Scene: Midnight — The Road to the Old District
The moon hung low, thin like a knife edge. The hum of Yè Yī's bicycle was the only sound breaking the still night. His backpack swung lightly against his shoulder as he pedaled through the cracked asphalt roads leading toward the countryside.
His breath fogged in the cold air. Each pedal felt heavier the closer he got. The village was silent — no dogs barking, no lights in the windows.
> Yè Yī (to himself, low): "It still smells like rust and smoke out here."
He stopped at a bend where the road split toward the forest path. The beam of his phone flashlight sliced through the mist, revealing what used to be the old Yè ancestral gate — now half fallen, paint stripped, the family sigil faded to nothing but a ghost mark.
He wheeled the bike slowly toward the entrance, but before he could cross the arch—
A hand shot out from behind him and grabbed the back wheel.
> Yè Yī (startled, spins around): "Who—"
Like a figure out of the dark — slim, deliberate, with a quiet confidence that didn't match the night's stillness.
Black pants tucked neatly into her boots, a black-and-cream hooded cardigan draped around her like a cloak. Strands of dark curls framed her face, eyes catching the moonlight — sharp, knowing. A smirk tugged at her lips.
> Violet: "Midnight bike rides to a crime scene? That's new."
Yè Yī (coldly): "Who are you?"
Violet (shrugs, letting go of the bike): "Someone who gets curious when people head straight into danger."
He studies her — cautious, silent, fingers brushing the bike's handle, eyes unreadable.
The night air hums faintly, like static.
> Yè Yī: "If you're from the police—"
Violet (cutting in, amused): "Do I look like the police?"
Yè Yī: "Then you shouldn't be here."
Violet: "Neither should you."
A moment passes — the wind rustles through tall grass, the ancestral home looming in the background like a shadow from another life.
> Violet (tilts her head slightly): "You really don't remember this place, do you?"
Yè Yī (frowns): "What are you talking about?"
Violet (soft laugh): "Nothing. Yet."
She turns, starts walking toward the ruins without waiting for him.
Yè Yī hesitates, then follows, wheels squeaking against gravel. The night feels heavier with every step — like the air itself is holding its breath.