My family has practiced the occult arts for three hundred years, yet somehow, they produced me: a staunch, uncompromising materialist. My grandfather is a highly sought-after Feng Shui master. My father specializes in breaking curses. A single protective talisman drawn by my mother can auction for six figures. But ever since I was a kid, I’ve only believed in three things: Newton, Marx, and the grading rubric. That was, until a low-income scholarship student named Seraphina transferred to my elite prep school. Rumor had it that on the night she was born, there was a rare planetary alignment. Three renowned astrologers simultaneously declared her a "once-in-a-century Phoenix destiny"—anyone who got close to her would be blessed with unimaginable good fortune. From that day on, the heirs to the four most powerful families in the city fought tooth and nail just to be near her. When I scored 32 points higher than her on the midterms, they claimed my aura was "suppressing her luck." My physics competition notebook was destroyed. My recommendation for the state tournament was suspended. Even the desk I had used for two years was dragged next to the trash cans, with two words slapped on it: "Energy block." Everyone told me: "You already have everything. Why can't you just let her win this once?" Until they decided they needed to "cleanse her aura," and shoved me into the school's abandoned underground crypt that had been sealed for twenty years. As the heavy iron door slammed shut and the lock clicked, I used the faint light of my phone to examine the statue in the center of the room. I stood in silence for a very long time. Then, I dialed my grandfather's number. "Grandpa? It looks like someone is worshiping our family's founding patriarch backward." 1 The first time my family realized something was wrong with me was when I was five. That year, I ran a 104-degree fever. My grandfather spent hours doing complex numerology calculations on his fingers before declaring that I was suffering from a "Childhood Tribulation Curse." My father sealed the courtyard doors. My mother lit seven ceremonial oil lamps. Over thirty uncles and disciples rushed over in the dead of night, plastering the entire house with yellow talismans. My vision was going black from the fever, but I still managed to point weakly at the thermometer on the table: "Can we please just go to the hospital first?" The next day, after a course of IV fluids, my fever broke. My grandfather insisted it was the seven ceremonial lamps. I insisted it was the antibiotics and ibuprofen. From that day on, a massive ideological rift opened in my family regarding my education. When I was seven, my mother tried to teach me how to draw a protective talisman. I measured it with a ruler and asked, "If it's not perfectly symmetrical, will it affect the efficacy?" She said, "Sincerity brings manifestation." I asked, "If sincerity is all that matters, why do we need to draw it at all?" She was silent for a full minute. When I was eight, my dad took me to inspect a haunted house. He stood in the living room, eyes closed, "sensing" the energy for a long time. Finally, he pointed to the northwest corner and said, "Dark energy is pooling here." I walked over and touched the wall. There was a massive water leak. By the time I was eleven, my grandfather finally couldn't take it anymore. He slammed the family genealogy book onto the table: "Richard, is she really our flesh and blood?!" My dad hurried to calm him down: "Dad, it's been three hundred years. It's totally normal for us to produce one skeptic." My mom was more optimistic: "At least her grades are good." When I won first place in the National Math Olympiad at twelve, skipped a grade at fourteen, and took gold in the National Physics Competition at fifteen, my family's attitude shifted completely. My grandfather spent every day cursing me for disrespecting my ancestors, yet every holiday, he would laminate my award certificates and place them proudly next to the patriarch's shrine. My dad bragged to anyone who would listen: "That's my daughter. She's a physicist. A literal genius." People would ask, "Isn't your family famous for the occult?" He’d wave them off: "That's just nonsense for uneducated folks like us. She's different." To ensure I could study in peace, I had only one condition before enrolling at St. Jude's Preparatory Academy. No one in the family was allowed to reveal my background. My grandfather was furious. When I told him it would affect my social life, he was so angry he refused to eat the pastries my mom bought him for three days. As it turns out, I was right. For the first two and a half years at St. Jude's, no one asked for my astrological sign, and no one tried to slip talismans into my locker. Until Seraphina arrived. She was a new transfer student, admitted on a low-income scholarship. On her very first day, someone posted a screenshot of a fifteen-year-old newspaper clipping on the school's anonymous forum. The headline