Crushing Dash
Chapter 1 Crush
It is September, yet the sun is still heating the ground. LinYe passes the noisy hall, with a piece of admission notice, and steps into hisnew class. He noticed a desk near the window at the end of the classroom, wherecan watch the view of playground and enjoy the cool brings by the breeze.
“That’s a good place to sit,” He thinks. Assoon as he puts his bag in the conner, somebody crushes his arm.
“Excuse me bro, I want the seat first.”
Lin Ye glances up, the boy who crushes him was in a fit but quitewhitish blue school uniform. He has a short hair, a symmetrical but strongbody. The pencil box in his hand has a sign of school basketball team. The boyis Shen Che, the famous problem student in junior high school; it is said thathe is circulate a notice of criticism because fight, it’s a miracle that hecould be admitted to this school.
Shen Che lets out a low
chuckle, a smirk playing on his lips as he reaches out to pull the chair away. “But your bag wouldn’t faster than me dude,”he says, his fingers wrapping around the chair’s armrest. His grip is strong,
and Lin Ye can feel the chair shift slightly as Shen Che tugs at it. Lin Ye
quickly places his hand on top of his backpack, holding it down firmly, and
their eyes meet—Lin Ye’s calm and determined, Shen Che’ssharp and provocative. For a moment, neither of them moves, the tension betweenthem thickening as the surrounding chatter in the classroom dies down a little.Several students have turned to watch, curious about the standoff between thetwo boys. As they arguing, the head teacher comes into classroom with herteaching plan. “All right students, be quiet!” She shouted and pushes herglasses up her nose, “Gentlemen arguing at the end of class, please stop unlessyou guys want to stand in the corridor as your first class. Now sit as deskmate!”
Lin sit with sulk, after he putall his books on desk, his pen fells on the ground. After he picks up his pen,a slice of paper is put by Shen is on his desk.
The paper says:” Give the desknear the window please. AwA”
Lin smiles and writes severalwords on it, then he through it to Shen.
“Thanks paper, but I refused todo so. (LoL)”, those are words on the paper. Shen glares at Lin and noticedthere is a smile on his face.
“Damn you.” He grumbles.
Now they meet with each other, as desk mates.
Chapter 2 “Enemy”
When the glass of dining hall has condensed water vapor, the smell of lunch stuffs the hall and fly to the sunny sky. Lin Ye pushes his way to the wicket and to wishes to have the last one, suddenly a large and coarse hand sticks out and handles a dish.
“Hesitate means lose, yet rush means win.” Shen Che smiles in a gentle but giddy smile.
Lin Ye is sullen, “Where is your manner, gentleman?” He speaks in a cold voice.
“Who saw it first is the owner.” Shen smiles with one of his brows raises, ”Come on man, It serves me right, you have had a fantastic seat. Don’t be greedy and let me have this meal, I’m starving!”
“Starving serves you bastard right.” Lin talks back.
Someone around here (most are their class mates) pays their attention to them, at that time they are still standing off. Finally Lin quits the stand-off, “Enjoy your meal Mr. Shen.” He sighs and gets something we can call it food but has a bad taste, then he chooses a seat and swallow the food.
Then Shen Che sits in front of him with a bad smile. “That smells so good, do you want some?” Shen asks with a smile seems friendly, and sauce of the dish spread sweet smell occupies Lin’s nose. “Thank you but I don’t want it now,” Lin’s voice is still cold
Soon is time for class, and the physics teacher comes into classroom with a pile of documents. He clears his sound and speaks in a resonant voice,” We’ve already finished the study in unit1, but a vital experiment’s data should be accomplished. Every four students in a group, then finish the experiment and collect the data in a week.”
Lin Ye and Shen Che are in one group, the team work finally became their battlefield. After class, Lin stays up late to collect the vital data but Shen Che submit the first draft late, that leads the whole group is criticized by teacher. Lin Ye feels angry and changed some data, that made Shen’s exhibition has an error. Without any doubt, their parts of the experiment gain lower points. When teacher calls their name and criticizes them, they are kicking each other’s leg fiercely under the desk. At that time, half of the class knows that they became enemies.
Finally their conflict erupts in the basketball race after the first monthly exam. Lin is the vanguard of the team of their class, but Shen is the guard of school team. The two players were in a targeted confrontation throughout the game. In the last two minutes of the third quarter, Lin Ye dribbled the ball and was about to score a layup when Shen Che suddenly charged in from the side. Not only did he fail to touch the ball, but he also hit Lin Ye’s waist hard. Lin Ye lost his balance and fell to the ground, with a large bruise on his knee. The referee called a flagrant foul on Shen Che, but he just shrugged his shoulders, his eyes full of provocation: "Sorry, I was too focused on defense."
That competition finally ends by the lose of Lin’s team, when he comes out of the gym stumblingly, Shen heads on. Shen through a bottle of water to him,” Take this little guy, stop sobbing”, but Lin obviously can’t catch the bottle, it bumped on to ground. “Make yourself stronger then try to defeat me buddy,” Shen’s voice is strict,” There is no position for the weak in basketball team!”
From then on, “Lin Ye and Shen Che are enemy” became a secret under the sun in the class; they compete each other in every aspect. From study to sports skills, even speed they rush into dining hall are a part of their competition. They seem two trains to different ending, but none of them want to list in the second in the speed. But an accident soon would change their balance in the compete.
Chapter 3 Rescue
The dismiss bell of last class in afternoon rang, Lin lifts his school bag and rushes out of classroom. The setting sun is pulLin the shadow of teaching building longer and longer, the hall is filled with orange light and Lin Ye is become golden, the slim shadow steps in a fast pace. The exam paper of the monthly test are in his desk, the picture of last question is chaos like Lin’s mind now. When teacher asking this question, he hesitated and Shen Che answers the correct answer smoothly.
He still thinking, and goes out school gate.
Lin Ye kicked a small stone—so annoying, that stuck-up guy.
He didn’t look when he stepped off the curb. The traffic light was red, but the street seemed quiet, only a few cars far away. His thoughts drifted back to the group project: he’d grabbed the part Shen Che wanted, just to spite him. A faint smirk tugged his lips—serves him right.
Then came a sharp screech.
At first Lin Ye thought it was just a car braking, but the sound got louder, sharper—like metal tearing. He froze, head snapping up. Less than fifty meters away, a black sedan careened toward him, front wheels smoking, driver’s face a blur of panic. The car was going too fast, straight for where he stood.
Time slowed. Lin Ye saw the driver’s white-knuckled hands on the wheel, heard tires scrape asphalt, smelled burning rubber. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. This is it, he thought numbly.
Then something hit him.
It was hard, unexpected— a push to his shoulder that sent him flying to the grass. He landed with a thud, wind knocked out, backpack spilling notebooks. Pain shot through his ribs, but he heard another thud first.
Lin Ye scrambled up, heart pounding. The sedan had stopped a few meters away, bumper crumpled, driver yelling. But his eyes locked on the figure by the curb: Shen Che.
