“You’re just washing your hair—why did you take off your shirt!” Shan Jiqiu spun around, feeling her blood rush backward, flooding straight to her head. Her whole face flushed crimson, even to the tips of her ears.
“My shirt got wet,” came Lu Yun’s matter‑of‑fact reply from behind.
And what had she seen? Under the bathroom’s bright light, his pale skin seemed to glow. His damp black hair, droplets sliding from the ends—everything radiated a quiet sensuality. Some drops traced down the corner of his eye like tears. Others slid along his sharp jawline. A few landed in the hollow of his collarbone, then continued downward. Her gaze followed one drop across his broad shoulders, his chest muscles, down to the defined curve of his six‑pack abs.
Shan Jiqiu squeezed her eyes shut, breathing deeply. But closing them only filled her mind with the image again.
He wasn’t like the glossy, over‑oiled figures in TV shows or magazines. His was the natural, youthful kind of physique—clean lines, sculpted but not overbearing like the beautiful boys in Yu Kexia’s shōjo manga: fresh, effortless, and unpretentious. Honestly, he was even better than Duan Boyi.
“Then why did you open the door?” Shan Jiqiu suddenly felt parched.
“I called you several times with the door closed, but you didn’t answer,” Lu Yun said, sounding utterly innocent.
A good excuse—almost impossible to refute. So now he was blaming her for being hard of hearing?
“Close the door. I’ll go get you some clothes to change into,” Shan Jiqiu thought for a second, trying to save face, then deliberately added, “So you don’t catch cold and blame me.”
“No need for pants,” Lu Yun said with a grin.
“I know.”
“Oh.”
*Oh, again.* Shan Jiqiu’s face darkened with embarrassment, and she fled the scene as if escaping a crime. At the time, she didn’t realize that adding that last sentence hadn’t salvaged her dignity at all—it only made her look more guilty of covering up.
And of course, Lu Yun, still in his straight‑boy, slow‑to‑catch‑on phase, didn’t grasp that all of her reactions that night were because of him.
Closing the bathroom door, Lu Yun couldn’t hold back a quiet laugh. He had been washing his hair at home earlier, when he suddenly remembered Shan Jiqiu and Yu Kexia’s conversation that afternoon.
The image of Shan Jiqiu’s dreamy expression flashed in his mind. For some reason, it left him unsettled, even irritated. Abs? Big deal—who doesn’t have them? That little girl acted like she’d never seen the world.
The more he thought about it, the more he felt he had to show her—let her see what *real* abs looked like. Which explained his whole string of antics.
He hadn’t forgotten to pay the water bill—this was just a spur‑of‑the‑moment idea while washing his hair. Looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, his grin was wide, flashing white teeth—a smile he’d never show outsiders.
It was smug, unrestrained, almost reckless.
Then—
He suddenly stopped smiling, braced his hands on the sink, leaned forward, and stared at himself.
*Why am I this happy? Why am I playing such childish games?*
After a long pause, he muttered to the mirror: “Lu Yun, are you sick or something?”
Meanwhile, Shan Jiqiu used Lu Yun’s spare key to slip into his apartment across the hall. She shut the door and finally let out the breath she’d been holding. Rubbing her face with both hands, she headed to her bedroom.
When she returned, calmer, she knocked lightly on the bathroom door. “Here’s your clothes.”
The door clicked open just a crack. A lean, strong arm reached out, long fingers taking the clothes before the door shut again.
Watching this sneaky maneuver, Shan Jiqiu muttered under her breath: “See, you could’ve just done that from the start.”
Lu Yun came out dressed, drying his hair as he walked over. He saw Shan Jiqiu bent over the coffee table, working on her math papers. He plopped down on the sofa, towel draped around his neck, leaning forward to glance at the Olympiad problems spread out.
But Shan Jiqiu couldn’t focus at all. With him sitting behind her, smelling faintly of shampoo, her mind was full of abs. The words on the page blurred into nonsense.
1. Which of the following shapes represents Lu Yun’s abs?
A. Three pieces of chocolate
B. Four pieces of chocolate
C. Five pieces of chocolate
D. Six pieces of chocolate
*I’m losing it. I need to empty my mind. I can’t do this. I just can’t!*
Her fingers tapped nervously on the pen, her heartbeat racing. Afraid he might hear it, she stole a glance sideways. And what she saw was the smooth line of his jaw and his red lips.
Looking further up, there was the tall bridge of his nose and those deep black eyes, washed clean and clear.
