The research center on the outskirts of Nanshi was a silver monolith surrounded by dense, silent woods. It was quiet to the point of oppression. To prepare for the final Physics Olympiad push, Mr. Zhang had used his connections to lock Lu Shaodong and me into this "intensive training camp."

Weekends here didn't involve bustling streets; they were filled with endless calculations and the harsh, cold hum of fluorescent lights deep into the night.

On Saturday night, the laboratory was silent except for the rhythmic whirring of the air conditioner. Lu Shaodong was scowling at a set of chaotic spectral data. He looked like he'd been working for ten straight hours—his crisp black shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and he radiated a dangerous, weary charisma.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed violently on the desk. Two words flashed on the screen: Mother.

My stomach tightened—a Pavlovian response developed over years of domestic tension. I grabbed the phone and hurried onto the balcony, keeping my voice low. "Hello, Mom."

"Ling Yin, why aren't you home yet? Do you have any idea your uncle brought important guests home tonight? You're not here to serve tea or help out—how do you think that makes me look?" My mother's voice was high-strung and frantic, laced with a familiar, subservient desperation. "She said you only care about your books, that you don't give a damn about this family..."

"Mom, I'm at a school training camp. I told you this." I felt the tips of my fingers going numb in the night air.

"Is training more important than your uncle's reputation? Tell your teacher you need to leave right now! Don't act so high and mighty. No matter how well you score, you'll still need your uncle to find you a job later, won't you?"

The line went dead. The sharp dial tone felt like a needle pricking my eardrum. I stood in the cold wind, staring at the pitch-black woods, feeling like a piece of fine porcelain covered in invisible cracks. One more push, and I'd shatter into dust.

A hand suddenly reached out from behind me, plucking the phone from my trembling grip.

I spun around, startled. Lu Shaodong was standing there. His eyes were dark, the usual playful malice replaced by a hollow, piercing intensity.

"How long have you been standing there?" I stammered, reaching for the phone.

He ignored me, staring at the 'Missed Call' notification before looking up into my eyes.

"Is this why you wear those glasses? To hide this expression?" His voice was low. The sarcasm was gone, replaced by a devastatingly calm empathy.

"Give it back," I whispered, my vision blurring with sudden, hot tears.

"This is how she treats you?" Lu stepped forward, pinning me against the balcony railing. He gripped my shoulders, his hands heavy and warm, as if trying to force his own strength into me. "Treats you like a tool to flatter that man? Ling Yin, when you're scoring Rank 1 in Physics, what are you thinking about? Are you thinking about how to escape that graveyard you call a home?"

"It's none of your business, Lu!" I finally snapped, the tears spilling over. "What do you know, you arrogant prick? You were born with a silver spoon. You get whatever you want! You don't have to live your life walking on eggshells!"

"What do I know?" He let out a dry, jagged laugh. He suddenly grabbed my hand and hauled me back into the lab. Reaching under a pile of messy drafts, he pulled out a crumpled, faded photograph.

In the photo was a small boy sitting alone on the massive staircase of a mansion. He was surrounded by expensive toys, but his eyes were as hollow as a canyon.

"When I was six, my father left me alone in that 'palace' for weeks for a business deal. When I was eight, he brought home the second 'Auntie.' Ling Yin, why do you think I don't wear the uniform? Why do you think I pick fights in alleys?" He leaned in, his eyes burning with the same fire of isolation that lived in mine. "Because if I don't make some noise, the people in that house forget I even exist."

I froze. Looking at the invincible Lu Shaodong—the demon protector, the rebel king—I finally saw the jagged scar on his soul that matched my own.

"We're the same, Owl," he whispered. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he wiped a tear from my cheek. His palm was burning hot—the only warmth in this frozen night.

"From now on, if you're unhappy, come to my lab," he murmured, his forehead resting against mine. "No serving tea. No pretending. In there, you only have to be you."

The wind outside seemed to stop. I realized then that two broken things, in the middle of a desolate suburb, had finally found the same frequency.