The lights of the commercial street slowly receded, growing dim as they reached the corner.
The alley was sandwiched between two shopping malls. One streetlamp was broken, leaving only the other at the top of the pole to struggle for life. The halo of light trembled as moths collided with it. A few empty cardboard boxes were piled against the base of the wall, rustling occasionally in the night wind.
Luo Yang carried the bag containing the phone box, his canvas shoes treading on the concrete. Yan Zhi followed behind him, the two of them walking at a leisurely pace.
The figure in front slowed down in the middle of the alley. Her grayish-white hair swayed once in the dim yellow light before she came to a stop.
Qiu Shubai turned around.
The alley was dark; half of her face was hidden in shadow, while the other half was illuminated by the flickering streetlamp, highlighting her silhouette.
She looked at Luo Yang, her lips pressed slightly together.
Luo Yang stopped two steps away from her. He reached up to push his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and then scratched behind his ear. His movements were casual, and his words followed suit.
“Sorry about that, Miss Chief,” he said, his voice echoing slightly in the alley. “What I did just now—you know, brushing your hair—it was just a reflex. I didn't really think about it. It didn't mean anything special, so don't take it to heart.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like he was being a bit too defensive. But since he had already said it, there was no taking it back.
Qiu Shubai looked down at her shoulder. That strand of hair he had touched was still tucked neatly behind her ear.
Earlier, she had been weighed down by the matter of the black sword and startled by his sudden appearance and reckless words. Now that everything had temporarily settled, those strange emotions finally began to surface.
She recalled the scene: his hand reaching out, his fingertips brushing past her ear as he tucked the wind-blown strand of hair back into place.
The gesture had been very light—so light that her mind hadn't had the space to judge what it meant at the time.
Now that she was thinking about it, her cheeks began to burn of their own accord, completely ignoring her conscious will.
In the dim light of the alley, only she knew how hot her face felt.
“...Okay.”
The reply was very soft. She shifted her gaze away from his face and let it rest on the pile of empty cardboard boxes by the wall.
A corner of the tape on one box had been peeled back by the wind, and it slapped against the cardboard with a rhythmic sound.
Luo Yang waited for a moment, but no further explanation came—just that single “Okay.”
He let out a quiet sigh of relief. He had been prepared to be extorted; after all, this was the Miss Chief who could drop over a hundred thousand without blinking. If she had said, “Then compensate me another hundred and eighty thousand,” he probably would have had to go home and ask his mom for the money.
Since it was just an “okay,” it seemed his luck was holding up today.
“So, what’s your plan now?”
Qiu Shubai looked back from the boxes. The wind in the alley grew stronger, messing up the hair on her forehead. She raised a hand to smooth it down.
“I’m going home,” she said, her tone flat. “I’ve already signed the contract for the new place I found, and most of my things have been moved there. There were only a few unimportant items left at the old place; it’s fine if I don't go back for them.”
Luo Yang watched her as she spoke. Her voice had returned to its usual cool tone, her pace steady, and every word clearly enunciated.
She had composed herself quickly.
Luo Yang remained silent for a moment. A stray cat walked along the top of the wall, its paws silent against the bricks.
“Your father’s sword,” he began, his voice softer than before. “Is it still there too?”
Qiu Shubai’s shoulders twitched—a movement so small that someone standing two steps away wouldn't have noticed without looking closely.
She gave another soft hum. “Yes.”
Luo Yang sighed quietly, the sound disappearing into the night wind before even he could hear it.
Her father’s legacy should be very important to her—at least, it shouldn't be left in an empty house she would never return to.
But he also knew that the sword was more troublesome for her than the house itself. It was something sent by her mother, an object whose purpose was still a mystery.
She couldn't keep it, yet she couldn't just throw it away.
“How about I go and get it for you?”
Qiu Shubai looked up at him. The lamp in the alley flickered again, and the moth beat against it more violently, its wings making a faint crackling sound against the cover.
“That kind of thing,” she said, gritting her teeth as she kept her voice low, each word sounding forced, “isn't of much use anyway.”
Luo Yang shook his head.
“That’s not right.”
“That is, after all, something your father left for you,” he said. “What should be taken back, must be taken back.”
Qiu Shubai didn't respond.