Peach‑blossom eyes invite peach‑blossom luck. Double lids with shallow folds, lashes like feathers. The long, narrow corners of his eyes tilted upward, tinged faint red. Combined with his careless expression, it was inexplicably captivating.
“Don’t fall for me.” Lu Yun shifted his gaze from the test paper, landing straight into Shan Jiqiu’s eyes. “I’m just a legend.”
At those words, Shan Jiqiu’s ears burned uncontrollably again. “Who’d bother falling for you?”
Flustered, she turned back quickly, brushing her loose hair forward to cover half her face. Only then did she mutter, half‑heartedly: “If I fall for anyone, it’ll be someone else.”
Behind her came Lu Yun’s low, teasing voice: “What, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for that Duan‑whatever?”
“His name’s Duan Boyi,” Shan Jiqiu said. But she was confused—what did this have to do with Duan Boyi? They’d only met twice, hardly even acquaintances!
Lu Yun saw her staring at the paper, lost in thought. Had he hit the mark? Was this girl really interested in that Duan‑whatever?
“Qiu‑baby.” Lu Yun reached out to twist her head, commanding, “Turn around. Look at me.”
Suddenly so serious, Shan Jiqiu grew even more nervous. Had she accidentally given herself away? He was sharp—had he noticed something?
The thought made her panic more, and the more she panicked, the hotter her face grew. It had to be red—she couldn’t let him see. She stiffened her neck, refusing to turn. “Look at what? Nothing worth looking at.”
Lu Yun noticed how all her awkward reactions seemed to start the moment he mentioned Duan Boyi. His temples throbbed.
Nothing worth looking at? Thinking back, maybe in her eyes he really wasn’t worth looking at. Even when she’d seen him bare earlier, hadn’t she calmly stared for a while before turning away and scolding him?
And now—
So because he’d struck a nerve, she couldn’t even look at him?
“Turn around.” Lu Yun used both hands, forcing her head and body to face him.
One look, and his mood soured. “Why are you blushing? You’re actually blushing.”
She hadn’t blushed when she saw his body, but now, just because he mentioned Duan Boyi, she was shy? Since when did this brat blush over some random guy’s name?
Since when? Had she really fallen for him?
Shan Jiqiu’s heart skipped. She quickly covered her face, rushing to explain: “No, it’s not that, I just…”
She fanned her cheeks with both hands, laughing nervously, trying to deflect: “It’s just… why is it so hot tonight?”
Lu Yun watched with ease as Shan Jiqiu put on her little performance of “I’m not guilty.”
Acting. She was just acting. Her smile was awkward—like trying to spar with Shaolin’s Eighteen Moves, only to have the opponent dismantle her with a single strike, leaving her completely lost.
That kind of baseless embarrassment surged up, unstoppable.
Her lips twitched; she lowered her hands and tried to change the subject. “Anyway, you should head back wearing just that one shirt, or you’ll catch a cold.”
Lu Yun stared at her so intently that her gaze faltered, pupils shrinking, not knowing where to look.
This girl’s guilt was far too obvious. Who had brought him clothes? And now she was worrying about him catching a cold?
*Shan Jiqiu, if you’re going to be fake, at least go all the way.*
“Catch a cold?” His eyes never left her face. He narrowed them slightly, his lips curving, brows lifting—his smile unsettling.
It gave the sense that she was recklessly provoking him at the edge of danger, and he could crush her as easily as an ant.
His voice dropped, followed by a cold laugh: “Who was it just now saying it felt hot tonight? Hot one moment, cold the next—you’re just being restless.”
Shan Jiqiu hadn’t felt true despair in a long time. She’d almost forgotten what it was like. But now she felt it clearly, unmistakably.
He looked determined, unwilling to let go until he dug out her secret. What to do? She absolutely couldn’t let him know she liked him. Absolutely not. No matter what—deny to the death. Yes, that was it.
“Who’s running a fever?” Shen Suyue asked as she stepped inside, catching only the last words.
Shan Jiqiu’s dim eyes lit up instantly, darting toward the doorway.
Grandma—you’re a lifesaver, perfect timing.
Seeing Lu Yun in just a thin long‑sleeved T‑shirt, Shen Suyue asked quickly: “Xiao Yun, why are you dressed so lightly? Who’s sick?”
Lu Yun shook his head. “No one’s sick, Grandma. I just came to wash my hair, but I wore too little.”
Shen Suyue: “Forgot to pay the gas bill again?”
Lu Yun: “I’ll pay it tomorrow.”
