Song Xiaoyang didn't die.
In the split second before the fire cabinet crashed down, Bai Ye's ghostly figure appeared before him, like a phantom absorbing the full force of the impact. The iron box grazed his shoulder and slammed heavily into the floor, shaking the entire building.
He was thrown backward, hitting the ground hard. The utility knife slipped from his fingers, clattering against the concrete. His vision blurred, a deafening ring in his ears. All he could see was Lin Xiaoyu rushing over, trembling hands grabbing his collar, desperately dragging him away.
And Tian Mingyuan—
His face twisted beyond recognition, glasses askew, blood still dripping from the gash on his arm. He stared at Song Xiaoyang, lips moving slightly, as if weighing the option of finishing him off for good.
But Lin Xiaoyu's presence made him hesitate.
"Mr. Tian..." Lin Xiaoyu's voice shook, but she stood firmly between him and Song Xiaoyang. "Y-You're hurt... I-I'll go get the school nurse..."
Tian Mingyuan's eyes flickered with uncertainty, dark and unreadable. Finally, he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He adjusted his glasses, wiped the blood on his sleeve, and spoke in a hoarse voice.
"Lin Xiaoyu. What exactly did you see?"
Her pupils contracted. She understood immediately—this wasn't a question. It was a threat.
"I... I didn't see anything." She lowered her head, her voice quiet but steady. "Song Xiaoyang just fell. I... I came to help him."
Tian Mingyuan's lips curled into a slight, satisfied smile. He straightened his shirt, resuming the posture of an authoritative homeroom teacher—though his eyes remained as cold as ever.
"Good," he said softly. "Take him to the infirmary. And then... forget everything that happened today."
He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing through the empty stairwell like a slow, ominous countdown.
Only when his figure disappeared did Lin Xiaoyu collapse to her knees, gripping Song Xiaoyang's shoulders with trembling hands. "Are you insane?! You almost killed him!"
Song Xiaoyang didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on the utility knife lying on the ground—the blade still stained with Tian Mingyuan's blood.
Bai Ye's voice echoed in his ear, a whisper both seductive and cold:
"Did you see it? He was scared."
Song Xiaoyang slowly reached out and picked up the knife, his fingertip brushing lightly over the blood on its edge.
"He's afraid of you."