---
The rain came down in slanted threads, brushing the glass like a delayed confession.
Lin Wanzhao sat by the window, thumb tracing the ridges of the copper key. It was cold. Familiar.
"You still haven't decided?" A-Zhe leaned against the doorframe, two paper cups in hand. His voice was low, as if pulled up from under the floorboards.
"No." She took the coffee without looking. "Just wondering… why *him."
"Gu Xingye?" A pause. "His résumé's clean. But not *this clean. Not enough to make you break your rules."
She didn't answer. Of course not. The camphorwood chest—ten years sealed. No one had touched it. Not even A-Zhe, who was the only person she ever allowed near her private space, and even he stopped at the threshold.
And yet today, she'd handed the key to Gu Xingye.
"The director said new hires have to pass three trials," she said, flat. "Lines, stress response, object organization. He aced all three."
"What about Shen Nian?"
"Flunked round two." A dry smile. "Missed three lines, botched the emotional pacing. I told her to redo it. She laughed like someone stepped on her foot."
A-Zhe grunted. "Suyanqing's girl. All sweetness on the surface. Underneath? Clumsy."
"She's watching me," Lin said. "Yesterday, I pulled up Gu's file. The second the system logged 'viewed,' she texted: You've been looking at the new guy a lot lately."
"You think she suspects?"
"She suspects anything that doesn't follow the script." Lin finally looked up. "And I've always followed the script."
A-Zhe was quiet. Then: "So why now?"
She didn't answer. How could she? Could she say she'd dreamt of the yellowed child's dress last night? That in the dream, a boy crouched at a flea market stall, counting crumpled coins to buy it—then placed it on his desk like an altar piece? That she woke up to her *jinshou* interface flashing a new alert—[High Emotional Correlation: Childhood Costume (C-09), Origin Trace: Gu Xingye, 2013 A-City Flea Market]?
She couldn't.
The *jinshou* was her survival tool—the ability to extract memory fragments from objects, to read people, avoid traps, and manipulate outcomes. But it had never *tagged* emotional relevance before. Never predicted a future event—*"worshipped on desk for 1095 days"*—as if time itself had bent.
It was glitching. Or it had been triggered.
And the trigger was Gu Xingye.
---
The next day, he arrived at her office on time.
Gray-blue shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. A brown paper bag in hand.
"Lin Laoshi." His voice was soft, but clear. "I took the dress to the dry cleaner. There was mildew on the hem. I also had it sealed with anti-humidity film."
She stared at him like he was a variable that shouldn't exist.
"I didn't ask you to clean it."
"I know." He smiled slightly. "But when you opened the chest, your hand trembled. That dress matters. I didn't want it ruined by damp."
She snapped her head up.
How did he know she trembled? She'd had her back to him.
"You were watching me?"
"No." He shook his head. "The chest. The lock sticks. When I opened it, I heard the fabric rustle—very faint. That kind of silence only happens when something hasn't been touched in years. People react. Subtly."
Her throat went dry.
This wasn't just observation. This was *empathy*. The kind that didn't belong in an assistant.
She took the bag. Her fingers brushed the protective film—and suddenly, the world blinked out.
[Data loading…]
**[Item: Childhood Costume Dress (C-09)]
[Emotional Correlation: ★★★★★]
**[New Memory Fragment: Autumn 2013, South Gate Flea Market, A-City. Boy (age 10) purchases a dress with three months' lunch money. Vendor: "Who even wore this? It's filthy." Boy: "She wouldn't be."]
[Predicted Behavior: Placed on desk (top left corner), maintained for 1095 days.]
Lin Wanzhao's breath caught.
This wasn't in the database. This *couldn't* exist.
She looked up. Gu Xingye was checking his phone, calm, unaffected.
But she knew—something had shifted.
---
At noon, Shen Nian arrived.
Latte in hand. Smile like honey.
"Lin Jie," she said, "heard the trial results are coming out soon? I didn't pass, but I still wanted to thank you for the chance."
Lin smirked. "Thank me? Then why did you access my private schedule in HR last night?"
Shen's smile froze. "I—I just wanted to understand the workflow."
"Don't." Lin slid her phone across the desk. "You accessed it at 8:17 PM. Right when Gu Xingye returned the key. You were waiting for him, weren't you?"
Shen's face paled.
A-Zhe stepped in, tablet in hand. "I checked the hallway cam. You stood there for seventeen minutes. Your eyes never left this door."
Shen stammered, "I just—wanted to—"
"You're Suyanqing's spy." Lin stood. "She sent you to watch me. Didn't she?"
Shen bit her lip. Silent.
Lin laughed—low, sharp. "Fine. I'll give you one shot. Ask Gu Xingye a question. In front of everyone. If he can't answer, he's out."