“You child…” She sighed, touched his forehead, then her own, finally reassured. “Go back and put on more clothes. Catching a cold during the season change is troublesome.”
“I know.” Lu Yun glanced once more at Shan Jiqiu, then stood. “I’ll head back.”
Shan Jiqiu watched his tall figure retreat, listened to the door open and close, and finally let out a long breath.
Scared her half to death.
…
That night, the sky was enchanting. Stars and moon hung on the endless black curtain, smiling down at the mortal world. And in such a silent night, there was something unseen, untouchable, that crept into the hearts of those asleep. It wove dreams out of their thoughts and desires, then slipped quietly into their slumber, leaving behind these tailor‑made visions.
That night, Shan Jiqiu slept restlessly, dreaming of Lu Yun the whole time—his chest, his abs.
In her dream, Lu Yun was half‑bare, looking like pure trouble. He trapped her against the wall with both hands, leaving her nowhere to run. His smile was soul‑stealing, his deep voice shaking her heart until it nearly leaped from her chest.
All night he asked her: “Qiu‑baby, do you like me?”
Shan Jiqiu jolted awake, eyes wide. The bedroom was pitch‑black, faint light seeping through the gap in the curtains from the sleeping world outside. She sat up, rubbing her face with both hands.
A sudden gust of wind lifted the curtains.
Turning her head, she gazed through the fluttering fabric at the lonely sky, half‑awake, half‑asleep—and felt a strange, crushing solitude, as if abandoned by the whole world.
Fragments of the dream lingered in her mind. That question—“Qiu‑baby, do you like me?”—became the thought that kept her tossing and turning.
Because dreams, she told herself, always run opposite to reality.
She didn’t know how long she sat there until moonlight faded and dawn began to stir in the east. Finally, she glanced at the clock on her nightstand—it wasn’t even six yet. Sleep was impossible now. Slowly, with drooping brows and heavy eyes, she slipped on her slippers and opened the bedroom door.
In the living room, Shen Suyue, about to head out, turned at the sound. She looked in surprise at her granddaughter—usually a champion of sleeping in—and then walked toward the balcony. As she went, she muttered in disbelief: “I’ll check if the sun’s rising from the west today. My lazy bug is up this early.”
Shan Jiqiu scratched her brow, then smiled. That earlier sense of being abandoned by the world was redeemed in Shen Suyue’s presence.
“I’ll join you for morning exercise,” Shan Jiqiu said with a grin.
“Ha!” Shen Suyue looked even more astonished. She reached out to touch Shan Jiqiu’s forehead. “Fever? Not thinking straight?”
Shan Jiqiu: “What are you talking about!”
Shen Suyue: “Tell me, when have you ever seriously gotten up to exercise with me? Every time you promise, you just laze in bed.”
And indeed, that was the truth.
Shan Jiqiu loved sleeping in, while Shen Suyue always left at six sharp for her morning routine. So whenever Shan Jiqiu promised the night before to wake early and join her, she’d end up breaking her word, staying in bed and saying, *next time.*
Next time, and the next—until in the end, there was no “next time” at all.
This morning, it was only because that dream had tossed her awake that Shan Jiqiu couldn’t fall back asleep. So she decided to go out with Grandma for morning exercise. Breathing fresh air, clearing her head—so she wouldn’t keep dreaming impossible dreams.
“So you see!” Shan Jiqiu walked over and slipped an arm around Shen Suyue’s neck, shamelessly grinning. “I felt guilty, so I got up early to atone for my sins!”
Shen Suyue laughed along. “Enough nonsense. Go brush your teeth and wash your face.”
Shan Jiqiu snapped a mock military salute. “Yes, ma’am!”
Watching her granddaughter’s retreating figure heading to the bathroom, Shen Suyue thought she was looking more and more like that boy next door. She sighed. It was a good thing—her timid, introverted little girl had finally learned to live happily. And truth be told, that boy next door had played no small part in it.
Thinking of Lu Yun, she sighed again. He was a pitiful child, too.
…
Shan Jiqiu finished washing up and stood before the mirror, tying her hair. As she did, her mind flashed back to last night—right here, in this very spot—where that maddeningly handsome, bare‑chested boy had stood. She shook her head hard, trying to fling away those blush‑inducing images.
Shen Suyue watched her granddaughter emerge from the bathroom, head back to the bedroom to change, then reappear. And there she was—a bright, spirited, beautiful young girl.
Shen Suyue teased without holding back: “Whose granddaughter is this, so pretty?”
Shan Jiqiu laughed. “Yours.”