read: [Infant Girl Born During Rare Planetary Alignment. Three Grandmasters Declare 'Phoenix Destiny' Has Arrived.] The baby in the photo was Seraphina. There was a prophetic comment pinned below the post: "The Phoenix lands in poverty. He who wins her, wins the world." Within half a day, the entire school knew. The four most elite, untouchable boys at St. Jude's started orbiting her that very same day. Carter Sterling, the sole heir to the Sterling empire. Liam Vance, heir apparent to Vance Global. Julian Thorne, the youngest and most spoiled son of the Thorne family. And Arthur Prescott, the eldest grandson of the school's founding board member. On Seraphina's third day, they spent an entire study hall arguing over where she should sit. Carter claimed the back row had bad lighting and would damage her aura. Liam argued that sitting by the window exposed her to negative energy currents. Julian walked around the classroom with a literal Feng Shui compass, declaring that my desk was situated exactly on the room's "Academic Prosperity Nexus." Finally, with one word from Arthur, the homeroom teacher actually prepared to make me switch seats. I looked up. "Why?" The teacher looked embarrassed. "Seraphina just transferred here, and she's having a hard time adjusting. Your grades are rock solid; moving seats shouldn't affect you much." I asked, "If it doesn't matter where I sit, then why does it absolutely have to be my specific desk?" The classroom went dead silent. Arthur leaned against the back door, his tone flat. "It's just a desk." I nodded. "If it's just a desk, then she can sit at her original one." Eventually, the physics teacher intervened and shut the whole thing down. I genuinely thought this was just a case of rich, hormonal teenage boys losing their minds. Until the results of the first midterms were posted. I was first. Seraphina was second. I beat her by 32 points. That afternoon, a new thread popped up on the school forum. [The Phoenix Transfer Student Suffers Her First Defeat. Normal Performance, or Did Someone Steal Her Luck?] The original poster listed my seat location, birthday, and enrollment date alongside Seraphina's, and concluded with absolute, pseudo-scientific certainty: My astrological profile was too aggressive, and it was suppressing hers. What was even more absurd was that people actually believed it. Someone pulled a screenshot from the security cameras showing me walking into the classroom at 6:45 AM, claiming I was secretly setting up a dark magic array during the "twilight hour." I replied with a single sentence: [Morning study hall starts at 6:50 AM.] That only made them curse me out worse. During lunch that day, I found seven or eight yellow paper talismans shoved into my desk cubby. Someone had used a red Sharpie to write on my physics exam: "Enjoying your stolen first place?" Someone else dumped a large iced coffee directly into my backpack. I took my ruined, soaking wet workbook to the homeroom teacher. She looked at it, stayed quiet for a moment, and said, "I'll give the class a stern talking to." I asked, "Who did it?" She avoided my eyes. "They're probably just playing a prank." "Destroying my property is a prank?" "Chloe, your grades are so good. There's no need to stoop to their level and make a big deal out of it." Standing in the doorway of her office, I suddenly realized how familiar that sentence sounded. Since I was a kid, people always loved telling the person who had "more" to compromise. You have good grades, so let it go this once. You come from a good family, so don't be petty. You aren't crying, which means it doesn't hurt that badly. But no one ever stopped to ask if I had to bleed to earn those things in the first place. The next morning, I walked into the classroom and realized my desk was gone. The desk I had used for two years was shoved into the very back corner, right next to the trash cans. A piece of yellow parchment was slapped on the desktop. Written on it in thick black ink were two words: [Energy Block] In my original spot sat a massive, five-foot-tall Money Tree plant. The class president saw me walk in and rushed over to explain: "Carter had a specialist come look at the room. They said your desk was blocking Seraphina's Academic Prosperity Nexus. We're just swapping it for a week, until the state competition is over." I looked at him. "Who approved this?" He didn't answer. "The homeroom teacher?" He shook his head. "The administration?" He shook his head again. I asked, "Then what gives you the right to touch my property?" Carter happened to walk through the door at that exact moment. Hearing me, he scoffed. "Give it a rest. It's just a desk. Do you really have to make a scene and embarrass everyone?" I looked at my desk sitting next to the trash. "So you think dragging my desk next to the garbage is supposed to make me look good?" The room went completely silent. Carter frowned. "No one is targeting you. We just don't want you negatively affecting Seraphina