Apple

White Tiger pushed the bowl of noodles, with only two bites eaten, to the farthest corner of the table, as if that could sever all ties with it.

“That’s about it. I’ve said what needed to be said. The rest is up to you once you get to Rust Harbor—figure it out on the spot.”

He stood up, pulling up the zipper on his jacket with a casual motion, as if he were wrapping up the most ordinary of afternoon chats.

Chen Guan didn’t move.

He sat on the plastic stool, the envelope resting on the table in front of him, his fingers lingering on the edge of the kraft paper. Watching White Tiger zip up, he suddenly spoke.

“I have one more question.”

White Tiger’s hand paused. He looked up at Chen Guan.

“Ask.”

Chen Guan’s gaze met his.

“What was your name before you became White Tiger?”

The two of them faced each other across the plastic table with the leftover noodles. The distance wasn’t great, but the question made the air between them shift, just slightly.

White Tiger looked at him for a moment, then laughed.

It had been a long time since anyone cared about his name.

To others, a name was just a label. No one ever bothered with who he used to be, with everything that had shaped him.

“Does it matter?” he asked, his tone still light, the same as before he’d spoken, as if the question belonged to the same category as whether the noodles had tasted good.

Chen Guan didn’t answer. His expression said enough.

White Tiger pulled the zipper up all the way, let his hands drop, leaned back, and sat down again.

His gaze lingered on Chen Guan’s face for a moment, then shifted, landing on the alley visible through the glass door.

“Why do you suddenly want to ask that?”

“No reason.”

“Then why ask?”

“I just want to know.”

A corner of White Tiger’s mouth twitched. Chen Guan was more persistent than he’d expected.

“You’re not much for talking usually, but when you do open your mouth, you go straight for the soft spot.”

Chen Guan glanced down at the file bag on the table.

He thought of the identity documents inside.

He Chenguan.

“You don’t have to answer,” Chen Guan said, picking up the file bag to tuck it into his ring.

“I was just asking.”

“You don’t just ask things,” White Tiger’s voice came from across the table, carrying a hint of amused irritation.

Chen Guan said nothing.

White Tiger watched him for a few seconds, then reached out, picked up the chopsticks from the table, spun them in his hand once, and set them back down.

“You asked too early.”

“Huh?”

“Come back from Rust Harbor first. If you still want to ask then, I’ll think about whether to answer.”

It wasn’t some unspeakable secret.

“Alright.”

Chen Guan picked up the file bag and stood.

The two of them walked toward the door, one after the other. As they passed the counter, White Tiger casually placed a bill on it—enough to cover both the noodles and a tip.

White Tiger stepped outside first, stopping at the entrance, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He turned sideways to look at Chen Guan following behind.

“Bus leaves at six tomorrow morning. Don’t be late.”

“You already said that.”

“Yeah, well, just making sure your memory isn’t that bad.”

Chen Guan didn’t take the bait. He stood at the door of the noodle shop, scanning both ends of the alley.

One end connected to the back gate of the West Campus, the other opened onto the main road. There were still puddles from the rain a few days ago, sunlight glinting off the water’s surface.

What Chen Guan didn’t say was that when he’d heard the name He Chenguan, it had genuinely startled him.

……

Back in the dormitory, Cheetah was still curled up in the corner, its purple fur catching the slanting rays of the setting sun with a faint glow.

At the sound of the door, its ear twitched. It looked up at Chen Guan before flopping back down.

Chen Guan closed the door, walked to the desk, and sat. He emptied the contents of the file bag onto the table.

An ID card: He Chenguan, with his photo, but slightly altered—made to look more down-and-out than he was now.

A bus ticket: six o’clock tomorrow morning, destination Rust Harbor.

The card with the jester hat printed on it.

And a thin bank card, no name on it—a prepaid card, probably stuffed with some activity funds from White Tiger.

At the very bottom was a handwritten note, the handwriting messy—White Tiger’s.

On it was just one line:

Don’t die.

Chen Guan stared at it for two seconds, then flipped the note over. On the back was an even smaller line:

Have you finished the apples yet?

He set the note aside, picked up the ID card, and studied it again.

He Chenguan. Male. Twenty-two.

The person in the photo really did look a lot like him—but the eyes seemed far more weary than his actual ones. The whole presence radiated the kind of beaten-down exhaustion familiar to someone who’d scraped by at the very bottom of society.

In short: lifeless.

White Tiger had paid serious attention to the details.

Chen Guan gathered everything up and tucked it under his pillow. He glanced at Cheetah by his side and suddenly remembered something he’d forgotten.

He’d forgotten to ask White Tiger about Cheetah.

All because of that name—He Chenguan. It had thrown him off.

Chen Guan walked over to Cheetah and crouched down.

“Let’s practice.”

Cheetah lifted its head, violet pupils reflecting his face.

“Portal, open.”

A dark purple crack tore open in front of Cheetah, about a meter wide and a little over two meters tall—just enough for a grown adult to duck through.

“Close.”

The crack sealed shut.

“Open again.”

The crack appeared once more. This time, it was about 0.3 seconds faster than before.

“Close.”

Shut.

After the seventh opening and closing, the portal’s activation speed had stabilized to under half a second.

Chen Guan crouched in front of it, observing the stability of the crack’s edges. The dark purple glow no longer flickered wildly like it had at first—it converged cleanly.

“Enough. Rest.”

Cheetah withdrew the portal, collapsed onto the ground, and panted a few times. The arcs of electricity at the tip of its tail sparked and then fizzled out. The repeated openings and closings were clearly draining it heavily.

Cheetah pushed itself up from the floor, padded slowly over to Chen Guan’s feet, and rubbed its head against his shin.

Chen Guan glanced down at it, grabbed an apple, split it in half, and fed one piece to it.

“Starting tomorrow, you’ll need to put on an act with me.”

Cheetah tilted its head, looking at him, and ate the half apple.

Suddenly, its face twisted in pain, as if it had swallowed poison.

Chen Guan looked suspiciously at the remaining half apple in his hand. He’d heard dogs couldn’t eat chocolate, but he’d never heard that leopards couldn’t have apples.

He tentatively took a bite of the apple.

The same pained expression that had been on Cheetah’s face immediately spread across his own.

That bastard White Tiger!!!