Song Xiaoyang's knife was hidden in the innermost secret pocket of his backpack.
Every day in class, his fingers would unconsciously stroke the knife's handle. The cold metal kept him clear-headed—and also drove him mad.
White Night sat in the corner of the classroom, her rotting lips curled into a smile, whispering in a voice only he could hear:
"Tonight... just tonight... Wang Lei is on duty and will be the last to leave."
Song Xiaoyang's nails dug into his palm.
1.
The dismissal bell rang, and students flooded out of the classroom like a tide. Sure enough, Wang Lei stayed behind, leisurely packing his bag, humming off-key.
Song Xiaoyang pretended to organize his textbooks, but his eyes tracked Wang Lei's every move. His heart raced—not from fear, but from an almost ecstatic shiver.
White Night stood behind Wang Lei, her rotten fingers lightly resting on his shoulder, as if helping Song Xiaoyang measure where to strike.
"From behind... stab upwards at an angle... avoid the ribs, pierce straight into the lung... he'll gasp like a fish, but can't take in a breath..."
Song Xiaoyang's breathing grew heavy. His hand reached inside the backpack, fingers wrapping tightly around the icy cold knife handle. The touch was like a shard of never-melting ice, draining the warmth from his palm but injecting an even more bone-chilling cold into his veins.
At that moment, the classroom door's light was blocked by a figure.
"Song Xiaoyang?"
It was Lin Xiaoyu's voice—hesitant, worried, breaking the deathly silence.
The sound was like a thin yet unyielding thread that suddenly strangled Song Xiaoyang's spiraling impulse. He jolted as if struck by electricity; his hand reaching for the knife froze, then abruptly withdrew, clenched tightly into a fist, nails digging deep into his palm, sharp pain stabbing through him.
Startled, Wang Lei stood and turned, spotting Lin Xiaoyu, then casting a glance at Song Xiaoyang frozen in place. A trace of impatience flickered across his face.
"What? Study monitor here to collect homework again?"
Lin Xiaoyu didn't look at Wang Lei; her gaze was locked on Song Xiaoyang.
"Song Xiaoyang," she called again, her voice softer but carrying an unmistakable penetrating force, "Teacher Tian wants you... to go to the office."
Wang Lei snorted derisively: "Tian the Devil wants you? Haha, you're done for!" He smugly slung his backpack over his shoulder, shoved past Lin Xiaoyu's shoulder, and swaggered out.
"Enjoy yourself, retard!"
The classroom door slammed shut behind Wang Lei with a soft "bang." Only Song Xiaoyang and Lin Xiaoyu remained. White Night's figure melted like wax, edges blurring, dripping black viscous liquid.
Lin Xiaoyu gathered courage and took a cautious step forward, voice barely above a whisper, afraid to shatter something:
"Don't listen to her."
Those three words struck like a thunderclap, shattering the chaos in Song Xiaoyang's mind!
How could Lin Xiaoyu know?! How could she possibly know "her" existence?!
The madness in Song Xiaoyang's eyes instantly froze, replaced by immense shock and fear. He looked at Lin Xiaoyu incredulously, as if truly seeing her for the first time.
He wanted to ask, but Lin Xiaoyu met his gaze without fear—only deep, piercing understanding and sorrow. She gently shook her head, whispering again, her voice strangely soothing:
"Don't listen to that voice. That's not you."
Only the last glimmers of daylight filtered through the classroom windows, casting a deep blue-gray hue over the room. The two stood silently, no words spoken. But they both knew the darkness had not left.
⸻
Song Xiaoyang mimicked the class monitor's handwriting to write a note, leaving it on Teacher Tian Mingyuan's desk. The note read: "There's a problem with the school accounts, a report has been made, meet at the abandoned building after school."
The musty smell of the abandoned laboratory building clawed into his nose like a rotting warning. Song Xiaoyang's fingertips pressed tightly against the utility knife hidden inside his sleeve. The cold metal was his only anchor at that moment.
He hid in the shadow around the staircase corner, listening to Teacher Tian's footsteps drawing nearer.
Teacher Tian's figure turned the corner, the ease on his face freezing instantly. He saw those eyes in the shadows—not shy or evasive, but two fathomless pools swirling with biting coldness.
"Song Xiaoyang?" Teacher Tian's voice tensed imperceptibly. He instinctively took a half step back, his heel knocking the edge of the stairs.
"What are you doing hiding here? Planning some trick again?"
Song Xiaoyang didn't move, stepping forward from the shadows. The water dripping from the rooftop hit the rusty pipes with a monotonous, eerie "tick... tick..."
"Why?" Song Xiaoyang's voice was dry as sandpaper, each word laced with long-suppressed venom,
"Teacher Tian, tell me why?"
Teacher Tian adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, trying to regain his usual authoritative composure.
"What why? Song Xiaoyang, watch your tone with a teacher! Go back to class immediately!"
"Why tear up my composition?!" Song Xiaoyang's accusation exploded in the hollow stairwell, echoing metallically,
"Why call my mom an irresponsible parent in front of the whole class?! Why blame the hamster incident on me?! Why let Wang Lei and the others... urinate on me?!"
