Mu Suihe swallowed the bite of steamed bun and wiped her eyes carelessly. “I’m not crying. The bun just tastes terrible.”
Lu Yuzhi looked at her reddened eyes and the half of a dry white flour bun still clutched in her hand, and sighed.
He reached out and took the bun from her hand, setting it on the table. “Then don’t eat it.”
Lu Yuzhi then reached for her wrist again, this time with a much gentler grip.
She still didn’t move, standing in place with her head lowered, stubborn as ever.
Looking down, Lu Yuzhi could only see the whorl of hair on top of her head.
He raised his hand, hesitated for a moment above her head, then gently lowered it and ruffled her hair—a gesture of comfort.
The motion was a little awkward. She was the first.
None of the younger generation of the Lu Family had ever been granted this honor.
His voice was softer than usual. “You said the bun tastes bad. I’ll take you to eat something sweet.”
“Stop crying.”
When he reached for her wrist again, she didn’t resist, obediently following him.
The hem of her white dress brushed against his trouser leg.
Lu Yuzhi took her to a private Cantonese restaurant.
The doorman froze for a moment when he saw his face, then quickly bowed.
The manager came jogging out to greet them, his voice hushed with deference and care. “Ninth Master, what brings you here today? Your usual seat?”
Lu Yuzhi nodded.
The manager’s peripheral vision caught sight of Mu Suihe, tucked behind the Ninth Master like a little rescued kitten.
He quickly averted his gaze, asked nothing, and personally led the two of them toward the window-side private booth.
Every server along the way bowed in unison.
Mu Suihe followed him through the corridor, her gaze sweeping over the ancient paintings on the walls before settling back on his tall, upright figure.
She felt nothing about this kind of scene.
Though her memories had grown blurry, some habits remained.
In the past, wherever she went, it seemed everyone had bowed before her as well.
Lu Yuzhi pushed the menu toward her.
She flipped through it without ceremony and ordered a few dishes that looked good—har gow, rice noodle rolls, and liu sha bao.
When the food arrived, she picked up her chopsticks, grabbed a har gow, took a bite, and paused.
Then those peach-blossom almond eyes curved slightly as she chewed, cheeks puffed out.
Delicious.
She had a small appetite. After just a taste of each dish, she couldn’t eat any more. She set down her chopsticks and cradled the bowl of mango pomelo sago, sipping it in small mouthfuls. A drop of milky white coconut milk clung to the corner of her lips, and she stuck out her tongue to lick it away.
Lu Yuzhi watched her.
He hadn’t had much of an appetite himself, but seeing her eat so heartily, he somehow found himself picking up his chopsticks a few more times.
In the end, she really couldn’t finish the last liu sha bao, but she wanted to try it so badly that she held it in her hand, hesitating. He found it somewhat amusing.
He reached out, took it from her hand, and finished it in a few bites.
Mu Suihe propped her chin on her hand, watching him eat the bun that should have been hers, and suddenly felt that this seemingly cold, aloof professor wasn’t quite so unapproachable after all.
She wiped her hands and spoke up in a small, somewhat embarrassed voice: “This meal… you’re the one who invited me, Professor. So does that mean you’re treating?”
Lu Yuzhi picked up his teacup and regarded her leisurely. “What if I am? And what if I’m not?”
“You have to be treating.” Her voice grew smaller and smaller.
“Because I don’t have any money to treat you right now. I don’t work outside, so I can’t earn any money either.”
Looking at her self-righteous yet guilty little expression, Lu Yuzhi nearly laughed out of exasperation.
He set down his teacup. “I, Lu Yuzhi, haven’t fallen so low as to let a girl who’s barely of age pay.”
Mu Suihe stole a glance at him, committing the name to memory.
Lu Yuzhi.
Expensive, proud, and weighty—much like the man himself.
Lu Yuzhi was watching her too.
Before this meal, he had sought her out to deliver a warning.
Song Shiqian was being groomed as the heir of the Lu Family—someone she could never hope to reach.
Last time in the lecture hall, he had advised her to back off, and she hadn’t listened. This time, he intended to make things clearer.
But now she sat across from him, no longer crying once she’d eaten her fill, docile as a cat whose fur had gone soft in the sun.
The harsh words caught in his throat, refusing to come out.
Instead, he asked, “What happened in the cafeteria just now?”
Well-fed and in good spirits, Mu Suihe cradled her teacup and answered frankly, as if telling someone else’s story. “Because I played the victim and framed Shen Jinxin, they all hate me now.”
“Just like last time in the classroom—I knocked Shen Jinxin’s bag to the floor and then lied about it.”
Lu Yuzhi looked at her unashamed face. He didn’t scold her; he only asked in return, “All to attract Shiqian’s attention?”
Mu Suihe looked up in surprise. “You’re not going to scold me?”
“Why would I scold you?”
“But they all say I’m ruthless and ungrateful.”
Lu Yuzhi gave a cold laugh. “That’s the kind of talk reserved for the weak.”
“Those people—when facing someone a class above them, which of them isn’t ruthless, clawing their way up with everything they’ve got?”
“What gratitude, what loyalty? To those climbing upward, none of it matters.”
He paused, his gaze settling on her face. “How are you any different from those wealthy magnates and aristocrats who beg at the Lu Family’s door, begging for a single chance?”
“Succeed, and you’re the envy of thousands.”
“Only the failures get accused of being ruthless and ungrateful.”
Mu Suihe blinked. That was a novel perspective.
From everyone—including Song Shiqian—she had received nothing but disappointment and blame.
Yet this man was telling her that climbing upward wasn’t wrong; only failure was.
“You still haven’t answered my question.” Lu Yuzhi set his teacup on the table.
Mu Suihe thought it over seriously, then answered just as seriously. “It’s for Young Master Song.”
Lu Yuzhi lowered his eyes, his thumb slowly circling the rim of his cup, his voice cooling a few degrees. “Is it because of his family background? But there are so many men from good families…”
“No, Professor.” Mu Suihe interrupted him gently, her eyes clear and bright.
“It’s not just his family. It’s also because he’s the only one for me.”
Her tone was calm as she said it.
But it was precisely that calm that made it clear she meant it.
Lu Yuzhi dropped his gaze, no longer looking at her, and murmured, “Oh, Shiqian does have a way with young girls, it’s true.”
He hadn’t expected this.
The deliberate seduction was real and so was the depth of her feelings.