Lamb Offal Soup

Xie Xie fell asleep in terror.

Calling it sleep would be less accurate than calling it a forced shutdown after his consciousness overloaded—his eyelids felt welded shut, but his mind kept flashing through images: white hair and red eyes, a tail blade coiling around his waist, the crookedly stitched pacifier duck on Wu Changkong's pajamas, Yao raising the Star Sword and shouting, "Shadow, your doom has come!", Gu Yue's cold purple-eyed glance, Yun Ying coughing blood against the wall as she hurled the Flame-Reaver Spear at him and snapped, "Get lost"...

He curled up in the corner of the sofa, a cushion pressed to his chest, his phone clenched in his hand. The screen lit up, went dark, then lit up again. Tang Wulin had not replied—he had probably fallen asleep halfway through eating a chicken leg. Yun Ying had sent a "?" He typed "It's nothing" and deleted it, typed "Shadow" and deleted it, typed "I might be done for" and deleted it. In the end, he sent "Good night" to the group chat. Even he thought it looked like a final message.

At 4:07 in the morning, he finally passed out.

Not asleep—his terror had drained him dry, and his body shut itself down.

At 6:50, light sliced through the gap in the curtains like a blade.

Xie Xie's eyes snapped open.

His first thought was not, I'm awake.

It was, How am I still alive?

He was still curled up in the corner of the sofa, his neck stiff and aching. His right hand still gripped his phone, its battery in the red. The curtains had not been fully drawn, and outside, the shadow of a plane tree fell across the floor, glistening damply in the morning light.

He slowly turned his head.

At some point, a bowl of soup had appeared on the coffee table.

It was a white porcelain bowl with a small chip along the rim. Steam curled from it. The broth was milky white with a yellow tint, floating with chopped scallions, two chunks of white radish, several strands of vermicelli, and some minced meat-like things pressed beneath the surface—liver, intestines, tripe all mixed together. It smelled of the gamey fragrance of lamb offal soup, with a faint medicinal scent, like fennel and star anise.

But Xie Xie's pupils contracted.

The texture of that "offal" was wrong.

Lamb intestines were not that thin and curled. Lamb liver was not so pink and stringy. There was a tiny bit of soft cartilage shaped too much like... He swallowed and did not dare think further.

He reached out and touched the side of the bowl with his fingertips.

It was hot.

Not the lukewarm heat of a thermos, but the scorching heat of something that had just come out of the pot, hot enough to burn his hand through the bottom of the bowl.

It was 6:50. If Shadow had really cooked something, where had she found a stove? Who had given her a pot? Xie Xie had latched the door himself last night, and before Wu Changkong left, he had frozen the doorframe and said, "She won't dare come back for now." Yet this bowl of soup sat on the coffee table, less than seventy centimeters from his head.

Xie Xie's hands began to shake.

He shrank back, his back pressing against the sofa armrest as the cushion fell away. When he turned his head—

Shadow was leaning against the other end of the sofa, sitting on the floor. Her white hair was a fluffy mess, her red eyes closed, her breathing so faint it was nearly inaudible. She had changed clothes. Instead of last night's black-and-red combat outfit, she wore an oversized, absurdly loose light-gray hoodie, its hood pulled down to her brow and its hem covering her knees, as if she had stolen someone's jacket. Her ring blade was coiled around her left wrist, while more than a dozen Feather Blades floated lazily around her, thin as cicada wings, their edges stained with spots of dark red that had not yet dried, glinting stickily in the morning light.

The coffee table, Shadow, and him formed a straight line.

Shadow suddenly chuckled without opening her eyes. "Little brother, does it look good?"

Xie Xie jolted all over, nearly springing off the sofa. His toes dug into the soles of his slippers.

"Y-you... when did you..." His voice cracked like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

Shadow's red eyes slowly opened. There was no frenzy in them, only the lazy air of someone who had just awakened, like a cat glancing back after stretching. She tilted her head, and a Feather Blade circled her fingertips once, flinging a drop of blood onto the carpet like a tiny dark flower.

"You slept like a dead fish. I came in and you didn't even make a sound." She reached out and brushed a fingertip over the bowl's rim. "The lamb offal is still hot. If you keep staring, the vermicelli will get soggy."

Xie Xie hid his left hand behind his back, found his phone, unlocked it, and opened his chat with Yun Ying. His thumb hovered over the send button as he asked dryly, "Th-this... what is this made from?"

Shadow blinked, her red eyes curving. "This... was made by a person. Very fresh."

