Lu Yun was undeniably popular at school.
How popular? Even students from other schools knew about him at Li City No 7 High. Of course, it wasn’t just his unforgettable looks. His frequent competition wins added to his reputation.
Don’t be fooled by his casual, lazy manner around Shan Jiqiu and her friends. In truth, many knew that when facing strangers, his aura carried a distance that made people hesitate to approach. He wasn’t exactly the aloof “cold flower on the peak” type either. With boys, he was easygoing and talkative. But with girls, he was polite, reserved, and distant.
He wasn’t pretentious or arrogant. If girls approached him to chat or ask about homework, he would respond. But even when he smiled and seemed friendly, there was always an invisible sense that no matter what, you couldn’t truly enter his heart.
In school days, there always seemed to be someone like that—combining traits that shouldn’t coexist: cheerful, unruly, witty, proud, resilient, steady, gentle, perceptive, aloof. All blended seamlessly into the image of a handsome boy, elusive as the wind.
In short—very short—Lu Yun was that person. Boys loved befriending him; girls liked him, harboring their own hidden thoughts; yet most didn’t dare speak to him directly. Especially sixteen‑ or seventeen‑year‑old girls, sensitive and shy. Liking a boy usually meant keeping it secret. The boldest might write a love letter or add him on QQ.
But this kind of open rivalry, in public, under everyone’s gaze, was rare. Everyone wanted to watch the drama unfold.
Even Lu Yun, who had seen plenty, was stunned. *So this is how girls fight?*
He’d witnessed Aunt Li upstairs and Aunt Wang downstairs arguing in dialect, fierce enough to shake the whole alley—like listening to a comedy skit. He and Shan Jiqiu often quarreled too, her sharp tongue making it entertaining. He’d seen classmates argue, strangers bicker, and countless debates with solid logic on both sides. But this—he’d never encountered. He felt he couldn’t even join in.
Better to walk away. Standing here while they argued wasn’t right.
He knew Deng Wenwen was tough, and the other girl didn’t look ready to back down either. He couldn’t just reject them outright in front of everyone—it was impolite.
His father had taught him as a child: girls are thin‑skinned. No matter how little you like someone, you can’t embarrass them in public. That’s disrespectful.
His grandfather often said: “It’s fine for boys to be rough, but never without manners. Be humble, patient, willing to suffer losses, and willing to yield.”
He remembered those words and lived by them. Still, if he didn’t leave, the two magpies were far too noisy. He respected the Buddha in his heart, but even he found the racket unbearable.
Beside him, Zhou An saw Lu Yun standing there like an old master, just watching. *Seriously? They’re about to fight over you, and you’re acting like a spectator?*
Zhou An leaned close, whispering: “Everyone’s watching. Stop enjoying the show. If Director Zhao comes, you’ll be the center of the chaos.”
Lu Yun glanced at the two girls’ drinks, then reached out and took them both. The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles.
That was the moment Shan Jiqiu turned away in anger, missing what happened next.
Zhou An’s eyes widened, shocked, staring at Lu Yun in disbelief.
*Bro, you never used to be like this!*
Back in freshman year, when girls swarmed him with gifts, he’d politely say thank you but never accept.
Later, when Shan Jiqiu was around, he only took her mineral water. Everyone thought she was his girlfriend. But Lu Yun quickly clarified: she was just a neighbor, their friendship purer than water.
Shan Jiqiu followed up, saying she didn’t see him as a boy at all—just a neighbor, purer than milk. Eventually, girls stopped trying, knowing he wouldn’t accept. Except once, at the sports meet, when Deng Wenwen forced a drink on him. He returned it later, unchanged.
Come on—was he trying to act like Emperor Shun now? Why wasn’t he playing by the usual rules, suddenly refusing no one? At least pick one! Everyone was watching—was he trying to stir things up?
