It Seems Like My Senior Seems to Like Me - Chapter 24

A long time later, Ye Wanjia hardly remembered the cheerleading competition for college students in Nanzhou City.

She only recalled that it was a very cold day. Everyone wore ultra-short cheerleading skirts and huddled inside the venue to keep warm. The competition ran from noon until evening, and thankfully, they eventually won first prize.

At 4 p.m., after Nanzhou University finished its performance, everyone returned to the waiting area to rest and watch the other schools compete.

Ye Wanjia’s phone was almost out of battery, so she took out a power bank from her small backpack. After charging for a few minutes, the student council president, Du Bin, approached her:

“Ye Wanjia, can I borrow your power bank?”

Ye Wanjia looked up in surprise. “Sure. But it’s an Android connector.”

Du Bin smiled deeply. “No problem, mine’s Android too.”

Ye Wanjia found it odd—hadn’t Du Bin always used an iPhone? But she didn’t say anything. Assuming he urgently needed it, she lent it to him.

With 18% battery remaining, Ye Wanjia silently switched her phone to power-saving mode and focused on the competition. Not playing on her phone, watching other schools’ performances wasn’t so bad.

By 7 p.m., the winter sunset had sunk below the horizon. The organizers announced the final results and completed the awards ceremony. The person receiving the award was Ouyang, the teacher in charge of choreography. At 27, she still had the energy of a young adult:

“Thank you sincerely to every team member of Nanzhou University and to all the students who worked behind the scenes. Cheerleading symbolizes youth, energy, and passion. I believe these are the keywords of your generation!”

With the awards ceremony over, the day’s competition finally drew to a close. As everyone exited the venue and returned along the original route to the buses, Du Bin called out to Ye Wanjia again:

“Oh, Ye Wanjia, could you return the key to the lounge for me?”

“Me?” Ye Wanjia was surprised. She had never really spoken to Du Bin before and wasn’t in the same college. Why not ask someone from his own college?

But she wasn’t calculating; she only considered the most immediate answer and, without overthinking, nodded.

“Return it to Teacher Song. He manages the keys. Don’t give it to anyone else; otherwise, if anything goes missing, the school will make you pay.”

After giving these instructions, Du Bin looked at her tall, slim figure in a cheerleading skirt and disappeared into the dimming corridor.

Ten minutes later, the two buses of Nanzhou University started moving. Pei Suye, in charge of Bus A, finished calling the roll.

“Is everyone here?”

Du Bin, responsible for Bus B, walked to the front of Bus A.

Pei Suye handed him the attendance sheet. “Bus A is full.”

“Good, let’s go.”

“Wasn’t the departure scheduled for 7:30?”

“Everyone’s here, so let’s leave early. It’s about an hour back.”

“Is your bus full?”

Du Bin’s expression didn’t change. “Yes.”

He turned to the driver: “Let’s get going, sir. It’s already dark; we’ll be late if we don’t.”

Pei Suye glanced at Bus B. The seating was arranged alphabetically by surname. Ye Wanjia and some students with surnames Zhao, Zhang, and Zhu were assigned to Bus B. But in this hurried glance, she could only make out the first two rows by the window—no sign of Ye Wanjia. Perhaps she was too tired and had gone to the back rows.

Pei Suye didn’t double-check, thinking Du Bin, as student council president, wouldn’t mess up something so basic. That fleeting hesitation would haunt her for countless nights to come.

Room 101 on the first floor of the southern district of the venue was locked. Teacher Song, who should have been inside waiting for her to return the key, was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe he went to the restroom? Ye Wanjia thought and decided to wait outside for a while.

After the crowds left, the bustling venue fell into complete silence. Snap—snap—snap—the bright LED lights went out one by one.

The vast silence brought a piercing ringing to her ears. The empty hall felt like a mortuary, the lines on the floor resembling corpse markers. Chilling winds swept from all directions, and through the open corridor doors, dim streetlight seeped in. The darkness was terrifying, and the air seemed full of countless ghostly hands, clawing and reaching for her.

“Teacher Song? Hello? Is anyone here?”

She pounded on the door several times, but there was no response.

Whoo

The fierce wind howled down the narrow passage, sounding like ghostly wails.

Ye Wanjia, timid by nature, hurriedly pulled out her phone, pressing the home button several times, but the screen remained dead—it had shut down.

In an instant, fear surged like a flood, overwhelming her fragile, young heart. Forgetting about Teacher Song, the key—she only ran, retracing her steps through the winding corridor marked only by “Emergency Exit” lights, past the silent center of the venue that had been bustling just moments ago.

But when she gritted her teeth and ran to the exit, she found the two Nanzhou University buses that had been parked there were gone.

Had everyone left?

No one informed her, no one waited for her, no one noticed that Ye Wanjia was missing.

Her calm heart split, releasing a bitter, acrid wave that wrinkled the surface of her mind. Every cell soaked in the sour taste.

Her solitary figure was stretched by the tall street lamps, long and thin, like a hanging tongue.

Her grape-like eyes lowered, water glinting in the corners—

Had Pei Suye forgotten her too…?

After the buses arrived at the school, Pei Suye immediately went to the back bus to wait for everyone. Usually composed, her face was unusually anxious—Ye Wanjia hadn’t replied to her WeChat for over an hour.

“Bebe, have you seen Ye Wanjia?” she asked a veterinary student.

“No, she was supposed to be on that bus, right?”

“Yes, I thought she might want to sit with you since you two know each other better.”

“She’s not on the bus?”

The three of them looked confused. Pei Suye asked incredulously, “Didn’t Du Bin call the roll before leaving?”

“No. But he checked manually and said everyone was there.”

Her beautiful brows furrowed; her usually calm face darkened. Without lingering, Pei Suye went straight to find Du Bin.

“Du Bin, where’s Ye Wanjia?” she asked bluntly.

Du Bin still played the polite gentleman. “I didn’t notice. Maybe she went back to the dorm?”

“Impossible. I waited at the bus door from the first person who got off until now. Those on her bus said she wasn’t on it when it left.”

Du Bin’s face stiffened. “Well, she’s an adult. Even if she missed the bus, she can handle it herself. I bought two movie tickets for that cinema at the school gate. Want to go?”

His casual tone infuriated Pei Suye. Her pretty eyes narrowed, and her voice went ice-cold:

“As the person in charge, one team member went missing, and you’re calmly talking about going to the movies? Do you not care at all about your team members’ safety, or do you know why she missed the bus?”

Usually composed and considerate, she had never shown anger publicly. When someone like her’s expression hardened, even the air seemed to freeze.

Everyone looked on in surprise as the school’s two prominent figures faced off unexpectedly.

Surrounded by spectators, Du Bin lost patience and retorted:

“I’m the person in charge, so I must be responsible for everyone? She’s an adult; she has her own judgment. I’m not her parent or guardian. Why must I manage every detail?”

When a person is proven incompetent, malicious, or cruel, they often shift the blame onto the victim without hesitation.

For the first time, Pei Suye openly expressed her anger in front of everyone. Her calm eyes turned sharp, locking onto Du Bin:

“If anything happens to her, you and I are not done.”

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