“Ah-choo—” Meng Yiran rubbed her nose.
The night wind whistled coldly. She tugged her collar tighter, but it did little to fend off the chill. Resigned, she began pacing in place, hoping to warm herself through movement.
Yet the faster her steps grew, the more frantic her heart became.
It was already very late—less than an hour until the nighttime curfew. The moon sluggishly climbed toward the center of the sky, and all around was silence save for the wind’s murmur and her own hurried footfalls.
The grand doors of the First Library stood firmly shut, faint yellow candlelight leaking through from within, too murky to discern clearly.
Meng Yiran gritted her teeth and hurried to the main entrance. Mustering her courage, she gave the door a light push.
“Creak.” It let out an aged groan but refused to budge.
Steadying her nerves, Meng Yiran called out, “Is anyone there? Has everyone clocked out?”
Only silence replied.
Just as she seriously debated kicking the door down, a familiar voice rang out from behind her.
“The library’s closed.”
“Come back tomorrow if you need something.”
Meng Yiran spun around to find Tong Yuwu standing expressionless beneath the moonlight.
Relief flooded her. She rushed over, beaming. “You’re out?!”
Up close, she took in more details. Meng Yiran couldn’t shake the feeling—perhaps it was her imagination—that Tong Yuwu’s face was unnaturally pale. Yet the Noble Miss’s spirits seemed fine; her purple eyes remained clear and luminous, sharply reflecting Meng Yiran’s figure in the cold moonlight. Everywhere else, though—
Meng Yiran clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. “Did you roll around in a mud pit or something?
“Why are you so filthy?”
At her words, Tong Yuwu blinked, then glanced down and realized her sorry state.
The fight had unfolded on the Second Floor of the First Library, untouched for who knew how long and thick with dust. Not getting dirty would have been the real surprise.
But one person’s energy was finite. When fully focused on the battle, minor details were bound to slip by. And so, for once, the perpetually pristine and elegant Noble Miss stood before others caked in grime.
Tong Yuwu kept her head lowered, brushing at her clothes. Meng Yiran didn’t stand on ceremony. She stepped forward to help, targeting the spots behind that Tong Yuwu couldn’t reach. At first, Tong Yuwu’s body went rigid with resistance, but once she grasped Meng Yiran’s intentions, she relaxed her guard and silently permitted it.
With the clothes more or less cleaned, Meng Yiran eyed Tong Yuwu’s forehead. “You’ve still got a smudge on your face.”
She fished a clean handkerchief from her bosom. “Hold still. I’ll wipe it off for you.”
Tong Yuwu’s brows furrowed, her lips pressed thin as she eyed the approaching hand, her expression one of restrained patience.
Meng Yiran stood just a touch taller than Tong Yuwu—the difference barely noticeable. She leaned down slightly, her hand trembling faintly as she dabbed with the silk cloth. She watched Tong Yuwu’s face the whole time, wary of being too gentle and leaving dirt behind, or too rough and hurting the delicate Noble Miss.
Such intense focus had its drawback: Meng Yiran never noticed Tong Yuwu’s right hand quietly creeping up to her vulnerable neck.
Only when she finished and started to pull away did she register their rather “intimate” posture.
Making it all the more evocative was the fact that Tong Yuwu’s arm, draped over her shoulder, showed no sign of withdrawing.
Heat flooded Meng Yiran’s cheeks. She couldn’t bring herself to meet Tong Yuwu’s gaze. Stiffly, she asked, “W-What’s up?”
The enigmatic Noble Miss spoke, her breath carrying a faint minty scent.
“What are you doing here?”
Meng Yiran drew a deep breath, embarrassed but truthful. “Ahem, you can probably guess.
“This First Library’s got something off about it. I heard the school sentenced you to volunteer work here, so I figured I’d swing by and check.”
She met Tong Yuwu’s eyes. “You didn’t run into anything weird inside, did you?”
Tong Yuwu regarded her earnestly. “What sort of weird things?”
Meng Yiran shrugged. “You know, like getting lost.”
Tong Yuwu shook her head. “No.”
“Good.” Meng Yiran exhaled in relief, but her expression quickly turned serious again. “That said, no trouble today doesn’t mean you’ll always be so lucky. When you’re volunteering in there, be extra careful. Stay away from any out-of-the-way corners.”
Tong Yuwu’s brows lightly knitted, as if she wanted to say something. Her lips parted, but no words came.
And so they stood, exceedingly close beneath the chill moonlight, facing one another.
Meng Yiran gazed at the moonlight, the deep blue sky, the trees and flowers behind Tong Yuwu, the embroidered patterns on her shoulder. With nowhere else to look, her eyes finally settled on the Noble Miss’s exquisite face, meeting the other’s gaze for a fleeting instant. But she dodged away at once, as if scorched, and resumed staring at the moon and stars…
Her eyes could evade, but her quickening heartbeat could not deceive.
Meng Yiran had been avoiding any deep thought about her precise relationship with Tong Yuwu.
True, they had already shared a bed back at the castle, but even now, she always framed that night as a moment of utter emotional confusion.
In her own mind, she positioned their bond as her unilaterally raising and caring for Tong Yuwu—treating her as her one and only doll.
Silicone dolls in this era were far from refined. For one thing, she couldn’t hope to recreate her past life’s collection anytime soon. For another, even if she somehow reclaimed that entire cabinet of priceless dolls from her previous life one day, how could any of them compare to the perfect Doll Lady?
