Chapter 59
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Chapter 59: Why Aren’t You Dead Yet?
“Poke poke~”
Mi Xiaoliu reached out and poked Yiwen’s shoulder. Her pen had run out of ink, and she wanted to ask Yiwen for the one she had borrowed but never returned.
Yiwen, who appeared to be asleep with her head resting on her arm, shook her body and flung Mi Xiaoliu’s hand off.
“He’s still sulking. Don’t mind him, Master,” Sasha said.
Mi Xiaoliu took out a lollipop Heli had given her and used it to poke Yiwen’s head.
Yiwen reached out, took the lollipop, rustled with the wrapper for a moment, then tossed it aside and put it into her mouth—but still didn’t seem inclined to “wake up.”
Unhappy, Mi Xiaoliu gave her a push.
It wasn’t until then that Yiwen finally moved her head and revealed half her face, looking at Mi Xiaoliu.
“Give it back,” Mi Xiaoliu said, reaching out.
“Here.” Yiwen pulled the lollipop from her mouth and offered it to her.
Mi Xiaoliu reached to take it, but of course Yiwen didn’t actually hand it over—otherwise that would be an indirect kiss.
Cold war: over.
_______________________
After school.
“Yiwen, um, can you teach me how to play tennis?”
“Sorry, I’m not playing today.” With a wave of her hand, Yiwen turned down the tiger girl’s invitation and quickly caught up to Mi Xiaoliu, who was already walking away.
“Xiaoliu, this weekend…”
Behind them, the tiger girl stomped her foot angrily, glaring at Mi Xiaoliu’s retreating back. Every time—it was always him ruining her plans.
Barrett gave her a consoling pat on the shoulder, also watching the two walk off, lost in thought.
Those two had been getting unusually close lately—nothing like the “approach out of suspicion” excuse Yiwen had used at the start. Mi Xiaoliu, since entering the school, had spoken only to her two deskmates.
Of course, even if she didn’t approach others, sometimes people had to talk to her. Like when the class monitor collected homework—even if Mi Xiaoliu’s notebook was blank except for a doodled kitten.
Or, for example, that side quest Jim had given her on the second day of school—something she’d completely ignored.
But even if she never approached anyone, eventually, someone gave in to curiosity and came to talk to her at the school gate.
Zhang Zikun — LV2 Ability: Disaster Forecast.
A somewhat rare, though not particularly powerful or useful ability.
As Jim had once described, Zhang Zikun’s power allowed him to see upcoming “events” on others—not exact occurrences, but their impending fortune or misfortune. At level 2, he could only see the color of one’s fate.
For example, someone about to win the lottery would glow golden in his eyes. Nothing unusual was white, mild misfortune was orange, major injury or bankruptcy was red.
And then the worst—certain death: black light.
In theory, these disasters could be prevented. But since he only saw colors with no detail on what, when, or how, it was impossible to stop them effectively—because who’s to say the very act of prevention wasn’t what caused it?
He stood around 175 cm, slim, with cropped black hair and glasses that turned his eyes into narrow slits. His appearance was unremarkable—forgettable even—and not at all likeable.
Yet three years ago, this forgettable, weak-looking boy had dominated hot searches for two whole months.
Back then, he was studying at another school for ability users. One day, he walked into his classroom, then quietly walked out during morning reading. He skipped all his morning classes.
Then, during the second period, a transfer student with a wooden puppet ability lost control. Thorny vines burst from his body and filled the classroom. Fifty-two students and an unprepared teacher died on the spot.
Zhang Zikun had seen fifty-three black lights before leaving the room.
He told no one. He just ran.
As expected, the internet blew up with two camps. One believed he should’ve said something—he had no grudge against his classmates.
The other called it moral coercion—should he be forced to warn people just because he saw disaster, even if it made him a scapegoat?
Ever since, even at this school, he was mostly isolated. Though not completely alone—some of the other outcasts hung around him. Still, they were far from being real “friends.”
“You’re Mi Xiaoliu, right? Why aren’t you dead yet?”
That was the first thing Zhang Zikun asked when he stopped her.