“Even if you can't figure out the sword's purpose for the time being, you can find a place to keep it safe. There are plenty of places that store things for people. Once you have a lead in the future, it won't be too late to figure it out then.”
He didn't say “I’ll help you find a way.” It wasn't that he didn't want to, but he felt it was more practical to help her get the sword back before making such promises.
Qiu Shubai was silent for a while. A car passed by outside the alley, its headlights sweeping across the entrance. A band of light skimmed past their feet before vanishing.
Then, she nodded.
The movement was slight, but Luo Yang saw it.
“Alright then.” He held out his hand, palm up. “Give me the address and a key to the house. I’ll go there tomorrow.”
Qiu Shubai looked at his extended hand for a moment before reaching into her pocket. She pulled out a small bunch of keys, three or four of various sizes hanging from a ring.
She picked one out, detached it, and placed it in Luo Yang’s palm.
The key still held the warmth of her pocket, the metal edges heated by her body temperature. Luo Yang looked down; it was a bronze-colored security door key. The teeth were somewhat worn with use, but it had been kept very clean.
He put the key in his pocket and buttoned it shut.
When he looked up again, the clouds above the alley happened to shift, revealing a sliver of the moon. Light poured through the gap between the two buildings, bathing the ground where Qiu Shubai stood.
The moonlight was a cold white, tinting her grayish-white hair until it looked almost silver. The ends of her hair rested on her shoulders, a few strands fluttering in the night wind.
She stood in the moonlight and looked at him, her expression as calm as ever, her eyes clear like a frozen lake in winter. However, the curve of her lips, which had been tight for so long, seemed to soften slightly, turning up just a fraction. It was so subtle that if the moonlight hadn't been shining directly on her face, Luo Yang wouldn't have noticed it at all.
That slight upward curve held something indefinable. It was gratitude, but not entirely. It was softer than ordinary appreciation and warmer than a common thanks.
“Thank you.”
Her voice was incredibly soft—so soft that it didn't startle the stray cat, nor did the flickering streetlamp blink.
Luo Yang was dazed for a moment. He stood there without moving, and it took a while before he snapped out of it—and even then, it was only because Yan Zhi poked him.
Her fingertip poked the fleshy edge of his palm through his clothes.
One poke, no reaction. Two pokes, still nothing. On the third poke, she added a bit of force, finally bringing the boy back to his senses.
Yan Zhi looked up at him. She didn't ask anything, but simply tucked her hand into his empty palm. Her fingers were cool, just like usual.
He turned to look toward the other end of the alley. Qiu Shubai had already walked far away, her grayish-white hair swaying gently behind her. Her pace was as steady as ever, her heels clicking a rhythmic beat against the concrete.
Luo Yang watched her turn the corner and be swallowed by the neon lights of the commercial street. He withdrew his gaze, looked down at Yan Zhi, and tightened his grip slightly, holding the cool little hand.
“Let’s go,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty even he couldn't place. “Time to go home.”
When the two of them stepped out of the alley, the bustle of the commercial street rushed back toward them. The fountain had started up again, its water columns turning into colorful waves in the lights. A street performer with a guitar was singing a lazy tune. Across the street, a milk tea shop employee was flipping the closed sign, the plastic clicking against the glass door with a muffled thud.
Luo Yang walked slowly through the crowd. The key in his pocket pressed against his thigh, growing warmer from his body heat.
It was nearly midnight by the time they reached home. Yan Ya was still sitting in the living room, the television on and playing an evening news program.
She held a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. Seeing the door open, she set the cup on the coffee table. Her gaze first landed on the phone box in Luo Yang’s hand before moving to his face.
“You bought it?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Luo Yang changed his shoes at the entrance while Yan Zhi had already kicked off her canvas shoes and run inside barefoot. She tossed a lollipop stick into the trash can by the coffee table and flopped onto the sofa with a movement so practiced it seemed she had rehearsed it many times.
Yan Ya nodded, took a small sip of her cold tea, and picked up the remote to turn the news volume down two notches.
Luo Yang turned on the new phone, connected it to the home Wi-Fi, and began downloading apps. The progress bars on the screen moved quickly. He leaned against a dining chair, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the key in his pocket.
“Just what could that thing possibly be...”
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