Should I thank you for not being as handsome as he is? One had to admit—this guy was the most doglike of them all. Others were “dogs” only by zodiac sign. Not him. He was evolving, with canine-level hearing.
Shan Jiqiu’s shoulder sagged under the weight of this lanky six-footer, while he lectured her on his “preferences.”
“I like short ones. Tall gives me pressure.”
“I’m a face-connoisseur, so they’ve got to be good-looking, recognizable.”
Lu Yun’s lips quirked, voice laced with laughter: “They should combine beauty and brains, be kind, sensible, interesting, clear in love and hate…”
Her shoulder ached, her ears suffered. She finally cut him off: “Read fewer trashy books. That kind doesn’t exist.” She stepped aside neatly. He stumbled at the sudden loss of support, then steadied himself.
Immediately, he spun her half a circle, pointing at a boy in the crowd. “How can you say that? Look—he’s pretty good. Just too short.”
A flock of crows flew across Shan Jiqiu’s mind. She forced a smile at his laughing black eyes. “Lu Second, if I’m not mistaken, that’s an elementary schooler.”
Lu Yun burst out laughing, shoulders shaking with mirth. He even put on a mock “sudden realization” face, clicking his tongue twice: “Ah, so elementary school kids are this developed nowadays?”
Shan Jiqiu: “…”
Lu Yun: “Wait—what did you just call me?”
“…”
Too lazy to banter further, Shan Jiqiu walked back toward the group, opening her unopened Coke as she went. Just as she’d gathered strength to twist the cap, it was snatched away. She felt like she’d twisted for nothing.
“Only dogs snatch food.” She watched Lu Yun casually open the bottle and sneered.
Handing the Coke back, he gave her a sidelong glance and sighed helplessly: “I swear, the older you get, the stingier you become.”
Shan Jiqiu tipped her head back, gulped a few mouthfuls, then replied slowly: “Depends on the breed. With people, I’m generous enough.”
“Fine. Same species—don’t bark at me when you’re barking yourself.”
“Go away.”
Truth was, Shan Jiqiu had no natural talent for debate. As a child, she hardly spoke at all. It was only because of him—someone who looked aloof at first glance, but could chat easily with anyone, finding common ground with the corner-store auntie or the sweet-potato vendor. After spending so much time with him, her tongue had grown sharper too. Back with the team, she found the debate squad and the competition squad gathered together. The moment she arrived, she was caught.
“Shan Jiqiu, come here.” Xu Zhi beckoned.
She knew it wasn’t a blessing—it was Xu Zhi, and there was no escape.
As soon as she stepped forward, he said: “I need a reasonable explanation.”
Shan Jiqiu: “Can I say it’s because Teacher Liu is pretty?”
Xu Zhi’s face said: *You’ve convinced me, you’re blunt, but I don’t like it.*
Beside them, the praised Liu Yan laughed, smoothing things over: “Teacher Xu, really? In front of the students? Don’t scare the girl.”
“What?” Xu Zhi glanced at the girl beside him, then chuckled. “Teacher Liu, you’ve never taught this bunch. None of them are the type to cry just because a teacher scolds them.”
Xu Zhi had finished graduate school, spent a year in Beijing, and then returned to Li City No. 7 High to teach. He’d taken Shan Jiqiu’s class from the start. Young, scholarly-looking, he didn’t intimidate these half-grown kids at all. Behind his back, they called him “Little Xu.”
Shan Jiqiu was one of them. Despite her cool, dragon-girl (Xiao Longnu) looks, she had a touch of Yang Guo’s cheekiness. On the very first day of class, she fell asleep. Called to the office, the first thing she said was: “Little Xu, here’s my self-criticism.”
T/n: Xiao Longnu and Yang Guo are the main characters in Jin Yong’s novel, The Return of the Condor Heroes.
Xu Zhi froze on the spot. First—she dared call him “Little Xu” to his face?
Second—she already had a written self-criticism prepared?