The last sentence was almost a scream, the piled-up humiliation and anger erupting like magma breaking the crust.
The cold touch of the knife in his sleeve suddenly burned hot, scorching his nerves. He pulled out the blade abruptly—a sharp glint tearing through the dimness—and slashed at Teacher Tian's outstretched arm, who tried to push him away!
"Ah—!" Teacher Tian was caught off guard, crying out in pain. The cuff of his white shirt tore open, revealing flesh beneath with fine beads of blood quickly staining the fabric red.
He staggered back, spine slamming against the cold wall, glasses askew, his face paling for the first time—only pure terror and disbelief remained.
"You're crazy?! How dare you..." His voice trembled, eyes fixed on the gleaming blade in Song Xiaoyang's hand like it was a venomous snake ready to strike.
"Why?!" Song Xiaoyang stepped closer, the blade pointing at Teacher Tian's throat, his arm trembling violently with overwhelming fury and destructive impulse.
"Why do you target me everywhere?! Why won't you let me go?! What did I do wrong?! Did I offend you?! Answer me—!"
The boy's near-breakdown scream shattered the confined space.
Teacher Tian, backed against the wall with no retreat, his arm throbbing in pain and the knife's threat inches from his throat, lost all his feigned calm.
He stared at the child he had driven to the brink—a boy whose eyes now held only madness and destruction.
A buried, twisted truth burst through the dam of reason in the face of immense fear.
"Offend?" Teacher Tian's voice suddenly rose sharply, harsh and twisted with hysterical hatred:
"Because of your mother! That cold-blooded animal, that butcher in a white coat! She killed Xiaowei! She personally sent Xiaowei to hell! She deserves to die! And so do you!"
Song Xiaoyang was struck like lightning; his hand holding the knife abruptly froze:
"My mom? Xiaowei?"
The name Xiaowei was like a rusty key, violently prying open a bloodstained door deep within Teacher Tian's memories.
(Flashback: Four years and seven months ago, City Hospital, Oncology Ward)
The pungent smell of disinfectant could not mask the scent of death.
Teacher Tian held the frail hand of his girlfriend Su Xiaowei lying on the hospital bed. Her hand was so cold it seemed lifeless.
Xiaowei's face was sunken into the pillow; her once-bright eyes were like dull glass beads, staring vacantly at the pale ceiling.
Terminal cancer had ravaged her until she was unrecognizable.
The ward door opened. A doctor in a white coat entered, her badge reading "Song Yuling." Two young resident doctors followed behind her.
Doctor Song's expression was calm—to the point of coldness, Teacher Tian thought. She flipped through the medical charts, her tone steady as if reading a lab report.
"Family of Su Xiaowei?" Doctor Song's gaze fixed on Teacher Tian.
"The targeted therapy resistance progressed rapidly. Conventional chemotherapy effects are now minimal. Currently... there are no more effective treatments."
Teacher Tian felt the blood rush to his head and then drain away; his limbs turned icy.
"No... way? What about abroad? New drugs? Money is no issue! I have money!"
He abruptly stopped, his face pale as he realized what he'd said in desperation.
Doctor Song frowned slightly, seemingly puzzled by his confused words—how could a middle school teacher have so much money? But her professionalism returned her to the point:
"Mr. Tian, please calm down. I'm sorry to say, medically speaking, Ms. Su's condition... we recommend palliative care to ease her pain and improve her quality of life in her final stage."
"Quality of life?!" Teacher Tian stood abruptly, the chair scraping the floor with a harsh noise. His eyes were bloodshot as he glared at Doctor Song.
"Waiting to die is quality of life?! You doctors only know how to issue death sentences! You're heartless! You've seen death so often, your hearts must be made of stone!"
The resident doctors behind Doctor Song looked displeased, wanting to step forward, but she raised a hand to stop them.
She looked at the man on the edge of collapse, a faint trace of professional pity flickering in her eyes, but her tone remained unchanged:
"Mr. Tian, I understand your pain. But as a doctor, I must tell you the truth. Excessive treatment will only increase the patient's suffering and is meaningless."
"Meaningless..." Tianmingyuan repeated the word, as if all his bones had been pulled out, collapsing back into the chair.
He stared at Xiaowei's barely breathing body. Overwhelmed by despair and helplessness, the cold, almost indifferent expression of Doctor Song stabbed a poisoned needle deep into his chaotic, aching heart.
She turned and left the hospital room, the hem of her white coat disappearing beyond the doorway. That resolute, unhesitating silhouette, in Tian Mingyuan's distorted vision, morphed into the blade of Death's scythe.
Weeks later, Su Xiaowei passed away amid searing pain and unconsciousness. Tian Mingyuan clutched the class fund he had embezzled—the "lifeline" he'd secretly hoped could save her—and stared at the cold, lifeless digits in the bank account, then at Xiaowei's cold, lifeless body. A crushing guilt and a festering hatred swelled uncontrollably within him.
He hated the cursed disease, hated the merciless fate, but above all, he hated that female doctor—Song Yuling—who had coldly declared Xiaowei's death sentence with just four words: "It's meaningless now.