Shen Che sat up on one elbow, face pale but tight. His left sleeve was torn from wrist to elbow, skin raw and bleeding, blood trick Lin down his arm. He stared at the wound, then glared at Lin Ye.
“Are you an idiot?” Shen Che’s voice was hoarse, still sharp. “Crossing without looking? You wanna die?”
Lin Ye gaped. This was Shen Che—his worst enemy, the guy who’d stolen his library spot, tripped him in the cafeteria last week. This was the guy who just pushed him out of a car’s way.
The driver stumbled over, apologizing nonstop. “Brakes failed—I couldn’t stop—are you okay?”
Shen Che waved him off, pushing up with a wince. “We’re fine. Just go.” His gaze flicked to Lin Ye, who still stared like he’d grown two heads. “You gonna stand there gawking, or pick up your junk?”
Lin Ye snapped out of it, kneeling to grab his things. His hands shook. He glanced at Shen Che’s bleeding arm, a knot in his stomach. “Why did you do that?” he blurted.
“Do what?” Shen Che said.
“Save me.” Lin Ye’s throat felt tight. “You hate me. So why?”
Shen Che finally looked at him, face unreadable. For a second, Lin Ye thought he’d say something honest—but then he sneered. “Hate you? Please. I just don’t wanna fill police forms ‘cause my annoying desk mate got hit. You think I care about you?”
He turned to walk, but Lin Ye called out. “Your arm—it’s bleeding a lot. Let’s get band-aids from the store down the street.”
Shen Che glanced at his arm, like he’d forgotten it. “It’s just a scratch.”
“It’s not a scratch,” Lin Ye insisted. “Hurry up, it’ll get worse.”
Shen Che hesitated, then sighed, wincing as he moved his arm. “Whatever. Make it quick—I got better things to do.”
Lin Ye grabbed his backpack and followed. The campus was quiet now, only their footsteps and bird chirps. He stole a glance at Shen Che: jaw tight, brows furrowed, not angry—just tired.
For the first time since they met, Lin Ye didn’t feel annoyed when Shen Che spoke. A crack had split the wall between them, and a little light seeped through.
Shen Che looked over, eyes soft for a split second, then scowled. “Hurry up. I’m not waiting all day.”
Lin Ye nodded. He didn’t mind.
Chapter 4 Warmth
The convenience store’s fluorescent lights hummed softly as Lin Ye grabbed a pack of antiseptic wipes and extra-thick band-aids. Shen Che leaned against the counter, his injured arm propped up, face still set in a grumpy frown, but he didn’t complain when Lin Ye tossed the supplies onto the checkout counter.
“Pay up,” Lin Ye said, nudging him with his elbow. “My treat—since you didn’t want the hassle of a police report.”
Shen Che clicked his tongue, putting out his phone to scan the QR code. “Don’t get cocky. I’m just letting you repay the favor so you don’t mope around like a lost puppy later.”
The cashier handed them a small bag, and they trundled back to the campus playground, setting on the cool concrete steps beneath a ginkgo tree. The sun was sinking, painting the sky in soft oranges and pinks, and the playground was empty except for a few distant students laughing.
Lin Ye squatted down in front of Shen Che, tearing open the antiseptic wipe. “Hold still. This’ll sting.”
“Like I care,” Shen Che muttered, but he didn’t pull his arm away. When the wipe touched his scraped skin, he hissed through his teeth, jaw tightening. Lin Ye paused, glancing up—Shen Che’s ears were pink, like he was embarrassed by the reaction. Lin Ye bit back a smile, moving more gently.
“Whoa, easy with the brute force,” Shen Che snapped, but his voice lacked bite. “You wanna make it worse?”
“Sorry,” Lin Ye said, even though he wasn’t really sorry. He liked this—this weird, not-quite-enemy interaction. No arguments about grades or stolen seats, just… two people sitting quietly, one patching up the other.
He smoothed the band-aid over Shen’s arm, pressing down gently. It was a silly design—blue with little dinosaurs—but it was the only thick one left. Shen Che stared at it, then snorted. “Dinosaurs? Really? You couldn’t pick something normal?”
“It’s the only one that’ll stay on,” Lin Ye defended, sitting back on his heels. “Besides, dinosaurs are cool. Don’t tell me you’re scared of them.”
“I’m not scared of lizards with tiny brains,” Shen Che retorted, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. He leaned back on his hands, gazing at the sunset. “Thanks, I guess.”
Lin Ye blinked. It was the first time Shen Che had ever thanked him for anything. He felt a strange flutter in his chest, like the wall between them was crumbling, brick by brick. “Yeah, well. You saved my life. Least I could do is not let you bleed out.”
They sat in silence for a minute, the only sounds the rustle of ginkgo leaves and the distant buzz of campus. Lin Ye fidgeted with the strap of his backpack, unsure what to say. He’d never been alone with Shen Che without fighting—this quiet was foreign, almost uncomfortable.
Then Shen Che spoke up, his voice softer than usual. “You ever watch that old movie, The Silent Echo?”
Lin Ye’s head snapped up. “Wait—you’ve seen it?”
Shen Che raised an eyebrow. “Why? You have?”
“It’s my favorite movie!” Lin Ye said, excitement bubbling up. “No one I know has even heard of it. I thought it was just me.”
Shen Che shrugged, but his lips twitched into a small smile. “My mom used to play it when I was a kid. Said it’s about more than just the plot—about understanding people even when you don’t agree.” He quoted quietly, “‘Enemies aren’t born. They’re just strangers who haven’t found their common ground.’”
Lin Ye’s mouth dropped open. That was his favorite line. “I can’t believe you remember that!” He leaned forward, forgetting their past rivalry for a second. “I watch it every time I’m stressed. The scene where the two main characters finally stop fighting and help each other”
“—it’s not cheesy, it’s real,” Shen Che finished, nodding. “Most movies make enemies turn friends in ten minutes, but that one? It feels like actual work. Like you have to let go of the stupid stuff first.”
Lin Ye stared at him. This was Shen Che—the guy who’d argued with him about every little thing, who’d made his first semester of college miserable. But right now, he was talking about a movie that meant something to both of them, his eyes softening as he spoke. It was like seeing a different person.
“I guess we found our common ground,” Lin Ye said, grinning.
Shen Che rolled his eyes, but he didn’t disagree. “Don’t get used to it. I still think your literature analysis was garbage.”
“Hey!” Lin Ye laughed, shoving his shoulder lightly. “At least I don’t steal library seats like a gremlin.”
“Gremlin? You’re the one who ate the last dumpling in the cafeteria yesterday!” Shen Che shot back, but there was no heat in it—just playful bickering.
They talked for another hour, bouncing from the movie to their favorite music to how annoying their professors were. The sun set completely, and the playground lights flickered on, casting warm glows over the steps. When Lin Ye checked his phone, he was surprised at how late it was.
