All the outside noise and chaos no longer had anything to do with her.
She looked down at her still-swollen left hand, then at her empty right wrist.
The broken Buddhist prayer beads felt like a stone pressing on her chest, bringing inexplicable frustration and unease.
She took out her new phone and opened a chat with Liu Ran’s social account, which she’d only added a day ago and never messaged before.
[Ms. Liu, sorry to bother you again]
[My bracelet…broke]
The message was answered almost instantly.
On the other end, Liu Ran was clearly shocked, replying with several question marks in a row.
[???]
[How could it be so soon? It’s only been a day!]
[Did something happen to you last night?]
Hua Qi’an’s fingertips paused on the screen.
She couldn’t exactly say she’d slept in the same bed as her guardian and been groped by some unknown pervert, could she?
So she was deliberately vague.
[I was pressed by a ghost again last night. Woke up and it was broken.]
Liu Ran was silent for a long time, so long Hua Qi’an thought she wouldn’t reply.
Just as she was about to put down her phone, a new message popped up.
[…Your situation is worse than I thought]
[I don’t have a stronger talisman on hand, and making a new one would take too long.]
[How about this—give me your address, and I’ll send you a bracelet my junior sister left with me.]
[That one’s much more powerful than what I gave you, it should last a while.]
Seeing this, Hua Qi’an finally relaxed.
At the same time, she couldn’t help but feel both grateful and a little guilty toward Liu Ran.
[Okay, thank you :)]
She sent over the address of the school’s package pickup.
[Got it. Be careful—don’t go to places with heavy yin energy for now.]
Liu Ran added a warning.
Hua Qi’an looked at the message, feeling helpless.
The dorm she was living in now felt like it was full of yin energy.
But not the ghostly kind…
It was more like it was already devoid of any humanity.
Ending the conversation, she put her phone aside and prepared to rest her eyes.
Just then, there was another knock at the door.
“Knock knock knock.”
This time, the knocking was orderly—not like any of her roommates.
“Hua Qi’an, are you there? I’m the dorm supervisor auntie, I have something to discuss with you.”
Dorm supervisor?
Hua Qi’an frowned slightly.
She lifted the curtain and got out of bed.
Outside, the supervisor’s usually stern face now wore a mixture of officialdom and a trace of sympathy.
“Auntie, you’re looking for me?”
Hua Qi’an stepped out and quietly closed the door behind her to muffle the noise.
“Yes.”
The dorm supervisor sighed.
“I’ve just been notified by the higher-ups—you need to switch dorms.”
Hua Qi’an was momentarily stunned.
“…Switch dorms?”
“Yes.”
The supervisor nodded.
“Your advisor said, considering your health and…recent dorm conflicts, you’ve been given special permission.Just find an empty dorm to move into.Once you’ve decided, let me know and I’ll report it to the higher-ups.”
With that, she gave Hua Qi’an a complicated look and turned to leave.
Hua Qi’an stood frozen, struggling to process.
She could just pick any empty dorm and move in?
Was this Lin Yanqiu’s doing?
Her methods really were astonishingly swift.
But it matched Hua Qi’an’s current needs perfectly.
The reason she’d put up with her bizarre roommates for so long was because she didn’t want to impose on others’ dorms…
If she could move into an empty one, that would be perfect.
Once the supervisor left, Hua Qi’an turned and went back to her original dorm.
The air still held the lingering sickly-sweet scent of Li Xiaozhen’s incense, now mixed with the remnants of earlier tension—a sticky smell that made her want to retch.
Expressionless, Hua Qi’an stood there.
The supervisor’s words still echoed in her ears.
Like a stone thrown into still water, the ripples had yet to subside.
Change dorms.
And she could have an empty room to herself.
“Jiejie” had always been this way—decisive, forceful, fixing problems in her own way.
After the commotion in the academic office, not even an hour had passed before a solution was delivered straight to her door.
Such efficiency was both startling and…oddly reassuring.
She didn’t immediately return to her bed, instead sitting at her desk and laying her swollen left palm open.
The burning pain still lingered.
The “punishment” replayed itself in her mind.
Lin Yanqiu always did this—making her remember with pain, then comforting her with unexpected kindness.
A slap and a sweet—she was a master at it.
But this time, the sweetness was a bit too much.
She really did fall for it.
On the other side of the curtain, He Yi had already gotten into bed.
Her bed was deathly silent—not even the sound of breathing, as if the person inside had become a lifeless statue.
Hua Qi’an knew she was there, knew she was listening.
She didn’t bother to guess at her thoughts.
Whether it was sympathy, fear, or something more complicated, none of it mattered to her now.
The moment she cut ties, she’d decided to sever all these false, draining relationships for good.
She got up and, with practiced movements, pulled out the suitcase she’d used for years.