Later, once he got to know her, he realized she’d been half-asleep and slipped up with the nickname. As for the essay, she’d written it “just in case.” Curious, he asked how many she’d prepared. She answered honestly: one for each subject. He almost applauded her foresight. And he finally understood why one per subject was enough—because the only two who dared sleep in class were the top two students in the grade. The teachers had long since chosen to turn a blind eye.
Top students always seem to enjoy privileges that ordinary ones can only envy.
Xu Zhi pressed further, wanting Shan Jiqiu to respond: “Shan Jiqiu, are you afraid of me?”
“It’s respect,” she answered with frank sincerity.
He studied the girl. Not bad—emotional intelligence, and she knew how to save his face. “Alright, go on. Your classmates’ eyes are practically glued to me.”
Shan Jiqiu: “Then I’ll head back.”
Xu Zhi: “Go.”
Once she left, Xu Zhi looked over the spirited group of boys and girls, his gaze finally settling on Shan Jiqiu and Lu Yun.
Smiling, he said to Liu Yan: “Don’t take it the wrong way, Teacher Liu. Those two are our most promising candidates for guaranteed admission. Competitions are the stepping stone. I value talent, so…”
Liu Yan laughed: “It’s all for the students. Of course, I understand.”
…
Back with the group, Shan Jiqiu was immediately surrounded. The competition team included not only Lu Yun but also Tan Junhao. Their golden five-man squad was only missing Zhou Anqi.
At that moment, Yu Kexia was animatedly retelling how Chen Yicheng had asked Shan Jiqiu for her number.
Shan Jiqiu let her embellish the story, sipping Coke instead. Lifting her eyes, she caught Lu Yun’s amused, nosy gaze—and calmly looked away.
“So, did you give it?” Tan Junhao jumped in with a live interview.
Twisting the cap, she shook her head: “No.”
“That expression?” Lu Yun’s eyes roamed her face. “Looks a little disappointed to me.”
Shan Jiqiu didn’t hesitate: “Right. After all, he’s Jinnan No. 1 High’s campus heartthrob—much more handsome than you.”
Yu Kexia, confused by the contradiction, asked: “Didn’t you say he was just ‘okay’?”
Shan Jiqiu lifted her hand toward Lu Yun: “Now I’ve got a comparison.”
Yu Kexia thought her friend’s taste was seriously broken. How could she claim anyone was more handsome than Lu Yun?
Much later, Yu Kexia would realize—it was never Shan Jiqiu’s aesthetics that were off. It was the truest sign of liking someone when they say the opposite of what you mean. She glanced at Lu Yun, who was openly smirking at Shan Jiqiu. His smile made her spine tingle, yet Shan Jiqiu still met his gaze with defiant challenge. A perfect demonstration of “needle against needle.”
Oblivious, Tan Junhao didn’t notice the silent duel he’d sparked, and cheerfully stirred up another storm: “Hey, Yu Kexia, you’re really choosing liberal arts?”
Yu Kexia groaned: “I’m hopelessly lopsided. Science would be torture.”
Shan Jiqiu withdrew her “needle,” slung an arm around Yu Kexia, and teased: “Otherwise, Zhou An would never have spent the whole summer sulking at you.”
Tan Junhao, shipped back to his hometown by his mother for the holidays, had missed the feud entirely—so he was still out of the loop. “What did I miss?” He looked from Shan Jiqiu to Yu Kexia, then at Lu Yun. “Someone fill me in.”
The scene froze.
Lu Yun, Shan Jiqiu, and Tan Junhao all turned their eyes on Yu Kexia, unmoving.
Feeling the weight of six eyes, Yu Kexia faltered: “Because Zhou An wanted to choose liberal arts, and since we were all planning science, I said he wasn’t fitting in…”
Tan Junhao: “But wait, didn’t Zhou An end up choosing science too?”
“Shut up.” Shan Jiqiu and Lu Yun spoke in unison, glaring at him. Tan Junhao zipped his lips, signaling Yu Kexia to continue.
“My mom saw my subject-selection scores, and after talking with Teacher Guo, decided liberal arts suited me better. You know my mom—she made the choice for me.”