“I should go,” he said, standing up. “But… thanks for not letting me get hit by a car. And for talking about the movie.”
Shen Che stood too, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t mention it. And—” He hesitated, then said, “Next time we’re at the cafeteria, I’ll save you a dumpling. As payment for the dinosaur band-aid.”
Lin Ye’s grin widened. “Deal. But only if you stop arguing with me in class.”
“Nah,” Shen Che said, smirking. “Where’s the fun in that?”
They walked back to the dormitory together, side by side, no more sharp words or glares. When they reached the intersection where their paths split, Shen Che paused.
“See you tomorrow,” he said, turning to leave.
“See you,” Lin Ye replied.
As he watched Shen Che walk away, the dinosaur band aid peeking out from under his sleeve, Lin Ye felt a warmth in his chest. The wall between them was gone—broken by a speeding car, a pack of band-aids, and an old movie about finding common ground.
Chapter 5 Guard
The classroom’s ceiling fan hummed a drowsy tune, spinning chalk dust into fine, glowing fluff in the warm yellow light. It was the last period of evening self-study, and the air reeked of ink and faded eraser shavings. Lin Ye stared at the conic section problem on his math paper, his pencil tip poking a tiny hole in the draft sheet. “You’re hopeless,” Shen Che muttered, sliding a folded piece of paper over. On it were neat calculation steps, and a lopsided dinosaur doodle (a leftover joke from the band-aid incident) scrawled in the corner.
Lin Ye unfolded the paper, squinting. “Says the guy who froze up when the English teacher made you recite the text ten minutes ago.”
Shen Che leaned over and took a bite of Lin Ye’s unopened potato chip bag. “I did that on purpose. She’s been pestering me to join the speech contest—this’ll shut her up.”
Lin Ye swatted his hand away, but there was no bite in the motion. It had been three weeks since the brake screech and the dinosaur band-aid; their “deadly rivalry” had melted into something softer: passing notes in class, stealing each other’s snacks, and bickering about whether The Silent Echo’s ending was “profound” or “needlessly bleak.” To the rest of the class, they were still the odd pair who’d gone from kicking each other under desks to sharing earbuds during break—but to them, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
The self-study bell rang at 9:45, cutting through the hum of the fan. Students poured out of the classroom, laughing and shoving, their backpacks slung over shoulders. Shen Che slung his arm over Lin Ye’s shoulder (a habit he’d picked up in the past two weeks) and dragged him toward the school gate. “The roasted sausage stall’s still open,” he said. “I’ll buy—wait, no, you owe me for the movie ticket I grabbed last night.”
Lin Ye rolled his eyes. “You made me agree to the midnight screening! I have a math quiz tomorrow!”
“Quit whining,” Shen Che said, but he was grinning. The street outside the gate was lit by the warm glow of snack stalls: steam curled from the fried bun cart, the smell of spicy tofu lingered in the air, and the roasted sausage vendor waved at them. Shen Che bought two sausages, slathering one in extra chili before shoving it into Lin Ye’s hand. “Try it. It’s not that hot.”
Lin Ye took a tentative bite—and promptly coughed, his eyes watering. Shen Che laughed so hard he snort-laughed, handing him a bottle of iced cola. “Idiot. I told you it’s spicy.”
“Asshole,” Lin Ye muttered, but he was smiling too. They walked slowly, their shoes scuffing the sidewalk, talking about the Silent Echo sequel they planned to see over the weekend. The residential area behind the school was quiet, the streetlights broken in spots, casting long, wobbly shadows.
It happened in the narrow alley that cut through the old apartment buildings—their usual shortcut home.
Lin Ye was head down gnawing on the (now less spicy) sausage, not watching where he was going, when his shoulder slammed into someone’s back. The person yelped; a half-full bottle of cola splashed onto a black hoodie. “The hell’s wrong with you?”
Lin Ye looked up. A guy with dyed yellow hair was glowering at him, his hoodie soaked through the shoulder. Behind him stood three other boys, all a few years older, their jeans ripped and cigarettes dangling from their lips. This was the group that hung around the alley sometimes—local dropouts who liked to hassle high school students for pocket money.
“I’m sorry,” Lin Ye said quickly, fumbling in his pocket. “I can pay you back for the hoodie— I have fifty yuan here—”
“Fifty?” The yellow-haired guy laughed, a sharp, mean sound. He shoved Lin Ye hard; Lin Ye stumbled back, his shoulder hitting the brick wall, the sausage falling to the ground and rolling in the dust. “You think fifty’s enough for a 300-yuan hoodie, kid?”
Shen Che stepped in front of Lin Ye, his voice cold. “He said he’s sorry. Take the money and leave.”
The yellow-haired guy leaned in, his breath reeking of cigarette smoke. “Who the hell are you? His bodyguard?”
One of the boys behind him snickered. “Looks like two high school brats. Easy pickings.”
Lin Ye grabbed Shen Che’s arm, his voice tight. “Let’s just go. I’ll give him more money later—”
“Too late,” the yellow-haired guy said. He grabbed Lin Ye’s backpack strap, yanking him forward. “You ruined my hoodie. You’re gonna pay for it—with more than just cash.”
Shen Che didn’t hesitate. He swung his fist, hitting the yellow-haired guy square in the jaw.
The yellow-haired guy yelped, stumbling back. “You little shit!” He lunged at Shen Che, his fist flying toward Shen Che’s face. Shen Che ducked, his elbow slamming into the yellow-haired guy’s stomach; the guy doubled over, gasping. One of the other boys—thin, with a lip piercing—grabbed Shen Che’s hair, yanking his head back. Lin Ye reacted on instinct: he threw himself at the boy, wrapping his arms around his waist and slamming him into the wall. The boy cursed, elbowing Lin Ye in the ribs; Lin Ye grits his teeth, not letting go.
“Get off me!” The boy kicked backward, hitting Lin Ye’s knee. Lin Ye stumbled, and the boy turned around, punching him in the eye. Stars burst in Lin Ye’s vision; he fell to the ground, his cheek scraping the concrete. Before the boy could hit him again, Shen Che tackled him—they rolled into a pile of empty cardboard boxes, Shen Che’s fist connecting with the boy’s nose. A crunch echoed in the alley; the boy screamed, blood gushing from his nostrils.
“Fuck—he broke my nose!”
The third boy—stocky, with a tattoo on his wrist—grabbed a brick from the wall. “You’re dead, brats!” He raised the brick, aiming for Shen Che’s back. Lin Ye’s heart leaped into his throat. “Shen Che!”
He lunged forward, shoving Shen Che out of the way. The brick grazed Lin Ye’s shoulder, sending a sharp pain down his arm, before slamming into the wall and shattering into pieces. Shen Che spun around, his eyes blazing. He grabbed the stocky boy’s wrist, twisting it hard; the boy howled, dropping the brick. Shen Che kicked his knee; the boy crumpled to the ground.