anymore." I stared at him for a few seconds. "She couldn't beat my score because she only got a 97 on the math section." "She's not feeling well lately." "Because she only sleeps five hours a night studying." "Stop being so incredibly toxic!" I didn't bother arguing with him anymore. I grabbed my desk, dragged it all the way back, and shoved the plant out of the way. Carter slammed his hand down on the corner of my desk. "Chloe, are you seriously going to fight Seraphina to the bitter end?" For the first time, I looked him dead in the eye. "I am sitting at my own desk, earning my own grades, and participating in a competition I registered for. Tell me, exactly which one of those things constitutes 'fighting' her?" He froze. The person who answered me wasn't him. It was Seraphina. She was standing in the doorway, looking pale, her eyes red and puffy. She said softly, "Chloe, I'm so sorry. They're just worried about me." I looked at her. "And?" She looked confused. "Are you asking me to forgive them, or are you asking me to give you my seat?" Tears instantly spilled down her cheeks. "I didn't mean it like that." Carter violently let go of my desk. "Chloe, do you have to be such an aggressive bitch?" In that moment, I finally understood something. Seraphina didn't have to do anything at all. All she had to do was shed a single tear, and there would always be someone willing to do the dirty work for her. 2 Three days later, Liam intercepted me outside the science building. He was much more direct than Carter. "Drop out of the physics competition. Fifty thousand dollars." I thought I misheard him. "What?" He held out a bank card. "Seraphina's mental state is really bad right now, and this competition is crucial for her. You've already won plenty of awards. Missing one won't affect your resume." I looked at the bank card, making no move to take it. "She can always compete next year." Liam's brow furrowed. "She's not like you." "How is she different?" "You couldn't possibly understand how hard it was for her to get to where she is." I let out a short laugh. "And you think it was easy for me?" He didn't answer. When I competed at age twelve, I was sleeping six hours a night. When I made the national training camp at fourteen, I didn't go home for two months straight. To prepare for this specific state physics competition, I had studied relentlessly for six months. I had filled four entire lab notebooks with experimental data. I had worked through two massive stacks of advanced problem sets until the pages fell out. But in his mouth, because I supposedly "had more," my blood, sweat, and tears were automatically devalued to zero. I pushed the card back. "I'm not dropping out." Liam's face turned icy. "Why do you have to compete with her?" "Because the registration form doesn't say 'Reserved Exclusively for Seraphina'." "Chloe." "Are we done here?" He glared at me. "You are going to regret this." That night, when I returned to my dorm, there was an empty iced coffee cup sitting on my desk. My four lab notebooks were completely soaked in coffee. Six months of meticulous data had bled into a massive, muddy brown stain. My roommate was on the verge of tears. "It was like this when I got back! I swear I didn't touch anything!" I flipped to the very last notebook. Tucked inside was the official state team recommendation form my physics teacher had just given me. The ink was completely washed out. For the first time, I didn't say a word. Not because I didn't know what to say. But because I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I would start screaming. I took photos of the damage first, then went straight to the dorm RA to pull the security footage. The RA told me the cameras happened to be down for "maintenance" that afternoon. I asked, "What time did the maintenance start?" She couldn't give me an answer. I went to the administrative office next. When the staff saw my ruined notebooks, the first thing they said wasn't to ask who did it. They said, "Chloe, you can just rewrite these notes. You're so smart, it'll only take you a few days to catch up." I asked, "If these were Seraphina's notes, would you say the same thing?" She froze. I continued, "If she spent six months preparing these notes and someone destroyed them today, would you tell her not to make a big deal out of it?" Her expression soured. "Don't make everything about her." "You were the one who told me to be 'understanding'." The office went quiet. Eventually, my physics teacher rushed in and pulled me out into the hall. He was livid, his face red with anger. "Who did this?" "No proof." "What about the cameras?" "Broken." He cursed under his breath, pulled out his laptop, and said, "We'll recover as much as we can. I'll stay here and help you rewrite it." We stayed in the lab until 11:00 PM that night. Right before I left, he suddenly looked at me and said, "The school has suspended your state team recommendation." I thought I misheard him. "Why?" "Someone filed an anonymous, formal