Morning sunlight leaked through the curtains in apartment 1208, painting Xu Jin's living room in gold.
He groaned and rolled out of bed. Yunhu, already awake, leaped onto his chest with a soft purr.
"Alright, alright! I'm up!" Xu Jin said, rubbing his eyes. "No need to start the day at six a.m., mister chaos."
The kitten meowed loudly, as if correcting him.
Xu Jin glanced around the apartment. Yesterday had been productive. He had managed to cook three meals without setting anything on fire—well, almost. There was still a faint smell of smoke lingering in the kitchen. Laundry was folded somewhere near the corner of the sofa. And he had learned that feeding a kitten involved far more patience than he had anticipated.
He yawned and headed to the kitchen.
Breakfast was simple: toast burned on one side, eggs slightly undercooked, and a bowl of milk that Yunhu promptly splashed across the counter. Xu Jin sighed, grabbed a rag, and began cleaning up.
"You know," he muttered, "living alone isn't as glamorous as I imagined."
Yunhu meowed and batted at the rag, as if to say, It's not glamorous for me either.
Xu Jin laughed. "Yeah, I guess we're both in trouble now."
Meanwhile, in apartment 1207, Liang Chen was having a far calmer morning.
His grandmother hummed softly as she arranged fresh flowers on the small tea table. A delicate wooden tray sat beside her, holding a steaming cup of jasmine tea. The apartment smelled faintly of herbs and old books, the kind of comforting scent that wrapped around you like a blanket.
Liang Chen sat cross-legged on the floor, carefully reading through some papers for his literature class. His attention was split, however, by the faint but persistent sounds coming from the wall: a soft thump, a loud meow, and then Xu Jin's muffled voice.
He frowned.
"Is the kitten still at it?" he muttered under his breath.
Grandma Liang chuckled without looking up. "Sounds like it. Perhaps your neighbor is enjoying his new responsibility."
Liang Chen pinched the bridge of his nose. "Enjoying isn't the word I'd use. That kitten is loud. And it's impossible to tell what he's doing right now. I can't even… pat the cat."
Grandma Liang finally looked up, eyes twinkling. "oh my poor chan wants to pat the cat let grandma ask for you to this neighbour"
He gave her a look. "I don't want to you to do it."
She smiled and leaned back. "You can survive."
Liang Chen sipped his tea and exhaled. He supposed she was right. But still… he missed absolute quiet.
Back in 1208, Xu Jin was preparing his second attempt at breakfast. Yunhu sat on the counter, tilting his head, watching with what Xu Jin decided was a judgmental expression.
"I need something more substantial today," Xu Jin muttered, cracking eggs into a bowl. "You can't survive on toast forever, right?"
Yunhu meowed sharply, then leaped onto the floor and scurried under the sofa, chasing a sunbeam that had fallen across the tiles.
Xu Jin sighed. "Yeah, you're lucky you're cute."
He set about scrambling the eggs, stirring cautiously this time. Yunhu returned, sniffed the pan, and gave a single meow of approval.
Xu Jin laughed. "See? We're making progress."
Across the wall, Liang Chen couldn't help but notice the noises again.
Another thump. A sharp meow. Something rattling.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I cannot believe this," he murmured.
Grandma Liang, still knitting, hummed lightly. "It could be worse."
Liang Chen glanced at her, incredulous. "Worse? How?"
She shrugged, eyes soft. "Imagine if it were two kittens. Or two young men."
He didn't answer. She had a point—but he wasn't going to admit it out loud.
The two of them settled into their morning routine: tea, breakfast, small talk about students and grading, all while the faint, persistent chaos continued next door.
By mid-morning, Xu Jin had cleaned up, eaten, and begun tidying the apartment. Yunhu had discovered a new fascination: the stack of books on the floor. He pounced onto the top of them and slid down like a tiny white avalanche, knocking over a small decorative box.
Xu Jin groaned. "Yunhu! That was a gift from home!"
The kitten looked up innocently. Tail flicking. Paws poised. Ready to dash again.
"Yeah, you're right," Xu Jin said, sighing. "I don't know why I thought living alone would be easier."
He realized then that being a young master wasn't all freedom. It was hard. Being responsible for himself—and now for another living creature—was exhausting. But he liked it.
"Even if you're a pain," he said, scratching Yunhu behind the ears. "We're in this together."
Back in 1207, Liang Chen had finished his grading. He poured another cup of tea and glanced toward the wall, hearing a sudden crash followed by Xu Jin's voice: "Yunhu! Stop climbing the bookshelf!"
Liang Chen let out a soft groan. "I don't even know what he's doing, and yet it disturbs me."
