“Just wait, I’ll go teach him a lesson.”
Before Xu Jiarang could respond, Lu Zheng tossed a badminton shuttlecock into the air, swung his racket swiftly, and sent it flying with a whoosh into the marker bucket on the opposite side.
Coincidentally, the ball machine had run out of balls.
Shen Muran glanced back but said nothing.
“Hey, I heard you’re helping Jiang Li pass her fitness test?”
The man wore high-end sportswear, his eyes brimming with undisguised provocation.
Shen Muran had no obligation to answer his question. After putting away his racket, he stood up to retrieve the tennis balls from the marker bucket and return them to the ball machine.
With a loud clatter—
Lu Zheng rushed over and kicked the marker bucket hard, sending it flying. Tennis balls scattered everywhere.
“Cat got your tongue?”
He pointed a finger at Shen Muran, so close it almost poked his eyes. “No one’s coming to save the hero now. There’s only a few of us on the tennis court—what are you pretending for?”
“I hate people like you the most, acting all deep and mysterious. You might look cool in front of girls, but in front of me, Lu Zheng, you’re nothing but shit!”
Shen Muran took a step back, sidestepping him, and continued picking up the balls.
“Hey!”
“Stop it.” Xu Jiarang quickly grabbed him, preventing Lu Zheng from advancing further.
“Why should I stop? You’re Jiang Li’s legitimate fiancé. Giving him a warning is perfectly normal.”
Perhaps because Xu Jiarang intervened, Lu Zheng’s anger subsided slightly.
“I’m warning you—the Jiang family isn’t something a shady character like you can swoop in on. Stay away from her from now on!”
Most of Lu Zheng’s family business relied on the Xu family, so he was naturally more afraid of Xu Jiarang losing Jiang Li’s support.
Thus, he became the most loyal supporter of this arranged marriage.
And also the sharpest thorn.
The phrase “shady character” struck a nerve with Shen Muran.
The man placed the last tennis ball back into the bucket, straightened up, brushed the dust off his hands, and walked toward the two of them.
His nearly 190-centimeter height was overwhelmingly imposing. The intense masculine hormones from his recent workout were palpable, sweat tracing down his jawline and disappearing into his black shirt.
Just like the fleeting bad mood.
Shen Muran looked down at them. Though he said nothing, Lu Zheng and Xu Jiarang, half a head shorter, were already outmatched in presence.
“What’s between her and me—why are you jumping around so excitedly?”
He picked the mismatched badminton shuttlecock from the bucket and handed it over. There was no trace of anger in the man’s eyes, only a hint of casual indifference.
“Even the legitimate fiancé hasn’t said anything.”
“You!”
Lu Zheng’s face darkened like the bottom of a pot as he swatted the shuttlecock away from Shen Muran’s hand.
Damn it, this bastard is trying to drive a wedge between us!
But the problem was, he truly had no standing to say anything. He could only turn to the side and say, “Captain Xu, say something!”
Xu Jiarang remained gentle and humble. “A-Li is still young and has a somewhat aloof temperament. Please be patient with her, Shen.”
Shen Muran gave him a cursory glance and responded with a faint “Hmm.”
The sky at seven in the morning was faintly bright. The tennis net swayed in the morning breeze, its white lines, both horizontal and vertical, darkened by dew.
It should have been the most tranquil moment, yet an invisible tension hung in the air like a giant net.
Suddenly, the ball machine emitted a stuttering sound, and the last ball was belatedly ejected. Shen Muran swung his racket backhanded, sending the tennis ball skimming over Lu Zheng’s head and landing precisely inside the line with even greater force than before.
Lu Zheng froze in place.
The ball had been so close that he could even clearly see the fuzz on its surface.
For a split second, Lu Zheng thought the ball was going to hit him right in the face.
Shen Muran unplugged the ball machine, his voice flat and distant. “The machine’s old, malfunctions are bound to happen.”
Morning practice began, and the court gradually filled with people. Since it wasn’t their turf after all, Xu Jiarang forcibly dragged Lu Zheng away.
Shen Muran changed back into his clothes and prepared to head to his specialized class.
