Zhou Mingkai didn't walk through the school hallways. He dominated them. It wasn't just the way he moved, hands in his pockets and back straight, but the space that seemed to open up in front of him without him saying a word. Others looked away, stepped aside, as if they instinctively knew he wasn't someone to interrupt.
Wherever he went, his friends followed. It wasn't an orderly line or a noisy parade, but a constant presence, like satellites orbiting a sun that could burn them at any moment. And although to others they were simply "his group," anyone with eyes could see that not everyone played the same role in that small solar system. Mingkai was at the center, and the others gravitated around him, caught in that invisible force that was his will.
There were four presences that were always there.
Li Qiang walked half a step behind him, his broad shoulders seemingly designed to push his way through if necessary. He didn't talk much, but his direct, impatient gaze was enough to cut off any attempt at provocation. When Mingkai wanted quick action, Qiang was the first to get up without asking questions.
Han Rui, on the other hand, couldn't keep quiet even if his hands were tied. His words always came out with a mocking edge, but there was wit in them, an instinct for finding the exact crack in someone's pride. His jokes, sometimes cruel, had the effect of a blow disguised as laughter.
An Bingwen was harder to read. He dyed his hair an unusual shade of blonde, but it didn't seem like he was doing it out of rebellion, but rather like someone who was used to wearing a disguise. His silence wasn't empty: he looked at everyone, gauged them, listened. And when he finally said something, it was usually brief and precise, as if he had been saving up the exact words.
Wei Junhao seemed out of place, and precisely because of that, no one questioned him too much. He had a different kind of calm, an air of being in the group and at the same time not quite belonging. His eyes sometimes wandered, and on more than one occasion Zhiyu had seen him look at Xu Yining with a silent devotion that none of the others commented on, as if that secret floated among them all, but no one mentioned it.
Zhiyu noticed these details. Not because he wanted to, but because for some time now he had been drawn into the center of this strange place, where every gesture seemed to carry weight, where even silence could become a weapon.
"Come with us," Mingkai said one Friday, sounding almost like an order, although he didn't need to emphasize anything. He didn't even look at him; he just said it, as if it were obvious that Zhiyu should obey.
And, as always, he obeyed.
The group took the largest table at the ramen restaurant near the school. They didn't ask for permission, they didn't hesitate, they sat down, and the place seemed to mold itself around them. The steam from the broth, the soft music, the steaming cups of tea... everything mingled with Han Rui's laughter, which was too loud for something that the others didn't even find funny.
Zhiyu took a seat in the corner, trying to become invisible. Even so, Mingkai's gaze found him from time to time, as if to remind him that invisibility was impossible.
"Hey, Zhiyu," Han Rui pointed at him with his chopsticks, leaning toward him slightly, a crooked smile on his face. "I never thought you'd cover for him with the principal. Who would have thought? The little mouse has teeth."
A laugh rippled around the table.
Mingkai smiled too, but his smile wasn't lighthearted; it was one of those smiles that weighed heavily, turning the joke into a sentence.
"He knows his place." He said it slowly, like someone placing a chess piece on the board.
Zhiyu clenched his fists under the table, feeling his nails dig into his skin.
Wei Junhao immediately changed the subject, as if he had learned to extinguish fires before they started.
"Did you hear that Xu Yining is going to be in the debate competition?"
Her name struck Zhiyu like lightning. He straightened his back before he realized it, trying to make his reaction go unnoticed.
"I'm not surprised," said Mingkai, leaning back in his chair, his gaze sharp. "Always looking down her nose at everyone."
Junhao looked down at his plate, playing with his noodles as if they were more interesting than the conversation. No one said anything else, but the tension hung over the table, invisible and palpable.
When they finished eating, Mingkai was the first to get up. The group waited for his decision:
karaoke, pool, anything. But that night he simply said,
"I have to stop by my house."
No one asked why. No one ever did.
Zhiyu was already convinced he could go to his room in peace when Mingkai's gaze fixed on him.
"You're coming with me."
The Zhou mansion was another reality. Zhiyu was not prepared for the magnitude of the marble hallways, for the icy glow of the chandeliers, for the silence that smelled of expensive disinfectant. The walls were covered with antique paintings that seemed to judge him at every turn.
In the main hall, a man waited for them, seated behind a huge desk. Dark suit, straight back, the same angular face as Mingkai, but with a severity that left no room for any spark. The father.
"Mingkai," his voice was deep, precise, like a hammer striking metal. "More trouble at school?"
"It wasn't trouble. It was an idiot who didn't know his place."
The man stared at him without blinking, until his breath turned into a tired sigh.
"Your behavior tarnishes our family name."
Mingkai clenched his jaw, his neck stiff, but he didn't reply.
Zhiyu tried to shrink behind him, as if he could become part of the wall.
"And who is this?" asked the father, barely turning his head toward him.
"A friend," Mingkai replied immediately, his tone so firm that it shut the door to any further questions.
The silence stretched like a string about to snap. Finally, the father stood up, adjusting his sleeves with measured calm.
"I'll cover up for you this time. As always. But don't expect me to do it forever."
And he left, without looking back, leaving behind the cold echo of his footsteps.
Mingkai stood still for a few seconds, breathing as if each inhalation hurt him. When he finally turned to Zhiyu, the expression on his mouth was unrecognizable: no mockery, no anger, not that dangerous smile he used as a mask. Something more fragile, closer to a tremor than a smile. It disappeared in the blink of an eye.
"Let's go."
They left the house without another word. Outside, the night was alive with the murmur of crickets and the distant aroma of street food. After so much marble and silence, the night air was almost a gift.
Mingkai took out a cigarette, lit it with mechanical movements, and took a long drag, exhaling the smoke into the dark sky. Each puff seemed like an attempt to erase the weight he carried on his shoulders.
Zhiyu watched him out of the corner of his eye. And, for the first time, he saw him differently. Not just as the tyrant of the hallways, but as someone trapped in an invisible cage, with bars made of family name and expectations.
Mingkai noticed the look.
"What?"
Zhiyu shook his head, too quickly.
"Nothing."
Mingkai smiled then, that dangerous smile he already knew. But there was a different echo in it, as if he were responding not only to the "nothing," but also to everything Zhiyu didn't dare to say.
"If it were really nothing, you wouldn't look at me like that."
Zhiyu's heart raced, pounding against his chest as if it wanted to escape. And he hated it, hated with all his might, that part of him wanted to keep looking.