It wasn’t large, still bearing a few scratches from past moves.
She didn’t have much—just a few changes of clothes, some textbooks, a pouch of charging cables, and those hospital-scented bottles and jars.
“Ka-da”—the suitcase zipper closed.
She swept the loose pens and notebooks from her desk…—into her backpack.
Throughout, she didn’t make much noise, nor were her movements gentle—there was a sense of finality, a silent declaration.
“Xiao Qian…are you moving out?”
Behind her, He Yi’s voice finally sounded, trembling noticeably.
Hua Qi’an paused, but didn’t look back.
“Mm.”
A cold, monosyllabic reply.
“Is it because…of Yingying?”
He Yi’s voice was even softer now, as if afraid of disturbing something.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve spoken up for you.”
“It has nothing to do with you.”
Hua Qi’an cut her off, placing her folded trench coat on top of the suitcase.
That was Lin Yanqiu’s coat—she’d have to find time to wash and return it.
That “it has nothing to do with you” was an invisible wall, instantly shutting He Yi out.
It was no comfort—just pure, unemotional separation.
He Yi’s face paled, lips quivering, but in the end she said nothing, silently withdrawing behind her curtain.
Hua Qi’an pulled her suitcase, giving one last look to the sixth-floor dorm where she’d lived a full year.
Sunlight streamed in slantwise from the balcony, illuminating every speck of dust in the air.
The books on Zhao Yingying’s desk—meant to cover the forbidden electric cooker—had long since been knocked to the floor, scattered in a mess.
Li Xiaozhen’s “altar” was still smoking, though the incense had burned down to a stub of gray ash.
Hua Qi’an felt no nostalgia for this room—in fact, leaving brought a hint of joy.
She planned to stash her suitcase in her new dorm first, then return for her bedding and curtain.
With suitcase in tow, she left without a backward glance.
…
The second-floor hallway was much cooler than the sixth, sunlight filtered through dense leaves, dappling the floor.
Perhaps because some seniors had just moved out, the whole floor felt deserted and empty.
Following the supervisor’s advice, Hua Qi’an started searching for an empty room.
Her old dorm was on the sixth floor—climbing up and down every day was torture, especially with her health.
Even a healthy person would struggle, let alone her…
Moving to a lower floor was definitely for the best.
Even if, once the new term started, freshmen might move in, she didn’t mind.
Inserting herself into an established circle was completely different from starting over with newcomers.
The former required tiptoeing and ingratiating herself, while the latter offered the freedom to define new relationships.
She tried 201—locked.
202—also locked.
Several in a row, all locked.
It seemed the school locked up dorms after graduates left.
Randomly trying doors was just inefficient.
And asking the supervisor for a bunch of keys at once would only draw attention and suspicion.
Just as she was about to give up and go downstairs, a door at the end of the hall caught her eye.
Room 227.
Unlike the others, this door was slightly ajar, as if silently inviting her in.
An indescribable feeling seized Hua Qi’an.
Just like when she got the haunted house vlog assignment—she knew it was suspicious, but she couldn’t help being drawn in.
Her heart started beating faster.
She walked over and reached out.
Her fingers paused on the cold door for a moment, then she gently pushed.
“Creak—”
The door swung open with a soft squeak.
What lay behind made Hua Qi’an’s eyes widen.
Rather than the mess she expected from a recently vacated dorm, this room was clean—almost unnaturally so.
The floor was spotless, as if just mopped.
The walls were freshly painted cream.
All six beds were empty, the bunks and desks newer than most, not a speck of dust to be seen.
Sunlight poured in unimpeded through the balcony, making the room bright and dazzling.
It didn’t look like anyone had just moved out.
Since the door wasn’t locked, it must have been cleaned in the last day or two.
Most importantly, as soon as she stepped inside, Hua Qi’an felt a strange pull.
As if something wanted her to stay.
[Stay…]
Hua Qi’an’s whole body suddenly tensed.
She looked around quickly—nothing.
Hallucination?
She unconsciously touched her neck, where the bandage was nearly ready to come off.
The lightning-struck wood talisman she wore now radiated a faint, almost undetectable warmth.
Pity Liu Ran’s bracelet hadn’t arrived yet.
She should leave.
Logic told her something was wrong with this dorm.
But her feet felt nailed to the floor.
That inexplicable sense of familiarity and belonging was like an invisible net, binding her tight.
Here, she didn’t feel the fear or danger she’d felt in haunted places.
Instead…there was a strange sense of peace.
Here will do.
The thought surfaced uncontrollably, quickly dominating her mind.
She turned and dragged her suitcase inside.
Then went downstairs.
The dorm supervisor wasn’t at the office.
Instead, a bespectacled, gentle-looking girl sat there, bored, playing on her phone—Lin Xiaoye.