The yellow-haired guy had recovered by then, pulling a switchblade from his pocket. “You think you’re tough?” He flipped the blade open, the metal glinting in the dim light. Lin Ye’s blood ran cold—this wasn’t just a fight anymore. This was dangerous.
“Run,” Shen Che said, his voice tight. He stepped in front of Lin Ye, his fists clenched.
“I’m not leaving you,” Lin Ye said. He grabbed a broken piece of brick from the ground, his hands shaking.
The yellow-haired guy lunged. Shen Che dodged, but the blade nicked his arm— a thin line of blood seeped through his uniform sleeve. Lin Ye swung the brick, hitting the yellow-haired guy’s hand; the switchblade clattered to the ground. “Get the hell out of here!” Lin Ye yelled, his voice cracking.
A distant shout cut through the noise: “I called the police! They’re on their way!”
The yellow-haired guy’s face paled. He grabbed his bleeding friend, glowering at Lin Ye and Shen Che. “This isn’t over!” He and the other boys stumbled out of the alley, leaving Lin Ye and Shen Che leaning against the wall, gasping.
Shen Che’s arm was bleeding. Lin Ye’s eye was swollen shut, his knee scraped raw, and his shoulder throbbed where the brick had hit. They sat on the cold concrete, their chests heaving, staring at each other. “You’re an idiot,” Lin Ye said, his voice wobbly. “Why did you punch him first?”
“Like you wouldn’t have done the same,” Shen Che said. He pulled a crumpled tissue from his pocket, dabbing at the blood on his arm. “You okay? Your eye looks like a tomato.”
“Shut up,” Lin Ye said, but he was smiling. He leaned his head against Shen Che’s shoulder; the fabric of Shen Che’s uniform was damp with sweat and blood, but it was warm. “Thanks. For not letting them hurt me.”
Shen Che didn’t say anything. He just put his arm around Lin Ye’s shoulders, and they sat there until the sound of sirens approached.
The school’s head teacher arrived ten minutes later, her face white with panic. She drove them to the hospital in her beat-up electric car, muttering about “ruined futures” and “parental calls” the whole way. At the emergency room, the doctor cleaned Shen Che’s arm wound and wrapped it in gauze; Lin Ye got an ice pack for his eye and a band-aid on his knee. The head teacher sat in the waiting room, her phone pressed to her ear, her voice getting louder with each call.
By 11:30, they were sitting in the school’s office, the lights harsh and the air stale. The head teacher placed a stack of medical bills on the desk. “The boy with the broken nose is in the next ward,” she said, rubbing her temples. “His parents are furious. They’re demanding compensation—and a suspension for both of you.”
Lin Ye tensed. His dad had a terrible temper; he’d be furious when he found out. “It was my fault,” he said quickly. “I’m the one who hit him first—”
“Bullshit,” Shen Che cut in. “I punched the yellow-haired guy first. Lin Ye was just defending me.”
“Stop lying,” Lin Ye said, glaring at him. “You know it was my—”
“Both of you be quiet!” The head teacher slammed her hand on the desk. “This isn’t a game. The police are already involved. Your parents are on their way—you can explain it to them.”
The wait was agonizing. Lin Ye stared at the clock on the wall, his knee bouncing. Shen Che sat next to him, his bandaged arm resting on the desk, staring at the floor. “My dad’s gonna kill me,” Lin Ye said quietly.
“Mine too,” Shen Che said. He nudged Lin Ye’s foot with his own. “But we’ll take it together. It’s not like they can ground us forever.”
The office door opened.
Lin Ye looked up—his dad was standing in the doorway, his face red with anger. Next to him was a man in a tailored suit, his jaw tight. Lin Ye’s heart stopped.
He knew that man.
It was Shen Che’s dad.
The two men stared at each other. For a second, the office was silent—then Shen Che’s dad’s face twisted into a snarl. “Lin Guangyao?”
Lin Ye’s dad’s eyes narrowed. “Shen Jian?”
Lin Ye turned to Shen Che. Shen Che was staring at the two men, his face pale, his bandaged hand clenched into a fist.
The head teacher frowned. “You two… know each other?”
Lin Ye’s dad didn’t answer. He looked at Lin Ye, then at Shen Che, his voice cold. “You’ve been hanging out with his son?”
Shen Che’s dad stepped forward, his voice sharp. “This is the boy who got my son into a fight?”
The air in the office turned thick, heavy with a hatred Lin Ye didn’t understand. He looked at Shen Che—at the bandage on his arm, at the bruise on his cheek—and then at the two men who hated each other so badly they couldn’t even speak without snarling.
For the first time, he felt a flicker of fear. Not of the suspension, not of his dad’s anger—but of whatever was between their families. Whatever it was, it was big enough to break the fragile friendship he had finally built.
Shen Che grabbed his hand under the desk. His palm was cold, but his grip was tight.
Lin Ye squeezed back.
Chapter 6 “Dramatic”
The counselor’s office smells like chalk dust and stale jasmine tea—scents Linye has always associated with after-school detentions, but today they cling to the air like something thicker, heavier. Sunlight slants through the smudged window, catching the edge of a cracked ceramic mug on Ms. Wang’s desk and the piles of dog-eared folders stacked next to it. Linye twists the frayed edge of his school uniform sleeve between his fingers, until the fabric bunches tight enough to make his wrist ache. Beside him, Shen Che kicks a crumpled paper ball back and forth with the toe of his scuffed white sneakers, his jaw set so tight that a muscle ticks in his cheek.
They have been here for forty minutes, ever since the security guard dragged them away from the alley behind the convenience store. It had started small: three guys from the vocational school down the street shoving Linye into a wall, calling him “stuck-up” because he’d ignored their catcalls at the boba shop. Shen Che had shown up out of nowhere—Linye still doesn’t know how he’d found him—fists flying before Linye could even say “wait.” Now their knuckles are bruised, their shirts are torn, and the only thing left is waiting for the people who’ll yell the loudest: their dads.
The hallway door creaks open. Linye’s head snaps up. His father, Lin Guohua, stands in the doorway, his tailored black suit crisp even at four in the afternoon, a faint smudge of ink staining the cuff of his shirt. “What is wrong with you?” he barks, striding across the room. His hand wraps around Linye’s arm, tight enough to leave a pink mark. “Fighting? In an alley? Do you have any idea how this looks—”
His voice cuts off mid-sentence.
The second door clicks shut. Shen Che’s dad steps in, and the room goes quiet. He’s wearing a well-worn navy work jacket, the cuffs frayed at the edges, and a faint scar slicing across his left cheek—something Linye noticed once, when Shen Che had forgotten his lunch and his dad had dropped it off, but never thought to ask about. For a second, no one moves. Then Lin Guohua’s grip on Linye’s arm goes rigid.
“Shen Jianfeng,” he says. The name comes out like a snarl.
