Wan Kun breathed slowly, in and out, as if Hu Fei's words hadn't touched him at all.
Hu Fei stared at him and felt his anger rise. "Say something. What are you going to do?"
Wan Kun sneered. "What's it to you? I'm not telling you."
"You can't take a leave of absence right now. If you won't cooperate, I'll have your family come in and process the withdrawal." Hu Fei's voice hardened. "Give me your parents' contact information. Now."
Wan Kun's eyes narrowed. He went quiet. His gaze slid briefly toward He Lizhen — cold, unhurried, carrying the same familiar malice.
He Lizhen stood her ground beside Hu Fei, as if she were in a contest with something she couldn't name. She knew her own expression was no warmer than Wan Kun's.
Hu Fei kept at it, but Wan Kun's face stayed flat and mocking throughout. Hu Fei had been drinking, and the anger was making his head swim. He swayed. He Lizhen had been watching carefully, and the moment she saw him press a hand to the back of his head and step backward, she moved in and steadied him.
"Teacher Hu. Are you alright?"
His brow was tight. The room tilted. She saw him breathing fast, hand braced at the back of his skull, and thought: he's too young for high blood pressure, this can't be good.
But it passed. He steadied himself. "I need to use the restroom."
She walked with him toward the hotel entrance. "I'll come with you."
"I'm fine."
Li Changjia appeared in the doorway just as they reached it. He'd been heading toward He Lizhen but stopped when he saw Hu Fei leaning on her. "What happened?"
"He got into it with a student," she said. "Too worked up, I think."
Li Changjia stepped in and took over. "I'll take him. You wait here."
He Lizhen watched them go.
Then, from just behind her, a low voice:
"It's not that I can't dress up."
She hadn't heard him approach. Now that he was close, she caught the smell — cigarettes and alcohol and stale sweat, layered together like something pulled from a gutter. It turned her stomach more than it ever had before.
She turned. Wan Kun was standing less than half a meter away, the mockery in his eyes fully surface now. "Who was that anyway? And that skirt — did you buy it off a street stall to earn yourself some points? You——"
"Come here."
She said it quietly, then walked away without looking back.
Wan Kun hesitated, then followed.
She took a side path along the hotel's edge and turned the corner. Further along sat an old residential block. A small shop faced the lane, its service window dark and shuttered. Beside it stood a weathered post, and in the middle of the path, a large tree spread thick with summer leaves. The ground beneath it sat in deep shade.
She stopped there.
She turned and faced him. "Teacher Hu nearly collapsed because of you. Do you understand what that means?"
Wan Kun's expression didn't shift. "So what if he gets sick." His mouth curved slightly. "So what if he dies?"
He Lizhen looked at him for a long moment. Then she nodded. "Alright. You're doing fine." She turned to leave.
"Running off without makeup to reel in men with a skirt?" he called after her.
She stopped.
She stood still for a moment, and Wan Kun waited — patient, certain she was about to fire back.
There's something feelings do well: they blind you. Tell a person the truth and they'll pick it apart looking for holes, and the moment they find one, they'll hold it up like proof. But feed them a lie, and even when the answer is plain as daylight through a gap in the curtain, they won't move.
So misunderstandings didn't really exist. Or if they did, they were just moods with better excuses.
He Lizhen turned around.
"I thought about what you said yesterday," she told him. "You were right about something."
Wan Kun let out a short laugh. "Oh? Finally figured out you're not that feminine? If you already know, maybe you should just——"
"No." She kept her voice level. "I mean the other thing you said."
He went still.
"You said I thought you were inconspicuous."
He stared at her. For a second it was clear he didn't follow.
The wind moved down the alley and pressed the light blue dress flat against her. The fabric was thin and smooth. It looked, just then, like a blade.
"You were right," she said. "I picked that place to meet you because I wanted distance from the school. I didn't think about why at the time. But later I did." She looked at him steadily. "It was probably because of you."
Wan Kun's jaw tightened. "Because of me?"
She looked back at him with something close to understanding. "What do you think?"
The full weight of it landed. He stared at her, eyes reddening, as if he were seeing her for the first time.
"Also," she continued, unhurried, "not every man wants a woman who performs for him. I get why you'd think that way — you're still young, I don't expect much maturity. Anyway. If you do withdraw from school, don't come looking for me again."
She paused.
"You were interesting to deal with as a student. But if you drop out, you'll just be another kid from some random work site. There's nothing interesting in that."
Wan Kun was shaking. The veins in his neck stood out. He looked like he might lunge at her. "Say that again," he said, each word pressed out separately. "Say it again if you dare——"
"You heard it clearly the first time. Repeating it would be redundant." She gave him one quiet glance. "Just a little ghost, after all."
