Tiffany sat at her desk, staring blankly at the surface.
The walnut desk was empty, save for a miniature woven crystal cube sitting right in the center. The cube was pitch black and unremarkable, nearly blending into the dark wood of the desk.
Though it was broad daylight, the curtains were drawn tight. The brilliant equatorial sun, intercepted by this barrier, could only faintly outline the room's furniture. Tiffany had deliberately left the lights off. Sitting amidst the overlapping shadows, she finally felt a sense of grounding and security.
It had been a desperate, last-ditch effort made without much hope, yet it had actually succeeded. Heaven only knew why Xiao Fengtai’s backpack hadn't been zipped shut that day. And for whatever reason, not only had he refrained from tossing the keychain aside after finding it, but he had even gone out of his way to have someone return it to her. If Tiffany didn't know Xiao Fengtai so well, she might have almost believed the boy harbored some affection for her.
She had succeeded. Yet, far from being happy, Tiffany felt an inexplicable sense of tension and dread. The central air conditioning was running normally, but a thin layer of sweat had broken out across her back, itching intolerably, as if countless tiny insects were crawling over her skin.
Tiffany was born exquisite and lovely, and with her wealthy family background, she had grown up smoothly amidst a chorus of praise, even if she had little to show for herself besides her looks. Aside from Xiao Fengtai and Mrs. Xiao, very few people ever gave her the cold shoulder.
Having been pampered and shielded since childhood, Tiffany had gradually developed a logic that differed from most. The typical worries of a teenage girl—schoolwork, friendships, weight, acne, or the boy she liked—were beneath her notice. Since the shape of her future was already clearly visible, she felt she should enjoy herself to the fullest and seek out excitement before that predetermined future arrived.
The quarter of German blood in her veins made her relish the thrill of conquest to her very core. To her, the field of romance was a battlefield, and she was a victorious young general. The more indifferent and dismissive Xiao Fengtai became, the more her fighting spirit soared. In the short time she had been in Singapore, she had already dealt with Xiao Fengtai’s secret admirers at school one by one. Those girls hated her to their cores, calling her cunning, treacherous, and fake behind her back. Tiffany didn't mind at all; she took it as a compliment. Love was something one had to fight for. If one just behaved and didn't compete, how could anything good ever fall into their lap?
However, regarding the matter at hand, even with the rare encouragement and support she had received from Mrs. Xiao, she still felt a faint, lingering unease deep in her heart.
She didn't read much, preferring movies and television dramas, especially modern urban stories and romances. The characters in those shows didn't always act with perfect integrity, but if they wanted a good ending, there were always certain red lines that could never be crossed. Tiffany stared at the crystal cube. The dark little square looked safe and inconspicuous. Was this her red line?
*Grandmother is getting old,* she thought. People of that age inevitably had strange, eccentric ideas. How could Xiao Fengtai possibly be involved with his Chinese tutor? An unremarkable student from the Mainland who had to work part-time just to make ends meet? A man?
*I should just report back to Grandmother like this.* It wasn't as if anything was actually going on between them anyway. She grabbed the keychain, threw it into the drawer, and slammed it shut. Hurriedly putting on her coat, she grabbed her bag and rushed out the door as if escaping, intending to find some amusement to distract herself.
The solid wood door closed with a loud bang, and the room fell back into silence.
Three minutes later, the door was shoved open by Tiffany.
She strode over to the desk, pulled out the keychain, and snipped the woven cord holding the cube together. The entire process was fluid; she didn't dare give herself even a second to think.
Crystal beads clattered and scattered across the desk, rolling outward in a radial pattern. In the center of the mess lay an even smaller black plastic square. A tiny red light flickered at the top of the square; had the room not been so dark, the light—so faint it was almost non-existent—would never have been noticed.
She took a deep breath and pressed the play button.