Shen Jianfeng’s eyes narrow. “Lin Guohua.” His voice is low, sharp, like a knife being sharpened. “I should’ve known. The last name ‘Lin’ with that stuck-up attitude—figured it was one of yours.”
Linye blinks. He glances at Shen Che, who’s frozen mid-kick, the paper ball trapped under his shoe. Shen Che’s face has gone pale, his lips parted like he wants to say something but can’t.
“Wait,” Linye says, but his dad doesn’t listen.
“You have some nerve showing your face here,” Lin Guohua snaps. He shoves Linye back a step, like he’s putting distance between his son and the other man. “After what you did—”
“What I did?” Shen Jianfeng laughs, a harsh, barking sound that makes Ms. Wang flinch. “You’re the one who stole half a million yuan from me, you lying bastard. 2012. The construction material contract. I handed you cash upfront for steel beams—beams that turned out to be rusted scrap metal when they showed up on the site. Do you remember that?”
The blood drains from Linye’s face. 2012. He was seven then, too young to understand why his dad had come home yelling every night for a month, why his mom had cried in the kitchen when she thought no one was looking. He’d always assumed it was “business stuff”—the kind of thing adults yelled about over whiskey and paperwork. He never thought it was this.
“My company went under,” Shen Jianfeng says, and his voice cracks, just a little. “I couldn’t pay the workers. Couldn’t pay the hospital bills when my dad had a heart attack from the debt. He died in that bed, Lin. And you walked away with my money to buy that fancy suit you’re wearing.”
Linye stares at his dad. Lin Guohua’s jaw is tight, but there’s no denial in his eyes—only a cold, hard anger. “You were naive enough to trust a stranger with cash,” he says. “That’s not my fault.”
“Naive?” Shen Jianfeng takes a step forward, and Ms. Wang jumps up, her hands raised.
“Gentlemen, please—this is a school office—”
“Stay out of this,” Shen Jianfeng growls. He’s looking at Lin Guohua, but his words are sharp enough to cut through the room. “My son doesn’t need to be anywhere near yours. You think I’d let him associate with the kid of the man who killed my father?”
Linye’s throat feels tight. He turns to Shen Che. Shen Che is staring at the floor, his hands clenched into fists so tight that his knuckles are white. When he looks up, their eyes meet. Linye can see everything in that look: the shock, the hurt, the quiet confusion of realizing the boy who’d passed him a band-aid after he scraped his arm at basketball practice, the boy who’d shared his last pork bun in the cafeteria, is the son of the man who ruined his family.
“I didn’t know,” Linye says, quiet enough that only Shen Che can hear.
Shen Che doesn’t answer. He just looks away.
Lin Guohua grabs Linye’s backpack and yanks him toward the door. “We’re leaving. And starting tomorrow, you’re switching classes. You’re not to talk to this boy. Not to look at him. Not to so much as breathe the same air.”
“Dad—” Linye tries to pull away, but his dad’s grip is iron.
“Quiet,” Lin Guohua says. “This is non-negotiable.”
Shen Jianfeng’s hand lands on Shen Che’s shoulder, heavy and unyielding. “We’re transferring you to the other campus,” he says. “I’ll fill out the paperwork tonight. You won’t have to see him again.”
Shen Che doesn’t fight it. He just slings his backpack over one shoulder and follows his dad toward the door. For a split second, he glances back. Linye is still staring at him, his chest tight with something he can’t name—regret, sadness, the sharp ache of a friendship that broke before it even had a chance to properly start.
The doors click shut behind both dads. The office is quiet again, except for the hum of the overhead light and Ms. Wang’s quiet sigh as she sinks back into her chair. Linye stands there, staring at the empty space where Shen Che was, the frayed edge of his sleeve still twisted between his fingers.
Outside, he hears a car door slam. Then another. The sound of engines starting, fading into the distance. For the first time all afternoon, he lets his hands fall to his sides. The bruise on his knuckle throbs. Somewhere down the hall, a bell rings—end of after-school study hall. But Linye doesn’t move.
He thinks about the way Shen Che had laughed when they snuck out to get boba last week. About the way he’d passed Linye a crumpled note in math class, drawing a stick figure of their teacher with a mustache. About the way he’d pushed Linye out of the way of that speeding bike last month, scraping his own knee so bad he’d limped for three days.
And he thinks about his dad’s cold voice, and Shen Che’s dad’s broken one. About the rusted steel beams, and the hospital bed, and the half a million yuan that had split their families apart before they’d even met.
The chalk dust settles on the windowsill. The cracked ceramic mug sits untouched. Somewhere, a locker slams.
Linye turns and walks toward the door. His shoes scuff against the linoleum floor.
He doesn’t look back.
Chapter 7 Separation
The front door slams behind Lin Ye the second he steps inside, the sound echoing off the tile floors of his family’s apartment. His father tosses a crumpled stack of papers onto the coffee table—transfer forms, Lin Ye realizes, printed with the logo of a high school three cities away. “Your enrollment goes through tomorrow,” Lin Guohua says, his voice flat, no room for argument. “You’re not going back to your old school. Pack your things tonight—we leave at dawn.”
Lin Ye’s throat tightens. “What? I can’t just—”
“Quiet.” His father’s gaze cuts him off, sharp as the edge of a knife. “I told you this was non-negotiable. That boy’s family is poison. You’re done with them.” He snatches Lin Ye’s phone from his pocket before Lin Ye can react, shoving it into his own briefcase. “No calls. No texts. No trying to find him. Understand?”
For a second, Lin Ye stares at him—at the set of his jaw, the coldness in his eyes—and realizes there’s no fighting this. He turns and walks to his bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him so quiet it might as well be a lock.
His room smells like lemon air freshener and old textbooks, but now it feels foreign, like a space he’s only visiting. He sinks onto the edge of his bed, staring at the desk in the corner: there’s the chipped pencil Shen Che lent him after Lin Ye broke his own during a math quiz, the crumpled note with the stick-figure drawing of their teacher (mustache extra bushy, glasses askew), the half-eaten pack of strawberry Pocky they’d split during lunch last week. Lin Ye picks up the note, his thumb brushing the smudged ink—Shen Che’s handwriting, messy but bold, like he’d scribbled it down before the teacher turned around.
I swear Mr. Zhang’s beard is growing faster than we’re learning algebra.
He folds the note back up, tucking it into the pocket of his uniform shirt.
That night, he tries to sneak out. He climbs out the window onto the fire escape, his sneakers scraping against the metal, but his father is waiting by the building’s entrance, smoking a cigarette. “Go back inside,” he says, no anger—just exhaustion, like he’d known Lin Ye would try. Lin Ye’s shoulders slump. He climbs back up.
By dawn, his suitcase is packed. His mother stands in the doorway, her eyes red, but she doesn’t say anything—just hands him a thermos of hot soybean milk. “It’ll be okay,” she murmurs, but her voice shakes. Lin Ye nods, even though he doesn’t believe her.
