The auditorium smelled of fresh paint and sawdust. Students hustled across the stage, setting up props for the school festival. Lights flickered on overhead, casting golden beams across the wooden floor.
Liang Meiyu clutched her script tighter as she walked in. Her heart was still heavy from the threatening message last night, but she forced her shoulders straight.
She had promised herself—she wouldn't run.
"Meiyu, over here!" Lin Qinghe waved from the front row, her arms piled with costumes. "They're calling for lead rehearsals. Are you ready?"
Meiyu nodded, though her palms were damp. "As ready as I'll ever be."
---
On stage, Wen Haoran was already in position, calm and collected as always. His presence had a way of quieting the chaos around him. When Meiyu stepped up beside him, he gave her a small nod.
"You're pale," he said quietly. "Didn't sleep?"
"I'm fine," she lied.
Haoran's gaze lingered, as though he could see through her façade. But he didn't press. Instead, he adjusted his grip on the prop sword and spoke with quiet conviction. "Remember—no matter what anyone says, this is your stage."
Meiyu's chest warmed slightly.
But then, from the wings, Zhao Yichen leaned lazily against a ladder, watching with narrowed eyes. "Don't go easy on her, Haoran. If she messes up now, the whole show will be a joke."
Meiyu stiffened.
Haoran's jaw tightened. "She won't."
The director clapped his hands. "Positions! Let's run Scene Five."
---
The scene was the emotional heart of the play—the heroine's confrontation with the prince. Meiyu had practiced it countless times, but the moment she opened her mouth, a loud snicker erupted from the audience seats.
"She's acting like she's confessing for real!" someone whispered loudly.
Laughter rippled across the room.
Meiyu froze. Her throat tightened, the words stuck like thorns.
"Keep going," Yichen barked from the sidelines, his voice sharp like a whip.
Her eyes darted to him—his expression was fierce, daring her to quit. Her chest burned.
With trembling hands, she forced herself to continue, her voice growing steadier line by line. The laughter dulled. By the end of the scene, the auditorium was silent.
Haoran lowered his sword, his eyes locking with hers. For a moment, the play melted away—there was no audience, no stage. Just him, just her, and the unspoken emotion in the air.
The silence broke with hesitant claps, then louder applause.
Meiyu blinked in shock. They were… cheering?
"Good job!" Qinghe shouted from the front, jumping up and down.
A small smile tugged at Meiyu's lips. For once, she felt seen.
---
But the moment shattered when a loud crash echoed backstage.
Gasps rang out. One of the overhead spotlights had loosened—falling fast, straight toward the stage.
"Meiyu!"
Before she could move, strong arms yanked her back. The light crashed down where she had been standing, shards scattering across the stage.
Her breath came out in ragged gasps. If she hadn't moved—
She looked up. Zhao Yichen was gripping her shoulders, his chest heaving. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by raw fear.
"Are you insane?" he snapped, though his voice shook. "Standing there like a deer in headlights—what if you'd been crushed?"
Meiyu's lips parted, but no words came.
Behind them, Haoran rushed forward, his expression dark. "That wasn't an accident."
The director barked orders to clean up, but whispers already spread like wildfire.
"Did someone loosen it on purpose?"
"Was it sabotage?"
"Maybe it was meant for her…"
Meiyu's heart pounded. The threatening message from last night echoed in her ears.
Tomorrow, we'll make sure you fall.
Her fingers clenched. Whoever was behind this—this wasn't just about rumors anymore.
It was war.
---
Later, in the empty rehearsal room, the three of them sat in tense silence.
Haoran leaned against the piano, arms crossed. "We need to report this. Someone could've been seriously hurt."
Yichen scoffed, pacing the room. "And what? Let the teachers sweep it under the rug? Whoever did this won't stop just because they get a lecture."
Meiyu sat quietly, her hands shaking in her lap.
Yichen stopped pacing, turning on her. "You need to be more careful. Stop wandering around alone. Stop acting like nothing's wrong."
His words struck like blows.
But Haoran's voice cut in, calm but firm. "Don't blame her for this. She's the victim."
Yichen's glare shifted. "Protecting her won't help. She needs to toughen up."
"Enough."
The word slipped from Meiyu's lips before she realized it. Both boys froze, staring at her.
She rose to her feet, trembling but steady. "I don't need either of you to fight over me. This is my problem. If someone wants to see me fall, then I'll stand taller. If they want me off that stage, then I'll shine brighter."
Her voice cracked, but her eyes burned with determination.
For once, both Yichen and Haoran were silent, watching her as if seeing her for the first time.
But deep in her chest, fear still coiled like a snake.
Because she knew—the enemy wasn't done yet.
And the festival was only days away.
---