Grandmother and granddaughter changed shoes and stepped out. Just as they opened the door, they bumped into Lu Yun, hand raised to knock. Both sides froze for a moment.
Shen Suyue spoke first: “Did you two plan this? Up so early?”
Shan Jiqiu thought bitterly—plan, my foot. If not for him standing here, she’d still be snuggled in her warm bed.
Lu Yun glanced at Shan Jiqiu first, then turned to Shen Suyue. “Woke up early, figured I’d join you for morning exercise.”
Shen Suyue looked from him to Shan Jiqiu, teasing: “You two aren’t twins, so how do you have such telepathy? So in sync.”
Shan Jiqiu didn’t know if she was being oversensitive, but she thought she heard something else in that remark.
“Are we going or not, Grandma?” she said impatiently. “It’s already past six.”
Shen Suyue chuckled. “Alright, alright, let’s go. The three of us together for morning exercise.”
So, in the dim light before dawn, the “three‑person beauty squad” stepped out. Plenty of others were already out exercising too.
Along the way, Shen Suyue ran into acquaintances, all envious that she had two such good‑looking, filial grandchildren to accompany her.
The old lady was clearly delighted, though she kept a dignified front.
“Enough, it’s just this once. Who knows if they did something wrong and are trying to earn points with me?”
By the time they reached the park, the place was already crowded. Walking dogs, carrying birds, jogging, strolling, dancing, practicing vocal warm‑ups, sipping morning tea in the park teahouse… All the so‑called hundred faces of life were present.
Shen Suyue’s group had their own routine—Tai Chi practice.
Many of the aunties and grannies there were seeing Shan Jiqiu and Lu Yun for the first time. Gossip among women knows no age; young or old, everyone loves it.
“Teacher Shen, who are these two?”
“This is my granddaughter, and this is…”
“Your grandson‑in‑law?”
“They’re high schoolers, don’t talk nonsense! This one’s the neighbor’s kid—might as well be half my grandson, I’ve watched him grow up.” Shen Suyue laughed.
“What grade?”
“Eleventh.” Shan Jiqiu answered awkwardly, sneaking a glance at Lu Yun. He kept smiling, and just standing there, he drew the eyes of passersby.
“Which school?” someone asked.
“7 High.” Shan Jiqiu replied.
“A key city school. 7 High has the highest university admission rate in the city. Hey, Old Liu, wasn’t your wife teaching there?”
“Yeah, retired early. In recent years, they’ve recruited more graduate students, so the faculty’s even stronger than before.”
“So, Teacher Shen, how are these two kids’ grades?”
“Excellent.” A Teacher Jiang, who used to substitute with Shen Suyue and had watched the two grow up, chimed in like praising her own children: “From primary school through middle school, these two never dropped out of the top five in the grade. Now it’s first and second place between them, isn’t it?”
Everyone’s eyes turned to Shan Jiqiu and Lu Yun. They nodded helplessly.
“So outstanding! How do you raise such kids? Handsome and smart—truly the envy of others.”
“Teachers can guide, but cultivation depends on the individual.” Shen Suyue paused, then looked at the two. “Don’t praise them too much, or they’ll get arrogant.”
“See, that’s real education—stricter with your own children.”
Wherever people gather, the topics range from daily necessities to studies, work, marriage, children, and pensions. But today, Shan Jiqiu and Lu Yun became the only subjects of gossip beyond Tai Chi—about academics. They stood at the back of the group, following the elders’ movements. Maybe because they had some foundation, their gestures looked fairly decent. Still, they couldn’t block out the chatter ahead.
“So, which universities are the two planning to apply to?”
“They’re aiming for guaranteed admission through math competitions.”
“Tsinghua or Peking?”
“Mm.”
“Teacher Shen, I’m so envious.”
Lu Yun moved his hands and feet in rhythm with the Tai Chi, then started talking to Shan Jiqiu: “I’ve been thinking seriously.”
Since leaving home, Shan Jiqiu hadn’t dared meet his eyes, pretending not to care. “About what?”
Lu Yun: “There’s less than a year until the league.”
Shan Jiqiu: “I know.”
Lu Yun: “There’s always someone better out there. Take the college entrance exam—one point can mean a whole stadium of people. And competitions are even tougher, the best of the best. China is huge, full of talent, and there are only so many first prizes. Competing is like going to war—you only win if you’re prepared…”
Shan Jiqiu was baffled. Why was he giving her a pep talk at dawn?
She cut him off: “So what are you actually trying to say?”