The train station is a chaos of noise: announcements blaring over the speakers, children waiLin, suitcases rolling over scuffed tile. Lin Ye drags his own suitcase behind him, the handle digging into his palm, as his father checks their tickets at the counter. He stares at the crowds, half-hoping—half-dreading—to see a flash of Shen Che’s white school uniform, the messy black hair that always fell over his eyes.
It’s stupid. His father has his phone. Shen Che’s dad probably took his, too. They can’t contact each other.
Then he hears it: a voice, rough and breathless, cutting through the din.
“Lin Ye.”
He freezes.
He freezes as he never moved.
When he turns, Shen Che is standing ten feet away, his uniform shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sneakers caked in mud, like he ran all the way here. His face is flushed, his chest heaving, and for a second, Lin Ye can only stare—at the way his hair is sticking up, at the scrape on his cheek (from the alley fight, still raw), at the way he’s looking at Lin Ye like he’s afraid to blink, like Lin Ye might disappear if he does.
“Shen Che,” Lin Ye says, and his voice cracks. He takes a step forward, then glances at his father—who’s still at the counter, his back turned—and steps faster, until they’re standing close enough that Lin Ye can smell the mint gum Shen Che always chews.
“How did you find me?” Lin Ye asks.
“Your mom texted my cousin,” Shen Che says, and Lin Ye blinks—his mom? She’d seemed so quiet, so complicit in his father’s plan. “Said you were leaving on the 7:15 train. I snuck out. My dad’s gonna kill me, but—” He cuts off, his eyes darting to Lin Ye’s suitcase. “You’re really going.”
Lin Ye nods. He wants to say a hundred things: I’m sorry about my dad. I didn’t know. I don’t want to leave. But the words get stuck in his throat, tangled up in the noise of the station. Instead, he pulls the crumpled note from his pocket— the one with the stick-figure teacher—and shoves it into Shen Che’s hand.
Shen Che looks down at it. A small, sad smile tugs at his lips. “I forgot I wrote that.” He reaches into his own pocket, pulling out a crumpled wrapper from the last pork bun they shared. “I had this. Figured it was stupid, but—”
“Lin Ye.”
His father’s voice is sharp, cold.
They both jump. Lin Guohua is standing behind Lin Ye, his face dark, his hand curled around the handle of Lin Ye’s suitcase. Behind Shen Che, Lin Ye sees a figure pushing through the crowd: Shen Jianfeng, his jaw set, his hands clenched at his sides.
“Go,” Lin Ye says, fast, his heart pounding. “Before your dad gets here.”
Shen Che’s hand closes around the note. “I don’t have your number. Or your new school. I won’t be able to—”
“I know,” Lin Ye says. He wants to reach out, to grab Shen Che’s arm, to say something that will make this not feel like an ending. But his father is yanking him backward, and Shen Jianfeng is getting closer, and the station announcement blares: “Boarding for train K247 to Changzhou will begin in ten minutes. All passengers, please proceed to platform 3.”
“Lin Ye,” Shen Che says, and his voice is louder now, desperate. “Wait—”
His father pulls him away, hard. Lin Ye stumbles, his eyes locked on Shen Che as he’s dragged toward the platform. Shen Jianfeng grabs Shen Che’s shoulder, spinning him around, and Shen Che tries to twist free, to look back, but his dad holds him tight.
By the time Lin Ye reaches the platform, the train is already idling on the tracks. His father shoves him onto the train, and Lin Ye grabs the window, pressing his palm to the cold glass. He scans the crowd—for Shen Che, for that flash of white uniform—
And then he sees him.
Shen Che has broken free from his dad’s grip, running toward the platform, his shoes slapping against the tile. His father is yelling behind him, but Shen Che doesn’t stop. He skids to a halt at the edge of the platform, just as the train’s whistle blows.
Their eyes meet through the glass.
Lin ye slams his fist against the window, but Shen Che can’t hear it. He mouths something—I’ll find you—but Lin ye isn’t sure. Then the train lurches forward, and Shen Che starts running, keeping pace with the window, his hand raised, until the platform curves away and he disappears.
Lin ye stays by the window long after the station is out of sight. The thermos of soybean milk his mom gave him sits untouched on the seat beside him. The note—his note— is gone, tucked into Shen Che’s pocket, but Lin ye can still feel the rough edge of the paper against his thumb.
He thinks about the cafeteria, about the way they’d fought over the last dish, about Shen Che tripping him during basketball practice and then helping him up. He thinks about the alley, about Shen Che stepping in before Lin ye could even blink. He thinks about the counselor’s office, about the way Shen Che’s face had gone pale when he heard the truth.
The train rumbles through the countryside, past green fields and small villages. Lin ye pulls his knees to his chest, the note from Shen Che’s pocket (the pork bun wrapper) crumpled in his hand. He doesn’t have a phone. He doesn’t know Shen Che’s new school. He doesn’t even know if Shen Che will be allowed to stay in the city.
For the first time, he lets himself cry.
The tears soak into the fabric of his uniform shirt. Outside, the sun rises higher, painting the sky pink and gold. But inside the train, it feels like the light will never reach him.
He doesn’t look back even a glance.
Chapter 7 Separation
The front door slams behind Lin Ye the second he steps inside, the sound echoing off the tile floors of his family’s apartment. His father tosses a crumpled stack of papers onto the coffee table—transfer forms, Lin Ye realizes, printed with the logo of a high school three cities away. “Your enrollment goes through tomorrow,” Lin Guohua says, his voice flat, no room for argument. “You’re not going back to your old school. Pack your things tonight—we leave at dawn.”
Lin Ye’s throat tightens. “What? I can’t just—”
“Quiet.” His father’s gaze cuts him off, sharp as the edge of a knife. “I told you this was non-negotiable. That boy’s family is poison. You’re done with them.” He snatches Lin Ye’s phone from his pocket before Lin Ye can react, shoving it into his own briefcase. “No calls. No texts. No trying to find him. Understand?”
For a second, Lin Ye stares at him—at the set of his jaw, the coldness in his eyes—and realizes there’s no fighting this. He turns and walks to his bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him so quiet it might as well be a lock.
His room smells like lemon air freshener and old textbooks, but now it feels foreign, like a space he’s only visiting. He sinks onto the edge of his bed, staring at the desk in the corner: there’s the chipped pencil Shen Che lent him after Lin Ye broke his own during a math quiz, the crumpled note with the stick-figure drawing of their teacher (mustache extra bushy, glasses askew), the half-eaten pack of strawberry Pocky they’d split during lunch last week. Lin Ye picks up the note, his thumb brushing the smudged ink—Shen Che’s handwriting, messy but bold, like he’d scribbled it down before the teacher turned around.
I swear Mr. Zhang’s beard is growing faster than we’re learning algebra.
He folds the note back up, tucking it into the pocket of his uniform shirt.
