Rain always had a way of dragging old memories back from the dead.

Si Rang stood at the gates of Qinghe Academy, the drizzle sliding down his collar like cold fingers tracing a warning across his neck. He hated rain. Hated how it sounded like whispers. Hated how it carried the past in every drop.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

His life in the city had been loud, messy, fast enough to drown anything soft. Anything weak. Anything that looked too much like that night. For years, he’d convinced himself he had moved on, that revenge didn’t matter anymore, that some wounds sealed if you ignored them long enough.

But standing here now… he realized nothing had healed. It had only been waiting.

The gates creaked open as if recognizing him. As if welcoming back a ghost.

His footsteps were slow, deliberate. Every corner of Qinghe was painfully familiar—the cracked pavement near the training yard, the old cherry tree that had seen too many confessions and too many heartbreaks, the dark hallway near the dorms where someone had once shoved him so hard he saw stars.

Si Rang tightened his jaw.

He wasn’t weak anymore.

He wasn’t that trembling boy who had believed everything he was told—about himself, about others, about him.

As if summoned by the bitterness rising in his chest, a voice cut through the silence.

“You’re early.”

Si Rang froze.

That voice hadn’t changed. Not even a little.

He turned, slowly, as if afraid the universe was playing tricks on him. But it wasn’t. There, standing under the overhang with an umbrella tilted lazily over one shoulder, was Lu Shen.

Calm expression. Quiet eyes. Posture like he owned the rain itself.

Si Rang’s heart dropped—annoyingly loud, annoyingly real.

The years had been unfair to him.

Lu Shen had only grown taller, more composed, more… irritatingly beautiful in a way Si Rang refused to acknowledge. His hair was darker now, his eyes softer, but his presence hadn’t changed at all.

Still unreadable.

Still too gentle.

Still the same person Si Rang had sworn to hate.

“You’re staring,” Lu Shen said, his voice warm enough to irritate.

“You’re in my way,” Si Rang shot back, brushing past him. His shoulder barely grazed Lu Shen’s, but it sent a current through him he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Lu Shen didn’t move. Didn’t snap back. Didn’t even seem bothered.

He just followed him with those infuriatingly calm eyes.

“You came back without telling anyone.” Lu Shen’s voice was low. “Not even me.”

Si Rang stopped. The words hit him wrong—too familiar, too assumptive, too close.

“You?” Si Rang let out a humorless laugh. “Why the hell would I tell you anything?”

A pause. Heavy. Complicated.

“Because of… everything,” Lu Shen murmured.

The rain seemed to pause between them.

Si Rang clenched his fists. “Don’t pretend we’re connected. We’re not. We never were.”

“That’s not true.”

Lu Shen’s reply was so soft Si Rang wished he hadn’t heard it.

He didn’t turn around.

He couldn’t.

Not when his chest felt like someone had reached inside and twisted.

Not when his mind whispered the same old question—the one he’d buried but never answered:

Why did you do it, Lu Shen?

Why did you ruin everything?

But he swallowed it down, like always.

He didn’t come back for Lu Shen.

He didn’t come back for closure.

He came back for revenge.

And ironically…

the first person standing in front of him was the one he wanted to destroy the most, the person he hated the most or just he thinks he does...

Si Rang’s room hadn’t changed.

That was the unsettling part.

The same window frame scratched by years of storms.

The same desk that still carried the ghost of abandoned homework.

The same walls, pale and silent, holding secrets no one spoke aloud.

He set his bag down and exhaled slowly.

He didn’t want to admit it, but returning here felt like standing inside a wound that had never properly healed, looking at it again while remembering the past feels like adding salt to the wound which clearly haven't healed since a long time.

The academy claimed to “preserve memories.”

Si Rang found that poetic in the worst way.

Some memories weren’t meant to be kept alive.

He dragged a hand through his hair and sat on the edge of the bed.

A soft knock cut through his thoughts.

He didn’t answer.

The door opened anyway.

Only one person dared ignore his silence.

Lu Shen stepped in without saying a word. He carried a folded towel in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. The rainwater on his shoulders suggested he had run through the storm after Si Rang.

“What do you want?” Si Rang muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“You’re soaked,” Lu Shen said simply. “You’ll get sick.”

“That’s not your problem.”

Lu Shen placed the mug on the desk, ignoring the hostility as if it were a breeze. “Drink it before it cools.”

Si Rang stared at the mug like it was poison. “What is this supposed to be? A peace offering?”

“No,” Lu Shen replied gently, eyes soft but unreadable. “It’s just ginger tea.”

That tone again. Soft. Familiar. Dangerous.

Si Rang hated how his body tensed.

He hated how Lu Shen’s presence filled the room like warmth he didn’t ask for.

“Get out,” Si Rang muttered. “I don’t need your fake kindness.”

Lu Shen finally looked away, letting the silence settle between them like a fragile thread.

“Si Rang,” he began carefully, “you don’t have to talk to me. But don’t treat me like I’m your enemy.”

A cold laugh escaped Si Rang’s throat. “Isn’t that what we are?”

Lu Shen didn’t answer.

That annoyed Si Rang more than any argument could have.

“Say something,” he snapped. “If you’re really the calm, perfect guy everyone worships, defend yourself. Or at least deny it.”

Lu Shen met his gaze, eyes dark with something Si Rang couldn’t read.

“I won’t deny something you believe so strongly,” he said quietly. “Even if it hurts.”

That made something twist sharply inside Si Rang.

He hated how Lu Shen talked—as if every word was a quiet confession wrapped in patience. As if he understood Si Rang in a way no one else ever had.

“Stop acting like you care,” Si Rang said, voice tightening. “It’s pathetic.”

“If caring about you is pathetic,” Lu Shen murmured, “then I’ll accept that.”

Those words hit too hard.

Si Rang stood abruptly, pushing past him, needing space—oxygen—anything.

But Lu Shen stepped slightly to the side, blocking the door in that frustratingly calm way of his.

“Move,” Si Rang growled.

“Not until you stop shaking.”

Si Rang froze.

His fingers were trembling.

Barely noticeable—but Lu Shen had noticed.

He hated that.

He hated him for seeing too much.

Lu Shen lifted the towel slightly. “At least dry your hair.”

“No.”

“Let me help.”

“No.”

Lu Shen sighed softly and stepped closer—not touching, but close enough that Si Rang could feel the warmth of his presence.

“Then I’ll stand here until you do,” he said.

It wasn’t a threat.

It wasn’t a demand.

It was something infuriatingly gentle.

Si Rang tightened his jaw, snatched the towel from his hand, and began rubbing his hair aggressively.

Lu Shen didn’t smile, didn’t tease. He simply watched with a quiet relief that made Si Rang’s chest tighten in ways he didn’t understand.

“Good,” Lu Shen whispered.

“Shut up.”

But for the first time since arriving, Si Rang’s voice wasn’t angry.

It was tired.

Too tired.

Lu Shen stepped back toward the door. “Get some rest. Tomorrow… we should talk.”

“We won’t,” Si Rang muttered.

Lu Shen’s eyes lingered on him—soft, warm, unbearably sincere.

“Goodnight, Si Rang.”

When the door closed, the room felt colder.

Si Rang sank onto the bed, towel slipping from his hands.

He hated Lu Shen.

He hated him for being gentle.

For remembering the little things.

For speaking his name like a memory Si Rang tried so hard to forget.

He hated him most…

because despite everything that happened years ago—

Lu Shen still looked at him

as if Si Rang wasn’t a mistake.

As if he wasn’t the villain in his own story.