Yan Tingxu took Shen Qingyou to handle her school transfer. The dean of academic affairs received them in person, addressing him as “Third Master Yan” with great politeness and respect.
The forms were filled out, the household registration booklet was verified, and in less than half an hour, everything was settled.
“Class three of grade eleven,” the dean said with a smile. “Your homeroom teacher is a Ms. Zhou—a very conscientious and responsible female teacher. If there’s anything you don’t understand, Comrade Shen, feel free to ask at any time.”
Shen Qingyou nodded and took the thin admission notice.
In her previous life, she had also been in this class.
Ms. Zhou was a very good teacher—sharp-tongued but soft-hearted. Back then, Shen Qingyou had been too timid to ask questions, and her grades had never improved.
In this life, things would be different.
“Let’s go.” Yan Tingxu stood up.
Outside the school gate, Shen Qingyou carefully folded the admission notice and tucked it into her pocket.
The sun had risen higher, bringing a touch of warmth. There were more people on the street than in the early morning—some riding bicycles, some carrying shoulder poles, and a few children chasing each other as they ran.
“Third Uncle,” Shen Qingyou spoke up, “which way should we go back?”
Yan Tingxu glanced at her. “By the river. It’s shorter.”
Shen Qingyou nodded and followed.
Following the city moat, after two turns they reached the mouth of the alleyway. The river had frozen over, a vast expanse of white. A few children were playing on the ice, their laughter drifting from afar.
Shen Qingyou watched the children and suddenly remembered a winter in her previous life. Once, passing by the river, she had watched others playing like this.
Third Uncle had seen her and asked why she didn’t join them. She said she was afraid of the cold and didn’t want to, so he hadn’t asked again.
Later, Third Uncle had someone buy her a pair of ice skates—a precious and rare thing in those days—and left them silently by her door.
But she still hadn’t dared to go skating.
She looked down at her old cotton shoes.
“Third Uncle,” she lifted her head, “when the ice gets thicker, can I go skating?”
Yan Tingxu’s footsteps faltered slightly. He turned to look at her.
The young girl’s eyes were bright and round, the tip of her nose a little red from the cold. She gazed at the river with a longing expression.
“Do you know how to skate?”
“No,” Shen Qingyou admitted honestly. “But I want to learn.”
Yan Tingxu was silent for two seconds.
“The river isn’t safe. Wait until spring,” he said. “When spring comes, I’ll take you to the park to skate.”
Shen Qingyou was momentarily surprised, then her eyes curved into a smile. “All right.”
They continued walking.
As they reached a bend in the river, a commotion suddenly broke out ahead.
“Stop! Don’t run!”
“Grab him! He’s a thief!”
Before Shen Qingyou could react, a figure darted out from a side road, heading straight toward them. The man was running fast, clutching a canvas bag in his hand.
Right behind him, two men in work clothes gave chase, shouting as they ran: “Stop him! That’s our factory’s payroll!”
Before Shen Qingyou could even process what was happening, Yan Tingxu beside her had already moved.
He stepped forward, neither dodging nor yielding, planting himself directly in the thief’s path.
Seeing him block the way, the man cursed and swung a punch.
Yan Tingxu sidestepped, seized the man’s wrist, and twisted it in one fluid motion. The man cried out in pain and doubled over, the canvas bag falling from his hand. Yan Tingxu drove his knee into the man’s abdomen. With a muffled grunt, the thief curled up and crumpled to the ground, unable to move.
The whole thing took less than three seconds.
Shen Qingyou stood there, stunned.
She had never seen Third Uncle fight before.
In her previous life, she only knew he was a prominent figure in the business world. She never knew he possessed such skills.
Seeing it with her own eyes, she finally understood what it meant to hide one’s depth.
Fast, precise, ruthless. Before you could even blink, the man was down.
The two men who had been chasing after him ran up, panting heavily, thanking him profusely: “Comrade, thank you so much! That’s our factory’s payroll—over three hundred yuan. If it had been lost, we would never have been able to answer for it!”
Yan Tingxu handed the man’s arm over to them, bent down to pick up the canvas bag, dusted it off, and handed it over.
“Check if anything’s missing.”
The man took the bag, opened it and glanced inside, then let out a sigh of relief. “Nothing missing, nothing missing. It’s all here.”
He looked up at Yan Tingxu, his face full of gratitude. “Comrade, which work unit are you with? We need to write a letter of commendation—”
“No need,” Yan Tingxu said. “Just take him to the police station.”
With that, he turned and walked back.
Shen Qingyou stood there, watching him approach.
The sunlight fell on him. His dark blue coat was slightly disheveled, but his commanding presence hadn’t diminished in the least. His face still showed no expression, as if he had merely swatted a fly.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Shen Qingyou nodded and followed.
After a few steps, she suddenly noticed something was wrong.
Yan Tingxu’s left hand hung at his side. On the back of his hand was a gash, and blood was seeping out.
“Third Uncle!” She stopped in her tracks. “You’re hurt!”
Yan Tingxu looked down and turned his hand over. A cut ran across the back of his hand, beads of blood welling up in a steady stream.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Just a scrape.”
Shen Qingyou stared at the wound, her heart clenching tight.
She thought of the news of his accidental death in her previous life. She didn’t know exactly what had happened—only that he had never come back.
Seeing him injured now, even if it was just a scratch on his hand, made her heart pound.
She looked up at him. “When we get back, I’ll put medicine on it for you.”
Yan Tingxu looked at her.
The young girl’s eyes were glistening. Over such a small cut, she looked as if tears were about to fall.
No one had ever worried over him so tenderly before.
His brow twitched slightly, and he waved a hand.
“It’s just a little scratch. It’s nothing.”
Shen Qingyou insisted. “Even little scratches hurt.”
Yan Tingxu didn’t argue further. He turned and continued walking.
Shen Qingyou followed, her eyes repeatedly drifting to his dangling hand as they walked. The blood was still flowing, dripping onto the ground one drop at a time.
She wanted to say something but didn’t know what.
So she quickened her pace to walk beside him, glancing over every now and then.
Yan Tingxu noticed.
This girl—she hadn’t taken her eyes off his hand the entire way.
When they returned to the courtyard, Yan Tingxu pushed open the door of the main hall. Shen Qingyou followed him inside.
The stove in the room had gone out, leaving a bit of a chill. Yan Tingxu moved to stoke it, but Shen Qingyou stopped him.
“Third Uncle, sit down first. I’ll go find the medicine.”
With that, she looked around the room and spotted the medicine kit on top of the cabinet. She opened it—gauze, iodine, merbromin, antiseptic powder. Thankfully, all of these things were there.
She carried the medicine kit to the table and laid the items out one by one.
Yan Tingxu sat in the chair, watching her movements.
The young girl was very meticulous. She arranged everything neatly—cotton swabs, gauze, medicine bottles, each in its proper place. Once she was done, she brought over a basin of warm water and set it by his feet.
“Third Uncle, give me your hand.”
Yan Tingxu had no choice but to extend his hand.
Shen Qingyou crouched down, gently took hold of his wrist, and used a cotton swab dipped in water to carefully clean the blood around the wound.
Her movements were very gentle and very slow, as if afraid of hurting him.
Yan Tingxu looked down at her.
She was crouched there, her face very close to his. Her eyelashes were lowered, trembling slightly. Her nose was delicate, her lips pressed together in concentration as she focused entirely on the wound. Her hands were cold. As if afraid he might pull away, her fingertips rested lightly on his wrist.
“Does it hurt?” She looked up, her eyes glistening, filled with nothing but concern.
Yan Tingxu’s heart suddenly softened.
“It doesn’t hurt,” he said.