Xie Xie's mind buzzed as if struck by lightning. The image of Tang Wulin eating a chicken leg shattered to pieces. Wu Changkong's Heavenfrost Sword, Gu Yue's purple eyes, Yun Ying's curses—all of them were crushed flat beneath that single sentence. Before his eyes flashed Shadow's tongue from last night, slowly licking over her lips as she said, "At the very least, I'll stew you into a snack to go with drinks."

Made by a person.

That finger-joint-like cartilage in the bowl, that pink slice of liver, those thin curled intestines—

His stomach churned violently, a bloody taste surging up his throat. He nearly threw up. His left thumb pressed hard against Yun Ying's avatar as he typed, "Shadow is making people soup in the dorm, save—" He had only reached the word "people" when Shadow suddenly leaned forward. A Feather Blade clicked softly, its spine resting against the side of his phone. It did not scratch the screen, but it was less than a centimeter from the web of his thumb.

"Little brother," Shadow said softly with a smile, "what are you sending? I was teasing you. It's lamb offal."

Xie Xie froze.

Shadow withdrew the Feather Blade, picked up a spoon, stirred the soup, and scooped up a spoonful to hold before his mouth. Steam washed over his nose. "Lamb offal. I stood in line for forty minutes. The place opened at seven, and this was from the first pot. Smell it if you don't believe me."

The scent of the soup reached him. It really was lamb, star anise, fennel, and the clean sweetness of white radish.

But Xie Xie did not dare believe her.

He stared into Shadow's red eyes. There was no obvious flicker of a lie in them, but there was not complete truth either—when she had said, "Made by a person," the curve of her lips had been just slightly deeper than it was now. For someone this unhinged, the difference in cost between cooking real lamb offal and cooking a real person before saying "I was teasing you" was not much. The difference in fun was enormous.

"Y-you really were teasing me?" Xie Xie's voice was weak, as though his spine had been pulled out.

"I really was." Shadow moved the spoon another half inch closer. "Last night, Teacher Wu's sword aura blew me so stiff I could barely move. I slid down a fire pipe and hurt my left knee. Where would I have found the strength to slaughter someone and stew soup? Little brother, do you think I'm some kind of master chef?"

The hem of her hoodie lifted slightly, revealing that her left knee really was wrapped in bandages, faint red bloodstains seeping through. Xie Xie caught sight of it, and some of his reason returned—Wu Changkong had said she was badly injured and would not dare come back for now, and that had indeed been true. If Shadow had really slaughtered someone, the bloody smell would not be this clean. The gamy scent of lamb soup would not be able to cover the smell of human flesh... He did not dare think about what that smell was.

But not daring to believe and daring to drink were two different things.

Shadow's Feather Blades still floated around her. Her red eyes locked onto him as though waiting for him to perform.

Xie Xie's Adam's apple bobbed. He remembered curling into the corner of the sofa last night and saying, "Tang Wulin, come take a look at this yandere." Now Tang Wulin was not here, Wu Changkong was probably in his office sewing ducks, and Yao was likely dreaming about using the Star Sword to cut down Shadow.

If he did not drink, Shadow might smile and test a new blade by slicing his throat.

If he drank, and it was lamb offal, he would live. If it was human, he would not survive the day anyway, but at least he would not be carved up before dying.

Xie Xie closed his eyes.

He took the spoon. His hand shook so badly that a drop of soup spilled onto the back of it, making him flinch from the burn.

Shadow did not move. Her red eyes watched him.

Xie Xie took a sip.

The gamy lamb scent rushed into his nose. The bitterness of star anise gave way to sweetness. The white radish had stewed until soft, and the vermicelli slid down his throat. The "offal" at the bottom chewed like resilient lamb intestine, powdery lamb liver, and crisp lamb tripe—human mouths did not have this kind of springy texture or organ flavor. Human liver was softer, human intestines greasier. He had seen them on a mission last year... Stop. Don't think about it.

"...It's good," he said hoarsely.

"Is it good?" Shadow leaned closer, her white hair brushing his wrist. The frenzy in her red eyes surfaced again, just like last night when she had said, "Little brother, let's talk on the phone." "Little brother, tell me honestly. Is it good?"

Xie Xie gripped the bowl, his knuckles white. "Yes. It's good."

He did not dare provoke her.

Because he still had not figured out whether it was human or lamb. Given Shadow's personality, a bowl of human soup did not seem impossible. She had his WeChat but not his phone number. If she could sneak into his dorm and leave a bowl of soup, she could put anything in it: sedatives, tracking powder, blood from her fingertips, or an actual human finger. When Xie Xie chewed his second bite, his teeth struck something hard. He spat it out and looked—it was star anise. He nearly cried.

