Knowing that Ji Nian would be coming over in the evening, Chen Mo wrapped up his work early, canceled a dinner appointment, and hurried over to pick her up.
The strikingly handsome man stood out like a radiant presence, entirely distinct from the youthful students around him. Beyond his exceptional looks, he carried an air of quiet composure that was utterly captivating.
"Ah, Teacher Mo."
Shen Qingtang spotted Chen Mo and waved at him.
Chen Mo had once been their homeroom teacher, and Shen Qingtang had never quite managed to shake the habit of calling him that.
Ji Nian unceremoniously shoved her backpack into Chen Mo’s outstretched hands.
This seamless interaction did not escape Lu Jinghuai’s notice.
With his striking looks and demeanor, Lu Jinghuai was impossible to overlook—even Chen Mo found himself momentarily stunned.
Lu Zhi’s son is truly something else, he thought. No wonder he’s considered the most handsome in the Lu family for centuries.
Though he knew this was the "little blond punk" Ji Tingzhou had mentioned, and though he could tell this boy was exactly Ji Nian’s type, Chen Mo softened his tone. After all, his own past misfortunes were tied to him.
"Hello, classmate," Chen Mo said politely.
Lu Jinghuai smiled courteously, his eyes curving slightly. "Hello, Uncle."
Chen Mo: "……"
Well, he was at the age where being called "uncle" was appropriate. Still, something about it felt off.
"Why are you here?" Ji Nian muttered under her breath. Handing over her backpack had been such a reflex that she’d forgotten to ask.
Had she known Chen Mo was coming, she would’ve delayed leaving, letting Lu Jinghuai go first.
She stole a glance at Lu Jinghuai, worried he might not be handling the situation well.
But contrary to expectations—unlike a few years ago when the mere mention of Chen Mo would unsettle him—Lu Jinghuai remained perfectly composed. There wasn’t even a flicker of discomfort on his face.
Meeting Ji Nian’s gaze, Lu Jinghuai smiled at her and mouthed silently, What’s wrong?
Ji Nian shook her head. "Let’s go, then."
"See you tomorrow!"
She grabbed Chen Mo’s arm and hurried off.
Lu Jinghuai’s silver-gray eyes followed the spot where Ji Nian had gripped Chen Mo, his expression unreadable.
Beside him, Shen Qingtang glanced down at Lu Jinghuai’s trembling hand and hesitated before speaking.
"...Young Master Lu, your hand seems to be shaking."
"Are you alright?"
At Shen Qingtang’s words, Lu Jinghuai turned his head slightly, his tone mild. "Oh?"
"Don’t mind it."
With that, he walked away.
Shen Qingtang rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Still too young, far too young..."
...
Back at the Chen residence, Ji Nian kicked off her shoes and slipped effortlessly into her rabbit-patterned house slippers.
"Aunt Li, I want your osmanthus wine-fermented soft cheese!"
Aunt Li poked her head out, beaming. "Already prepared for our Miss Nian."
Chen Mo, trailing behind with Ji Nian’s discarded shoes, sighed. "Don’t eat too much. Dinner’s soon."
Ji Nian waved a hand to acknowledge him before darting upstairs to change into loungewear.
Then, with light footsteps, she went looking for Chen Mo.
"Mo-Mo? Uncle?"
"...Jump-Jump?"
Chen Mo appeared instantly, giving her a look that was both amused and exasperated.
Ji Nian blinked innocently at him.
"Such a good child, ruined by Ji Tingzhou," Chen Mo lamented, adamant that her mischief was entirely Ji Tingzhou’s influence.
"If you need a practice room, your uncle can provide one. Renting outside is unsanitary. Will you have snacks when you’re hungry? Is the heating sufficient?"
Ji Nian answered each question patiently.
She knew Chen Mo’s place was ideal, but she didn’t want to let He Xiang down.
Since he couldn’t participate, she wanted him to feel involved in other ways.
Come to think of it... the Killer Squad should’ve sent word by now.
Making a mental note, Ji Nian entered Chen Mo’s room.
She settled onto her usual spot on the sofa and rummaged through her backpack.
"These lyrics are impossible. I’ve been stuck for ages."
Chen Mo took a sip of the black tea a servant had brought and chuckled. "You’ve never been good at writing essays, even as a child."
"A failure on my part as your Chinese teacher."
Ji Nian: "……"
The words "Chinese teacher" alone made her want to flee.
Before she could escape, Chen Mo continued, "Lyrics aren’t essays, but they can follow formulas and employ little tricks."
Hearing there were tricks, Ji Nian looked at him eagerly, her wide eyes melting her uncle’s heart.
His voice softened further. "A song is primarily built from subjects and nouns—people and objects. On that foundation, you weave in verbs and adjectives, stitching them together to create interaction. That’s how a song is born." (Inspired by lyricist Vincent Fang’s techniques.)
Ji Nian listened half-understandingly.
Chen Mo explained at length, and she focused as intently as she would in class, gradually forming some ideas.
After a moment of contemplation, Ji Nian picked up her pen and scribbled on her draft paper:
That night, I pissed so high just to hide the tears in my eyes
You asked who I was constipated for
My intestines clung desperately, as I wept in despair
Ah~ Ah~ We argued fiercely, only for it to shatter~~
Exhausted, my heart turned to ashes—(high note)—
Lost in her artistic fervor, Ji Nian had never felt so inspired in her life!
System: Humans are like this—once they start writing about bodily functions, they go wild, forgetting all restraint.
After finishing her masterpiece, Ji Nian emerged from her creative trance, feeling oddly empty.
But upon sober reflection, she reread her lyrics and froze.
"...This might be a little too crude."
Would Gu Xiuyuan assassinate her if she performed this "Constipation Ballad" onstage while wearing his face on a T-shirt?
System: Absolutely, no doubt about it.
"Finished?" Chen Mo, who had been working with his glasses on, looked up at the sound of her pen stopping.
Ji Nian hesitated. "Well... sort of. But I don’t think it’s usable."
Chen Mo’s gaze was encouraging. "That’s alright. Getting words on paper is progress. At your age, I had plenty of discarded drafts."
"Though sometimes, with a little tweaking, even the worst lyrics can be salvaged."
As he spoke, he took the draft from her and skimmed it.
Then his smile stiffened.
Yeah, no.
Some things—like excrement—belong in the sewer. No salvaging, no fermenting into fertilizer.
...Wait, did that just rhyme?
Chen Mo rubbed his temples, laughing bitterly. Chen Mo, you’ve still got it.
Even after all these years without writing, the talent hadn’t faded.
"It’s probably dinnertime. I’ll go check."
Having sat for so long, Ji Nian stretched and headed out.
Across from her, Chen Mo shook his head, still chuckling at her "Constipation Ballad."
He tidied her draft papers and pulled out a fresh sheet to jot down revision notes for her.
But as he pulled it out, he realized it was already used. About to put it back, his gaze caught the writing on it.
Chen Mo’s entire body jolted. His eyes burned into the words as if they could scorch holes through the paper.
He stood abruptly, his chair toppling behind him unnoticed.
Breathing heavily, he stared at those lines, unwilling to blink even as his eyes stung.
This handwriting...
It was her.
It had to be her!
How could he ever forget her writing?!