That night, he tries to sneak out. He climbs out the window onto the fire escape, his sneakers scraping against the metal, but his father is waiting by the building’s entrance, smoking a cigarette. “Go back inside,” he says, no anger—just exhaustion, like he’d known Lin Ye would try. Lin Ye’s shoulders slump. He climbs back up.
By dawn, his suitcase is packed. His mother stands in the doorway, her eyes red, but she doesn’t say anything—just hands him a thermos of hot soybean milk. “It’ll be okay,” she murmurs, but her voice shakes. Lin Ye nods, even though he doesn’t believe her.
The train station is a chaos of noise: announcements blaring over the speakers, children waiLin, suitcases rolling over scuffed tile. Lin Ye drags his own suitcase behind him, the handle digging into his palm, as his father checks their tickets at the counter. He stares at the crowds, half-hoping—half-dreading—to see a flash of Shen Che’s white school uniform, the messy black hair that always fell over his eyes.
It’s stupid. His father has his phone. Shen Che’s dad probably took his, too. They can’t contact each other.
Then he hears it: a voice, rough and breathless, cutting through the din.
“Lin Ye.”
He freezes.
He freezes as he never moved.
When he turns, Shen Che is standing ten feet away, his uniform shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sneakers caked in mud, like he ran all the way here. His face is flushed, his chest heaving, and for a second, Lin Ye can only stare—at the way his hair is sticking up, at the scrape on his cheek (from the alley fight, still raw), at the way he’s looking at Lin Ye like he’s afraid to blink, like Lin Ye might disappear if he does.
“Shen Che,” Lin Ye says, and his voice cracks. He takes a step forward, then glances at his father—who’s still at the counter, his back turned—and steps faster, until they’re standing close enough that Lin Ye can smell the mint gum Shen Che always chews.
“How did you find me?” Lin Ye asks.
“Your mom texted my cousin,” Shen Che says, and Lin Ye blinks—his mom? She’d seemed so quiet, so complicit in his father’s plan. “Said you were leaving on the 7:15 train. I snuck out. My dad’s gonna kill me, but—” He cuts off, his eyes darting to Lin Ye’s suitcase. “You’re really going.”
Lin Ye nods. He wants to say a hundred things: I’m sorry about my dad. I didn’t know. I don’t want to leave. But the words get stuck in his throat, tangled up in the noise of the station. Instead, he pulls the crumpled note from his pocket— the one with the stick-figure teacher—and shoves it into Shen Che’s hand.
Shen Che looks down at it. A small, sad smile tugs at his lips. “I forgot I wrote that.” He reaches into his own pocket, pulling out a crumpled wrapper from the last pork bun they shared. “I had this. Figured it was stupid, but—”
“Lin Ye.”
His father’s voice is sharp, cold.
They both jump. Lin Guohua is standing behind Lin Ye, his face dark, his hand curled around the handle of Lin Ye’s suitcase. Behind Shen Che, Lin Ye sees a figure pushing through the crowd: Shen Jianfeng, his jaw set, his hands clenched at his sides.
“Go,” Lin Ye says, fast, his heart pounding. “Before your dad gets here.”
Shen Che’s hand closes around the note. “I don’t have your number. Or your new school. I won’t be able to—”
“I know,” Lin Ye says. He wants to reach out, to grab Shen Che’s arm, to say something that will make this not feel like an ending. But his father is yanking him backward, and Shen Jianfeng is getting closer, and the station announcement blares: “Boarding for train K247 to Changzhou will begin in ten minutes. All passengers, please proceed to platform 3.”
“Lin Ye,” Shen Che says, and his voice is louder now, desperate. “Wait—”
His father pulls him away, hard. Lin Ye stumbles, his eyes locked on Shen Che as he’s dragged toward the platform. Shen Jianfeng grabs Shen Che’s shoulder, spinning him around, and Shen Che tries to twist free, to look back, but his dad holds him tight.
By the time Lin Ye reaches the platform, the train is already idling on the tracks. His father shoves him onto the train, and Lin Ye grabs the window, pressing his palm to the cold glass. He scans the crowd—for Shen Che, for that flash of white uniform—
And then he sees him.
Shen Che has broken free from his dad’s grip, running toward the platform, his shoes slapping against the tile. His father is yelling behind him, but Shen Che doesn’t stop. He skids to a halt at the edge of the platform, just as the train’s whistle blows.
Their eyes meet through the glass.
Lin ye slams his fist against the window, but Shen Che can’t hear it. He mouths something—I’ll find you—but Lin ye isn’t sure. Then the train lurches forward, and Shen Che starts running, keeping pace with the window, his hand raised, until the platform curves away and he disappears.
Lin ye stays by the window long after the station is out of sight. The thermos of soybean milk his mom gave him sits untouched on the seat beside him. The note—his note— is gone, tucked into Shen Che’s pocket, but Lin ye can still feel the rough edge of the paper against his thumb.
He thinks about the cafeteria, about the way they’d fought over the last dish, about Shen Che tripping him during basketball practice and then helping him up. He thinks about the alley, about Shen Che stepping in before Lin ye could even blink. He thinks about the counselor’s office, about the way Shen Che’s face had gone pale when he heard the truth.
The train rumbles through the countryside, past green fields and small villages. Lin ye pulls his knees to his chest, the note from Shen Che’s pocket (the pork bun wrapper) crumpled in his hand. He doesn’t have a phone. He doesn’t know Shen Che’s new school. He doesn’t even know if Shen Che will be allowed to stay in the city.
For the first time, he lets himself cry.
The tears soak into the fabric of his uniform shirt. Outside, the sun rises higher, painting the sky pink and gold. But inside the train, it feels like the light will never reach him.
He doesn’t look back even a glance.
Chapter 8 Reunion
Ten years later, the wake-up call blares at 5:30 a.m., sharp and tinny, cutting through the damp chill of the cell block. Lin ye’s eyes snap open—he doesn’t need the sound anymore; his body has learned the rhythm of the walls, the way the fluorescent lights flicker on three seconds before the horn, the scratch of a guard’s baton against iron bars down the hall. He sits up slowly, his bones aching from the thin, lumpy mattress, and swings his legs over the edge of the bunk. The man in the cot below him—Old Li, a former factory worker serving time for embezzlement—grunts and rolls over, muttering about “fucking early mornings.”
Lin ye doesn’t reply. He hasn’t spoken more than ten words in a day since he arrived six months ago.
The cell smells like disinfectant and unwashed laundry, a stale, clinging scent that seeps into the fabric of his gray prison uniform, the number 7842 stitched in faded black thread across the chest. He runs a hand over the fabric—coarse, scratchy, nothing like the soft cotton of his high school uniform. Ten years. It’s been ten years since he stood on that train platform, watching Shen Che disappear around the curve. Ten years since he signed the confession papers, his father’s trembling hand on his shoulder, whispering “I’ll fix this, son” (he never did). Ten years since the judge banged the gavel and said “ten years” like it was a grocery list item.
