The Creatures That We Are

Chapter 113: Broken Composure

Two o’clock in the afternoon, Gao Yang returned to his empty home.

Warm sunlight streamed into the living room through blue translucent curtains. Everything at home was familiar to him, yet the emptiness made it foreign.

His mother was probably still taking care of his father at the hospital, while his sister was at school.

These days, Gao Yang had become the pillar of their family. When he stayed the night outside or even went unreachable for a couple days, his mother no longer got angry at him despite still being worried. Instead, she simply reminded him to keep up with his study since the college entrance exam was coming.

Gao Yang undressed and took a warm bath in his bathroom, allowing the water to wash away his exhaustion and soothe the wound that hadn’t fully recovered.

Afterward, he dried his hair with a towel and returned to his room barefooted, plopping himself down on the familiar bed. contemporary romance

He turned on his phone and checked all the calls and messages he had missed the past few days.

He took the time to respond to texts from his mother, father, sister, Wang Zikai, and Uncle Qing. Only then did he feel like he had returned to his reality.

Betrayal, ambush, killing, death, and separation...they all faded out of his mind. It was as if he was still the regular eighteen-year-old who knew nothing of the world.

Gao Yang turned off his phone and lay down quietly. His head was filled with a mess of images and sounds. He took a deep breath and entered a meditative state, emptying his head of the intrusive thoughts.

Suddenly, he was reminded of what Baili Yi had told him.

Delusion, greed, wrath, pride, life, and death are all meaningless.

Life is short and nothing but a grand dream.

Sleep crept up to him and wrapped around him like a blanket. He slowly closed his eyes.

...

It was midnight when Gao Yang woke up. His dim bedroom was only illuminated by the silver moonlight coming from outside the window.

He’d slept for quite long. It was rare for him to get more than four hours of sleep ever since his awakening.

Feeling thirsty, he rolled to a seating position and was about to turn on the light when he froze.

In the dark corner of his room was a woman. She sat cross-legged on the floor with her back pressed to the wall. Gao Yang had wondered if Liu Qingying was invading his dream again, but he quickly dismissed the idea.

Taking a better look with narrowed eyes, he quietly called out, “Qing Ling?”

“Yeah,” she answered.

“When did you get here?” Gao Yang was surprised that he hadn’t noticed at all. He had basically been dead to the world.

“A while ago.”

Qing Ling stood up and walked to his bedside, looking down at him.

Gao Yang met her eyes and, feeling uncomfortable, shifted to make room for her, patting on his bed. “Come on. You don’t have to stand.”

Qing Ling sat down by his side and said unceremoniously, “I went to school today. The homeroom teacher said that Wan Sisi was dead.”

Gao Yang’s heart sank.

Qing Ling continued, “I also heard that Wan Sisi got into a car accident and lost her head to a truck.”

Gao Yang’s chest tightened. He lowered his head and stared at the silver trail of moonlight on the floor.

“Gao Yang.” Qing Ling’s eyes were demanding. “How did Wan Sisi die?”

Gao Yang sighed and met her gaze. They were cool and bright like an orchid bathed in the darkness of night.

“Wan Sisi was killed, Qing Ling, but don’t worry, it has nothing to do with you and won’t expose you.”

Qing Ling paused, taken aback by Gao Yang’s answer even though that was exactly what she had wanted to hear. She had visited Gao Yang at midnight because she was worried about getting found out as an awakener.

“Good.” Qing Ling stood up.

Gao Yang saw her walk to the window. Then she suddenly stopped.

Moonlight lit up her lovingly crafted profile. For a moment, Gao Yang caught what seemed like a trace of hesitation in the slight movements of her lips.

Then she turned around to look at Gao Yang. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

Gao Yang paused. Is she worried about me? Or about what happened? I thought she only cared about leveling up.

He didn’t want Qing Ling to get involved with Mad Red—or the faction behind him, to be precise. It was too dangerous.

Besides, he had promised White Rabbit that he would keep the ambush a secret for now.

Giving her a grateful smile, Gao Yang said, “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

“I’m not worried,” Qing Ling said coolly before jumping out of the window.

The curtains swayed gently, and the room was quiet again. Gao Yang was suddenly reminded of the night Qing Ling first invaded his bedroom.

It had only been a month, yet it felt like it’d been a lifetime.

...

Three days ago.

Taiping Bridge Cemetery, three o’clock in the morning.

The moon hung in the sky as the night wind whined. A thin layer of vapor permeated the hills and valleys. On top of a brand new tombstone perched a white cat.

It was bigger than an average cat, about as big as a medium-sized dog.

Its eyes were emerald, and its soft full coat glowed with an ethereal, crystal-clear light under the moon.

With its neck bent, it was preoccupied with licking its pink paws.

Clack, clack, clack.

The sound of heels hitting the ground drew close from a close distance.

Under the moonlight, a woman in a red cloak walked up to the tombstone. Although the cloak covered her entire body, it didn’t hide her mature figure. She was clearly an adult woman.

Her soft silver hair ran down her shoulders when she took off the big hood of her cloak, revealing a beautiful face with pronounced facial features, pale skin, and crimson eyes glinting elegantly and coldly. She painted the picture of a vampire countess living in a dark ancient castle.

“Come, sister.”

Her voice was gentle and soft like a radio host known for being considerate, which was in stark contrast with her appearance, but the contrast only served to make her stand out more.

The white cat looked up at her and meowed softly, like it was acting cute.

Then it jumped off the tombstone and meowed again.

Slowly, it crouched and curled up, its hair spreading like seaweeds in water. Then it melted into a thick white fog.

When night wind scattered the fog, the white cat was gone, replaced by a petite girl who wasn’t wearing any clothes.

Silver hair, pale skin, crimson eyes, and stunning features. She might as well be a twin of the cloaked woman; only her features were younger and on the adorable side, unlike her older, sensuous sister.

The woman took off her cloak to cover up the girl, gently brushing her hair.

“Sister.” The girl beamed, a pearl white canine tooth making itself known. “I saw him again.”

“Oh?” The woman patted her sister’s head. “Do you like him?”

“Yeah.” The girl nodded bashfully. “I can’t wait any longer. I want to eat him.”

“Not yet. You must wait.” Her sister’s tone grew serious.

“But...”

“I said not yet!”

“Okay.” The girl blinked.

Then her sister asked, “Are you done?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go.”

Holding the girl’s hand, the woman turned to leave the cemetery.

Then the girl looked up at her sister like she had just remembered something. “Why did they call us ghosts, Sister?”

“I don’t know.” The woman gave it some thought. “Maybe it’s because we keep eating them.”

“Ah.” The girl nodded. After a while, she looked up and said, “If he’s willing to be my friend, I won’t eat him.”

The woman stopped and slowly crouched down to put her hands on the girl’s jade-like face. “Remember, Fresh Snow. Ghosts do not have friends, not ever.”

“I know.” The girl seemed a little sad, but she quickly broke into a smile. “It’s okay. I have Sister White Dew.”

“Yes, as long as we have each other.”

White Dew stood up and took her sister’s hand again.

Soon, they disappeared from the foggy cemetery.

Under the tombstone the white cat had been perching on were a dozen white daisies, still damp with dew. Judging by the recently disturbed gray soil, the dead had been buried no more than twenty-four hours ago.

The gentle night wind fluttered the daisies’ petals. Then the wind stopped, yet the flowers were still rustling in the air.

Thud.

A pale hand shot through the soft soil, grabbing and tearing apart a white daisy.

[End of Act 1]

done.co