Once you’ve gazed upon the vast ocean, ordinary streams seem worthless. Save for the clouds of Witch Mountain, all others fade into insignificance.
And what sort of feelings did one harbor toward a doll in their care?
It might be like treating the doll as a friend—or, more affectionately, as a child. But to take it further…
Meng Yiran shook her head sharply, banishing those unacceptable notions from her mind.
“This is just concern for a friend,” she said, deliberately raising her voice. She wasn’t sure if she was speaking more to herself or to Tong Yuwu. “Ahem, didn’t we already say it? We’re friends now.”
Tong Yuwu parted her lips to speak. For some reason, they were an unnatural shade of red.
“I don’t need it,” she said.
Under that steady gaze, Meng Yiran’s heart pounded ever harder—thump-thump-thump—as if it might burst from her chest.
She blinked in confusion. “Huh? You don’t need me to worry?”
Tong Yuwu’s hand tightened slightly on her neck. “I don’t need friends.”
Meng Yiran frowned.
She understood at once. With Tong Yuwu’s frail health and sheltered upbringing in the castle—surrounded only by elders and servants—she’d likely never had a chance to mingle with anyone her own age.
From that perspective, words like “I don’t need friends” weren’t so hard to fathom.
Far from feeling rebuffed, Meng Yiran looked into the Noble Miss’s eyes with even greater pity.
She reached out and gently clasped Tong Yuwu’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “Everyone needs friends—you’re no exception,” she said softly. She smiled at Tong Yuwu. “And you deserve a great many good ones.”
Tong Yuwu stared at the curve of her smile and lost herself for a moment.
The night was pitch-black, the wind howling softly. The insect chorus had faded, and the campus streetlamps offered only a feeble glow—a mere drop in the bucket against the enveloping dark.
She let her hand fall and turned away from Meng Yiran, heading toward the dorms.
“Hey? You’re just going?” Meng Yiran hurried after her.
She didn’t wait for a reply, answering herself instead. “Oh, right—it’s so late. If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss curfew.” Still trailing behind, she pressed on. “You haven’t answered yet. What do you say? Want to give it a try? Be friends with me?”
Tong Yuwu didn’t turn, but her pace quickened just a touch.
Meng Yiran considered for a beat, then launched into a pitch for the perks of friendship. “Friends can hang out together, help each other through tough spots, chat about nothing on lazy days.”
She recalled Tong Yuwu’s isolation in class. “Uh… at school, does anyone ever talk to you?”
Tong Yuwu’s expression remained unchanged, as if she hadn’t heard. Meng Yiran was starting to feel helpless, convinced she’d get no response—when Tong Yuwu actually spoke up. “My cat.”
Meng Yiran froze, then let out a wry chuckle.
Why was the gap between her cat self and human self so vast in Tong Yuwu’s eyes?
As a cat, even skipping a single bite of meat had Tong Yuwu fretting endlessly.
As a human, chasing after her like this to be friends—and getting brushed off.
Meng Yiran ground her back teeth.
She drew a deep breath to steady herself. “A cat doesn’t count,” she reasoned. “Sure, you can talk to your cat, but does it ever talk back?”
She pictured it. “You tell your cat, ‘This rotten school can’t tell right from wrong—stuck me volunteering at the library!’ All you get is meows. Even if it’s trying to comfort you, good luck understanding.” She paused. “But tell me, and I’ll join you in cursing out that idiotic rule! I’ll help you vent!”
Tong Yuwu came to an abrupt halt.
She gazed at Meng Yiran with a profoundly complex expression—one that sent chills down Meng Yiran’s spine. “What’s wrong?” Meng Yiran asked.
“I’m not telling it those things,” Tong Yuwu replied.
Meng Yiran blinked her wide, bewildered eyes. “Uh… then what did you tell her?”
Tong Yuwu resumed walking, though at a much slower pace this time, more like a leisurely stroll through the campus grounds.
She tilted her head, adopting a thoughtful pose. After a moment, she answered, “I told it to behave.”
Meng Yiran kept pace beside her and suddenly realized they had stumbled upon an excellent conversation topic—the kind that marked the beginning of a casual chat between friends.
“Ah, does she listen?” Meng Yiran followed up.
To her surprise, Tong Yuwu frowned in contemplation. “No.”
Meng Yiran stumbled mid-step, her knee buckling as she nearly tumbled to the ground.
Tong Yuwu glanced back at the spot, then quickly averted her eyes.
Her face remained as impassive as ever, but Meng Yiran could swear she was inwardly mocking her for tripping on perfectly flat ground.
Meng Yiran forced an awkward smile, though she was gritting her teeth as she said, “Heh, for a second there, I felt like something pricked me from behind.” She drew a deep breath and swiftly changed the subject. “How could that be? Your cat is so adorable—she looks like the obedient type.”
Tong Yuwu’s brows relaxed. “It is very good.”
But just as suddenly, she fixed Meng Yiran with a wary stare. “Why are you following me?”
Meng Yiran was utterly baffled. “It’s not like I’m following you. I have to head back to the dorm too.”
Tong Yuwu let out a cold snort. “Don’t get any ideas about it.”
The remark came out of nowhere, but Meng Yiran understood immediately.
She opened her mouth awkwardly, words forming and dissolving in her throat several times before she finally managed, “Uh, I wouldn’t.” To prove her innocence, she added, “I have my own cat. Why would I want yours?”
As she spoke, a memory surfaced. “Oh, right—my cat doesn’t shed fur.
