On the other side of the phone, Xi Liye watched Wen Chu’s reply: “It’s just that dating you really offers zero privacy, Classmate Xi,” along with that “pointing finger” emoji. His eyes flickered slightly.
He could imagine her right now—cheeks puffed out, flustered and annoyed, yet trying her best to act composed. Like a small animal whose burrow had been surrounded by onlookers; fur bristling, yet not quite brave enough to actually bite.
The mental image brought a slight curve to his lips.
L.Ye: You don’t like the attention?
He asked directly. Wen Chu looked at the message, sighed, and tapped away at her screen.
Chu Chu Hide-and-Seek: Of course. Isn’t it better to stay low-profile?
Chu Chu Hide-and-Seek: Besides, I’m not exactly great at dealing with crowds.
It was the truth. She was social anxiety personified.
Xi Liye fell into a brief silence reading her reply. Not great at dealing with crowds.
So, in the classroom that afternoon, the reason she played with her phone and ignored him at first wasn’t because of his presence, but because they were being watched? And later, when she was drawn in by the kitten sketch, she temporarily forgot her surroundings and showed her natural self.
So, it’s not that she doesn’t care about me. (Haha, our guy managed to coax himself into a good mood again.)
L.Ye: Got it.
Wen Chu felt a strange sense of relief at those familiar two words, though she still felt a bit uncertain.
Chu Chu Hide-and-Seek: Oh…
She replied dryly. Just when she thought the conversation would end with the usual “Goodnight,” another message from Xi Liye popped up.
L.Ye: Next time, we’ll find a quieter place.
Wen Chu: “???”
Chu Chu Hide-and-Seek: What?
L.Ye: Next time, we’ll meet somewhere with no people, so we won’t be seen.
Wen Chu thought: Wait, brother, do you even know what you’re saying?
For some reason, she felt like their relationship had suddenly taken on the vibe of a secret affair. Countless scenes flashed through her mind: the deepest corner of the library, a deserted campus road late at night, or the “Lovers’ Woods” behind the school…
Stop! Cut it out! She shook her head violently, trying to toss those messy associations aside. She was definitely being led astray by Xi Liye; the direction of this conversation was getting weird!
Of course, Wen Chu didn’t expect that their “next date” would truly be somewhere with no onlookers—in fact, they were the only two people in the entire space.
When Wen Chu was led by Xi Liye to his high-end apartment near the school, she was still in a state of utter bewilderment: “Who am I? Where am I? Why am I here?”
She stood in the foyer, still clutching her canvas bag filled with English books, her gaze wandering blankly across the living room. Only one thought looped in her mind:
Did I get my head caught in a door? Why did I agree to come here?!
The situation was this: the CET-4 and CET-6 English exams were coming up in two weeks. Everyone knows these exams are crucial “stepping stones” for employment in China. But for Wen Chu, English was a pure nightmare.
Back in her high school days before transmigrating, she had relied on near-perfect scores in Math and Physics to squeeze into a top-tier university. In college, while others passed the Level 4 exam with ease, she had taken it eight times. From the second semester of her freshman year to her very last chance before graduation, she had failed every single time, her score always bouncing mockingly in the range of 15 to 20 points below the passing line.
After transmigrating, although she had a new identity, her English PTSD remained unchanged. She had checked the original owner’s transcript—she hadn’t passed CET-4 either.
Hahaha, I guess the perk of transmigrating is getting a ninth chance to fail CET-4.
Looking at the open CET-6 practice papers, the pages of unrecognizable vocabulary, and the despairingly long reading comprehensions, Wen Chu was so stressed she wanted to pull her hair out. Of course, if she was suffering, she absolutely couldn’t let Xi Liye have it easy! This was Wen Chu’s final stubborn streak and her “bratty” nature coming out.
In the days leading up to the weekend, she had shifted the focus of her “warm violence” harassment precisely onto her complaints about the English exam, launching a noise attack on Xi Liye’s WeChat.
Perhaps Xi Liye finally reached his limit, because he actually agreed to tutor her. But now that she was in his apartment, she was starting to regret it.
