Chapter 30: The Midnight Lock

The cold wind swept across the library steps.

Xu Zhou was squeezing out the last of his strawberry yogurt, the plastic straw making a hollow sputter that meant the cup was almost empty.

Joey squatted beside the stone pillar, swirling the discount blueberry juice in his hand.

“Xu Zhou, do you think Senior Sinclair studied fortune telling? You’d barely said you were going to smash President Gu’s place, and he’s already parked his van out here.”

“Junior, the wind’s strong outside.”

Adrian’s voice was low and warm, like a late-night radio host’s.

“Why not get in and have some hot lemon tea?”

“Thanks, senior, but I’m allergic to lemons. I’d turn into something else on the spot.”

Xu Zhou leaned back against the white marble pillar. He didn’t look ready to move an inch.

Adrian didn’t seem bothered. The dimples at the corners of his mouth deepened.

He pulled a pale yellow card stamped with a blue wax seal out of the document pocket beside him and passed it through the window, fingers clean and slender.

“All right, I’ll keep this short. This is the special admit physical recheck receipt the school infirmary just issued. I saw the forum video last night. Your right ankle is swollen, and it might cause mild aseptic subcutaneous inflammation.”

He paused, then added, “Also, the discount yogurt you just bought at the convenience store triggered the nutrition assessment system. You have mild hypoglycemia and a tendency toward malnutrition.”

Joey drew in a sharp breath.

“Seriously? Does this school run big-data monitoring on low blood sugar too? I eat instant noodles every day and it’s never flagged me once. Is this favoritism getting way too smart?”

Xu Zhou sighed. There was nothing smart about it. This was precision fishing, plain and simple.

He walked down two steps and took the card from Adrian. He skipped the decorative exemption items on the front and, under the streetlight, went straight to the fine print on the back.

It was the “Sinclair Health Management Foundation Special Authorization,” three full pages of tiny text.

Anyone who had ever held a normal job had an almost reflexive fear of contracts with the words “authorization,” “exemption,” or “free” in them.

Back when he’d been a corporate drone, a boss who said “we’re a family” meant unpaid overtime. Now a rich young master who said “we offer free health tracking” meant something even more troublesome.

Xu Zhou pressed his thumbnail into clause seven, leaving a white crease.

“Clause Seven: The grantee agrees to allow Sinclair Laboratories to conduct unobtrusive biometric data collection, including but not limited to daily sleep cycles, food intake frequency, heart rate fluctuation, and psychological defense index assessment.”

Xu Zhou looked up at Adrian in the car, face expressionless.

“Senior, does your family’s hospital keep track of when people sleep and when they use the bathroom?”

Adrian’s gentle, portrait-like smile froze for a second.

He was used to special admits and noble heirs practically melting with gratitude over a full scholarship and one-on-one health coaching from Ivy League doctors.

What he hadn’t expected was Xu Zhou standing out in the wind under a streetlight, picking apart the disclaimer in clause seven on the last page like a strict compliance officer from a legal department.

“This is only to put together a more suitable individual plan for you, junior.”

Adrian withdrew his hand. His tone remained irreproachable.

“The workload at St. Lester is intense. Many students lose their psychological balance after enrolling, and we were only trying to…”

“Forget it, senior.”

Xu Zhou folded the receipt and pushed it back through the window into Adrian’s hand.

“My health plan is pretty simple: sleep more, see less of you, buy two extra yogurts when they’re discounted. And as for the psychological defense index, as long as President Gu’s chain doesn’t rust, I’m as mentally tough as they come.”

Joey, listening from the side, quietly pulled his feet back at the mention of a “psychological defense index,” afraid of being caught in that fine data web too.

Adrian held the neatly folded card. A hint of something strange flickered behind his pale amber eyes.

This was the first time anyone had handed back the Sinclair Foundation’s green health access, coveted even by people who could pay a fortune for it, the way you’d toss aside junk mail.

Xu Zhou had been perfunctory even about refusing, still biting the straw of his ninety-nine-cent discount yogurt, with the look of a slacker clocking out and telling the world not to bother him.

And yet that impervious attitude was somehow more intriguing than any coy game of playing hard to get.

Adrian laughed low and took off his gentle academic glasses.

The warmth on that always-soft face slowly faded, revealing deep eyes with a faintly aggressive edge.

“All right, then. It seems my terms weren’t attractive enough.”

Adrian pressed a button on the armrest console, and a delicate cool-silver pill case rose up.

He handed it over. “This one doesn’t need a signature.”

Xu Zhou stared at the small silver case. “Free?”

“It isn’t part of any foundation program. It’s a personal gift from me,” Adrian said.

“Inside there are some antiseptic wipes, anti-blister bandages, and a tube of medicinal anti-inflammatory ointment. The ointment is very effective on swelling. No signature, no data collection. What do you say?”

Xu Zhou studied the case glittering in the light. It was exquisitely made, with the Sinclair family monogram engraved around the rim.

“The case is too expensive. If I took it, I’d feel like I owed you.”

Xu Zhou reached out, snapped the lid open, took out only the green tube of ointment, and put it in his pocket. Then he returned the empty case to Adrian’s hand.

“Thanks for the medicine, senior. Now we’re even.”

He clapped his hands, turned, and pulled Joey along.

“Let’s go. Wait any longer and we’ll miss the discount bento at the convenience store.”

Joey stumbled along behind him. He looked back at Adrian, whose expression inside the car was unreadable, then at Xu Zhou. This special admit really was a little devil.

Inside the van, Adrian looked down at the empty cool-silver case and ran a fingertip along its edge.

He took out a tablet. On Xu Zhou’s schedule for the coming week and his checkup route map, he crossed out the school infirmary and the private clinic in red pen. Then he wrote a line on the side:

“Not suitable for forced removal. Extremely vigilant. Change the plan and intercept him on the route he has to take to class.”

The window rolled up, and the van slid into the night.

Joey finally snapped out of it. He followed behind Xu Zhou, walking backward, watching the black van slowly dissolve into the darkness.

“Xu Zhou, that was seriously impressive. You wouldn’t even play along with Senior Sinclair.”

Joey bit his straw flat. Then he remembered something and slapped his thigh.

“Hey, wait. Isn’t the first partner list for the autumn ball being posted for final confirmation at midnight tonight? Someone from the admin office told me that after twelve, the list locks in the registrar’s system and can’t be changed at all.”

With the cold green ointment tube sitting in his pocket, Xu Zhou yawned tiredly.

“What does the partner list have to do with me? Mine’s already locked in, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, true. President Ethan’s rules are whatever he says they are. But…”

Joey inched closer and dropped his voice to a whisper.

“Bai Qi went to return his administrator badge today. I heard from the admin office that his main partner column is still blank. Your dorm registration, on the other hand, got put up this afternoon on the student council site, on the no-audition first-round list.”

Xu Zhou’s footsteps faltered. The tube in his pocket and the chain around his ankle both felt heavy at the same time, as if they were laughing at him.

“At midnight the whole school will probably be staring at their screens waiting for the first list.”

Joey gave him a sympathetic look.

“Xu Zhou, you’re on your own. Good luck.”

The night grew darker. The yellow lights along St. Lester’s central avenue cast long shadows from the two boys across the flagstones.

In the wind there was nothing left but the hollow sputter of the yogurt straw spinning empty, and the kind of quiet before something set off by the twelve o’clock bell.

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