The next morning, as the preparatory bell for early self-study had just rung, Lu Zhiye had only just taken his seat in the last row.
Su Nuonuo walked over, holding the lunchbox printed with a little yellow duck.
She gently placed the lunchbox on the corner of his desk. Her face was already flushed bright red, and her voice was so soft it sounded like a mosquito’s hum: “Um… I made pan-fried dumplings. Would you like to try them?”
As soon as she said this, the entire class seemed to hit the pause button.
Silence fell for three seconds, and then the room erupted.
“Damn! Is she crazy?”
“Yesterday Lu Zhiye threw away her sandwich, and she still dares to bring him food?”
Some people gasped, some made exaggerated expressions that could fit an egg in their mouths, and countless eyes were fixed on the two of them, as if waiting to watch a joke unfold.
However…
Lu Zhiye lowered his eyes, staring at the yellow lunchbox. His fingers curled slightly under the desk.
He didn’t speak, but unlike last time, he didn’t immediately reach out and throw it away either.
Just like that, for four consecutive days, Su Nuonuo unshakably brought breakfast for Lu Zhiye.
Every day, the lunchbox was spotless. One day it was millet porridge with tea eggs, another day it was a sandwich with warm milk. The menu changed each time.
The reactions of the class also changed accordingly.
On the first day, it was explosive shock and gossip; on the second day, people gathered together whispering; on the third day, they had already grown used to it and only glanced occasionally.
Some even secretly made bets on what Su Nuonuo would bring the next day.
On the morning of the fourth day, just after Su Nuonuo had placed the breakfast down, she was called to the office to collect test papers.
Lu Zhiye had not arrived yet when a figure slipped in through the back door of the classroom.
It was Sun Qing from Class Three. She glanced toward Lu Zhiye’s seat, and her gaze immediately stuck to the little yellow duck lunchbox on the desk.
She had been nearly driven mad with jealousy these past few days. She had previously tried to show goodwill toward Lu Zhiye, but he had ignored her completely. Yet recently, she had heard that he had been eating the breakfasts Su Nuonuo brought.
Only then did she wonder if her way of showing goodwill had been wrong.
Looking at the lunchbox on the desk, Sun Qing curled her lips in disdain. She took out a finely packaged Western-style breakfast from her bag and placed it in the center of Lu Zhiye’s desk.
Then she quickly grabbed Su Nuonuo’s lunchbox and slipped away, her movements stealthy, like a thief.
Not long after, Lu Zhiye entered the classroom.
With one hand in his pocket and his school uniform jacket hanging open, he walked to his seat. As his gaze swept across the desk, his brows immediately furrowed into a tight knot.
On the desk was an unfamiliar package. The place where the little yellow duck lunchbox should have been was empty.
He turned his head, his gaze cold and intimidating, and looked at his desk mate: “Who put this here?”
The desk mate shrank his neck in fear and quickly nodded toward Class Three, lowering his voice: “It was Sun Qing from Class Three… She took Su Nuonuo’s lunchbox.”
As soon as those words fell, Lu Zhiye’s expression darkened instantly. A surge of hostility spread around him like ice forming.
The entire class fell silent. Even their breathing became lighter.
He picked up the Western-style breakfast, strode out with long steps, and headed straight for the neighboring Class Three.
The classroom door was not closed. He kicked one side open, and immediately spotted Sun Qing sitting in the front row.
In a few strides, he reached her desk and slammed the exquisite breakfast box onto the table. Then he extended his hand, his tone edged with ice: “Mine.”
Under everyone’s watchful eyes, Sun Qing’s face turned as white as paper, and she didn’t dare lift her head for a long time.
Hesitantly, she pulled the yellow duck lunchbox from her drawer and shoved it into his hand.
Lu Zhiye took the box, his fingertips unconsciously brushing along its familiar edges. In a voice not loud but clear enough for everyone in Class Three to hear, he said word by word: “Don’t touch my things.”
The warning was unmistakable.
And anyone could understand the implication in those words—this “thing” was not just a lunchbox.
Just then, Su Nuonuo, holding a stack of test papers she had just collected from the office, passed by the entrance of Class Three.
At a glance, she saw Lu Zhiye standing in front of Sun Qing’s desk, and the familiar yellow duck lunchbox in his hand.
Lu Zhiye turned his head and saw her as well.
The cold, intimidating aura around him instantly dissipated, melting away like snow under sunlight.
He walked quickly up to her and lifted the lunchbox in his hand.
His tone softened significantly, carrying a hint of instruction even he himself had not noticed: “Next time, put it in my drawer.”
Su Nuonuo stood frozen in place, watching his back as he turned and returned to his classroom. Her heart thumped loudly.
She hurried back to her own classroom, clutching the test papers and quickening her pace.
The news that School Bully Lu Zhiye only ate the breakfasts brought by Su Nuonuo—and even went to another class to “cause trouble” over her lunchbox—spread wildly throughout the grade that very day.
As rumors circulated, the story became increasingly exaggerated, eventually turning into: “Top Student and School Bully’s early romance confirmed—School Bully’s exclusive favoritism.”
In the afternoon, the Class Teacher separately called the two of them in for talks.
In the office, Su Nuonuo nervously twisted the hem of her clothes, calmly admitting that she had taken the initiative to bring breakfast for Lu Zhiye. However, she insisted that it was simply mutual help between classmates, and mentioned that she had once eaten breakfast made by Lu Zhiye’s grandfather.
She did not mention a single word about “liking” him, taking all potential “impact” upon herself.
On the other side, Lu Zhiye was summoned by the Dean of Discipline and immediately subjected to a stern lecture, warning him not to “lead good students astray” and not to ruin Su Nuonuo’s future.
He kept his head lowered the entire time, listening in silence, his fists clenched tighter and tighter by his side until his knuckles turned pale.
After school, Lu Zhiye took the initiative to call Su Nuonuo to the rooftop.
The wind was a bit strong, blowing his fringe into disarray.
With his back to her, he looked out at the distant teaching building, his voice cold as if tempered in ice: “Su Nuonuo, the game should end here.”
He suddenly turned around, deliberately keeping his expression distant, his tone rigid: “Stay away from me! Being involved with me won’t do you any good. Your future is bright—don’t ruin it because of someone like me.”
Those words were spoken for her, but they sounded more like something he forced out through gritted teeth to convince himself.
Su Nuonuo did not get angry, nor did her eyes redden. She simply looked at him quietly, then stepped closer one step at a time.
She stopped in front of him, only half a step away, and said softly: “Lu Zhiye, when you say those words, you don’t dare look into my eyes.”
She could see clearly the struggle hidden deep within his eyes, along with a trace of pain he had not managed to conceal.
“My future is defined by myself. Whether it shines or not isn’t decided by others—it’s decided by the person walking alongside me.”
She reached out and gently grasped the edge of his school uniform. Her fingertips trembled slightly, but her grip was firm. “And you are not ‘that kind of person.’ You are… the gentlest person I have ever met.”
All of Lu Zhiye’s carefully prepared cold words collapsed instantly in the face of her words “the gentlest person.”
His Adam’s apple moved. His shoulders trembled almost imperceptibly. His hand, hanging at his side, curled and uncurled repeatedly.
The setting sun stretched the railing of the rooftop and the shadows of the two of them into long silhouettes.
In the end, Lu Zhiye did not pull her hand away. He only let out a very soft, slightly hoarse surrender from his throat: “…Suit yourself. Don’t regret it later.”
Only he himself knew that the fist he had clenched tightly just moments ago had already slowly loosened.