Grandma Liang chuckled. "It's a young life. You've lived with me all these years; perhaps this is a gentle reminder that you're not the only one with responsibilities."
He glanced at her, mildly irritated but fond. "Responsibilities… yes. But I didn't volunteer for this neighbor's cat but I couldn't if it were mine." with a pout
She smiled, teasing, but warm. "Ah, my cute babybut you can't even see this cat, can you? That's the fun part—just listening."
Liang Chen groaned again, then hid a small smile. She was right. He couldn't reach the cat. Couldn't scold it. Couldn't even play with it. It existed like a ghost from the other side of the wall—annoying, mischievous, and impossible to ignore.
And somehow, despite the frustration, it made the silence of the apartment feel less heavy.
Evening came, and Xu Jin had reached the limit of his stamina.
Yunhu had sprinted across the apartment, knocked over the trash can, jumped onto the couch, and refused to come down. Xu Jin collapsed against the sofa, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"I swear," he muttered, "this cat is plotting against me."
Yunhu meowed loudly in reply.
Xu Jin rolled his eyes. "You don't even understand words. But you do understand chaos, don't you?"
The kitten batted at his hoodie string, then curled into his lap.
Xu Jin sighed and patted him. "Fine. You win. I'll deal with the mess tomorrow."
Across the wall, Liang Chen prepared his bed.
Another crash from next door. Another meow.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, then laughed softly. "Ridiculous. Truly ridiculous."
Grandma Liang, reading a book on the couch, looked up and smiled. "But it's… lively. You can almost feel the heartbeat of life next door."
Liang Chen shook his head, mock irritated. "I don't want lively, I want just want a cat."
She laughed softly. "Lively is unavoidable sometimes. You'll get used to it we can find another one."
And as he lay down in his neat bed, he heard the faintest purring through the wall.
For some reason, he didn't move. Didn't get annoyed. Just listened.
And for the first time, the soft purr didn't seem intrusive. It was… a little comforting.
Night had fallen, quiet and heavy, but Xu Jin's apartment was far from peaceful.
The faint glow of the streetlights outside filtered through the blinds, painting soft stripes across the floor. Yunhu, ever the vigilant chaos agent, had finally stopped sprinting across the tiles for a brief moment, curling up beside the sofa. Xu Jin sank onto the mattress with a sigh, closing the door softly behind him.
He had thought exhaustion would come gently after the day's chaos. Instead, a subtle, uncomfortable twisting began in his stomach. At first, he ignored it, blaming skipped meals and overexertion. He rubbed his abdomen lightly.
"Too tired," he muttered. "Probably nothing."
But as he settled into bed, the feeling persisted, curling slowly like a shadow around his ribs. His limbs felt heavier than they should. The gentle warmth of Yunhu against his chest was the only thing keeping him anchored to reality.
He patted the kitten absently. "Yeah, I know… you're warm. Better than nothing, right?"
Yunhu purred softly in response, kneading Xu Jin's hoodie with tiny paws. It was comforting, and yet the ache in Xu Jin's body refused to fade.
By midnight, the subtle discomfort had escalated. A wave of nausea rolled through him suddenly, sharp and relentless. His chest tightened. His stomach churned violently, and he realized with a pang that this was not simple fatigue.
He tried to sit up, but his legs buckled beneath him. The room spun. Yunhu meowed urgently, leaping to press his small body against Xu Jin's side, tail flicking in concern.
"I… I need… doctor…" Xu Jin gasped. Words caught in his throat. Even speaking required effort. His voice was hoarse, shaky.
He tried to roll to the edge of the bed. His hand found the floor, fingers pressing into the cool tiles. He attempted to push himself upright. One arm, then the other, trembling violently.
The door. He needed to open the door to go to have fresh air.
Each movement was agonizing. Each breath was heavy, labored. Sweat slicked his skin. Yunhu stayed close, meowing softly, brushing against his hands, trying to help—or perhaps just to be near.
With a great effort, Xu Jin reached the doorknob. Cold metal met his fingertips. He pulled, feeling the lock give slightly. The door creaked, opening only a fraction. His strength failed him immediately, and he toppled backward onto the floor with a dull thud.
"Yunhu…" he whispered, voice trembling, more to himself than anyone else. "I… can't…"
The kitten mewed again, pressing against him. Small, warm, persistent, reminding him he wasn't entirely alone. Xu Jin closed his eyes for a moment, the exhaustion nearly overwhelming, and realized the terrifying truth: he had nearly collapsed entirely, alone, with no one to notice.Xu Jin tried again. Trembling, every muscle protesting, he forced himself upright once more. His vision blurred at the edges. "You're… the only one who… understands, huh?" he whispered. "At least… you're here…"