or something.” He looked a little proud as he explained.

“…Didn’t expect you to be this good at DIY.”

“Ahaha… just a little hobby,” he scratched his head, then redirected her attention. “Quick, eat up. Instant noodles get soggy fast.”

“…Mm.” Lǐ Wǎnyán took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem. That’s what classmates are for.” He paused, then added, “You just seem… different today.”

“How so?”

“You’re usually so… serious. Kind of strict too. Especially with those thick-rimmed glasses—you look really mature.”

“Do I…” she murmured, lifting the lid on the noodles.

Steam surged upward, carrying a rich, meaty aroma.

For someone who had survived on a single piece of pork floss bread all day, it was a feast.

Yet her thoughts drifted back to the warm homemade dinners she used to have—the handmade noodles her mother cooked.

Her throat tightened. Tears welled up again.

“So… what happened at home?” Ān Ruòsù finally asked.

“…My father’s a drunk and a gambler.”

“Mm,” he responded patiently.

“He racked up so much debt… people came looking for him. When he couldn’t pay, they beat him.”

“That’s… definitely illegal.”

“But… paying debts is just… how the world works, isn’t it?”

“If it’s loan sharks, then technically you’re not obligated,” he replied, surprisingly well-informed.

“I don’t know. My mom called the police, but they just filed a report and left. Nothing happened. Then one night, my dad got drunk again—and started hitting my mom.”

“So… he takes out his frustration on your mom?”

“…And me. He hits me too. He’s never liked me since I was little. Lately, I feel like he hates me more and more.”

“Maybe it wasn’t on purpose…”

“No, he meant it. My eye ached all night… I could barely open it.” She gently touched her left eye. The bruising had mostly faded, but traces still remained.

Ān Ruòsù fell silent. He had no experience with domestic violence and didn’t know what advice to give.

Calling the police would be the logical choice, but in this era… they rarely acted on domestic abuse cases.

“And those debt collectors are getting bolder. They camp out in front of our door. Block us in. Beat my dad when they see him…” The always-strong Lǐ Wǎnyán whispered through tears, her voice shaking, “My mom and I… we’re both scared.”

“Where is your mom now?”

“One morning, I woke up… and she was gone. Just disappeared.”

“Maybe… she didn’t abandon you. Maybe she had no choice?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to believe she’d leave me behind. She always treated me so well. But… facts are facts.”

“So now it’s just your dad?”

“He left the day after my mom disappeared. I don’t want to go back to that place. People are always outside, pounding on the door. That place… it’s not a home anymore.”

She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Thank you. But… please don’t tell anyone about this.”

“…Okay.” Ān Ruòsù nodded—though his voice wavered just a little.