"Road... roadblock?"
Though I, Du Miao, couldn't be called *dashingly handsome*—and fell far short of Adonis-like beauty—I was nowhere near resembling an orange-and-white traffic cone!
Seeing my twitching lips and wide eyes, the white-haired girl seemed to realize her blunder. She covered her mouth—*shouldn't have said it out loud*.
"Sorry about that day. I was in a hurry. Really. I've got urgent business now—farewell. No, *good riddance*." She stood up, expression blank.
With that, she slipped between Wu Yanxin and me, vanishing around the alley corner. *Gotta admit, she's pretty. Is that snow-white hair dyed? Since when do wild chuunibyou girls exist?*
And was that an apology? Felt utterly insincere. As I pondered, weight slammed onto my back—Wu Yanxin had jumped on again.
"Stop staring! She's gone!" she yelled in my ear. "Carry me home! I'm hungry!"
After her earlier "chew toy" treatment, I wanted to slam her onto the pavement. But she's my bro. Wu Yanxin may be flat-chested and petty, but I, Du Miao, am magnanimous!
After dropping her home, I declined Aunt Xue's *suggestive* offer to "see Yanxin's room" under Uncle Wu's *dagger-eyed* glare. Had I accepted, I'd have left that house horizontally.
*Hah! Girl-dad! Wonder if he'll weep buckets when she marries. Honestly, I'd pay to see that.*
Now it was time to head to my own "home."
...I didn't want to.
A home should be warm, not a cold building. It should have family waiting with dinner, not empty rooms and solitude. Its warmth should come from shared laughter, not an AC's artificial chill... Yet all I had was the latter. A building. Not a home. Just a house.
My dad worked at some biotech firm, always busy. My mom... she was gentle. Hardworking. Loved humming tunes I couldn't understand while cleaning.
But eleven years ago—on my sixth birthday—she left. Took nothing. Left nothing. Just vanished.
When I asked Dad why, he gave four icy words: *"Different beliefs."*
What beliefs? What could make her abandon us so utterly? For years, I wondered if she'd been imaginary.
*I have no beliefs.*
After she left, Dad faded too. First days between visits, then weeks, then months. Now? Two years absent.
Money hits my account monthly. Missing household items appear within hours if I text him... But no calls allowed. He's "too busy."
*Probably has a new family now. Me? Just an accident.*
Lost in thought, I reached my doorstep.
Huh?
The door was ajar. *I never leave it unlocked.*
A burglar? No sign of forced entry. *Fine. Beat him senseless, then call the cops!* I grabbed the bent steel pipe I'd left by the window and crept inside.
First floor: empty. But the sofa bore a fresh dent. An opened water bottle sat on the table. If the intruder hadn't left... *Upstairs.*
I could handle some petty thief—maybe send him straight to the ER. But an armed giant? *I'd bolt.*
Pipe in hand, I crept up. Four rooms: mine, the guest room (Wu Yanxin's crash pad), the study, and Dad's room—now a storage dump since he'd gone.
The study and storage doors were shut. Only the guest room and my bedroom stood slightly open. Guest room first—it was closer.
Peering through the crack: nothing. Untouched. Same with my room.
*Maybe the thief left empty-handed?*
Relieved, I turned—
*Click.*
The bathroom door swung open behind me.
There stood a girl—dripping wet, towel in hand.
*Holy—!* Not a stitch of clothing! Was I dreaming? The visual impact was nuclear!
Our eyes locked. She froze. Slammed the door. Then—
***"AAAAAAAAH—!"***
My eardrums nearly burst. *Since when are screams lethal?!*
*Fate's a twisted joke.* Not only had she chased me home—she'd used my shower!
Yep. The nudist was the white-haired girl. I dropped the pipe, stuffed tissues up my bleeding nostrils (*dammit, summer heat*), and faced the music.
My phone screen blurred before my eyes. I couldn't focus—not with her sitting opposite me, sipping lemon tea... after twisting that steel pipe into a spiral.
*Is this a movie? No movie's this insane!*
Silence hung thick. Who was she? Why here? To silence me over a bump? *You started this!*
My arms weren't steel. *Can I still call the cops?*
Better face it head-on. Summoning courage, I forced a smile. "Hungry? I'll cook something!"
She set down her drink. "'Little sister'? Weren't you calling me a white-haired monkey earlier?"
"W-well..." How to explain? *"I meant you're agile, like a forest monkey"?* My pipe! My arms!
"My name is Ouyang Jiyu. Season's 'Ji,' rain's 'Yu.' And don't. Call. Me. *Little. Sister.*" Her gaze held disdain... and a flicker of melancholy.
*Is she telling me her name before killing me?*
"Cook. I'm hungry. No chili. No garlic." She sipped her tea again.
As I mentally cheered (*kitchen = police call!*), her icy voice cut in: "Don't try anything. Your phone has no signal here. And..." Her eyes flicked to the twisted pipe. "...you can't beat me."
*You can't beat me.*
*Can't beat me.*
*Beat me.*
*Me.*
*Humiliation.*
But she was right. Vaulting two-meter walls. Crushing steel barehanded. *What kind of monster is she?!*
I'd thought my phone credit expired—*she blocked it!* Now what?
*A real man knows when to yield.* For now, I'd yield.
I rarely cooked at home—usually ate out or at Wu Yanxin's. The fridge held leftover greens, beef, and instant noodles. When I offered to buy groceries, she said: "Go ahead... after you straighten that pipe."
*If I could bend steel back, would I fear you?!*
**Terrifying! A Dou Zun expert!**