Xu Jin had always thought freedom would feel like flying.
Instead, it felt like standing in a messy kitchen at 2 a.m., holding a burnt frying pan in one hand and a fire extinguisher in the other, while a white kitten sat on the refrigerator watching him with bright, unimpressed eyes.
Smoke drifted lazily toward the ceiling.
Xu Jin coughed.
Yunhu meowed.
Xu Jin glared at the kitten. "Don't you dare judge me."
Yunhu blinked slowly, tail curling like a question mark.
Xu Jin exhaled, turned off the stove, and opened the window. Cold night air rushed in, sweeping away the smoke and carrying in the quiet hum of the city.
Only then did he finally breathe properly.
He leaned against the counter, hair damp from sweat, hoodie smeared with flour and oil. His expensive sneakers were dusted with rice grains. His kitchen looked like a battlefield.
And yet…
He smiled.
Because this chaos was his.
No father's rules.
No tutors.
No corporate dinners.
Just him.
And a kitten.
And an apartment he paid for with his own savings.
He reached out and scratched Yunhu's chin.
The kitten allowed it—barely.
Xu Jin laughed softly. "We're really doing this, huh? Running away and building a life."
He wasn't unaware of the consequences.
His father could freeze his cards anytime.
His family could drag him back.
He could fail spectacularly.
But stubbornness had always been Xu Jin's strongest trait.
If the world wanted him to be a certain way, he'd simply become something else.
Yunhu jumped down from the fridge and walked toward him, brushing his tail against Xu Jin's leg.
Xu Jin crouched and picked him up, holding the soft warm body against his chest.
"We'll figure it out," he murmured. "I didn't run away just to crawl back."
The kitten purred.
And for the first time since leaving home, Xu Jin felt something settle inside his chest.
Not fear.
Not excitement.
But quiet determination.
The next morning came with sunlight and hunger.
Xu Jin sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at his empty refrigerator.
One egg.
Half a bottle of milk.
A pack of instant noodles.
And a single tomato.
Yunhu sat beside him like a tiny advisor.
Xu Jin poked the egg.
"I could make scrambled eggs."
Yunhu flicked his ear.
Xu Jin poked the noodles.
"I could also… not poison us."
Yunhu meowed in agreement.
Xu Jin sighed and grabbed his wallet.
"Alright, Cloud Tiger. We're going shopping."
By noon, Xu Jin returned carrying plastic bags in both hands and Yunhu riding inside a pet sling backpack, head poking out proudly as if surveying his kingdom.
The elevator ride up was quiet.
When the doors opened to the twelfth floor, Xu Jin stepped out humming.
He didn't notice the faint tightening of the apartment door next to his.
Inside apartment 1207, Liang Chen closed his eyes briefly.
The kitten was back.
He had heard it last night too.
Running. Jumping. Meowing. Objects falling. A young man's voice scolding and laughing.
At first, Liang Chen assumed it would stop after a day.
But it didn't.
The noise wasn't constant. It wasn't extreme.
Just… lively.
Persistent.
Chaotic.
Exactly the opposite of Liang Chen's carefully balanced life.
He sat at his desk grading essays, tea cooling beside him, Grandma Liang sitting across from him knitting quietly.
Then—
Thump. Crash. MEOOOW.
Grandma Liang didn't even look up from her knitting.
But Liang Chen's pen paused.
Another crash.
Another meow.
Xu Jin's muffled voice:
"Yunhu! That's my homework laptop!"
Silence.
Then running again.
Liang Chen set his pen down and rubbed his temple.
Grandma Liang finally spoke, voice light and amused.
"Sounds like we have a lively neighbor."
Liang Chen exhaled. "A very lively one."
Grandma Liang smiled. "Better than silence."
Liang Chen glanced at her.
Grandma Liang had lived with him for years. She wasn't frail in spirit, though her body had slowed. She woke early, slept early, enjoyed gossip dramas, loved knitting scarves for no one in particular.
Their relationship wasn't hierarchical.
She didn't treat him like a child.
He didn't treat her like a burden.
They were companions.
Friends who happened to be family.
He poured fresh tea into both cups and carried them to the balcony.
They sat side by side, watching laundry sway in the wind.
Grandma Liang sipped her tea. "You wanted a cat once."
Liang Chen smiled faintly. "I did."
"And now there is one next door."
Liang Chen looked toward the shared wall.
A soft thud sounded again.
Yunhu probably leaping off furniture.
He sighed. "I just can't touch that one."
Grandma Liang chuckled. "Life has humor."
Liang Chen shook his head but smiled anyway.
That night, Xu Jin discovered another hardship of freedom.
Laundry.
He stood in front of the washing machine like it was a dangerous enemy.
He read instructions.
He misread instructions.
He poured detergent directly onto his clothes.
Yunhu sat on top of the machine as it began to spin, tail swaying with the vibrations.
Xu Jin watched clothes spin through the glass window.
"Why does adulthood feel like a survival game?"
Yunhu meowed.
Xu Jin leaned his forehead against the machine.
"Dad never had to do laundry. There were staff."
He said it quietly. Not bitterly. Just… acknowledging.
He had chosen this.
And he would stick with it.
Even if it meant destroying three shirts and dyeing his socks pink.
Across the wall, Liang Chen was preparing lesson plans.
The noise from next door softened at night.
Occasional footsteps. A meow. A drawer opening.
It should have annoyed him.
Yet, oddly, it didn't disrupt his focus as much as he expected.
The sounds were… human.
Lived-in.
Not empty.
Not lonely.
Grandma Liang shuffled into the room holding a small plate of cut fruit.
She placed it beside his laptop.
"Eat," she said.
Liang Chen smiled. "You're bossy today."
Grandma Liang sniffed. "Someone has to take care of the professor."
Liang Chen laughed quietly.
They ate fruit together, watching a drama on TV afterward. Grandma Liang commented on plot twists dramatically. Liang Chen pretended not to be interested while absolutely following the story.
Their apartment glowed warm under yellow light.
A simple home.
Near midnight, Xu Jin sat on his balcony step with Yunhu in his lap, city lights stretching beyond the railing.
He scrolled through his phone.
Missed calls.
From his father.
He didn't answer.
He turned the phone face down.
Yunhu curled into a loaf on his thighs.
Xu Jin stared into the night.
He didn't regret leaving.
Not yet.
He wouldn't.
He just needed time.
Behind the shared wall, Liang Chen prepared for bed.
He turned off the lights.
The apartment fell quiet.
Then a small sound came through.
A soft kitten purr.
Faint but clear.
Liang Chen paused, hand on his bedroom door.
He closed his eyes.
Annoying.
Truly.
But also…
A little comforting.
He shook his head at himself.
"Ridiculous," he murmured.
And went to sleep.