complaint alleging that you have been systematically bullying Seraphina, causing her severe anxiety. The administration says they have to investigate before they can process your recommendation." I stared at him. "Who filed the complaint?" He looked away. I already knew the answer. The next day, I went straight to the nurse's office to find Seraphina. She was getting an IV drip. When she saw me, she instinctively sat up straighter. "Chloe." I slammed the suspension notice down on the table in front of her. "Did you report me?" Her face instantly went white. "No! I never reported you!" "Then what exactly did you tell the administration?" Her eyes quickly filled with tears. "I just... I just told the school counselor that lately, every time I see you, I get panic attacks." "Why?" "I don't know." She bit her lip, whispering, "Master Julian said our astrological charts are clashing. I didn't want to believe it, but every time you get a higher score than me, I physically feel sick." I stared at her. "So you think I'm doing something to hurt you?" "I never said that." "But you told the school counselor." Tears streamed down her face. "I was just so scared." Behind me, the scraping sound of a chair being pushed back echoed in the small room. Carter stood up. "Chloe, she's literally hooked up to an IV and you're still harassing her?" Liam was there, too. Arthur stood by the window, his expression unreadable. I suddenly realized why all of them were here. This wasn't a random encounter. They had been waiting for me. Arthur spoke up. "Your recommendation is only temporarily suspended. Once Seraphina's condition stabilizes, the school will naturally reinstate it." I looked at him. "Do you run this school?" His expression didn't change. "I'm just familiar with the administrative procedures." I laughed. "No wonder the security cameras broke at the exact perfect time." Arthur's face finally darkened. "What is that supposed to mean?" "Nothing." I picked up the suspension notice. "I just didn't realize that the academic policies at St. Jude's were governed by astrology." As I turned to leave the nurse's office, I heard Seraphina crying behind me: "I really didn't want to steal her spot." No one answered her. Because everyone in that room knew the truth. She didn't need to steal anything. Someone would always gladly take it and hand it to her. 3 Once my state recommendation was suspended, the situation rapidly spiraled out of control. What started as a dumb supernatural joke on the school forum morphed into an accepted reality: I was expected to step aside and clear the path for Seraphina. My homeroom teacher advised me to take a three-day break from competition training. "Don't trigger her while the investigation is ongoing." I asked, "The state competition is in seventeen days." She sighed. "Your foundation is solid. Three days won't make a difference." I looked at her. "When she scored 32 points lower than me, you all acted like the sky was falling. When I lose three days of critical training, you say it doesn't make a difference." My homeroom teacher opened her mouth, but couldn't find the words. Finally, she just said, "Chloe, I'm telling you this for your own good." That afternoon, my competition locker was sealed with administrative tape. The Dean of Students claimed it was for "temporary safekeeping" and would be returned once the investigation concluded. My only set of specialized lab equipment was locked inside. During the afternoon lab block, I was forced to stand on the sidelines and watch. Someone in the back row whispered, "So what if she's in first place? She just stole someone else's luck." Another student laughed. "If she just stays away from Seraphina, maybe Seraphina's grades will go back to normal." I didn't turn around. I just mentally cataloged their names. That night, a petition was posted on the school forum. Over three hundred students signed, demanding I temporarily withdraw from the physics competition. The justification was so absurd it made me want to laugh. [For the sake of fairness.] I stared at those words for a very long time. I was the one who earned my spot through objective test scores. But when a mob decides they want you to step aside, they always cloak their theft in righteous terminology. Fairness. Empathy. Kindness. For the greater good. The next day, the physics teacher called me into his office. An email was pulled up on his monitor. The state competition required final confirmation of the school's roster. And the administration still hadn't submitted my confirmation letter. There were exactly 48 hours left before the deadline. For the first time in this entire ordeal, I was genuinely furious. "Why?" My physics teacher looked grim. "Vice Principal Prescott said we have to wait for the results of the investigation." I asked, "Is 48 hours going to be enough time for that?" He didn't answer. I already knew the answer. Leaving the office, I ran into Arthur at the top of the stairs. He looked like he