1
The edge of the rooftop gleamed coldly in the rain.
Song Xiaoyang curled up inside the guardrail, his fingers digging into the cement floor like claws. The shadow sat beside him, barefoot, her legs dangling into the seven-story void. Her white dress was soaked through, clinging to her bony frame like a layer of dead skin.
"Remember the first time I showed up?" the shadow suddenly asked. Her voice scratched like nails across a chalkboard.
Song Xiaoyang's breath steamed in the night air. He remembered. It was three days after his mother's funeral. He had hidden inside the wardrobe, sobbing until he retched—when he saw a pair of pale feet appear in front of him.
"You were so adorable back then." Bai Ye grinned, her mouth tearing all the way to her ears. "Curled up and shaking, like a rabbit frozen in headlights."
The rain grew heavier. Droplets streamed down Bai Ye's black hair, pooling into tiny puddles of blood on the concrete. Song Xiaoyang stared at the dark red liquid, and his mind flashed to the blood his mother coughed up into tissues before she died.
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2
Flashback: Three Years Ago
The scent of incense in the funeral parlor was nauseating.
Twelve-year-old Song Xiaoyang stood beside the coffin, staring at his mother's made-up face. Her sallow skin had been covered in foundation, her cheeks painted with unnatural blush. She looked like a plastic mannequin in a store window.
"Be strong," were the last words she had said to him. Her hand, thin as a dead branch, had stroked his cheek, leaving a trail of coldness behind. When the heart monitor flatlined, his tears hit the white bedsheet and spread into dark, wet circles.
His father smoked in the hallway, a rusty silhouette against the fluorescent light. Muffled voices of relatives seeped through the door:
"Cancer drains money like a black hole..."
"The kid's still young. Lao Song should find someone new soon..."
"He mortgaged the house, I heard..."
Song Xiaoyang buried his face in his mother's pillow, greedily inhaling the last of her scent—medicine, sweat, and a faint trace of lavender shampoo. Something molten and dangerous swelled in his chest, threatening to crack his ribs open. He wanted to scream, to smash every piece of glass in the building, to tear into those whispering mouths like a wild dog.
But he stood there quietly, just as his mother had taught him: "Be a good boy."
That night, rain lashed the bedroom windows. Song Xiaoyang curled up in the corner of the wardrobe, clutching his mother's nightgown. The scent of lavender had nearly faded. And then—he saw them. A pair of pale, bare feet, right in front of him.
"Hello, Xiaoyang." The girl in the white dress squatted down, her breath thick with rot. "I'm the words you were too afraid to say out loud."
Song Xiaoyang's eyes widened in terror. Her face glowed faintly in the dark, like a specimen floating in formaldehyde. She reached out to touch his cheek. Her fingernails were packed with black-red grime.
"Your mother taught you kindness," the girl said—not with her lips, but directly into his mind. "But kind people always die first."
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3
The wind on the rooftop suddenly changed direction. Rain slanted across Song Xiaoyang's face. Bai Ye hummed a tuneless lullaby, tapping a grim rhythm on her knees. It was Jasmine Flower—the song his mother used to sing to put him to sleep. Now, twisted in Bai Ye's mouth, it sounded like a dirge.
"Are you me?" Song Xiaoyang's voice was hoarse. "But why... why do you keep pushing me to do horrible things?"
Bai Ye stopped humming. Her neck twisted an impossible 180 degrees to meet his gaze.
"I'm the realest part of you," she said. Her eyeballs suddenly burst open, and black maggots poured from the sockets. "The part that morality strangled to death."
4
(Flashback: Two Months Ago)
The first time Mr. Tian humiliated Song Xiaoyang in front of the class, the girl in white was already there—smiling from the back row. That day, all he did was forget his homework, but Mr. Tian made him stand on the podium to "show the courage of empty hands."
"Some students in this class," Mr. Tian said, his eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses sweeping the room, "are like unwatered plants—seemingly fine on the outside, but rotten to the core."
Laughter from the class pierced like needles. Song Xiaoyang stared at the tips of his shoes, where a small hole exposed his socks. His stomach twisted, something hot and wild crashing around in his chest, looking for an escape.
That's when Bai Ye returned. Wearing the same school uniform as him, she stood at the back and mouthed the words: "Kill him."
That night, Song Xiaoyang filled his notebook with drawings of Mr. Tian's face—each one stabbed into ruin with a pencil. Bai Ye sat on the edge of his desk, her rotting toes brushing his arm.
"That's better," she whispered. "Let the hate flow."
5
"Remember the first time Wang Lei hit you?" Bai Ye suddenly asked. Her hair caught fire, filling the air with the stench of burning flesh.
Song Xiaoyang closed his eyes. How could he forget? It was a month after his mother died. He found a litter of stray kittens behind the schoolyard and was feeding them sausage when something slammed into the back of his head.
"Only morons play with stray cats!" Wang Lei shouted, stomping on his fingers. "My mom says pets spread COVID!"
The pain shot straight to his skull. Song Xiaoyang looked at his red, swollen fingers—and for the first time, felt pure, undiluted rage. That day, Bai Ye had stood behind Wang Lei, mouthing: "Kick his balls."
But he didn't. He did what his mother would've wanted—he was "kind and forgiving." He even said "sorry."
"Coward," Bai Ye had hissed, hands around his throat. "Your mom is dead and you still obey her?"
Now, on the rooftop, the white-dressed girl exploded in fury. She grabbed Song Xiaoyang's hair and forced him to look down at the street below.
"Jump!" she screamed. "Just like you've always run away!"
Her nails dug into his scalp.
"Or..." her voice turned sickly sweet, "make the ones who should jump, jump."
6
(Flashback: Three Weeks Ago)
The tiles in the bathroom stall were ice-cold. Song Xiaoyang was pinned to the floor by three boys. Wang Lei was urinating on his uniform. The stench of ammonia and the boys' laughter blurred into a surreal nightmare.
"Mr. Tian said you're a tumor in the class," Wang Lei said while zipping up. "Should've been cut out long ago."
Song Xiaoyang's vision swam. Through the haze, he saw Bai Ye hanging upside down from the ceiling. She looked worse than ever—skin peeling, muscles exposed, teeth sharp and yellow.
"They deserve to die," she whispered, licking her rotten lips. "All of them."
That night at home, Song Xiaoyang scrubbed his skin in the shower until it bled. Bai Ye sat on the toilet, humming.
"Do you know why I wear a white dress?" she asked suddenly.
Song Xiaoyang shook his head. Water trickled into his eyes.
"It's a straitjacket from the mental hospital," she said cheerfully. "Also your mom's hospital gown, right before she died."
She tilted her head. "Remember the word she never finished?"
Song Xiaoyang froze. His mother had indeed opened her mouth to say something at the end, but the monitor's alarms had drowned it out. He always assumed it was his name.
"It was 'hate'," Bai Ye whispered into his ear. "She hated the world that took everything from her—just like you do now."