[Chapter 9]

The sunlight hit my face like a slap.

Not gentle. Not subtle.

I groaned and cracked one eye open. My phone buzzed from the bedside table like it was mad at me.

7:52 a.m.

Crap.

University started at 8:30, and I hadn't even set an alarm. Last night had swallowed everything - time, sleep, maybe common sense. I rolled out of bed, blanket tangled around one leg, and shuffled into the kitchenette, smacking the kettle on without even looking.

小灰 (Xiǎo Huī) = Little Grey yawned loudly from his perch on the windowsill. He stretched like a lazy prince, blinked at me once, and went right back to ignoring the world.

My head felt like cotton stuffed in a jar. Every muscle ached. But the building? It was already alive.

Down on the first floor, Mrs. Zhang was humming again - some old folk tune that sounded both nostalgic and slightly off-key. Through the open stairwell window, I could just make out the soft hiss of her watering can misting her beloved plants. She had more potted greens than a flower shop - herbs, ivy, even a sad-looking bonsai she talked to like a grandchild. Her collection of plants was legendary. People said if you stood too still on her floor, she'd pot you.

From the second floor, anime swords clashed and explosions echoed through the stairwell. The neighbor down there - I didn't know his name - was always watching something with exaggerated voice acting and dramatic sound effects. Gaming. Streaming. Screaming. He existed in a permanent state of volume.

Above me, on the fourth floor, the toddler had clearly found his second wind. Tiny feet thumped across the ceiling, followed by the unmistakable crash of a toy or a lamp. Someone shouted,

"慢点!" = "Slow down!"

And someone else giggled.

This was normal. This was daily. This was the sound of being alive in this building.

The fifth floor remained a mystery. I'd caught a glimpse of someone up there once - headphones, hoodie, flecks of dried paint on her hands - but she never spoke. Just nodded and vanished. Ghost-like. Possibly an art major. Possibly a ghost.

Jingyuan Apartments was nothing fancy. No elevator. No front desk. No peace, most days. But it had its own rhythm - a strange harmony of leaky pipes and shared lives. It was flawed, loud, a little cracked around the edges.

Still, it was home. For now.

I took a sip of the bitter instant coffee and winced. No time for breakfast. I threw on a hoodie, jeans, ran fingers through my hair, and grabbed my backpack.

Halfway down the stairs, I paused. On the second floor, the anime guy's door was cracked open just enough to flash a scene across the screen - swords, cherry blossoms, two characters staring at each other like they were about to fight or confess something deeply emotional.

I couldn’t tell which one they’d do first. Maybe both. Isn’t that how things go sometimes?

Weird timing.

I thought of Mo Longyan.

Not the robbery. Not the fear.

Just... Mo.

Still, watchful. The kind of calm that made your pulse stutter.

Would I see him again?

Would he even remember me?

I left the store behind... but Mo Longyan stayed in my mind far longer than I expected.

I shook the thought off.

No time for fantasy. The stairs creaked beneath my feet as I took them two at a time and pushed out into the street. The morning air hit my face, sharp and cool, like it knew I needed waking up.

University was waiting. And whatever today threw at me, it probably wouldn't be as intense as last night.

Or so I told myself.

[Author's Note]

Mo Longyan - calm, collected, and probably way too mysterious for his own good.

He's the kind of guy who looks like he just stepped out of a wuxia film - calm, composed, like he'd been raised on mountain mist and discipline, but also like he's silently judging your choice of instant coffee. Doesn't say much, but when he does, you listen.

Will he remember our narrator? Who knows. Maybe he already has, and just prefers to keep it quiet - a classic move in the "silent guardian" playbook.

One thing's for sure: if Mo Longyan ever shows up in your life, brace yourself. Cool calm isn't just a vibe - it's a warning.