She wore the blue vest of the dorm council, probably on duty as a student worker.
Seeing Hua Qi’an, Lin Xiaoye hurriedly put her phone down and adjusted her glasses.
“Um…do you need something?”
Since the freshmen hadn’t arrived yet, the council was short-staffed, so Lin Xiaoye, a sophomore, was still on duty.
…
Hua Qi’an explained the situation succinctly.
Lin Xiaoye looked surprised at her story, but quickly recovered.
She checked something on her computer, then nodded.
“227 is indeed empty. Here, this is the key.”
She dug out a brand-new key from a drawer and handed it over.
“I just need to log your info.”
Everything went unexpectedly smoothly.
Hua Qi’an thanked her, took the key—still cool to the touch—and headed back upstairs.
She really did only have one suitcase to pack.
But she still had her bedding and curtain to move, so she needed to go back.
When Hua Qi’an returned to the oppressive sixth-floor dorm with the new key, Zhao Yingying was back.
A gauze pad covered the bruise on her forehead, but couldn’t mask the venom and resentment in her eyes.
She sat at her desk, glaring at Hua Qi’an.
Hua Qi’an ignored her.
She took a big bag for her quilt and curtain from her locker, climbed onto her bed and packed everything up.
Her movements were unhurried, as if no one else existed.
Her calm demeanor was, to Zhao Yingying, the ultimate provocation.
“Heh, found a new place so fast?”
Zhao Yingying’s voice was sharp and biting, each word laced with venom.
“I thought you’d leech off this dorm for the rest of your life.”
“What’s wrong? Your ‘good sister’ finally agreed to rent you somewhere decent?”
Hua Qi’an’s hands paused.
She slowly turned, looking at Zhao Yingying, her always impassive face now curling into a barely perceptible, mocking smile.
“None of your business.”
Her voice was soft.
But sharp as a knife, slicing clean through Zhao Yingying’s false bravado.
“After all, not everyone needs to put others down just to feel they exist.”
“You!”
Zhao Yingying’s face flushed crimson, but after being put in her place once, she didn’t dare make a scene.
After Hua Qi’an and Lin Yanqiu left the office, she’d gotten a thorough dressing-down…
Hua Qi’an didn’t look at her again.
She carried her packed things and headed for the door.
Just as she was about to step out, she stopped.
Turning her head, her gaze passed over Zhao Yingying’s shoulder to the tightly closed curtain in the corner.
“He Yi.”
She spoke softly, not loud, but clear enough for everyone to hear.
The figure behind the curtain clearly tensed.
“You used to be the one I liked most in this dorm…”
Hua Qi’an paused, a complex look in her eyes.
At least, for some reason, He Yi had always seemed kinder than the other two.
But not by much.
So, only “relatively.”
“But now, goodbye forever.”
With that, she left without looking back.
Outside, the sun was bright.
But inside, it was as if winter had fallen.
He Yi suddenly flung the curtain aside, her face white as paper, and grabbed her phone with trembling hands.
The chat window with that mysterious account was still open.
The latest message had just arrived.
[For this, even just some hair will work—if you have birth details, even better!]
He Yi stared at the words, her lashes trembling, and unconsciously began to type a reply.
In the darkness behind her, Li Xiaozhen was muttering under her breath.
“…Dirty things…dirty things…”
…
The moment Hua Qi’an left the sixth-floor dorm, it felt as if she’d shed a suffocating invisible shroud.
Even the breeze in the hallway seemed fresher.
Carrying her bag, she walked down the stairs with an unprecedented lightness.
When she pushed open the door to room 227, that strange sensation wrapped around her again.
…
It wasn’t cold, nor gloomy, but a strange, possessive sense of “welcome.”
It was as if every inch of air in the room was celebrating her arrival.
She placed her bedding on the desk closest to the door, then turned and locked the door.
“Click.”
The lock’s crisp sound was like a barrier shutting out all the chaos behind her.
She looked around—this dorm was laid out just like her old one: standard six-person upper-bed-lower-desk arrangement.
But the air here lacked the dizzying incense of Li Xiaozhen, the sickly sweet mix of Zhao Yingying’s makeup and snacks, or that stifling tension.
Here, there was only the scent of sunshine and the dry mustiness of an unused room.
She opened the balcony door and stepped outside.
Below was a small garden, shaded by tall camphor trees.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering patches of light on the ground.
Everything looked so normal, so vibrant.
She nodded in satisfaction.
Hua Qi’an decided to pick her favorite bunk.
She turned to go back inside.
“Hmm?”
To her surprise, when she turned, a familiar face appeared before her.
Her own face.
“…A mirror?”
Behind the door, a wall of square mirrors formed a full-length reflection, framing Hua Qi’an completely.