“Where are your manners?” Yiwen stepped in front of Mi Xiaoliu.
For the first time, she thought maybe some people deserved to be ostracized.
“I’m being serious. Why are you still alive? Don’t look at me like that. What, you wanna beat me up?” Zhang Zikun gave Yiwen a sidelong glance, clearly not caring that she was the class bully with the scariest fitness stats.
Yiwen, a cop’s daughter, seriously considered dragging him into a sack later that night.
But Zhang Zikun was genuinely surprised.
He had never seen anyone glow with black light for nearly twenty days and still be alive. He was curious—just how terrible a death would it take to warrant such a long-lasting black glow?
“Am I supposed to die?” Mi Xiaoliu tugged on Yiwen’s sleeve.
“What do you mean by that?” Yiwen frowned.
Zhang Zikun didn’t answer. He looked at Mi Xiaoliu and said, “Maybe get your affairs in order. You’re the luckiest person I’ve ever seen. Stop glaring—I’m only telling you this much. I don’t know anything else.”
With that, he ignored Yiwen’s glare and quickly walked off.
Out of her sight, he broke into a run.
Any slower and Yiwen probably would have beaten him up.
Back home, Yiwen felt strangely unsettled, though Mi Xiaoliu didn’t seem bothered at all by Zhang Zikun’s grim declaration.
Mi Xiaoliu looked totally healthy. If something were really wrong, it would’ve shown up in a medical check…
Was Zhang Zikun just trying to scare people? Or was some catastrophe really looming over her? But she herself had spent time with Xiaoliu every day—walking home with him—Zhang Zikun didn’t say he had a problem.
Honestly, Yiwen leaned toward thinking he was full of it. The guy had a lousy personality—this kind of scare tactic wasn’t surprising.
Surprisingly, their mom didn’t ambush her in the hallway today, which saved her already sour mood from getting worse.
Maybe she was finally busy with work? Not that Yiwen cared.
Yiwen walked up to her brother’s door, knocked, then went in without waiting.
He was staring blankly at his desktop screen.
Barrett had told her her brother often stared at his screen like this. Apparently it was some dumb habit all boys had. She wondered if Mi Xiaoliu would start doing this too once he had a computer.
“Have you eaten?” Yiwen asked.
She didn’t have a great relationship with her brother—after the stuffed animal incident, things had hit rock bottom. They didn’t even speak five times a week. But family was family, and some concern was still due.
The room was a mess. Smells of dirty socks. Compared to Mi Xiaoliu’s room, it was awful—but Yiwen couldn’t be bothered to comment.
“I ate out. Mom’s coming back late,” her brother replied, voice aloof.
Unlike Mi Xiaoliu, his word economy was just him trying to act cool. He’d regret it one day when he grew up.
“Mmm.” Yiwen left the room, patting her head, scolding herself for always comparing her brother to Mi Xiaoliu.
Mom wasn’t home yet? Great.
She cooked dinner, wrapped up the leftovers, then ran upstairs and changed into her sleek white assassin outfit—even though she was currently suspended.
Time to start the long journey to Mi Xiaoliu’s house.
No matter what, she really was worried.
But she was destined to miss her.
Because Heli, who picked up Mi Xiaoliu, hadn’t taken her home.
In the backseat, Mi Xiaoliu tugged on Heli’s sleeve.
“What is it? Want something to eat?”
“Someone asked me why I’m not dead yet.”
“That ‘danger forecaster’ in your class?” Heli had done her research. She thought for a moment. “Ignore him. He can’t even predict when he’s in trouble.”
“Oh.”
They didn’t talk the rest of the way.
Heli rode her scooter to a nondescript location—a place that looked like either a shady private detective office or a sketchy internet café stairwell.
She parked and signaled for Mi Xiaoliu to get off.
“Upstairs.”
Mi Xiaoliu quietly let herself be led up the stairs.
Heli had spent a long time finding this place—a female psychologist who wasn’t too busy treating internal trauma. Though her skills were mediocre, she was at least someone to talk to.
The door opened.
The woman with the dangerously styled hair looked surprised at the girl Heli had just shoved inside.
