The next day.
Ye Cheng yawned as he crawled up from the hotel carpet, glancing at the time displayed on his phone.
8:30 AM.
Hmm, this must be an illusion—how else could he wake up to something so horrifying?
"You're telling me I slept through morning classes?"
No way, this has to be a dream. Back to sleep, back to sleep…
Ye Cheng tossed his phone aside, pulled the thin blanket over his stomach, and shut his eyes again.
One minute passed.
Two minutes passed.
Three minutes passed…
Ye Cheng’s eyes snapped open.
This isn’t right!
Soon, a sharp, ear-piercing shriek echoed through the room.
"Young Mistress, stop sleeping! We’re late—no, we’re already late! Get up now!"
Ye Cheng scrambled to his feet and rushed to the sofa, trying to rouse the still-motionless Shen Qinghan.
As he approached, he noticed Shen Qinghan staring at him wide-eyed, completely still.
The icy chill in her gaze seemed to spread like frost.
"Eh? Young Mistress, when did you wake up?"
Ye Cheng blinked in confusion.
Shen Qinghan remained expressionless.
"7 AM."
"If you woke up at 7, why didn’t you wake me?" Ye Cheng asked, puzzled.
"Because I was woken up at 7 by your alarm," Shen Qinghan replied calmly, though her clenched fists betrayed her true feelings.
She was about to throw hands.
Ye Cheng: "???"
At 7 AM, Shen Qinghan had been deep in slumber when Ye Cheng’s blaring "Phoenix Legend" ringtone jolted her awake—maximum volume, relentless for five whole minutes.
Somehow, it didn’t wake Ye Cheng.
Shen Qinghan became the sole victim in the room.
Ye Cheng quickly interjected, "Wait, that can’t be right. I set five alarms! Usually, I’m conscious by the third one. Why didn’t I hear any today?"
Shen Qinghan: "…"
Silently, Shen Qinghan crooked a finger at him.
"Come here."
"Huh? Oh, okay." Ye Cheng obediently shuffled over.
The moment he did, the black-hearted young mistress launched a sneak attack!
Both hands clamped around his neck.
Her cold, steady voice whispered in his ear:
"Five. You set five alarms."
Shen Qinghan had been driven to the brink of insanity. By the third alarm, Ye Cheng had indeed stirred slightly—only for Shen Qinghan to slap him back into unconsciousness.
Already hobbled by a sprained ankle and further debilitated by her period, Shen Qinghan was practically drowning in negative buffs.
She’d planned to endure it quietly.
But Ye Cheng’s subsequent alarms grew increasingly outrageous, until she couldn’t take it anymore and shut them all off in one go.
She couldn’t fathom why anyone would set a Buddhist chant ("Great Compassion Mantra") as their alarm tone.
Was he trying to perform her last rites at dawn?
By morning, Shen Qinghan’s rage meter was maxed out—all thanks to Ye Cheng. He should’ve woken up much earlier, even without the five alarms.
Ye Cheng had one final failsafe: his biological alarm clock.
When someone consistently wakes at the same time, they often rise without external cues.
But Ye Cheng’s last line of defense—his internal clock—was snuffed out by Shen Qinghan’s slap.
Knocked out cold.
So, rather than oversleeping, Ye Cheng had been unconscious until now, courtesy of Shen Qinghan’s palm strike.
While Ye Cheng was still puzzling over his "oversleeping," the actual culprit had been awake for ages.
"Die already," Shen Qinghan said with a frosty glare.
Even when delivering such "venomous" lines, her tone remained eerily flat—cold yet oddly adorable.
Ye Cheng stuck out his tongue, making exaggerated gagging noises as he played along with the black-hearted young mistress’s revenge.
Finally, after a long moment, Shen Qinghan released him with a disdainful huff.
"No more setting so many alarms," she warned, narrowing her eyes dangerously.
"Young Mistress, today was just an accident. We won’t be sharing a room in the future—ahem, what I mean is, I’ll turn them off right away!"
Ye Cheng had been about to argue further, but one look at Shen Qinghan’s murderous glare made him reconsider.
Under her watchful eye, Ye Cheng disabled four of his five alarms.
Only his favorite—the "Great Compassion Mantra" alarm—remained.
Shen Qinghan: "…"
A hollow victory.
"Alright, Young Mistress, you must be feeling awful right now—can’t walk properly, desperate to get to class, right?"
Ye Cheng crouched in front of her, oozing servility.
"Vehicle detected. Please board!" he announced in a robotic GPS voice.
Shen Qinghan: "…"
Great Sea City Noble Academy.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Ye Cheng supported the injured Shen Qinghan as they entered the classroom.
A familiar scene: the same middle-aged teacher from yesterday stood at the podium.
Old Man!
The Old Man had spotted Ye Cheng multiple times, each time swallowing his words and replacing them with praise.
"This student’s dedication is commendable, repeatedly assisting his classmates. Go ahead and take your seats. If you have questions later, don’t hesitate to ask after class."
The Old Man wore a kindly expression.
Had Ye Cheng not memorized the student handbook, he might’ve fallen for the act.
Tardiness was a serious offense at Great Sea City Noble Academy—accumulate enough strikes, and you’d face suspension or expulsion.
Since when were they this lenient?
Only because the Old Man feared being diced into mincemeat by the black-hearted young mistress. Spineless coward!
"Take it slow, Young Mistress," Ye Cheng fawned, practically offering his back as a stepping stool.
The Old Man’s eyelid twitched visibly, his mouth quirking.
This guy’s on another level.
With Ye Cheng’s assistance, Shen Qinghan smoothly returned to her seat.
The entire process was seamless—not a single hitch. Not even a whisper from their classmates.
They knew better than to gossip about the icy, terrifying young woman who spoke little but acted decisively.
Cross her in the morning, vanish by afternoon.
Rumors about Ye Cheng and Shen Qinghan’s "special relationship" had already begun circulating, but only in hushed tones.
And after today—Ye Cheng escorting her again—their connection seemed all but confirmed.
"Young Mistress, don’t you think everyone’s staring at us? Is it because I’m handsome?"
Ye Cheng whispered while fishing out a small mirror (adorned with an ad for a men’s health clinic) to admire his reflection, stroking his smooth chin.
Truly, a man enchanted by his own beauty.
Shen Qinghan: "…"