Yu Kexia grew more indignant: “I thought Zhou An was doing liberal arts too, so at least I’d have company. Who knew he’d suddenly switch to science? How is that my fault?”
Tan Junhao finally understood: “Oh, so you accidentally destroyed a future ‘Zhou Shakespeare.’”
Yu Kexia glared at Tan Junhao: “He says I didn’t tell him, but he didn’t tell me either. Why am I the one getting blamed?”
Shan Jiqiu fanned the flames with mock support: “Exactly, Xiaxia, I’m on your side.”
Lu Yun flicked his crossed fingers against her smooth forehead: “Stirring up trouble just for fun?”
Shan Jiqiu shot him a glare: “Heaven help me if we end up in the same class.”
Lu Yun chuckled, his words slow and deliberate, each punctuated like a line of scripture: “Buddha, Jade Emperor, Jesus, Qin Shi Huang, Einstein—better all come bless us.”
From his “God’s-eye view,” Tan Junhao patted both their shoulders and gently pointed out the truth: “Top two in the grade both chose science. Different classes? What do you think the odds are?”
Everyone answered in unison: “Not high.”
Lu Yun: “…”
Shan Jiqiu: “…”
“Alright, let’s move in. Keep an eye on each other, don’t get lost!” Zhao Fengping called out.
The group headed toward security. Shan Jiqiu tossed her nearly empty Coke bottle into the trash and jogged to catch up. While waiting in line, she glanced idly to the side—and froze.
Not far away stood a middle-aged man in a crisp suit, tall and straight, not a trace of age weighing him down. Time had treated him kindly; his face was still handsome, his smile etched with fine lines at the corners, yet radiating unmistakable happiness. It was the kind of happiness she remembered only faintly, almost blurred with time. And its source was clear: the beautiful woman and the handsome young man beside him. They looked to be traveling on business, as another suited man carrying a briefcase leaned in to murmur something at his ear. Then he hugged the woman, then the young man—lingering, reluctant, the sight piercingly harsh.
Shan Jiqiu felt as though something had stabbed her eyes. Her sockets burned uncontrollably, heat spreading from the inner corners outward. She swallowed hard, forcing down the sour ache in her throat. Her grip on her backpack strap tightened until her knuckles turned white. Perhaps her gaze was too direct. As the middle-aged man spoke to the boy, he glanced casually in her direction—just a sweep, unfocused.
She wanted desperately to turn away, not to see him at all. Yet her feet felt glued to the floor, unable to move.
The instant their eyes were about to meet, her breath caught, frozen.
A cap dropped over her head, blocking her view. The brim was pressed firmly down, covering half her face. Her first breath beneath it carried a faint mint scent, calming her heart in an instant.
“It’s hot. Wear this for me.” Lu Yun’s voice was low, lazy, and clean.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the man already turning away. Only then did she lift her gaze to the cap’s owner.
Lu Yun stood beside her, hands in pockets, eyes forward, his whole posture loose and unrestrained.
In profile, his nose looked sharper, and his jawline was clean and strong. Under the bright light, his skin was pale, almost translucent. In contrast, his hair was thick and glossy, bangs falling long enough to shadow his brows.
“Qiu-baby.” Lu Yun suddenly turned, lowering his eyes. He tapped the inside of her brim with a bent finger, leaning closer to meet her gaze, his tone teasing: “No one’s better-looking than the campus heartthrob, yet you keep staring at me?”
Snapping back to herself, Shan Jiqiu’s eyes traveled up from his dark irises to his hair, where they stopped. Lightly, she asked: “When’s the last time you washed your hair?”
Lu Yun: “…”
After security, they went to collect their backpacks.
Shan Jiqiu accepted the one he handed her, and for once, spoke with rare seriousness: “Thanks for earlier.”
“For not washing my hair?” Lu Yun’s peach-blossom eyes narrowed, scanning her face. His lips curled in a lazy grin, words dripping with mischief: “Or for not being as handsome as that guy?”