Song Man had suffered from insomnia and only fallen asleep in the middle of the night. By early morning, she had woken up with two dark circles under her eyes, as if she’d been gifted a pair of giant pandas.
Song Man had initially planned to go bare-faced, but after some thought, she ultimately decided to put on some light makeup before heading out.
Her eyebrows were thick, so she didn’t need to draw them on—in fact, she had to use brow mascara to lighten their natural color by a shade.
As she looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but recall the past.
It was right after the two of them had finally broken through that unspoken barrier.
The long-accumulated ambiguity, in that moment of crossing the forbidden line.
Thrilling, maddening.
She was in his apartment, positioned in every way he desired.
They were like dry wood burning in the height of summer—scorching, lustful, recklessly unleashing their desires.
It was during that time that Song Junyan had teased her about her eyebrows.
Saying they looked like two crooked caterpillars, all twisted and messy.
She’d playfully hit him in annoyance.
He was always so cold and detached, but at that moment, he had laughed and pulled Song Man into his arms, kissing her tenderly.
It was indulgence, flirtation, or perhaps just the generosity expected between lovers.
But recalling that simple, tender moment again, Song Man’s nose suddenly tingled with emotion.
Song Man decided she couldn’t keep thinking about it.
She patted her face, dispelling those feelings, then quickly outlined her brows, applied some lipstick, and hurried out the door.
The moment she arrived at the club recruitment area, the crowd that had been looking somewhat listless immediately perked up like they’d been injected with adrenaline.
Seeing this, the club president couldn’t help but click his tongue. “See that? Another one just walked past.”
Song Man knew what the president meant, but right now her mind was full of Song Junyan, and she urgently needed something else to distract her, so she played along and asked, “Another what walked past?”
The president pointed at the person who had just gone by.
“See him? That sports student in the black tank top and white pants. That’s the eighth time he’s carried water past us, and the seventh time he’s flexed his biceps in our direction.”
Song Man nodded in agreement. “And the remaining time?”
“That was before you arrived.”
The president sighed, turned to face Song Man head-on, and his heart gave a sudden lurch.
He grabbed Song Man’s hand and wailed, “So beautiful—why won’t this skin grow on my face? If it were on my face, I’d charm those men left and right without fail.”
The president’s name was Zhang Jiaye.
Despite his burly, rough appearance, he had a delicate and tender heart.
Song Man had only learned the inside story because of that incident.
She let him hold her hand, reached out with her other hand to pat the president’s shoulder, and said with deep meaning, “Next life.”
The next moment, Song Man felt a cold wind blowing from somewhere, straight at her face.
She couldn’t help but look around, and her gaze finally locked onto a certain spot. Her breath caught in her throat, and she thought she must be seeing things.
Song Junyan?
Why was he here?
Zhang Jiaye didn’t notice Song Man’s unease. He raised his voice theatrically like he was performing an opera: “You heartless little thing, is your mouth laced with poison? Saying that to me—it breaks my heart.”
Then he draped an arm over her shoulder and gave it a little nuzzle.
For a split second, Song Man felt the gaze from the distant man turn even colder, but when she blinked, he was looking elsewhere, and she thought it might just be her imagination.
Song Man told herself she was being too sensitive, but she still brushed off the president’s hand.
“Talk properly. No touching.”
Zhang Jiaye was about to protest when a commotion arose in the distance. He looked up.
A whole line of school administrators—all with receding hairlines and polo shirts—had gathered together, nodding and bowing, wearing the most ingratiating smiles.
Zhang Jiaye was dumbfounded. “Whoa, what big shot is here? All these administrators we never see all year have come out in full force… Hey, hey! They’re heading our way!”
Zhang Jiaye feared two types of people in his life:
One, his homeroom teacher. Two, school administrators.
The moment he saw them, his mind went blank and his breathing became rapid.
