On the way back, she struggled with the song lyrics again.
"Writing lyrics is harder than holding in shit."
With no inspiration whatsoever, she simply gave up and decided to ask Chen Mo for advice on lyric-writing after school the next day. She stuffed her draft paper into her backpack.
Unnoticed by her, an experimental record sheet that hadn’t yet been filed away got mixed in as well.
...
"I heard this year’s arts festival is inviting investors."
"Isn’t that normal? Any alumni from S High can attend."
"Normal my ass. Investors—think about who the school’s biggest investor is."
At that, the group fell silent, their gazes sliding toward the girl walking their way.
She wore the same uniform as them, her slightly curly hair braided to one side, revealing a clean, delicate neck. Her thick lashes drooped lazily as she yawned, half-lidded eyes glistening with sleep, like a cat just waking up—regal and so beautiful it was impossible to look away.
"Morning... Ji Nian."
As Ji Nian passed by, the girl in the middle, Di Na, stumbled over her greeting.
Expecting no response, she was stunned when Ji Nian stopped. Her jade-green eyes shifted, curving into a faint smile.
"Morning, Di Na."
Di Na froze.
Only after Ji Nian walked away did she blush furiously with delayed excitement. "She knew my name!"
She wasn’t in the same class as Ji Nian, only sharing some larger lectures.
The other two girls looked envious. "I should’ve said hello too."
"My childhood friend is in her class. He always said Ji Nian was easygoing, but I never believed him."
"Ugh, I should’ve asked if her dad’s coming."
Completely unaware of the discussion, Ji Nian spotted a familiar figure stepping out of the elevator near the classroom corner.
"He Xiang?"
She called out, but he didn’t seem to hear.
She followed and poked him from behind.
He Xiang had just returned from delivering a letter to the office. Feeling the poke, he stopped and turned, his expression cold—until he saw it was Ji Nian. The frost melted, but then he tensed and jerked his head away.
"Too late, I already saw."
Ji Nian’s voice was ominous as she swiftly grabbed his arm.
He Xiang stiffened, but Ji Nian noticed instantly, yanking up his sleeve.
A bruise, untreated and stark, marred his arm—clearly from a strike.
Ji Nian’s eyes darkened, her tone unconsciously authoritative. "Who did this?"
Her mind raced.
Was it the math class kids, targeting He Xiang for being quiet and introverted? Or students from another school ambushing him after class for some stupid reason?
Not just his arm—his forehead was swollen too. Having spent enough time around fights, Ji Nian recognized it as a punch.
Under her piercing gaze, He Xiang couldn’t repeat the lie he’d told the teachers about "accidentally bumping into something."
"...Fight."
He mumbled, avoiding her eyes.
If not for Ji Nian’s sharp hearing, she might’ve missed it.
"Then it’s definitely their fault. A well-behaved kid like you wouldn’t pick fights."
Ji Nian sounded like those doting parents who blindly side with their children.
At her choice of words, He Xiang turned back. His dark lashes framed even darker eyes, unreadable as ink. He stepped forward, backing Ji Nian against the wall.
"You think I’m well-behaved?"
To him, "well-behaved" was just another word for weak.
Ji Nian and her friends had helped him a lot, but not everyone was kind.
He’d been in plenty of fights—Ji Nian just never knew.
This bruise? Just a graze from the guys who’d come after him for beating up the man who badmouthed Ji Nian.
"Talk properly. Why get so close? Trying to change the subject?"
Ji Nian smacked the bruise, making He Xiang wince and deflate.
He Xiang took a deep breath. "......"
"...Not changing the subject."
"Just small stuff. It’s handled."
He refused to elaborate, urging her to go back to class.
Ji Nian stared at him, but He Xiang remained unmoved, lowering his gaze and walking away.
That kind of filth...
Shouldn’t stain her ears.
[Ugh, kids grow up and suddenly won’t tell you anything.]
Ji Nian’s heart ached.
This brat—not a word about it in any of his recent letters.
Leaning against the railing, she noted the empty hallway—math class was nearby, but few passed this corner.
She whistled.
A pale hand gripped the railing from below, and a figure in black vaulted up.
"You called, Miss?"
The assassin looked up eagerly.
Using bodyguards would alert Wei Yang. The assassin squad was better for this.
Ji Nian gave quick instructions.
The assassin nodded, then flipped back down five floors.
As soon as he left, Ji Nian turned—and walked straight into someone’s chest.
A familiar sweet scent enveloped her.
She looked up into Lu Jinghuai’s eyes.
No idea how long he’d been there, he fluttered his golden lashes like fragile butterfly wings before she could speak. "I’m hurt too."
Clearly, he’d heard everything.
Ji Nian nearly stomped on his foot, stepping back. "Where?"
Lu Jinghuai took her wrist, guiding her hand to his chest. "Here. You bumped me."
Then added softly, "It’s definitely bruised."
Ji Nian almost laughed.
"Since when do you fake injuries?"
Still holding her hand, he tilted his head. "Will you take responsibility?"
The angle made her eyes drop to his pale pink lips—and suddenly remember his fever that time...
Her fingers twitched. She roughly wrinkled his shirt, then yanked her hand free, darting past him.
"There, fixed. Class is starting, let’s go."
Lu Jinghuai watched her flee, blinking in confusion.
Before leaving, his gaze flicked toward the math class, then cooled as he followed Ji Nian.
...
By the time school was over, Lu Jinghuai was no longer happy.
Because he saw someone.
Someone who, for years, had driven him mad with jealousy.
Someone whose traces were everywhere in Ji Nian’s life—yet never mentioned in front of him, as if deliberately avoided.
Chen Mo.
