The following Monday, school was not the same. It was as if the air had become sick with Zhou Mingkai's return: the hallways breathed suspicion, voices fell silent as soon as he entered a corner, and eyes shifted as if afraid of being tainted by crossing paths with him. Mingkai walked with the confidence of someone who doesn't ask for permission; his return had been a second sentence for many.
Lin Zhiyu tried to convince himself that everything was fine. That he could continue with his classes, with his afternoons in the library, with the small amount of normality he had left. But the truth, he admitted to himself, was different: he was constantly on the lookout for every shadow that resembled his own, every group that stopped to laugh when he passed by. That vigilance cost him more than energy; it consumed his calm.
At recess, he and Xu Yining were on their way to the cafeteria when two guys crossed their path.
Li Qiang, strong and with a smile that smelled of menace, and Han Rui, with sharp eyes and a dry laugh.
"Zhiyu, we were just looking for you," Qiang said with that sharp kindness that always precedes the blow.
Zhiyu frowned. He tried to strike an indifferent pose but failed. "I have nothing to talk to you about."
Han Rui clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Of course you do. Mingkai is back, don't you remember? Things are moving again. We need merchandise."
Xu Yining stepped forward, her jaw tense, and for a second, she looked like a cat that just needed to be provoked to attack.
"What business?" she asked in a low, sharp voice.
Qiang, who always had laughter at the ready like a weapon, simply let it out: "Relax, princess. Nothing that concerns you."
The phrase was a low blow that left Zhiyu's stomach churning. He knew exactly what they meant: it wasn't just quick money; it was markets set up with people's most intimate possessions. Inside the school, they didn't deal in guns or explicit substances—that kind of merchandise was handled outside—; here, the business was more refined, cruel in its subtlety.
Stolen photos, images that turned humiliation into currency. Photos taken by the broken trust of one person or by the cold eye of another who knew they would go unpunished.
The most perverse thing was that they had his number. For them, Zhiyu was useful: the one who went unnoticed, the one who didn't fit the image of a bully. They asked him to get material because no one would look suspiciously at a thin boy with serious eyes and his appearance. And the threat was not just verbal: they knew what they would break if he refused.
"You have until Friday," said Han Rui, with the smile of someone who knows how to close deals with fear. "We want something new. Something juicy."
They left, leaving them with dry throats and racing pulses.
"What the hell was that?" Yining spat as soon as they walked away.
Zhiyu rubbed his face, his thumb pressing against his eyelids to hold back something that wasn't just indignation. "I don't want to talk about it here."
They took refuge on the rooftop, their safe place since their first year of high school: no one went there except them. The wind was cold and seemed to want to sweep away the remains of any pending conversation; somehow, the empty space made it easier to speak more clearly.
"Are you going to explain?" Yining asked, crossing her arms. Her voice was restrained, like a taut string.
Zhiyu took a while to respond. There were secrets that rotted inside when they weren't told, and he had already endured too much silence.
"It's their business," he finally murmured. "They sell photos. Compromising photos of some of our classmates. And sometimes... they force me to get them."
Yining's expression changed as if she had been splashed with boiling water. "And you...?"
"Not always," Zhiyu said harshly. "They haven't forced me to have sex with anyone or anything like that. But they ask me to gain their trust, to get close to them. To get pictures. To seem normal. And if I refuse... you know what they're capable of."
Silence. A silence filled with wind and the feeling of being surrounded.
Yining moved closer and took his hand tightly. "That jerk Zhou Mingkai treats you like a dog with a chain."
Zhiyu smiled, a bitter grin. "It's not just him."
Yining looked at him, confused. There was more beneath the surface. Zhiyu breathed, the truth wanting to come out like an animal needing air.
"A few months ago.… way before Mingkai was suspended, I started seeing someone. He's not part of their group; he has nothing to do with their business."
He paused, trying to figure out how to say it without sounding like an excuse.
"His name was Yong Jian. He was a former student, nineteen when we met. I saw him at a cybercafé; we talked, went out a couple of times. It wasn't serious. I was looking for a distraction."
Yining didn't ask the obvious question; she just waited with her eyes open, without judgment.
"Did you sleep with him?" she finally said, bluntly.
Zhiyu nodded, and the gesture burned him. "Yes. Several times. It was... quick, impulsive. I liked the attention. I felt less invisible. But one night I found out he recorded me. Without telling me. Without asking permission."
Anger sharpened Yining's features. "He recorded you without your consent? That son of a bitch?"
"Yes. He sent me messages hinting that he had the video. I don't know if he's sold it or not, but I know how things are. I know what could happen if he uses it."
Zhiyu's rage wasn't just about the betrayal; it was about the vulnerability that left him exposed, about the humiliation that hadn't yet exploded. It was mixed with guilt—the shame of feeling guilty for seeking affection in the wrong place—and raw fear: fear that someone with enough power—Mingkai or whoever—could turn that recording into a weapon.
Yining didn't hold back.
"If that bastard dares to show it, I'll go find him myself and smash his face in. Understood? No one messes with you like that."
"It's not that easy," Zhiyu said quietly. "Sometimes they don't need to show anything. As long as they know you're vulnerable, they've got you. They blackmail you, humiliate you in private, play games so you have no way out. Mingkai knows this and takes advantage of it. Yong Jian... he was an idiot who decided to record me. That and the rest are separate things, but they feed off the same thing: my fear."
Yining squeezed his hand, as if physical force could hold together what was crumbling inside him. "Then we fight. Together. Understood? I won't let them use you as a gateway for their games."
For a moment, Zhiyu felt that confession lift a weight off him. Talking about it allowed him to map out what was wrong, and for the first time, he saw possible ways to resist. But the feeling was short-lived: as soon as they came down from the rooftop, his phone vibrated with a message that took his breath away.
Zhou Mingkai:
Have you thought about what I asked you?
Don't make me repeat myself, Zhiyu.
The message didn't ask for anything specific. It didn't have to. Mingkai didn't need to spell out his threats for Zhiyu to understand the gravity of the situation. It was an order wrapped in indifference. And there was an implicit promise in it: if he didn't comply, the price would be higher than the shame he already carried.
Zhiyu stared at the screen, his finger trembling on the edge. He felt the old knot in his stomach. And, for the first time, the mixture of disgust and fear was mixed with a cold rage, which he didn't know was healthy or dangerous.
Mingkai didn't see him as a partner or a number. He saw him as his favorite prey. And that definition, Zhiyu repeated to himself as they down the stairs, made his blood run cold. This time, he thought, he didn't know if he would give in so easily. But he didn't know of any other clear way out either. He only knew that the shadow of the past—of what Yong Jian had done, of what Mingkai could demand—was there, ready to crush him.