Sunlight slices through the gap in the curtains,
a golden line falling at a slant across her eyelashes.

Soft footsteps sound by her ear.

Swish!

The curtains are yanked open, blinding light spilling across the bed.
She instinctively curls deeper beneath the blankets.

“Cangyue, time to get up. If you don’t hurry, you’ll be late for school.”

Someone taps lightly at the bedside, urging her on.

Yun Cangyue opens her eyes, sleep still clinging to her gaze.

“…School?”

“School?!”

In the next instant, bolts upright.

The person by the bed is clearly startled by her reaction, stepping closer to check her forehead, brows knitting slightly.

“Why are you suddenly so worked up? Have you been too tired lately?”

“It’s true that eleventh grade comes with more pressure, but you don’t need to be this nervous.
You’ve been frail since you were little. Mom doesn’t expect you to come in first…”

The light draws back from her mother’s shoulder.
Yun Cangyue blinks, looking at the familiar face before her—

the fine lines at the corners of her eyes,
the light brown sweater,
the faint dampness still clinging to her wrist.

She gently lowers her mother’s hand.

“…Mom, I’m fine. I was just… not fully awake.”

Mom pauses, as if still wanting to say something.
In the end, only a nod.

“That’s good, then. I left breakfast on the table. Remember to drink the milk while it’s warm.”

“Mm. I know.”

Getting up and heading into the bathroom, the steps still feel unsteady—
but at the sight of the mirror, movement stops.

It’s a face touched with childishness—
clear skin, even her cheeks fuller with a touch of baby fat than remembered.

“I should already have…”

Immediately, pulling up the pajama sleeve, checking the forearm and the back of the hand.

No bruises. No needle marks.
The body is clean—almost too clean to belong to this world.

A faint chill settles somewhere inside.

Suddenly, a hand comes up, knuckles digging hard into the inside of the arm.

“…It does hurt.”

Vision wavers, heat surging up behind the eyes.

Head lowered, rubbing hard at the eyes, pushing the feeling back inside.

“That will do.”

The sound of running water cuts through the stillness of the bathroom.
Toothpaste foam slips down the corner of the mouth.

The moment cold water splashes across her face, only then does she fully wake—
this isn’t a dream. At the very least, the pain is real.

While getting dressed, the collar of the school uniform is tugged up and, by chance, a faint red mark beneath the collarbone is caught in the mirror.

A brief pause—then closer inspection.

The color is pale, the shape indistinct—
hard to notice at all if the light weren’t slanting across it just so.

An unnamed strangeness surfaces—
in the end, the collar is pulled back into place, no further thought given;
hair tied up in quick motions, the bag hoisted onto the shoulder.

At the moment of leaving through the door, her reflection flashes across the window.

A youthful face stays calm and still—
yet at the corner of the lips, a subtle curve lifts.

Soft clinks of cups come from the kitchen.
On the table sits a slice of toast topped with a just-right soft-set egg,
while the milk still gives off a faint, warm white mist.

“Today’s egg is the kind you like—soft in the middle, edges nicely crisp!”

“Mom made a fresh one just for you. The original had gone cold, so I ate it…”

Dad says, sounding a little aggrieved.

Mom, tidying the counter, rolls her eyes without mercy.

“At your age, you’re still competing with your daughter for breakfast?”

“That’s not it! I ate the cold one and let her have the hot one. That’s fatherly love!”

“You just said you weren’t full.”

“Shh! Don’t say it out loud. How else am I supposed to make myself look pitiful?”

Their back-and-forth banter adds a hint of everydayness to the kitchen’s haze.

Yun Cangyue sits at the table, fingers pinching the chopsticks,
gaze resting on the unbroken soft-set egg.

A nearly transparent film glimmers over the surface of the yolk—
like an illusion that would collapse at the slightest touch,
making one want to cry for no clear reason.

“Cangyue, eat slowly. There’s no need to rush.”

Mom turns her head to remind her.

“After you’re done, have Dad drive you to school.”

She takes a few deep breaths, pressing that sudden warmth down into her throat, and draws up a smile.

“Okay.”

The voice is gentle—
as if mornings like this had always been her life.

Yet the hand holding the chopsticks trembles.

Outside the school gates, traffic weaves past.
Shops around the corner have already lifted their metal shutters,
and the oil in the breakfast shop’s pan crackles faintly.

Yun Cangyue stands by the sidewalk, looking at the school gate—
both familiar and unfamiliar—her chest giving an inexplicable pang.

The car window rolls down, and her father leans out.

“Be careful. After school, wait for me here like usual.”

“Okay. Bye, Dad.”

The car pulls away slowly, the white rear disappearing into the bustle of morning light.

Barely withdrawing the gaze, a sudden weight drops onto the shoulder.

“Come on. If we don’t go now, we’ll be late.”

A familiar voice comes from right beside. Yun Cangyue turns sharply.

“Lin?!”

The person is biting down on a straw, drinking milk tea—
caught by the shout, nearly choking.

“Hey, what’s with the sudden shouting? You almost scared me to death.”

That face—
the neat, short hair, the smiling eyes—
lines up seamlessly with the intern nurse from memory.

“I…”

The mouth opens, yet nothing comes out.
In the end, only a dry laugh, a shake of the head.