Lu Yun: “I mean, don’t think just because we’re only in eleventh grade that we have plenty of time. This is our one chance. Every second counts…”
Shan Jiqiu couldn’t resist: “Every second counts for sleeping and playing basketball—I can see that.”
Lu Yun: “Don’t interrupt.”
Shan Jiqiu: “…”
“The point of all this,” Lu Yun slowed his words deliberately, “is that you don’t have extra time or energy to think about other things… so, no early romance.”
*Smack!* The sound was loud enough that people ahead turned to look.
Lu Yun clutched his nose, staring at Shan Jiqiu in disbelief. “What was that for?” He looked half pitiful, half ridiculous.
Shan Jiqiu pressed her lips together, eyes darting, wanting to laugh but not daring. “Mis… mis‑hit.”
“I only said don’t fall in love early…” Still rubbing his nose, Lu Yun suddenly tilted his head back. “It’s bleeding.”
Shan Jiqiu quickly dug tissues from her bag and handed them over. “Plug it, plug it.”
In the front row, Shen Suyue was alerted by a friend and came over. “What’s this, a nosebleed?”
Lu Yun, one hand on his nose, pointed at Shan Jiqiu with the other, instantly tattling: “Grandma, she hit me.”
“I didn’t notice—it was an accident.” Caught up in the commotion, Shan Jiqiu forgot last night entirely. She looked straight at Lu Yun, batting her eyes: “Right, Brother Ah Yun?”
Lu Yun was still holding the tissue, but hearing that soft “Brother Ah Yun” made his bones go weak. *This brat—afraid of being scolded, huh? Calling me brother so sweetly? And it sounds good.*
He looked at her and still answered: “Her hand was too high, didn’t notice, just swung over.”
Shen Suyue checked his nose. Aside from the bleeding, his tall bridge was clearly red, with a faint handprint on one cheek. *This girl calls it Tai Chi? Looks more like boxing.*
“You go buy some Yunnan Baiyao at the pharmacy,” Shen Suyue instructed Shan Jiqiu.
Shan Jiqiu nodded. “Okay.”
Lu Yun: “I’ll go with her.”
Shen Suyue: “Fine, let the pharmacist take a look.”
So the two of them headed toward the park gate. Passersby slowed down, ears pricked, eager to overhear the conversation of this strikingly good‑looking pair.
The boy said: “Hold on to your brother—I’m injured.”
The girl replied: “It’s just a nosebleed and a bruise on your face, not your leg.”
The boy started to turn: “Grandma, actually just now—”
The girl quickly stopped him, clutching his arm and steering him forward. He furrowed his brows, looking moved to the point of tears, though his lips still carried a smile.
Passersby sighed in admiration.
Onlooker A: “So they’re siblings—no wonder they’re both so good‑looking, like movie stars.”
Onlooker B: “Usually, daughters resemble fathers, sons resemble mothers. Looks like this family’s genes are off the charts.”
Onlooker C: “And the bond between these siblings is so strong.”
But in reality—
Shan Jiqiu gritted her teeth as she supported Lu Yun. “Don’t push it.”
Lu Yun laughed shamelessly: “I covered for you in front of Grandma. Otherwise, you’d have been scolded. Now I’m asking you to help me walk—what’s the big deal?”
Shan Jiqiu: “Who told you to suddenly say ‘no early romance’? Which eye of yours saw me falling in love early?”
Lu Yun snorted: “Both my eyes can see it—you just want to… ow… why are you twisting me?”
Shan Jiqiu: “Shut up.”
The truth was, her hand had been moving in a Tai Chi push, but his sudden “no early romance” startled her. What should have been a push turned into a reflexive slap across his face, her fingers landing squarely on his proud nose bridge. Her first thought was: *At least his nose is real.*
At the pharmacy, they bought medicine and returned to the park. Sitting on a bench, Shan Jiqiu prepared to spray Lu Yun’s injury. His nosebleed had stopped, the redness on his cheek had faded, and only the bridge of his nose still showed a faint bruise. It wasn’t serious, but his pale skin made the contrast obvious. Looking closely, there was even a hint of bluish shadow under his eyes.
Shan Jiqiu turned toward him, shaking the Yunnan Baiyao spray. “Close your eyes.”
Lu Yun leaned forward, tilting his head slightly, eyes shut. “Don’t spray it into my mouth.”
Shan Jiqiu: “Then keep your mouth shut.”
Lu Yun: “…”
She aimed at his nose bridge and sprayed once. He flinched at the sudden coolness, but she ignored it and sprayed twice more.