She turned and walked out of the shade, then stopped once more.
"One more thing. I'm not generous by nature. Pay me back the money. Three thousand isn't a lot, but you're not worth it to me. I'll send you my account number."
"He Lizhen——!"
It was the first time he had ever said her name. And it came out like this — torn loose, raw, full of something neither of them could label.
Who wouldn't. She looked at the street ahead. Traffic moved through it the way it always did, indifferent. Who wouldn't lash out, say something designed to cut, make someone else feel the weight of what they're carrying?
She understood now why vicious words felt the way they did. The rush of it. The sick, shaking satisfaction.
She turned back.
"What," she said. "You want to default?"
Wan Kun stood in the tree's shadow. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. His hair was unwashed, his clothes dirty. He was usually rough around the edges, but nothing like this. The end, when it finally comes, doesn't ease you into it.
He stared at her, and then, slowly, his shoulders dropped.
His body trembled slightly, like something about to give way.
"I won't stiff you," he said hoarsely. "I won't."
"Good," she said. "That's all."
"You..." His voice caught. Nearly a stammer. "I didn't — what I said wasn't——"
"Teacher Li's coming back. Take care of yourself."
He blinked. "Teacher Li?"
She didn't answer. She looked at him one last time.
An eagle with a broken wing, standing at the edge of a cliff. Too proud to turn back. Unable to fly.
Li Changjia had already come out and was scanning the door. He Lizhen walked toward him. He smiled when he spotted her, but as she got closer, his expression shifted.
"Hey — you look awful. You okay?"
She pressed her hand briefly to her face. "Fine."
"Teacher Hu's alright. He's resting in the lobby. He called home." Li Changjia assumed she'd been frightened by Hu Fei's episode, so he kept his tone easy. "Teacher He, you're brave at school but one scare and you fall apart? Students bully you like that?"
He Lizhen wiped the corner of her eye, kept her eyes on the ground, and said quietly: "They're just kids. Kids can't really hurt adults more than adults hurt each other."
"Fair point," Li Changjia said. "Come on, let's sit with Teacher Hu for a bit."
"Okay."
"Oh — what about that student?" He looked around. Wan Kun was nowhere. He Lizhen walked into the hotel. "I don't know," she said as she went. "He probably went home."
Had Wan Kun gone home?
No.
He stood in the corner of the alley and watched Li Changjia and He Lizhen disappear through the hotel doors. He watched the pale blue dress until it was gone. Then he turned, pressed his back against the wall, and slid slowly down until he was crouching on the ground.
He was exhausted. More than thirty hours without sleep. His eyes ached. He couldn't keep them open. He buried his face in his arms.
His phone buzzed. He pulled it out.
"Hey..."
"Stop overthinking it." Wang Kai's voice was lighter than it had been in days. "I know you're low on cash. This is easy money, no stress, and people are asking for you specifically. You keep turning it down, the regulars are getting antsy——"
"I'll do it."
"You'll——huh? You said yes?" Wang Kai sounded genuinely thrown. "You're actually saying yes?"
Wan Kun murmured something low.
The mood on the other end flipped immediately. "See, wasn't that easy? Should've said so days ago instead of making a whole thing out of it. Come over tonight, cleaned up."
"Tonight."
"Or some other time? Whatever works." Wang Kai, satisfied now, had loosened up considerably. "I swear I don't know what you're always stalling for over there." His tone shifted into something almost amused. "It's just a bed. All that mental preparation for what, exactly? You're not some kind of artist."
Wan Kun said quietly: "The money..."
"The money's covered. They're paying well because you're young and they want you available. You set the time — customers are willing to work around you for now, but that only lasts so long."
Wan Kun stared at the ground.
Under the tree root was a discarded ice cream stick, melted down to a thin smear of sweetness. A cluster of ants had found it. They moved in a dense, restless tangle around it, circling and circling.
"Hello? You still there?" Wang Kai waited. Wan Kun didn't answer for a long time. Then: "I'll come back tonight."
"Good." Wang Kai, finally satisfied, wrapped it up. "That's the way. Stop wasting time on nonsense. Come find me when you get here — I had someone set aside some clothes. The clients have preferences. Alright, remember to check in."
He hung up.
Wan Kun didn't move. He stayed in that same position, phone at his side, staring at the ants.
After a while, he lowered his head.
No one noticed the sound that came from the corner of the alley. Quiet and pressed down, like something trying not to exist. The way no one notices ants against the ground, even though they're always there.