His phone buzzed incessantly in his pants pocket, the screen displaying the words “Grandpa.”
“Ranran, are you eating enough and staying warm at the boarding school lately? Are you settling into the new junior high okay?”
Elder Bo’s voice was robust, a sign he was still in good health, though his memory was getting noticeably worse.
Grandpa was Shen Muran’s only blood relative he truly cared about. Every time he heard his voice, warmth spread through his heart.
The young man stopped walking, leaning back against a large tree, a rare gentle smile appearing on his face.
“Grandpa, I’m eating well, and I get along with my classmates just fine. The new backpack you bought me? They’ve been crowding around admiring it for days!”
“That’s good then. Remember to study hard, and don’t you dare sneak around and start puppy love early.” On the other end, the old man delivered his usual classic line.
Shen Muran lowered his head, kicking a pebble at his feet, and answered patiently, “I know, I’ll focus.”
“Mhm, good boy.” Elder Bo chuckled with satisfaction, then went on to nag a few more reminders.
“Your uncle hired a private tennis coach for that brat and even wanted you to be the ball boy. We’ll ignore him. When you come back on Saturday, Grandpa will hire you an even better private coach. You better keep it a secret, though, or they’ll make a fuss if they find out.”
“Okay, I won’t tell.” Shen Muran couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh.
Listening to his grandpa’s rambling about daily life, the little bit of discomfort that had built up in his heart on the court had long since been blown away by the wind.
Music Room 505.
Intermittent cello sounds drifted from the practice room; the third measure just wouldn’t sync up with the beat.
Jiang Li stopped playing, set her bow aside, threw her head back, and let out a frustrated groan.
“The emotion still isn’t right. The old geezer is definitely going to tear me apart.”
For the afternoon training session, Zhu Zhentian required each person to perform a solo to check their proficiency.
But no matter how Jiang Li played today, her state just felt off.
Song Ying’er, who had been curled up on the sofa enjoying some fruit, scooted over. She glanced at the music piece, a sly smile flickering in her eyes.
“This song of yours is a love song. If you can’t get into the feeling, then pull up a picture of a handsome guy and imagine being in love with him, kissing him. That’ll definitely stir up the right emotions.”
Jiang Li rolled her eyes dramatically. “Why don’t you just hire a male model to stand naked in front of me? I could play it even more passionately then.”
She picked up the sheet music and suddenly flipped to Schubert’s A Minor.
“Oh, right. Isn’t your guzheng’s Dunhuang Cup around the same time as our Aegean Cup competition? Why don’t you sign up too? We could compete together.”
Song Ying’er shook her head like a rattle-drum. “You know perfectly well I only learned the guzheng to appease my mom, just to muddle through and get a diploma. What’s the point of competing?”
There was a time when Jiang Li had thought the same way.
“Then what is it you’re truly passionate about?” Her tone turned serious. “If you really don’t like the guzheng, take the chance to switch majors now while you can. We only live once; don’t force yourself for anyone else’s sake.”
Song Ying’er fiddled with the large earring on her ear, her gaze becoming somewhat distant. “My mom, she…”
She sighed, then quickly perked up again, opening a forum and casually clicking on a link about a school heartthrob poll.
“Weren’t we talking about emotions being off? Why bring me into it? Come on! Let’s look at some youthful college guys, cultivate feelings from afar.”
Jiang Li understood her best friend had unresolved issues in her heart.
To untie the bell, one must seek the one who tied it, so she didn’t continue trying to persuade.
She casually took the phone, her peripheral glance catching that post.
The post was from last year, when she had just started her freshman year.
The hottest candidate for campus heartthrob—was Shen Muran.
In the photo, the young man wore simple athletic tennis attire, leaping up on the court for a backhand swing, his shirt slightly lifting to reveal a glimpse of his lean, toned waist, the lines smooth and aesthetically pleasing.
Jiang Li browsed through the old comments. He was clearly just one final round of voting away from being the undisputed campus heartthrob.
Then suddenly, starting from a certain day, the forum flooded with an explosive wave of malicious comments—he was the son of Shen Xinye, the murderer.