“It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

“Really? You’re fine?”

Lin eyes her suspiciously, one brow lifting.

“Ayue, you wouldn’t be—”

That form of address snaps like a taut thread, breaking somewhere in the heart.

—Ayue.

As if thrown into a still lake,
familiar ripples spread through the mind, ring after ring.

“Ayue? Ayue!”

Seeing her standing there in a daze, Lin frowns and gives her arm a sharp shake.

“Hey—are you okay?”

Yun Cangyue snaps back to awareness, a flicker of disarray crossing her.

“I’m fine… just spaced out for a moment.”

With that, a quick turn toward the school gate.

“Hey, wait for me!”

Lin calls out, hurrying to catch up.

Footsteps clamor behind, sunlight spilling across the school path ahead.

She walks on through it—
yet it feels as though “Ayue” still echoes by the ear.

Soup steam still drifts above the dining table, scallions floating along the rim of the bowl, swaying with the rising heat.

“Your daughter did pretty well on this mock exam. The teacher said the improvement was obvious.”

Mom ladles out the soup, unable to hide a hint of a smile.

“Really? That’s my girl—here!”

Dad’s face fills with pride, his movements quicker than his words.
With a turn of the chopsticks, the biggest chicken leg from the pot is lifted straight into her bowl.

Before there’s time to say anything, Mom adds a small handful of spinach to the bowl.

“Those dark circles are getting heavy. Studying is fine, but don’t stay up too late.
Take this chance to nourish yourself.”

“If you keep piling it on like this, I really won’t be able to finish it all.”

Yun Cangyue lets out a light laugh, looking at the food piled in her bowl like a small mountain, and in the end doesn’t stop it.

After dinner, the family sits together in the living room, watching a few variety shows.
When the news reaches the weather forecast, Mom glances up at the clock on the wall.

“You’re going to the amusement park with Lin and the others tomorrow, right?”

She adds, “Make sure to get to bed early. Relax properly.”

“Okay. Then I’ll head upstairs first.”

After showering and returning to the room, Yun Cangyue lies back on the bed, gaze sweeping across the shadows on the ceiling.

Before long, drowsiness quietly closes in.

Mist surrounds everything. Within the field of vision, only a single blurred silhouette.

—Ayue.

Again—the call, hazy and distant.

Yun Cangyue—running.

—Ayue.

“Hah…”

“Y-you… who are you, exactly?”

Breath ragged, the voice breaking apart, each word forced out with effort.

The silhouette never turns back.
No matter how she chases, it is always one step ahead.

“Who are you—really?!”

The moment the words fall, the surroundings shatter like glass.
Eyes fly open—
the soft glow of the night lamp sketches faint shapes across the room.

Violent rises and falls in the chest, sweat dampening the hair.

Night after night, the same dream repeats.
Only that call grows more sorrowful with each passing day.

If it were someone else, it might seem eerie, even frightening.
But she feels only irritation, almost drowned by the hollowness within.

Only when the faint light of dawn appears outside the window
does the realization come that it is already morning.

Stepping into the bathroom, the reflection in the mirror comes into view—
the shadows beneath the eyes deepened once more, and a sense of weakness follows.

The Cloud Coaster has only just slowed to a gentle stop.
Before the riders can fully recover, pitiful wails come from the side.

“Wuu… I’m never riding that again. My soul almost flew right out…”

“Hahaha, but I thought it was super thrilling!”

Lin shoots her a glare, but her expression loosens, and she finally laughs as well.

“You finally smiled.”

Yun Cangyue falters slightly, her tone more serious than usual.

“Sorry for making you worry.”

“Hey, don’t be like that.”

Before a reply can come, Lin grabs her wrist.

“Come on, come on! Let’s go ride that one— the Spinning Jungle Bee!”

Without noticing when, the sky has darkened, suffused with a soft glow of orange and violet.

The crowd gradually gathers toward the central plaza, claiming seats and waiting for the fireworks show.

They squeeze along the edge of a bench, heads tilted up toward the night sky.

The first firework streaks upward on a silver trail and bursts open with a bang.

Darkness is dyed into a curtain of interwoven gold and blue— sparks climbing, spinning, blooming.

Fireworks reflect in Yun Cangyue’s eyes—
and in the next instant, something flashes through her mind—

a bronze mirror, its reflection blurred,
two lopsided rabbit faces reflected upon its surface.

—They match so well! How about buy one, get one free?

The world falls abruptly silent.
She stares blankly at the purple-red firework in the sky, as if struck by something unseen.

“Ayue!”

A tap from behind pulls back to her senses.

Turning around, Lin holds a cake in both hands, candles set on top.

“Happy birthday—!” the classmates shout together.

“Make a wish!”

“Blow out the candles!”

“I’ll take a picture!”

Amid the burst of laughter and noise,
that cluster of fireworks has yet to fully fade—
like the edge of a memory, still flickering quietly at the margins of sight.

The evening breeze on the way back carries a faint chill. Streetlights stretch their shadows long.

“Thank you so much for today. I… I’m really happy.”

“What are you talking about!” Lin says, feigning surprise.

“You’re my best friend!”

She blinks.   
“From now on, let’s always stay together, okay!” (Click to vote)

As the final word falls, the surroundings suddenly sink into complete darkness.