But the next moment, everyone saw Lu Yun cross his hands and place the two bottles back into the girls’ hands. His face calm, polite, he said lightly: “Thanks, but I don’t make a habit of accepting things from others. You two seem to get along—why not be friends?”
Then he raised his voice just a little: “Also, I have no intention of dating early. Even after university, it won’t be too late.”
This reversal left Zhou An deeply impressed. *Indeed, Brother Yun is still Brother Yun.*
With that move, he gave both girls a graceful way out, spared himself embarrassment, and avoided making them lose face. At the same time, he cut off any lingering hopes from other admirers.
Key point: *Get into university first, girls.*
The school genius and campus heartthrob was using this as motivation: *Want to chase me? Fine. But not now. Wait until you’ve made it to college.*
How noble!
How lofty!
How clear‑cut!
How show‑stopping!
“Nicely done!” Zhou An laughed.
“Impressive!” Yu Kexia, having enjoyed the drama, popped out from behind Zhou An and handed him a drink.
“You girls are such trouble.” Lu Yun smiled wryly, glanced at Yu Kexia, and asked: “Where’s your bestie?”
Yu Kexia tilted her head: “Not beside me, huh.”
Where had she gone? Yu Kexia turned to look around. But—no sign of Shan Jiqiu anywhere. She craned her neck, scanning the crowd, searching the spot where they had been. And then she found her.
Only… why had one person become two?
Yu Kexia saw clearly who was beside Shan Jiqiu—and burst out laughing. She pointed, her tone suddenly ambiguous: “Eh, isn’t that Duan Boyi?”
At those words, Lu Yun followed Yu Kexia’s finger. His smiling face instantly darkened, turning cold.
“So Shan Jiqiu took the water meant for me… to give that guy—” Lu Yun ground his teeth, nearly shattering them on the last two words, “to *wash his hands*?”
And Yu Kexia, fearless, added: “Don’t you think they actually look pretty good together?”
Lu Yun gave a cold laugh. His hand clenched uncontrollably at his side, knuckles whitening, veins bulging along his arm. He turned, waved to the others, and suddenly shouted like someone owed him millions: “Come on, second half!”
Years later, when several of them—now successful professionals—rarely gathered together, the conversation drifted back to those days, to basketball.
Zhou An vividly remembered that afternoon after the midterm exams in sophomore year.
“That day, someone played like he’d swallowed gunpowder—slaughtered the whole court. The next morning, I woke up thinking my legs were gone.” He paused, then looked at Shan Jiqiu with a teasing smile: “And I was blind back then. Didn’t realize someone was secretly jealous of someone else.”
Back then, when Shan Jiqiu saw Lu Yun accept the two bottles, the stone in her chest finally dropped—hard. It hurt her heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, everything. She cursed him silently: *Scumbag.* Then turned to leave.
But she spun too fast and “bam”—collided with a “lamppost.” Her unopened bottle of water splashed unexpectedly onto the “lamppost.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Shan Jiqiu quickly tried to pat the wet spot, pulled tissues from her pocket, and looked up. “Oh—it’s you!”
She hadn’t noticed at first. His height rivaled Lu Yun’s, so she’d automatically filed him under “lamppost.”
But when she saw his face—it was Duan Boyi.
“Seems like every time we meet, something unexpected happens,” Duan Boyi joked, smiling as he took the tissues, pulled one out, and wiped himself.
Shan Jiqiu was in no mood to smile—already upset, now dragging someone else into it. She wanted to leave, but that felt rude. So she stayed, watching him clean the water stains. His hands were good‑looking—long, elegant fingers, like Lu Yun’s.
Wait. Why compare everything to him? She didn’t like him anymore. Sick.
Still, as she looked at Duan Boyi’s hand, she noticed the skin at the base of his thumb was scraped raw.
“You’re hurt?” she asked.
He lifted his hand, showing the deeper abrasion inside. “Just scraped it earlier. It’s fine.”
Shan Jiqiu glanced at her half‑empty water bottle. “I’ve still got some mineral water. Cleaner than tap water. Rinse off the dust first, then go to the nurse’s office for medicine.”
