The world felt smaller when you were pressed into a corner.The concrete wall behind Xiao Fan's back was cold, rough, and unyielding, pressing into his shoulder blades as if it wanted to fuse with his bones. His breathing came in short, shallow bursts, the kind you took when trying not to look weak—when every inhale burned your ribs and every exhale tasted of copper.
The bully's shadow loomed over him, blocking out the dim sunlight that filtered through the cracked skylight above. The laughter—low, deep, and dripping with mockery—seemed to reverberate not just in Xiao Fan's ears but in his chest, each echo vibrating against his sternum like a war drum.
"You really think you can just walk around like you're better than everyone?" the bully sneered, his hand tightening around Xiao Fan's collar. The fabric strained, the top button of his shirt digging painfully into the side of his neck.
The world tilted slightly. Xiao Fan wasn't sure if it was from the force of being shoved against the wall or from the dull throbbing at his temple where the first punch had landed earlier. His fingers twitched reflexively, brushing against something in his pocket—the cold, unfamiliar rectangle of the phone he had found the night before.
It was still there. Still inert. Still… wrong.
The bully's fist came again, not as fast as in a movie, but heavy—like a sack of wet cement. The impact burst across Xiao Fan's lower lip, and a sharp, metallic tang filled his mouth instantly. Blood. Warm. Thick.
One droplet escaped, trailing down the curve of his chin before gravity pulled it toward the edge of his shirt. But instead of staining the white fabric, it caught the rim of his pocket and slipped inside, landing squarely on the glass surface of the phone.
And that was when everything changed.
At first, there was only the smallest flicker—barely noticeable—like a firefly blinking somewhere deep inside the black mirror of the screen. Xiao Fan didn't even register it consciously until the laughter began to fade.
The bully shoved him one last time, letting go of his collar."Pathetic," he muttered, turning away.The footsteps were heavy at first, each one echoing off the narrow alley walls… but with each step, the sound seemed to grow fainter, not just from distance but as though the air itself was swallowing it.
Xiao Fan stood still, his palm pressing instinctively over his pocket.
Thump.
Not his heart—something else. A pulse. The phone.
The faint flicker inside the screen expanded, spiderwebbing into threads of crimson light that seemed to run beneath the glass, like veins filling with molten metal. They didn't glow steadily; they pulsed—syncing with his heartbeat. Every thud in his chest made the light surge brighter, then dim, then brighter again.
He pulled it out slowly, his fingers trembling. The smooth black surface now felt warmer than his skin. No—not just warm. Alive.
A faint hum tickled at the edges of his hearing, so soft he might have dismissed it as the blood rushing in his ears if not for the fact that it grew louder the longer he held the phone. It was like standing too close to a beehive—layered, restless vibrations whispering in tones his brain couldn't place.
Then the glass shifted. Not physically—there was no movement—but the way the light bent across it changed, as though he were looking through the surface into a depth that shouldn't exist.
The droplet of blood that had landed on it was no longer a smear; it was sinking. The crimson thread spiraled downward into the blackness of the display, leaving faint red ripples as it vanished, as if the phone were drinking it.
Xiao Fan's breath caught.
The alley around him felt suddenly distant, muffled, as though he'd stepped into another space without moving. The dull sounds of the schoolyard—distant chatter, a door slamming—were muted, like they were trapped behind glass.
Only the phone's glow remained sharp and real.
The pulsing veins of light began forming shapes—jagged lines at first, then smoother arcs, intersecting and looping until they resembled a pattern. It wasn't any language he knew, but it felt old. Each curve and angle carried weight, like the strokes of an ancient brush on silk.
A voice—soft, almost inaudible—slid into the back of his mind.It didn't speak in words, yet meaning bloomed in him:
Link established.
Xiao Fan's grip tightened around the device. His skin prickled with goosebumps.
The glass flared suddenly, flooding the alley with a brief, blinding glow of crimson and gold. The light danced like fire—but not any fire he'd ever seen. This wasn't chaotic; it moved with purpose, licking across his fingers, spiraling up his wrist before dissolving into faint motes that sank into his skin.
He swore he could feel something shifting in his chest, like a second heartbeat starting up inside him.
And then—just as quickly—it stopped.
The phone screen was no longer black. A faint image shimmered there, blurred and indistinct, like trying to see through rippling water. He thought he could make out shapes—movement—but before his brain could register them, the glow dimmed, and a small, perfectly round icon pulsed in the center of the display.
Two icons in total. One a camera, the other…
Xiao Fan stared at it, the alley silent except for the sound of his breathing. He didn't press anything. Not yet.Somehow, he knew—whatever this was, there was no going back once he touched it.