He slips on his scuffed canvas shoes and joins the line of men shuffling toward the washroom. The tiles are cracked, the mirrors fogged and smudged, but Lin ye can still make out his reflection: cheekbones sharper, eyes darker, a faint scar cutting through his left eyebrow (from a fight in the yard, two weeks after he arrived—he’d refused to give up his spot at the water fountain). He splashes cold water on his face, the shock of it jolting him awake, and stares at the number 7842 staring back at him.
Breakfast is watery porridge and a single steamed bun, served on chipped plastic trays. Lin ye sits at the end of a long table, picking at the bun—stale, slightly sour—while Old Li rants about the guard who’d taken his extra bowl of porridge yesterday. “Fucking Wang,” Old Li snarls, stabbing his spoon into the porridge. “Thinks he’s king of the block just ’cause he’s got a badge.
Lin ye doesn’t listen. His eyes are fixed on the door to the mess hall, the way the light slants through the small, barred window above it. It’s the same angle as the window in their high school classroom, the one he’d fought Shen Che for—I want the seat first—the memory sharp enough to make his throat ache. He still has the crumpled pork bun wrapper in his pillowcase, the one Shen Che had pressed into his hand at the station. On the inside, in smudged blue ink, are these words: Wait for me to find you, dude. He reads them every night, until the paper is thin enough to tear with a single finger.
The men file out into the exercise yard, a square of cracked concrete surrounded by twenty-foot walls topped with barbed wire. The sky is a pale, washed-out blue, the kind of colour that makes everything feel flat. Lin ye leans against the far wall, his hands in his pockets, and watches the others: a group of younger men playing a rough game of basketball (no hoop, just tossing a crumpled ball back and forth), Old Li smoking a cigarette he’d snuck in (his hands shaking), a quiet kid named Xiao Yu drawing in the dirt with a stick.
He’s halfway through picking at a loose thread on his uniform sleeve when he hears it: the sound of boots on concrete, sharp and even.
The guards are making their rounds. Lin ye doesn’t look up—he’s learned to keep his eyes down, to not draw attention. But then one of the younger men snorts, nudging his friend. “New guy. Looks like he’s still got his academy starch.”
Curious, Lin ye glances up.
And freezes.
He’s standing at the edge of the yard, flanked by two other guards, his uniform crisp navy blue, a police badge glinting on his chest. His hair is shorter now, cropped close to his skull, and there’s a faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, but Lin ye would know him anywhere: the sharp line of his cheekbone, the scar slicing through his left eyebrow (from that alley fight, the one that led to their fathers’ confrontation), the way he holds his shoulders—tight, like he’s carrying something heavy.
Shen Che.
For a second, the yard goes quiet. Lin ye can hear his own heart pounding, loud enough to drown out the basketball game, the guards’ chatter, the wind rustling through the barbed wire. He watches as Shen Che’s eyes sweep the yard, slow and methodical—until they land on Lin ye.
Their gazes lock.
Time stops.
Lin ye’s throat goes dry. He wants to look away, to duck his head, to pretend he doesn’t recognize the boy who’d shared his last pork bun, who’d pushed him out of the way of a speeding bike, who’d run through a train station covered in mud just to say goodbye. But he can’t. He’s stuck, staring at Shen Che’s face—at the way his jaw tightens, at the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes (shock? Sadness? Anger?), at the way his hand curls around the baton at his waist, the same way he used to curl his hand around a basketball.
Ten years. What has he been doing? How did he end up here, in a guard’s uniform, patrolling the yard where Lin ye sits in a gray form? Did he look for him? Did he see the news—Lin Guohua’s son takes the fall for his father’s fraud—and connect the dots? Did he keep the note, the one with the stick-figure teacher?
Old Li nudges him in the ribs. “You okay, 7842? You look like you seen a ghost.”
Lin ye blinks. He tears his eyes away from Shen Che, his hands shaking slightly as he shoves them deeper into his pockets. “Fine,” he mumbles, his voice rough from disuse.
But he can feel Shen Che’s gaze on him, even when he stares at the dirt at his feet. He can feel it when Shen Che walks closer, when his boots stop a few feet away from Lin ye’s wall. He can hear the quiet murmur of the other guard: “Chen, you good? You’re zoning out.”
Shen Che’s voice is lower now, rougher than it used to be. “I’m fine.”
Lin ye doesn’t look up. But he can see the edge of Shen Che’s boot in his peripheral vision—scuffed, like he still walks too fast, like he still doesn’t care about scuffing his shoes. It’s the same boot he’d worn to the train station, the one caked in mud.
The basketball bounces too close, hitting Shen Che’s leg. One of the younger men laughs, loud and reckless. “Oops. Sorry, cop.”
Shen Che’s head snaps toward him. His voice is sharp, cold—nothing like the way he used to talk to Lin ye. “Pick it up. And watch your mouth.”
The kid flinches. He grabs the ball and scurries back to his group.
Shen Che’s gaze drifts back to Lin ye. For a second, Lin ye thinks he might say something—7842? Lin ye? But then the yard bell rings again, sharp and final. “Back to the block,” one of the guards calls. “Move it.”
The men start shuffling toward the door. Lin ye stands up slowly, his legs stiff. He falls into the back of the line, his eyes still fixed on Shen Che, who’s now talking to the other guard, his back turned. But as Lin ye passes him, Shen Che turns his head.
Their eyes meet again.
This time, it’s only a second—just long enough for Lin ye to see the way Shen Che’s Adam’s apple bobs, just long enough for Shen Che to glance at the number 7842 on Lin ye’s chest, just long enough for the ghost of a memory (the train station, I’ll find you) to hang in the air between them.
Then Lin ye is past him, walking through the door, the iron bar slamming shut behind him.
He doesn’t look back.
That night, Lin ye sits on his bunk, the pork bun wrapper in his hand. The lights flicker off at 9:00 p.m., but he can still make out the smudged blue words: Wait for me. He runs his thumb over the paper, thin and fragile, and thinks about Shen Che’s face— the sharp line of his jaw, the scar on his eyebrow, the way he’d looked at Lin ye like he was both a stranger and someone he’d known his whole life.
Old Li snores softly below him. The guard’s baton scratches against the bars down the hall. Somewhere, a man cries, quiet and broken.
Lin ye tucks the wrapper back into his pillowcase. He lies down, staring at the celling , and thinks about the sky in the yard—pale, washed-out blue—and the way Shen Che’s badge had glinted in the sun. He thinks about the ten years stretching out in front of him, about the father who’d left him here, about the boy who’d promised to find him.
He doesn’t know if Shen Che will come back. He doesn’t know if he wants him to.
But when he closes his eyes, he can still see the way Shen Che looked at him—like he remembered. Like he hadn’t forgotten.
The cell is quiet. The walls are cold.
Outside, the moon rises over the prison walls, casting a thin, silver light through the barred window.
Lin ye closes his eyes.
He waits.
