Xu Jiao fled in near-panic, leaving the atmosphere extremely awkward for a moment.
Watching her back, Han Xuan silently lowered her head, her hands that had been tidying the counter coming to a stop.
The expression on Xu Jiao’s face just now had been seen by both of them. The instant she spotted Han Xuan, it was as if she’d encountered a flood beast or venomous scorpion—she avoided her like the plague.
Chu Susu was utterly baffled, completely unable to make sense of it.
Han Xuan was just an utterly normal girl, no different from anyone you might pass on the street. What was so scary about her?
Moreover, the other employees in the shop had greeted Han Xuan normally just now. Only Xu Jiao had been that terrified. What was wrong with her?
She asked Han Xuan, “You really don’t know Xu Jiao?”
The other girl shook her head.
That made it even stranger. They were total strangers, yet Xu Jiao had reacted like she’d seen a ghost in broad daylight.
Han Xuan didn’t say a single word, her expression perfectly calm with no abnormalities—only her left hand, tightly clutching the rag, inadvertently betrayed her embarrassment.
“Don’t take it to heart.” Chu Susu naturally picked up on her mood.
Truth be told, she didn’t care much about Xu Jiao leaving. After all, it had been Xu Jiao who’d invited her today, and to her, it was ultimately optional.
But Han Xuan was clearly hurt by it.
She continued, “Her… I don’t know what got into her just now either, but since you don’t know her, just treat her like a stranger. Don’t let it weigh on you, okay?”
Pipi in her arms let out a soft mew, then stretched out its little paw and waved it, as if comforting the sister across from them in its own way.
Han Xuan forced a smile, but tears had already welled up in her eyes. She pressed her lips tightly together, on the verge of crying. “Are you leaving?”
“Hm?”
“Can you wait for me a bit?” she said slowly, trying hard to steady her voice. “Someone’s coming to relieve me in two minutes. I’ll change clothes and come right out.”
When Han Xuan tilted her head up, the line of her neck was slender and defined, making her figure behind the counter seem all the more lonely and helpless—like a flower blooming alone in the desert, its leaves and stems trembling as they thirsted for water.
It softened Chu Susu’s heart.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll wait for you.”
Han Xuan didn’t keep her waiting long. She quickly finished tidying up and came right out.
Only then did Chu Susu notice that under the pet shop’s cute uniform jacket, Han Xuan was wearing the hoodie she’d given her last time.
Han Xuan handed over some things to the colleague who came to relieve her, then walked out of the shop with Chu Susu.
Summer evenings stayed light late, and at this hour, the sky was tinged with a thin layer of orange, as if the twilight had been smudged with blue-black ink, its traces quietly spreading.
Chu Susu held the dog leash, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Han Xuan on the sidewalk.
When the evening breeze blew, its comfort made her zone out for a moment, a faint sense of familiarity inexplicably rising in her heart—they were just like a couple who’d been together for ages, taking an evening stroll with the dog.
But that déjà vu quickly dissipated with the wind.
Han Xuan asked, “Weren’t you originally going to dinner with your friend?”
Chu Susu didn’t deny it.
“I’m really sorry. If it weren’t for me…”
Chu Susu didn’t deny it. She blinked and followed her words. “In that case, how about you make it up to me?”
Han Xuan froze. “Hm?”
“Just kidding.”
Chu Susu put away her smile, stopped in her tracks, and gazed seriously into Han Xuan’s eyes.
Those eyes were like unmelting mist—bright black yet profound. One glance was enough to glue her own gaze firmly in place.
“It doesn’t matter if we eat with her or not. I just hope you won’t blame yourself over this. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Chu Susu’s clear voice was like a pebble dropping into water, stirring ripples that reflected the moon on the horizon, gently swaying the surface.
“Also, I’m hungry. Want to grab dinner with me? No special reason… I just…”
“Want to be with you.”
The evening glow was rising, and Han Xuan’s face seemed to catch the rosy light, flushed red.
She took a deep breath, then said, “Okay.”
Pet restaurants required reservations ahead of time, and at this hour, it was too late for a walk-in. With the dog, Chu Susu couldn’t easily go elsewhere, so Han Xuan suggested buying ingredients and cooking at home.
“The thing is…” Chu Susu paused, then admitted honestly, “I have no idea how to cook at all.”
At most, she could boil some frozen dumplings.
“Leave it to me,” Han Xuan said.
Chu Susu thought about it and agreed.
She wanted to get closer to Han Xuan anyway. Though she hadn’t expected to bring her home this soon, since Han Xuan was willing, she had no objections.
She hadn’t held high hopes at first. But after buying ingredients together at the neighborhood entrance and watching Han Xuan sit at her dining table, expertly shredding potatoes into fine threads, Chu Susu realized just how vast the gap between people could be.
The other girl clearly cooked often—her knife skills were extraordinary, and she handled the ingredients with incredible speed.
Without needing Chu Susu’s help, in less than half an hour, all the dishes were done, and the rice had just finished steaming.