⸻
Reality: The Stairwell of the Abandoned Science Building
"...She was so calm! So damn calm it made me sick!" Tian Mingyuan's voice was hoarse and cracking, drowning in a reverse tide of hatred. Blood oozed from the wound on his arm, staining half his sleeve red, but he didn't even seem to notice. "'Utterly meaningless.' That's what she said! That Xiaowei's life was utterly meaningless! She was nothing but a cold-blooded butcher in a white lab coat! Who gave her the right?! Who gave her the right to take away Xiaowei's last shred of hope?!"
He suddenly looked up, bloodshot eyes locked on Song Xiaoyang. In them swirled pain, madness, and a twisted, belated satisfaction of revenge. "And then I heard she died. Cancer? Ha! Retribution! Divine damn retribution! I was so thrilled, I drank all night!"
Panting, Tian Mingyuan let out a grotesque grin, a twisted smile wet with tears. "But that wasn't enough! Not even close! Why the hell does her death settle the score? Why does her son get to live on like nothing happened, sitting safe and sound in a classroom? Song Xiaoyang! Her blood runs in your veins! When you watched her die, did you feel it too? That same cold detachment? That same belief—that everything was 'meaningless'? Huh?!"
He lunged toward Song Xiaoyang, ignoring the blade pointed at his throat. In the dim light, his distorted face resembled a ghost from hell. "Your mother owed Xiaowei! She owed me! A father's debt must be repaid by the son. A mother's debt... the son must pay it too! I'm going to make you taste despair—real despair! I'll grind you down, piece by piece, until you understand what it's like to live a life that's 'utterly meaningless'! That's why! You hear me?! That's why—!"
The hatred, long repressed, surged out like a breached dam, drowning Tian Mingyuan in its raging current. He was lost in the madness of his own vengeance, blind to Song Xiaoyang's reaction.
Song Xiaoyang stood frozen, like a plaster statue suddenly hollowed out. Every poisonous word Tian spat was like a branding iron searing his heart. His hand, once trembling as it gripped the knife, now hung stiffly at his side. The cold blade pointed limply at the dusty concrete floor.
His young face—once twisted with rage, pain, and confusion—froze, then cracked apart, flaking away until only a vast, hollow daze remained.
Mom... the mother who used to hum softly, who dripped lavender oil on his pillow at night... the only warmth and anchor in his life...
And now, in Tian Mingyuan's mouth, she was nothing but a "cold-blooded butcher"?
He had never imagined that her job—her daily encounters with death—could be twisted into something so grotesque, something that hung over his head like a swinging blade. So all the torment, the humiliation, the push into darkness... it all came from this? How absurd. The sheer absurdity crashed over him like an icy tide.
Then—
Footsteps. Fast. Panicked.
"Song Xiaoyang! No—don't—!"
Lin Xiaoyu's voice shattered the silence. She appeared at the stairwell entrance, breathless and pale as paper. Her eyes darted between the knife hanging from Song Xiaoyang's hand and Tian Mingyuan's bleeding arm, then froze on Tian's twisted, demonic face.
Tian snapped out of his mania at the sound of her voice. His rant cut off abruptly. Suddenly, he realized what he'd done—what he'd said—what she'd seen.
The wound on his arm.
The knife in Song Xiaoyang's hand.
The witness.
No! He couldn't let this fall apart now. Everything he'd built—his reputation, his future—would be ruined!
Survival instinct and the darkness rooted deep in his soul took over.
In the instant Lin Xiaoyu stood frozen by what she saw, Tian Mingyuan's eyes flashed. With his uninjured arm, he grabbed the rusted iron fire cabinet beside him and hurled it at Song Xiaoyang with all his strength.
The heavy metal box screeched against the concrete, toppling forward like a collapsing tombstone—hurtling toward Song Xiaoyang's unguarded, hollow form.
"Look out—!" Lin Xiaoyu screamed, voice shattering.
Time seemed to slow, then freeze.
In Song Xiaoyang's empty gaze, the massive, rust-covered shadow of death grew larger and larger. He didn't move. Didn't try to. Tian Mingyuan's twisted grin... Lin Xiaoyu's terror-stricken face... it all faded into static.
Then—
A blinding white light exploded in front of him.
Bai Ye.
The girl in white. The one who had always whispered to him, tempting him toward the abyss. For the first time, she appeared so clearly, almost tangibly, standing between him and the falling cabinet.
She had her back to him, her decaying white dress whipping in an invisible wind like a funerary banner. She didn't look back. She faced the oncoming shadow of death—and opened her arms.
Not to protect.
To receive.
Like a sacrifice.
The smile on her face—twisting up to her ears—froze in a strange, indescribable expression. Was it a mad grin of vengeance? A sigh of release? Or... a sorrow too deep to name?
BOOM—!!!
The crash of metal rang through the abandoned building like a war drum. Dust and rust exploded in all directions, engulfing everything.
Lin Xiaoyu's screams were swallowed whole.
And Song Xiaoyang's world—
fell into a choking, absolute black.