The neon lights of "The Echo Box" flickered in shades of electric blue and violet, reflecting off the rain-slicked windows of the city. For the "Group of Seven," karaoke was usually a loud, off-key disaster led by Zhang Wei and Mei Ling. But tonight, the air was sharp with the unspoken challenge sitting between our two "plus-ones."
"I don't sing," Li Yan said, his voice flat as he leaned back into the velvet sofa, looking entirely out of place in the dark, vibrating room. Ying Yue sat beside him, gracefully sipping a lemon tea, her presence like a calm, intellectual anchor.
"Oh, come on, Mr. President," Su Lan smirked, her "IDGAF" energy peaking as she scrolled through the digital songbook. "You're a topper. Surely you can handle a simple melody? Or are you afraid your logic can't process a 4/4 beat?"
"It's an inefficient use of vocal cords," he retorted, though his eyes flickered toward me.
I was sitting next to Hao Ran, who was already high-fiving Lin Chen. Hao Ran was a natural performer—warm, loud, and completely unafraid of looking silly.
"I'll sing with her," Hao Ran offered, grabbing a microphone and winking at me. "Xiao Xing and I have great rhythm in the dojo; surely it translates to the stage."
We sang a popular, upbeat C-pop track. Hao Ran was perfect—he moved with the confidence of an athlete and kept the energy high. The group cheered, Jia Yi waved her glowstick, and for a moment, I felt like a normal university student.
But every time I spun around, I caught Li Yan's gaze. He wasn't watching the screen. He was watching me, his jaw tight, his fingers tracing the edge of his phone as if he were debugging a catastrophic error in real-time.
"Next up!" Mei Ling announced, her eyes dancing with mischief. "A classic duet. And the machine has picked... Xiao Xingand Li Yan."
The room went silent. The "Seven Stars" knew this was dangerous territory.
"I told you, I don't—" Li Yan started.
"Afraid you'll lose to me again, Li Yan?" I challenged, stepping onto the small stage and holding out the second mic. My heart was a drum solo. "It's just a song. Or is your 'National University' brain too advanced for a middle-school melody?"
He stood up. The movement was slow, deliberate, and somehow predatory. He walked onto the stage, the height difference making me feel small despite my karate stance. He took the mic, his fingers brushing mine—a spark that felt like a short-circuit.
The music started. It wasn't an upbeat pop song. It was a slow, melancholic ballad about two stars that could never touch.
Li Yan didn't look at the lyrics on the screen. He knew them. When he opened his mouth, his voice wasn't the cold baritone I expected. It was rich, soulful, and filled with a hidden ache that made the "Group of Seven" stop breathing.
"If the code of the universe was written in your eyes..." he sang, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped closer.
I sang my part, my voice trembling. We weren't just singing; we were having the conversation we'd avoided for a year. The "Slow-Burn" tension was so thick that even Hao Ran stopped smiling. Ying Yue watched us with a narrow, analytical gaze, realizing for the first time that she wasn't the only one who shared a language with him.
In the bridge of the song, Li Yan leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. The microphones were down.
"You're off-key," he whispered, his voice thick with a sudden, raw emotion. "Because you're trying to look at him while singing to me. Pick a side, Xiao Xing. Your logic is failing."
I looked up at him, my eyes stinging in the neon light. "You're the one who deleted the file, Li Yan. I'm just trying to recover the data."
The song ended in a heavy, suffocating silence. No one cheered.
Li Yan dropped the mic and walked straight out of the room, leaving Ying Yue to follow him with a confused "Li Yan?"
Hao Ran stepped up to the stage, putting an arm around me. "He's a piece of work, isn't he?"
"Yeah," I whispered, watching the door swing shut. "A real piece of work."
My phone buzzed. A GitHub notification.
User L_Y_ChessMaster has 'Force Pushed' a change to 'Project_Closure'.
Comment: The song was 68% better when you were looking at me. Stop lying to your hardware.