Studying at Western University starts with a knife-forging competition

"Zoe," Lin Yuan called her name, his voice low, just like when he spoke normally.

Zoe looked at him.

"My hair is messed up."

Zoe's eyebrows twitched—they squeezed together less than a millimeter. Then she raised her hand and pulled off the hair tie that was holding her hair.

Her light brown hair was loose and fell over her shoulders. She ran her fingers through it, and a few strands of hair stuck up and clung to her cheeks.

"clothing."

Zoe lowered her head and tugged at the neckline of her T-shirt. The neckline was already large, and when she pulled it to the side, one of her thin shoulders was exposed.

She then pulled the hem out of her waistband, leaving the T-shirt hanging wrinkled on her body.

She did these actions quietly and didn't ask why.

Lin Yuan raised his hand.

Not hard. The hand landed on Zoe's left cheek, the sound ringing out crisply in the carriage, like the sound of a thin book closing.

Emily's shoulders tensed abruptly. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles whitening briefly before she released them.

He didn't press the accelerator, nor did he open his mouth; he simply looked in the rearview mirror at Zoe's face.

Zoe paused for a moment.

For a fleeting moment, something flashed in her eyes—not anger, not resentment, but something deeper and darker than those.

It's like someone who's been submerged in water for a long time, and after being pulled up, they glance at the people on the shore and find that their hands are also wet.

Then she lowered her head and rubbed her left cheek with her palm. The red mark spread out, from her cheekbone to her chin, a small patch.

She rubbed her eyes and wiped them under her eyes twice, making it look like she had wiped away tear stains.

She then hid the money in her shoes before opening the car door.

A cold wind blew in. The cigarette butts of the boys in the distance flashed.

Zoe stumbled towards the apartment building entrance, carrying a bag of fruit in her arms, her hair disheveled, and a red mark on her left cheek.

The canvas shoes made a soft, crunching sound as they stepped on the gravel.

She ran to the iron gate and pushed open the crooked door with her shoulder. The hinges creaked sharply, like a short, sharp scream.

She crawled inside, the door bounced back behind her, and the wire swayed.

She didn't turn around.

But before she ran into the stairwell, she paused for a moment. Just a moment.

Like an animal running across an open space, it checks the movement behind it one last time before burrowing into its hiding place.

Then she disappeared into the dimly lit doorway.

Several teenagers under the streetlights watched her run inside. One of them spat on the ground and looked away.

Another threw his cigarette butt on the ground and ground it with the sole of his shoe. They stopped looking at the apartment building; the white Toyota became the only thing worth looking at.

Emily shifted into gear, and the car slowly drove away from the side of the road.

-----------------

By the time we drove out of the slums, it was completely dark.

The streetlights came on, their orange glow slicing across the car window. Emily drove slower than she had come, the sound of her wheels rolling steadily over the road like a deep background noise.

Street scenes flashed past the car window. Dilapidated apartment buildings were gradually being replaced by neat detached houses—lawns were mowed, mailboxes stood by the roadside, and some were adorned with wreaths. Someone had left a porch light on at their door, and warm yellow light leaked from the window.

Emily remained silent.

The car rounded a gentle bend and entered the main road leading to the campus. The roadside trees were neatly arranged, and there was a street lamp every so often, the light shining on the leaves and casting dappled shadows.

"explain."

She uttered a single word. It wasn't a question, nor a command, but more like a confirmation—a confirmation that she had the right to know, a confirmation that he would tell her.

Lin Yuan leaned against the car window. The glass was cool, pressed against his temple. He watched the shadows of the trees receding outside, and remained silent for a few seconds.

"When those three people handed her the food, the homeless men at the door had already been watching her. They'd been watching her since she started queuing."

Emily didn't reply, but her fingers twitched slightly on the steering wheel.

"What would happen if she walked out with those three meals?"

"They'll be robbed," Emily said in a low voice.

"Then what."

Emily didn't answer immediately. The light from the streetlights streaked across her face.

"And then—" she paused, "the next time she goes to the relief station, someone will be watching her. Because she got food last time, because she's good at stealing."

"more than."

Emily turned her head and glanced at him.

"Those people who were watching her today might not be at the shelter tomorrow, but they'll remember her face." Lin Yuan's voice wasn't loud, as if he were talking about something very ordinary. "They'll remember that skinny little girl who went to the shelter every Saturday to get food. And then that story will spread to even more people."

He paused for a moment.

"She was walking home, and anyone squatting by the roadside could have recognized her. Not because she had done anything wrong, but simply because she had food in her hand."

The carriage was quiet for a few seconds.

"So she can't have it," Emily said.

This is not a question.

"So she can't have it." Lin Yuan repeated.

Emily's lips moved slightly, her gaze returning to the windshield as she watched the white markings, illuminated by the headlights, slide one by one under the car.

"That slap," she said, "is the same principle."

"She had marks on her face, her clothes were disheveled, and she ran back crying. People who saw her would think she hadn't gotten any food that day and had been bullied. They would think she was just as miserable as them, or even worse."

"No one will remember her."

"At least we won't treat her as someone who 'can steal food'."

Emily parked the car on the side of the road.

It wasn't a sudden stop, but a slow, steady pull over to the side of the road. The right wheel crossed the white line on the shoulder and stopped in the darkest section between two streetlights. The car was facing forward, the engine idling, emitting a steady, low hum.

She didn't turn off the engine; instead, she took her hands off the steering wheel and placed them on her knees.

Ten fingers were interlaced and rested on her lap. Her nails were neatly trimmed and coated with a layer of clear nail polish, reflecting a slight glint in the dim light of the watch face.

She looked out the windshield. There was nothing there, just an empty stretch of road and a streetlamp lit in the distance.

"At first I thought—"

She paused, then interlaced her fingers even more tightly.

"I don't like what those people did. But when you threw the food out, I thought you were just—" She paused, as if searching for the right word, "in another way of not caring."

"So you stopped me." She turned to look at Lin Yuan.

"Um."

Emily nodded. It wasn't the kind of nod that said "I understand," but rather a nod that said "I'm sure," a very small nod, her chin dropping down once and then lifting up.

She put her hands back on the steering wheel, and the car returned to the lane.