had been waiting specifically for me. "It's not too late for you to withdraw." I stopped. "So it was you." He didn't deny it. "Seraphina has lost six pounds in the last few days." "What does that have to do with my registration form?" "As long as you don't compete, her anxiety will improve drastically." I stared at him. "Did she tell you that?" Arthur paused for two seconds. "Does it matter?" "Of course it matters." "Chloe, you've already won so many first-place trophies." His voice remained maddeningly calm. "For you, this is just another competition. For her, it could be the opportunity that completely changes the trajectory of her life." I suddenly laughed. He frowned. "What's so funny?" "I'm laughing at how incredibly fascinating you guys are." "She's poor, so I'm obligated to step aside." "She has anxiety, so I'm obligated to stop training." "She has insomnia, so I'm obligated to hand over my first-place ranking." "Arthur, if she bombs the SATs next year, am I going to be expected to hand over my Ivy League acceptance letter too?" His face turned completely to ice. "You're always so petty and calculating." I nodded. "Yes, I am. Because those things belong to me." Just then, Seraphina ran up the stairs. She had clearly heard the last few sentences. "Chloe, please don't misunderstand." She was panting heavily, her eyes red. "I already told them to leave you alone." I asked, "Then why hasn't my recommendation been reinstated?" She froze. "I don't know." "Why is my competition locker sealed?" "I don't know." "Why did the security cameras break?" Her face grew paler by the second. I looked at her. "Seraphina, you never know anything, do you?" Tears instantly flooded her eyes. "Do you think I'm just acting pathetic on purpose?" "I just think it's very strange." "What?" "Why is it that every single time someone hurts another person for your benefit, the only thing you ever do is cry and say you didn't know?" She swayed unsteadily on her feet. Arthur immediately caught her arm. "Enough." I didn't say another word. That afternoon, the school suddenly announced a mandatory "Traditional Culture Experience" assembly in the main auditorium. I looked at the sponsor listed on the flyer. The Thorne Institute for Traditional Heritage. I immediately had a very bad feeling about this. The auditorium lights were dimmed to half capacity. On the stage sat an incense burner, a brass bell, a Bagua mirror, and two potted plants. Julian stood at the podium. He announced that today, he was going to conduct a small experiment to prove how environmental energy fields affect human beings. I knew instantly that this was a targeted hit job. Sure enough, ten minutes later, he called my name. "Chloe has always been a skeptic of energy fields. Why don't you come up here and take a look?" Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned to stare at me simultaneously. My homeroom teacher whispered, "Chloe, don't make a scene." I suddenly felt incredibly exhausted. They could destroy my research data. They could suspend my recommendation. They could lock up my equipment. They could parade me in front of hundreds of people as some kind of toxic, cursed monster. But if I defended myself with a single sentence, I was the one making a scene. I stood up and walked to the stage. Of the two potted plants, one was vibrant and healthy, the other was visibly wilting and dying. Julian said, "The plant on the left was placed inside an energy-gathering array for seven days. The one on the right was kept in a normal room." The audience let out a collective gasp of awe. He asked me, "How do you explain this?" I crouched down and touched the soil. The plant on the left had just been watered. There was also a noticeable difference in the weight of the two pots. I borrowed a digital scale from a staff member, weighed them both, and then checked the direction of the stage lighting. Finally, I stood up and said, "The watering volumes are completely different. The light exposure is unequal. The environments weren't isolated or transparent. Your sample size is exactly one, and you failed to control a single variable." The auditorium slowly grew quiet. I looked up at him. "This isn't an experiment. This is a staged photo op." Someone in the back row suddenly snorted with laughter. The laughter quickly rippled through the crowd, growing louder. The smug smile completely vanished from Julian's face. I thought that would be the end of it. But that night, I received an anonymous text message. [You think this is all fake, right? Tonight at midnight. The underground crypt.] I deleted it. Ten minutes later, a second message arrived. [All you have to do is stay in there for one night. Seraphina's luck will be restored, and your competition recommendation will be reinstated.] I stared at that sentence for a few seconds. Then, I took a screenshot. Saved the evidence. And blocked the number. I didn't expect them to actually come for me.
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