Seeing the situation was going south, Zhang Jiaye clutched his stomach and said hurriedly, “I suddenly feel unwell—I urgently need to make a dash for the bathroom. You hold down the fort for me.”
With that, like a rocket, he shot off and fled far away with a whoosh.
Song Man watched Zhang Jiaye’s retreating figure and silently cursed him for being so disloyal, leaving her alone to hold the fort. Why didn’t he take her with him?
Just as Song Man was hesitating over whether to make her own escape, a shadow fell over her.
Song Man instinctively looked up, and then froze.
The club recruitment booths were set up at the campus entrance, each one a temporary tent structure.
A banner with the club’s name was pasted on each tent.
Under the tent, two tables were placed side by side, covered with a red cloth. And that was it.
Song Junyan was now standing by the table, looking like a movie star who had wandered into a slum—dazzling, striking, exuding wealth and refinement, making everything around him seem utterly shabby.
In the moment of silence, Song Junyan took another step forward.
He was tall—1.9 meters—and the banner hanging from the tent edge happened to be level with his head, forcing him to duck slightly. But even so, the corner of it grazed his forehead, mussing up a few strands of his hair.
He reached out and knocked on the table, his voice cool and clear.
“This classmate, would you give me a tour of the school?”
The crowd of administrators following behind him all stared with blazing eyes, glaring in unison at Song Man.
Song Man’s scalp went numb. She stood up and had just managed to say, “Hello, leaders—”
Song Junyan’s gaze swept across her collar, then he pointed to one side. “Take me to look over there.”
No matter how unwilling Song Man was, she had no choice but to comply.
So, under the watchful eyes of everyone, she walked around the table to Song Junyan’s side, like a hostess greeting a guest, with a fake smile on her face, her hands crossed at her waist, and one hand extended forward to guide the way.
“This way, please.”
For a fleeting moment, Song Junyan seemed to raise an eyebrow.
Song Man looked up, but he still wore that stern, unsmiling expression.
It seemed… it was an illusion again.
Song Man frowned slightly and led him toward the spot she had pointed to earlier.
She did her best to push the jumbled thoughts to the back of her mind, playing the part of a mere tool to the fullest.
But at that moment, her thoughts were like a spring—the harder she pressed them down, the more violently they bounced back up.
What was Song Junyan doing here?
An inspection?
But she hadn’t heard of any new construction at the school.
Maybe it was another new project?
She was lost in thought, completely unaware that the crowd behind them was thinning out, until gradually, only the two of them remained.
When they reached their destination, Song Man stopped in her tracks and turned around, only to bump straight into the man’s solid chest.
Song Man’s heart gave a sudden lurch, and she moved to step back.
But Song Junyan grabbed her firmly.
“What are you doing?”
Song Man was flustered, pressing both hands against him.
Song Junyan’s face darkened, and he tightened his grip. “What are you afraid of? There’s no one else around.”
Song Man glanced around—sure enough, there was no one else.
The weight in her heart settled, but it was quickly replaced by a wave of inexplicable bitterness.
In public, he was so proper, pretending they didn’t know each other. In private, he was all hands.
Did he really hold her in such low regard?
Song Man pushed harder, shoving the man away with all her strength.
“Even if there’s no one else, it’s still not okay…”
Song Junyan’s patience ran out. He grabbed her with one hand and yanked her along, pulling her straight outside.
Song Junyan had long legs, and keeping up with his pace was no easy feat for Song Man.
She stumbled along the way, and when he finally stopped, she barely had a chance to catch her breath before he gave a hard tug and tossed her into the car.
She was wearing a strappy dress today, made of cotton-linen—not as sheer as gauze, but summer clothes were thin. With the sudden yank, the hem of her skirt rode all the way up to the top of her thighs.
It all happened so fast that Song Man didn’t even have time to fix her clothes. She had just propped herself up when the man’s fingertips pressed against her waist.
A jolt shot up Song Man’s spine.
The next moment, his lips came crashing down on hers.
Ruthless, and fierce.