The Note

An Ruxin opened the notebook.

It seemed to be Chen Anran’s diary… Inside, it was filled with messy scribbles about everyday things, most of them related to school life. It was written casually, without specific dates—more like random doodles than an actual diary. Skimming through it, one could tell Chen Anran seemed to be a pretty optimistic girl. Her life appeared to go smoothly, and she seemed happy every day.

What caught An Ruxin’s attention even more was that Chen Anran had apparently saved every note she and Bai Miaoqing had passed each other in class—flattened and pasted neatly into the notebook.

An Ruxin gave the contents a quick glance. Most of the dialogue was from Chen Anran: Wanna go somewhere? I just finished a novel. I tried something delicious, wanna taste it too? Bai Miaoqing always responded in agreement. Occasionally, Chen Anran would mention small worries—fighting with her parents, being unhappy with her test scores, feeling stressed about the high school entrance exam. Bai Miaoqing would comfort her during those times.

…They really were close friends, weren’t they…

She flipped toward the final pages of the notebook. Near the end, both the diary entries and the notes started mentioning the legend of the reservoir ghost girl. Chen Anran seemed quite fascinated by the story, and Bai Miaoqing always went along with her theories. One last page in particular caught An Ruxin’s attention:

“So annoying, I forgot to give this note to Bai Miaoqing.

Whatever, I’ll just talk to her when we meet later… It’s all the same anyway…”

Below it was a doodle of a crying face.

Pasted beneath this entry was the very note Chen Anran had forgotten to give.

Judging by the tone and the mention of “meeting later,” and since this was the last thing in the diary, could this have been written right before Chen Anran and Bai Miaoqing went to the reservoir? “Meeting later” likely referred to that planned exploration trip, right? But by then, their entrance exams were over, and they were on break awaiting their results. No more school—why would they still need to pass notes?

With that thought, An Ruxin looked down at the note that had never been delivered.

“Remember what you promised me?

We’re going to bring joy to that haunted reservoir!

It’s going to be a fun day ☆

Let’s meet behind the school, at the back mountain.

We agreed—no adults allowed.

You better come!”

…Nothing too special.

It was just a reminder for the reservoir trip and a meetup plan. But at the corner of the note, there was a number “5” written in pink pen… Was this torn from a draft notebook?

But then, a sudden question formed in An Ruxin’s mind:

Didn’t Chen Anran’s mother say earlier that, when she first went missing, the police had taken her belongings to investigate? That would’ve included this diary. Even though the diary lacked dates and direct clues, the reservoir was mentioned frequently in its latter half, and the note contained words like “haunted place,” “keep it from the adults,” and “be there on time”…

Surely the police must’ve… investigated the reservoir, right?

If so, then why hadn’t they found Chen Anran’s body?

Shouldn’t a drowned body float to the surface quickly?

…No—Bai Miaoqing said it. Chen Anran was drowned by a ghost. If it was a supernatural event, then not finding the body kind of made sense.

An Ruxin let the thought go for now and turned her attention to the camera.

She turned it on—surprisingly, it still had power. Chen Anran’s mother must not only have been cleaning her room every day but also charging the camera her daughter loved. An Ruxin browsed through the gallery. Most files were group photos from family outings, but one video stood out—it had been renamed: “Playing with Miaoqing”

An Ruxin opened the video.

Shhh… shhh…

The video began, filled with static.

It started in the evening twilight—two girls, Bai Miaoqing and Chen Anran, were playing on the rooftop of the school building. The camera had likely been left running nearby, capturing the blurry footage of their laughter and scuffling.

After a while, Chen Anran walked into view:

“Eh… Miaoqing, the camera’s been recording this whole time—it’s been five minutes already.”

“R-Really? It didn’t catch me, did it? I don’t like being filmed…”

“That’s fine! Then Miaoqing, you hold the camera and film me instead!”

The screen shifted, indicating Bai Miaoqing had picked up the camera. In the center appeared Chen Anran, smiling sweetly, striking a playful pose:

“Now presenting a very special performance—!”

Then came singing and dancing, with giggles and chatter between her and Bai Miaoqing. Chen Anran remained front and center the whole time…

Just an ordinary home video, really.

And yet, that nagging feeling finally became too much.

It wasn’t jealousy—not jealousy over how close Chen Anran had been with Bai Miaoqing—but a deeply buried question inside An Ruxin’s heart, a doubt she had never wanted to face. And now, as she watched the lively, radiant Chen Anran in the footage, that question surged to the surface.

She remembered it—outside Bai Miaoqing’s house, the first time she ran into Chen Anran.

Back then, she hadn’t known her name, hadn’t known she was a ghost. She had never seen her before. But somehow, the girl had looked oddly familiar. At the time, she figured it was just because she’d glimpsed a photo of Chen Anran and Bai Miaoqing together before leaving the house—maybe that made the face stick in her mind. That was the only logical explanation.

But… hadn’t something always felt off?

First of all, that photo—An Ruxin had never truly looked at it. She had only caught a fleeting glance as Bai Miaoqing had hurriedly packed her things. Could such a brief glance really leave such a strong impression?

Second, in that photo, Chen Anran was clearly a young girl in middle school. But when An Ruxin saw her at the door, she had the appearance of someone around her own age. Even if she had memorized the face of the younger Anran, would she really recognize her as a teenager?

If it had been Bai Miaoqing—the girl she’d been crushing on for so long, whose face she knew by heart—sure, it would’ve made sense. But Chen Anran? She had only seen her for a split second in a photo, right?

Then why—why had she thought Chen Anran looked so familiar?

The video kept playing, young Chen Anran still bouncing around on the screen… and the answer slowly rose from within.

Because every little movement Chen Anran made…

Was exactly like the Bai Miaoqing she remembered from high school—the one who shone like the sun, the one she had fallen so deeply for.

—

Author’s Note:

Here it comes.