“Enough, enough.” Lu Yun felt like she was playing around, splashing water on his nose—uncomfortable.
“Don’t move. One more bandage.” Shan Jiqiu tore open a plaster from the bag. “Stop staying up late on the computer. Do you want to ruin your eyes?”
At that, Lu Yun slowly opened his eyes. And what he saw was the girl’s cool black eyes, focused intently. Her gaze was fox‑like, yet softer, rounder than a true fox’s. Double lids of perfect depth, features sharp, carrying a cold beauty. But when those eyes smiled, they turned bright and clear, their sharpness softened, leaving her not just beautiful—but with a touch of endearing charm. But when she wasn’t smiling, she gave off an impression of being aloof and proud—a girl who at first glance seemed hard to approach. In truth, she had a pure, clean heart that didn’t match her striking looks.
Shan Jiqiu carefully stretched her neck, raising her elbow to place the bandage on Lu Yun, completely unaware that he had been staring at her for a long time. His gaze lingered on her small, delicate face—barely the size of a palm. Her nose was pretty, small and straight. Her lips were lovely too, soft and pink. Her neck, tilted upward, was long and graceful, like a swan’s. She really was the undisputed beauty of No 7 High.
Those voters must have been blind, giving their votes to anyone else.
Lu Yun lowered his eyes slightly, watching her press her lips together, her long, curled lashes fluttering now and then, her movements gentle and precise. Somehow, his heart suddenly skipped a beat—like it had stopped for half a moment. When it resumed, the rhythm was broken, chaotic.
Deep inside, in a place no one could see, it felt as though something had been quietly split open. And from that crack, secrets spilled out—flowing to the tip of his heart, into his limbs, into every vein. If anyone had been watching closely, they would have seen the soft smile in his eyes, the tenderness, the indulgence. All of it was for the girl before him.
The autumn morning wind carried a chill, shaking loose a tree full of ginkgo leaves. Some drifted with the breeze, some fell into the lake, some settled quietly on the ground, some sought a destined companion.
Shan Jiqiu finished applying the bandage, said “Done,” and stood to toss the wrapper into the trash.
“Let’s go.” She returned to Lu Yun, who had already risen. He was tall—so tall it made her feel pressured. And he just stood there, staring at her silently. With the bandage on his face, he looked rakishly handsome, wearing an expression she couldn’t quite read. He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look angry either. It was as if something had frozen him in place, leaving him dazed.
Shan Jiqiu thought to herself: *So this is what ‘handsome in a daze’ looks like.*
Exactly this.
She glanced at him, guessing he was still hung up on their earlier conversation. She wasn’t sure if he suspected something, or if he was giving her a way out. Either way, she couldn’t let last night’s topic resurface—otherwise, there’d be no turning back.
This was fine. As long as she swore she wouldn’t fall in love early, even if he had doubts, he’d dismiss them as overthinking, self‑indulgence, and eventually laugh off the foolish idea. Although it was uncomfortable, it was still far better than tearing through that thin veil and becoming strangers.
“Don’t worry.” She paused, then continued, “I’m really not interested in dating. I’m only interested in studying. I’m aiming for Tsinghua or Peking University—how could I let romance tie me down?”
Lu Yun finally smiled with satisfaction, his mood suddenly brightening. The night before, he had tossed and turned, sleepless, haunted by images of Shan Jiqiu and Duan Boyi together, whispering sweet nothings. He woke in a panic. Unable to sleep again, he sat until dawn, plotting how to persuade her not to fall in love early. He even thought about beating Duan Boyi up, just to keep him away from her.
But last night’s situation made it clear—the problem lay with Shan Jiqiu herself. That was why he had shown up at her door this morning. It wasn’t a coincidence, nor telepathy, nor some mysterious bond. He had simply sat at the stairwell for an hour, waiting.
Now, having heard the answer he wanted, everything felt worth it—even the injury was worth it. To think he had guided a wayward girl to understand the dangers of romance, cutting off the thought at its root—what a noble deed!
Lu Yun reached out and plucked the ginkgo leaf from Shan Jiqiu’s hair, the one he had been staring at for a while. Handing it to her, he nodded like an old man: “Mm. That’s the right way to think.”
Shan Jiqiu accepted the golden leaf, her smile hiding a swirl of emotions.
She turned and walked ahead, calling back: “Love isn’t as important as family or friendship. Right, Brother Ah Yun?”
Lu Yun’s smile froze instantly. Watching her brisk figure, for the first time, he felt that being called “brother” sounded unbearably harsh.