“Maybe we should just go to the library…” Wen Chu attempted one last struggle.
Xi Liye pointed out the cold hard truth: “The library reservations should be completely full by now. After all, everyone is preparing for the exams.”
Wen Chu: “…” Unarguable. At H-Uni, a seat in the library during finals or CET season was worth its weight in gold.
“Fine, fine.” Wen Chu set down her bag, not forgetting to play her bratty part one last time: “Then I’m leaving my CET-4 in your hands, Teacher Xi. If I don’t pass this time…”
She paused, adding a heavy, bossy tone: “I’m blaming you! It’ll be because you didn’t teach me well!”
As soon as she said it, she felt a bit guilty. This demand was the height of being unreasonable; if she failed, it was clearly her own fault.
However, Xi Liye showed no significant emotional reaction. The image of Wen Chu calling him “Teacher Xi” echoed in his ears. His ears felt strangely itchy.
“Fine,” he agreed crisply. “I will take responsibility.”
Wen Chu: “…” He actually agreed?
A moment later, Xi Liye returned from his study with a thick stack of printed materials and handed them to her.
“What’s this?” Wen Chu took the heavy papers and flipped through them curiously.
The paper was high quality and the printing was sharp. It was a meticulously organized, categorized “CET-4 Question Type Analysis and Problem-Solving Strategy.” Every question type had a detailed explanation, along with step-by-step logic guides. The writing and translation sections weren’t just dry templates; they provided multiple structural frameworks and alternative expressions.
This wasn’t some generic study material you could buy at a bookstore. This looked like it had been custom-made specifically for her.
Wen Chu flipped through a few pages, her heart racing as she read. How much time and effort did it take to organize this? Isn’t he supposed to be busy with his lab? How did he have the time?
“When did you make these?” she asked, her voice a bit dry and her heart touched.
Xi Liye sat down on a single-seater sofa next to her. “A few days ago.”
A few days ago… Meaning, while she was bombarding him with daily complaints, he wasn’t just listening—he was actually compiling a set of notes for her?
Holy crap, if Xi Liye wasn’t destined to go crazy and kill me later, I’d want to slide onto my knees and call him ‘Godfather’ right now.
In the end, she could only squeeze out a dry: “…Thank you.”
Xi Liye watched her slightly reddened ear-tips and flickering gaze, his lips curving up almost imperceptibly.
“You’re welcome,” he said, his eyes falling on the documents. “Now, shall we begin?”
Wen Chu sat up straight, signaling she was ready.
Two hours later, Xi Liye fell into deep thought as he looked at the red “X” marks across Wen Chu’s practice test. He issued a command: “Your vocabulary is severely lacking. Starting today, memorize 200 high-frequency core words daily. I will quiz you.”
Wen Chu: “…” Two hundred?! Every day?! Quizzes?!
The world went dark before her eyes.
After an hour of memorizing, Wen Chu’s brain felt like mush, and her throat was dry from constant speaking.
“Ten-minute break,” Xi Liye finally announced a pause and got up to get her water.
Wen Chu collapsed on the sofa, her soul practically leaving her body. Xi Liye handed her the glass and sat back down, his gaze fixed on her exhausted face.
“Now, I’ll test you on the words.”
Xi Liye called out several words. Wen Chu stumbled through the Chinese meanings, but there were a few words she recognized instantly and translated without hesitation.
Xi Liye raised an eyebrow and offered a rare word of encouragement: “Good performance. You know these words very well.”
Hearing the first half, Wen Chu felt a tiny spark of joy and vanity. But hearing the second half, her pride froze instantly.
Internally, she was screaming: Did I memorize those? No! Those are the names of the library modules I see every day when I’m writing code! No matter how bad my English is, I have a reflexive memory for professional terminology!
But her vanity wouldn’t let her say that. She could only give a hollow laugh and mumble, “That’s right, I’m just that excellent.”
It wasn’t until the tutoring session finally ended that Wen Chu felt she could breathe again.
English… truly isn’t meant for human consumption.