Minced pork eggplant, stir-fried potato shreds, cucumber salad, tomato egg drop soup.
Three dishes and a soup.
“Cooking meat takes more time, and I was afraid you’d be hungry, so…” Han Xuan wiped her freshly washed hands with a paper towel as she explained.
The tantalizing aroma drilled straight into her nose, and Chu Susu was already starving. “No, it’s plenty. Very hearty.”
Pipi was drooling too, barking wildly nearby. Han Xuan picked out a bit of minced meat and fed it to its mouth, eliciting an immediate satisfied “woof woof.”
The food tasted as good as it looked. Chu Susu didn’t usually have a big appetite, but she felt like she could wolf down three extra bowls of rice today.
She was eating happily when she noticed the person across from her wasn’t moving.
“Why aren’t you eating?” Surely it couldn’t not suit her own taste?
Han Xuan hadn’t even picked up her chopsticks. She said softly,
“Susu, there’s something I want to tell you. After you hear it, if you don’t want me to stay, I’ll leave right away.”
Chu Susu frowned, not understanding why she’d say that.
Han Xuan took a while to continue, as if she’d mustered great mental fortitude. She even avoided looking straight at Chu Susu’s upturned eyes, her voice dry and raspy:
“I think I know why your friend ran off the moment she saw me. Sorry, the story’s a bit long. It might take up your time.”
Chu Susu listened attentively, puzzled.
“My family was single-parent. Mom raised me alone from when I was little.”
…
Unfortunately, Mom passed away in an accident when I was very young, while little Han Xuan survived.
Human malice can be unreasoning. Even before the incident, the neighbors gossiped plenty about the woman raising a child alone. After that, the malice shifted to Han Xuan.
“Heard about it? The mom died horribly, but the daughter came out unscratched.”
“My relative knows some fortune-telling. He secretly told me—the mother was jinxed to death by her own daughter!”
“Her mom was always mumbling weird stuff, never went out, and supposedly followed some foreign religion. They say the way she died was pretty creepy too.”
“Better keep kids away from that daughter.”
Rumors like these quickly spread to everyone around, and the neighborhood kids were forbidden from playing with little Han Xuan at school.
“She’s a jinx!”
From then on, Han Xuan had no friends.
With help from the one or two relatives left, she got into university and left her hometown where she’d lived for years.
Fresh into college, no one knew anyone, so nothing like that happened again.
But Han Xuan had developed a quiet, reticent personality, so she didn’t fit in with her roommates or classmates—though she wasn’t bullied like when she was little.
The change came suddenly.
Because she kept to herself and made no friends, one roommate got curious about her. Somehow, she found out Han Xuan’s middle and high schools, searched the school forums, dug up info on her, and shared it with the others.
And so, the “jinx” rumors spread to this new environment once more.
The forum posts were already exaggerated, and word of mouth made it worse. In their telling, Han Xuan became some kind of demon or monster.
By the time Han Xuan realized, almost the entire department had heard.
But up to that point, it was just rumors—not enough to make people shun her.
Then it turned into “fact.”
During a major class, the whole group went to the suburbs for a sketching trip and ran into an accident. Due to the weather, the riverbank was slippery, and several people fell into the rushing waters.
In that incident, only one girl drowned to death.
And she was the roommate who’d searched the forums for Han Xuan, exaggerated the stories, and spread them everywhere.
The weird part? The river wasn’t deep—many non-swimmers were rescued. That girl had taken swimming electives at school and was good at it, yet she drowned anyway.
…
Throughout, Han Xuan’s tone remained flat, as if recounting something unrelated:
“She was ruled an accidental death, with the leading teacher bearing primary responsibility.”
“After that, the others who spread the rumors had similar experiences. Nothing fatal, but a string of ‘bad luck’ and plenty of suffering.”
“Everyone blamed their misfortunes on me, the ‘jinx.’ After that, wherever I went, I’d cause panic.”
Even though the school later stepped in to stop the rumors, it ultimately couldn’t prevent the private discussions from spreading.
“After graduation, I thought it would end there, but unexpectedly…”
Han Xuan pursed her lips, revealing shallow dimples. Her smile was utterly bitter. “But I had already prepared myself mentally for this. After all, jobs in the art industry make it easy to run into alumni in the know.”
“These past few days, I wanted to return your hoodie to you, but I didn’t have the courage to seek you out. Hearing it so many times, even I gradually started to believe it—that I bring misfortune to everyone around me.”
“So I didn’t want to hide this from you. If you mind, I’ll leave right now.”
Han Xuan lowered her head, staring fixedly at her knees, like a stubborn and lonely wild goose.
“Also, just now, you told her that we’re friends.”
“You’re so beautiful and radiant. You must have tons of friends, and I’m just an unremarkable one among them.”
The dimples at the corners of her lips seemed filled with complex emotions.
“But for me, this is the first time someone’s acknowledged in front of others that I’m her friend. So…”
“I really cherish it. And I’m truly grateful.”
—