Seeing him lower his head and drink, Shadow picked up another bowl of her own—only then did Xie Xie realize she had hidden it beneath the coffee table—and slurped vermicelli. Her red eyes curved into crescents. "Little brother, slow down. It's hot. Lamb offal soup has to be hot. Once it cools, the gaminess gets choking. The lamb was slaughtered this morning. The blood in its heart vessels was still warm when I touched it."

Xie Xie's hand paused again.

"You touched the lamb?" He looked up.

"I touched the lamb's neck." Shadow smiled. "When the blade cuts across it, the lamb just stares. More obedient than people. People, though—" A Feather Blade spun halfway around her finger, and she left the thought unfinished.

Xie Xie lowered his head and drank, not daring to respond.

The morning light shifted by an inch. The dorm was quiet, filled only with the sound of two people slurping vermicelli and the faint whistle of Feather Blades hanging in the air. Xie Xie drank until he reached the bottom. Two pieces of white radish, chopped scallions, and a little broth remained. He set the bowl down. His stomach was warm, but his back was drenched in cold sweat, his pajamas soaked through.

Shadow set down her own bowl as well. The ring blade around her wrist loosened, and the Feather Blades slipped into her sleeves. She got to her feet, the hem of her hoodie swaying. She limped slightly on her left knee as she walked over to a small potted plant by the window and bent down, brushing its new sprout with her fingertip.

"It sprouted," she said softly. "I watered it with blood last night. Don't tell Gu Yue. She thinks it's dirty."

Xie Xie: "..."

Shadow turned back. Her red eyes looked like two jewels soaked in wine under the morning light. "Little brother, once you finish the soup, your life gets extended."

Xie Xie's throat tightened. "What exactly did you come here for?"

"I had to show some sincerity. Last night, I said we could talk on the phone next time, but you don't have my number, while I have your WeChat. You didn't reply when I asked if you were there, so I had no choice but to come to your door. Lamb offal soup. Lamb's. Really."

She pulled out her phone from the pocket of her hoodie, opened WeChat, and turned the screen toward him. At the top was a pinned contact: "Xie Xie Little Brother." The last message in the chat was one she had sent at 3:17 in the morning: "Are you there?" Xie Xie had not replied. Above that was her social feed, where she had posted a picture ten minutes ago: a line outside a lamb offal restaurant, captioned, "Getting breakfast for little brother, lining up for the first pot," with the school's west gate tagged as the location.

Xie Xie stared at the image. Morning light, plastic stools for people waiting in line, a shabby signboard. It was real.

But he still did not dare believe her completely.

Shadow put her phone away. The ring blade completed one last circle around her wrist, and she sat on the windowsill, white hair resting against the glass, red eyes half-closed. "Teacher Wu has excused you from practical class tomorrow morning, but I haven't. Finish your soup, sit up straight, and stop curling up."

Xie Xie slowly sat upright.

He looked at the two white porcelain bowls on the coffee table. The chipped one was his, and the other was Shadow's. Both had a little soup residue left at the bottom. The gamy lamb smell lingered in the dorm, mixing with the faint scent of blood around Shadow, cloyingly sweet like the red mist from last night had not fully dispersed.

Behind his back, his phone was still lit. Yun Ying's chat box held the unfinished message, "People soup, save—" His thumb hovered over it before he finally deleted it.

Shadow leaned by the window. Morning light gilded the side of her face. Her red eyes were closed, making her look as though she had truly fallen asleep. The hood of her hoodie covered her white hair, and the bloodstains on her left knee's bandages were fading.

Xie Xie suddenly thought: if this bowl really was human soup, she would not have posted it on her social feed; if it really was lamb soup, she would not have skipped the chance to tease him by saying, "Made by a person."

What she wanted was for him to look exactly like this—

Unable to trust her, unable not to drink, unable to provoke her, unable to sleep.

Xie Xie turned his phone facedown on the sofa and looked at his own hand. A little soup residue still clung to the web of his thumb, carrying the scent of star anise.

He remembered saying three days ago that he "wouldn't survive the week." Now it was Wednesday morning. He was alive, having drunk the lamb offal soup Shadow bought, while Shadow dozed against his windowsill.

And the tip of the sprout on that little potted plant really did have a speck of dark red on it.

Lamb's blood, or something else.

Xie Xie did not wipe it away.

Without opening her eyes, Shadow's voice drifted over softly. "Little brother, next time I'll give you more radish. Your cheeks are getting tired from chewing."

Xie Xie could not answer.

The soup was hot.

He was alive.

That thing in the bowl that looked like a finger joint was probably lamb tendon.

Probably.