(Continued from Part 1)
Leaving the Abyss, Lin Yuan didn't go back to the dorm. He went to the track. People were running, lap after lap. On the field, someone was kicking a ball. He walked along the track. The wind was strong, snapping the flags along the edge. When he reached the corner, he stopped. The lines on his hand started to heat up again.
He looked down. They were glowing. Bright, dim, bright, dim. He covered them with his hand. Stood there, a long time. Someone ran past, breathing hard, not looking at him. He stood until his legs ached, then turned back.
The library. Not the Abyss — the school library. He went in, found a seat by the window. Sunlight fell on the table, dust floating in the light beams. He put his hand in the sun. The lines stopped glowing. But he could still feel them. Like a heartbeat.
He opened a book, didn't read. Stared out the window. People walking, biking, talking on phones. After a while, he lowered his head, turned a page. Didn't read. Turned another. Sat there for more than half an hour. Stood up, returned the book, walked out.
In the hallway, Su Wanqing came toward him. Black field jacket, hair loose, holding a cup of coffee. She glanced at him, didn't stop.
"Training tonight," she said.
"Okay."
They passed each other. Neither looked back.
---
No classes in the afternoon. Lin Yuan lay on his bed. Zhao Lei wasn't there, Old Zhao wasn't there, the other roommate's bed was empty. The dorm was empty. He stared at the ceiling. The water stain was still there, a gray smudge. He thought about how Zhao Lei had thrown down his chopsticks. They'd bounced, one falling to the floor. He hadn't picked it up. Zhao Lei had never thrown his chopsticks before.
His phone buzzed. A message from Su Wanqing: "Training room, seven." He replied with one word: "Okay."
He turned over. The lines on his hand glowed again. He covered them with his hand. Then got up, put on his shoes, and left.
---
The training room was empty. Su Wanqing was already there. Black tight shirt, black combat boots, hair tied up. She stood before the punching bag, no gloves. Punching. One, two, three. Her knuckles hit the bag — thud, thud, thud.
"You're here?" She didn't turn.
"Yeah."
"Warm up."
He went to the side, stretched his legs, pulled his arms. Then stood before the bag, put on his gloves. The gloves were a little tight. He tugged twice to get them on.
"Punch," Su Wanqing said.
He threw a punch. One, two, three. The bag swung, the chains creaked. After a dozen punches, he stopped, breathing hard.
"Too soft." Su Wanqing walked over, stood behind him, put her hands on his shoulders. "Harder."
He punched again. This time harder. The bag flew back, swung forward, almost hit him. He dodged.
"What are you thinking about?" Su Wanqing asked.
"Nothing."
"Your mind isn't here."
He didn't answer. The lines on his hand burned inside the glove. He lowered his hand and shook it.
Su Wanqing walked to the wall, picked up a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap, and took a sip. Then stood by the window, looking out. The sky was almost dark, the streetlights not yet on. Her shadow stretched long.
"Su Wanqing," Lin Yuan said.
"Yeah."
"What's today's date?"
"The fifteenth."
Lin Yuan didn't ask further. He remembered. Su Wanqing's file said: Su Yuan, died of nightmare erosion. The date was the fifteenth. He'd never asked if that day was her birthday. She'd never said. Today was her birthday. The day Su Yuan died was also her birthday. She'd never told him.
"The lines on your hand," Su Wanqing said, "have they been glowing often lately?"
"Old Zhou told you?"
"Yeah." She looked at him. "The fragments are calling you. You have to find them."
"You know about this too?"
"Not much." She paused. "But I know that if you don't find them, you'll die."
Lin Yuan didn't speak. He took off his gloves and looked at his hand. The lines weren't glowing, but he could see them.
"Training's over," Su Wanqing said. "Go rest."
He walked to the door. Stopped. Didn't turn around.
"Su Wanqing."
"Yeah."
"Did you find out about your brother's case?"
Silence. She stood by the window, her back to him.
"I found out," she said. "But it's not time yet."
"When?"
"When I'm ready," she said. "Go."
He stood there for a moment, then pushed the door open and left.
---
Night. Lin Yuan lay on his bed. Zhao Lei was already asleep, facing the wall, blanket pulled to his neck. On the desk, his grad school entrance exam book was still open, two questions answered, two circles drawn in pencil. The dorm was quiet. Quiet enough to hear the dripping faucet. Drip, drip, drip.
He held out his hand. The lines weren't glowing, but he could feel them. Hot.
He turned over. His hand touched something under the pillow. He pulled it out. A piece of paper, folded. He opened it. A line of scrawled handwriting: "The Ouroboros Society is looking for you. Be careful."
No signature.
He stared at the line. Ouroboros Society. Never heard of it. Who put it there? No idea. He folded it back and tucked it under his pillow. Lay back down, stared at the ceiling. The water stain was still there, a gray smudge.
"Lin Yuan." Zhao Lei's voice came from the top bunk.
"Yeah."
"You still awake?"
"Almost."
Silence. Zhao Lei turned over, the bed frame creaked. "What's wrong with your hand?"
"Nothing."
"You always say nothing." Zhao Lei's voice was muffled, coming from under the blanket. "Forget it."
He pulled the blanket up to his chin, turned to face the wall, and said nothing more.
Lin Yuan didn't move. The lines on his hand glowed once. He shoved his hand under the pillow. The light didn't go through, but it was hot.
He closed his eyes. In the dream, that figure stood before the crack again, coat snapping in the wind. Said "Come."
He woke. The back of his hand was still hot. The pillow was damp in one spot. Wind outside. The curtain puffed up, then deflated. Moonlight slipped through the gap, a small white patch on the floor.
He pulled his hand out. Nothing in his palm.
He closed his eyes.
(End of Chapter 12)