Shen's eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Really." Lin leaned back. "But make it hurt."
Shen took a breath, turned as Gu walked in.
"Gu Xingye," she said, voice suddenly hard, "your résumé says you entered the Central Academy of Drama's secondary school in 2015. But I can't find your name in the alumni list. Are you falsifying your credentials?"
The room went still.
A-Zhe frowned. Lin watched Gu's hands—reaching for his phone.
He opened his gallery. Scrolled to a faded photo: a ten-year-old boy on a stage, too-big costume, holding a trophy.
The camera tilted—on the wall behind him, a poster:
[A-City Youth Arts Festival · Guest Performer: Lin Wanzhao]
Bottom right corner: October 12, 2013.
Gu looked up, calm. "I was ten. You danced *Singing in the Rain*. Midway, the power cut. You kept dancing. No one clapped. Just me. For three minutes."
Lin's heart clenched.
She remembered.
Darkness. She thought no one saw.
Then, offstage, a boy—eyes bright, clapping alone.
She'd asked, "Why didn't you leave?"
He said, "You hadn't bowed yet."
She'd smiled. Touched his head. "Thanks."
Then forgot.
He hadn't.
Gu closed his phone. "My résumé's accurate. I just… don't talk about the past much."
Lin said nothing. But her *jinshou* was flashing—
[New Memory Link: October 12, 2013. A-City Youth Center. Subject Gu Xingye first observes Lin Wanzhao. Emotional Peak: 7.8/10]
**[Auto-Tag: Critical Anchor Event]
[Warning: Emotional resonance exceeding threshold. System initiating prediction of unrecorded future events.]
She snapped her laptop shut.
"You pass," she said. "Trial's over. You start tomorrow."
Shen fled, face white.
---
At 9 PM, the office was empty except for them.
Gu was filing. Lin sat on the sofa, the copper key in her palm.
"Why?" she asked suddenly.
"Hmm?"
"The dress. The photo. The public defense. What do you want?"
He set down his pen. Looked at her. "What do you think an assistant does ?"
"Handles tasks. Filters noise."
"Then you don't need me." His voice dropped. "You need someone who can read your silence."
She stood. "Stop it. You're not here for nothing. You have a motive."
"I do." He nodded. "I want to know why you were afraid of thunder as a child."
She froze.
"That night," he said, softer, "the blackout wasn't random. Lightning hit the transformer. You finished dancing, came offstage, and hid in the prop room. No one could find you. I found you curled up, shaking. I said, 'It's over.' You looked up and said, 'But the thunder's still going.' "
Her breath stopped.
That moment—never told to anyone. Not even A-Zhe.
"How… could you…"
"I've been looking for you," he said. "Since that day. I saved up to buy your dress. I got into the drama school because you did. I joined the industry. I applied to be your assistant—not for the job. To get close to you."
"You're insane."
"Maybe." He smiled. "But the vision your *jinshou* showed? It's real. That dress sat on my desk for three years. First thing I saw every morning."
She looked up, sharp. "You know about the jinshou ?"
He didn't deny it.
"Lin Wanzhao," he said, standing, stepping closer, "your ability… wasn't born with you. It started in 2013. After the lightning strike. Hospital tests found abnormal brainwave patterns. And I was there too—I got hit by the sound, cracked my head open. Same floor. Same trial."
Her blood turned to ice.
"What trial?"
"Memory resonance." His voice was low. "They wanted to see if two people with intense emotional trauma could share memories through objects. You were Group A. I was in Group B. The project was shut down. Data erased. But the connection… never turned off."
Her mind shattered.
So the *jinshou* wasn't hers.
It was theirs.
A ghost of a forgotten experiment, reactivated by a child's dress, twenty years later.
And Gu Xingye wasn't an intruder.
He was the other half of the key.
She sank back onto the sofa, voice trembling. "So you came to… restart the system?"
"No." He knelt, meeting her eyes. "I came to tell you—you were never alone. That night, you said, 'But the thunder's still going.' I said, 'I'll stay with you.' I'm saying it again."
Lin stared at him. For the first time in years, she felt the heat behind her eyes.
She was always in control. Always rational.
But now—she wanted to reach out. To touch his face, to prove he was real.
She didn't.
"Will you… Come in tomorrow?" she asked.
"I will." He smiled. "Unless you tell me not to."
She was silent for a long time. Then, softly:
"Don't touch the chest. Don't mention the experiment. Everything else… I'll let you decide."
He nodded. "Okay."
---
A-Zhe listened from the hallway. Then turned and walked away.
He knew some walls were meant to fall.
And Lin Wanzhao's greatest fear had never been exposure.
It was this: someone seeing her—truly seeing her—and choosing to stay.
---