She handed him the bottle. But instead of taking it, he held out his hand and said: “Then I’ll trouble you.”
“Uh…”
Her intention had been for him to wash it himself. How did it turn into her doing it? Forget it. He’d helped her plenty of times before. A small favor wouldn’t hurt.
Shan Jiqiu compromised, saying to Duan Boyi: “Then bring your hand closer.”
Duan Boyi obediently extended it, smiling as Shan Jiqiu poured water over the cut at the base of his thumb to clean it. And so, it happened that Lu Yun saw this exact scene.
The preparatory bell for evening self‑study rang, and the math competition class students gradually took their seats. Since it wasn’t in their regular classroom and half the students were absent, everyone sat alone, convenient for exams at any time.
Their seating was random—teachers required it, though not strictly enforced. The idea was that exchanging ideas with classmates could spark new insights and help avoid limitations. Of course, during exams, seats were assigned by grades. Still, most students stuck to their usual spots, out of habit or other reasons. Only a few occasionally switched.
Lu Yun and Shan Jiqiu were both sulking. But neither realized the other was actually angry at *them*, which led to the following scene.
When Lu Yun entered, he noticed that beside him—where Shan Jiqiu usually sat—was now a girl from Class Three. She blushed at him, then quickly lowered her head.
The original occupant of that seat was far away, discussing problems with the boy in front of her.
Lu Yun’s lips tightened. He gave a cold snort, yanked open his bag, and slammed his books onto the desk.
The classroom was quiet, so the sound was unusually sharp. Everyone looked up.
Lu Yun, however, turned to glance at Shan Jiqiu. She didn’t even lift her head, just kept working through problems. He turned back, fuming.
*She gave the water meant for me to someone else to wash his hands. She deliberately changed seats to keep her distance. And now, she’s ignoring me.*
*Well done. You’ve really got some nerve.*
In front of him, Tan Junhao turned around and asked: “Why’s Shan Jiqiu sitting over there?”
Lu Yun’s eyes were clouded with irritation. He spun his pen restlessly in his hand, muttering: “How should I know?”
Tan Junhao saw his furrowed brows and the forceful way he twisted the pen, and knew instantly—Lu Yun was in a foul mood tonight. Normally, he spun his pen lightly, lazily—that was normal. But when he twisted it hard enough to nearly snap, it meant his mood was bad. And most likely, it had something to do with Shan Jiqiu.
“You two quarreled?” Tan Junhao pieced together the context. “Looks like you upset her.”
Lu Yun’s hand paused, then resumed spinning, his voice dripping with disdain: “Me? Upset her? Who knows what nonsense she’s on again?”
Just then, a classmate came in and said to Shan Jiqiu: “Someone’s looking for you outside.”
“Thanks,” Shan Jiqiu replied, standing up and leaving the classroom.
The boy smirked, teasing the others: “Guess who came to see Shan Jiqiu?”
“Who?”
“Duan Boyi—the famous transfer student.”
“Well, good‑looking people always know each other. That’s an eternal truth.”
“I know Shan Jiqiu and Lu Yun. Round it up, I’m good‑looking too.”
“Hey, doesn’t it seem like Duan Boyi likes Shan Jiqiu?”
“Looks that way.”
“…”
Lu Yun had never realized his hearing was this sharp. Even from far away, even with low voices—he caught every word.
His temples throbbed. Ha. What nonsense? The source of the problem just walked right in.
Tan Junhao, after overhearing, leaned back with a grin: “Looks like your pretty cabbage is about to get stolen.”
Lu Yun lifted his eyelids, shot him a glare, and snapped: “If your mouth’s useless, I suggest you cut it off.”
Tan Junhao retorted casually: “What’s with you—jealous?”
The words had barely left his mouth when Lu Yun’s pen slipped from his fingers with a sharp clatter, rolling across the floor.