If you asked anyone at Zhenhua University about Zhao Rui, you'd get the same answers.
"He doesn't talk much."
"He's... scary."
"I heard he's done some really violent stuff."
People said he was dangerous. That he was emotionless. That there was something off about him.
But they didn't know the truth.
Not really.
Rui wasn't born this way.
He was born into a home where silence meant survival, and smiling was a luxury no one could afford. His father disappeared without warning when Rui was still a boy—no goodbyes, no explanations. Just gone. He watched his mother collapse in slow motion, then rebuild herself with trembling hands and late-night shifts.
By twelve, Rui was making pocket change. By fourteen, he was earning real money. Delivery runs, back-kitchen jobs, shelf-stocking under fake names—anything to help his mother cling to the small apartment they called home.
He didn't complain. He didn't explain.
He learned early that talking didn't fix anything. Working did.
High school was ruthless. Rui was quiet. Smart. Sharp. Too sharp. When a senior once bullied a classmate in the hallway, Rui didn't even pause. No one could prove he was the one who broke the boy's nose, but everyone knew. The teachers didn't press. They just stopped making eye contact after that.
The rumors stuck to him like a shadow: cold, violent, dangerous.
No one knew he skipped lunch to save money. That he worked late nights. That sometimes, when he came home, his mother had already fallen asleep on the couch—exhausted, still in her uniform.
Rui had a few friends. Just five.
One girl. Three boys. And him.
But only one of them really knew him.
Lin Qi had found Rui collapsed outside a convenience store during their first year—passed out from hunger and exhaustion. Lin had dragged him home, furious and terrified, and since that day, Lin had refused to leave Rui's side.
Rui never said thank you.
Lin never needed it.
Zhao Rui didn't want to be feared.
He just didn't want to be used.
But lately, his focus had narrowed. Sharpened. Everything in his life now led toward one single question: what happened to Tian?
His ex-boyfriend had vanished without a trace almost a year ago. People gossiped. They forgot.
Rui didn't.
He chased answers quietly, obsessively. And if getting close to Li Chen—the boy Tian had last been seen with—meant learning the truth, then Rui would do it.
Even if it meant lying.
Even if it meant getting burned.
—
That morning, campus buzzed with spring. Cherry blossoms stirred on the breeze. Laughter and footsteps echoed under the blooming trees. Rui walked through it all with his hoodie pulled over his head and headphones in—no music playing, just the illusion of it. A quiet boy with steady steps and unreadable eyes.
His gaze flickered toward the main fountain.
There he was.
Li Chen stood in black, tall and distant, arms crossed as girls giggled around him. He didn't smile. He barely responded. The air around him pulsed like static. Rui's eyes lingered on him—just for a second.
Then he looked away.
Not intrigued. Not afraid. Just... watching.
—
Art class that afternoon was warm and slow. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows as the photography professor announced their semester project.
"You'll be working in pairs," the old man said. "Your theme is human emotion. You must document it through photography."
A few groans filled the room. Names were called out one by one. Rui barely listened, pen in hand.
"Zhao Rui… and Li Chen."
The room shifted.
Rui didn't blink.
Across the room, Li Chen slowly looked up. Their eyes met. The moment stretched—too long to be casual.
Li looked away first.
Rui just kept writing.
If Rui was the mystery, then Li Chen was the warning.
People didn't whisper about him.
They stayed quiet when he passed.
Because Li Chen didn't need rumors.
His presence alone was enough.
Tall, sharp-featured, always dressed in black or gray like he didn't believe in colors. He walked like he owned every room—because, in a way, he did. Whether it was his family's wealth, his dangerously calm attitude, or the don't-fck-with-me* stare he wore like armor… Li Chen didn't need to explain himself.
People didn't ask why he only had two friends.
They were just relieved not to be noticed by him.
---
Rich? Of course.
His family name was carved into donation plaques all over campus. Art buildings, libraries, even a medical wing bore the Li surname.
But unlike most spoiled heirs, Li didn't flaunt it and can't be unnoticed..
He drove a sleek black vehicle like a ghost ship—quiet, fast, unapproachable.
People assumed he partied. That he dated casually. That he drank.
He didn't.
He liked silence. Training. Control.
If Rui was calm because of exhaustion, Li was calm because of containment.
---
There were stories, of course.
Like the time he broke someone's fingers in a boxing match because they say something bad about his friend.
Or when a girl publicly confessed to him and he coldly replied, "Don't embarrass yourself."
Or when a professor once made the mistake of insulting Li's little sister—and was gone by next week.
No one could prove anything.
But no one questioned it either.
---
He wasn't close to his parents. He lived alone. Not because he had to—because he wanted to.
The only soft spot he had was his little sister. And even that softness came with obsession.
Anyone who touched her? Gone.
Anyone who made her cry? Dead to him.
Anyone who got too close? ....you can think.. ?? If he want something he will get it by hook or by crook..