Feng Yan pushed open the door labeled "Princess LuLu's Room."
The first thing that greeted him was a burst of vibrant colors.
Stuffed animals sat neatly on the bay window.
The bedsheet was different from the one he'd seen during his last visit.
Even though no one usually stayed here, the room was regularly cleaned and maintained.
The tall man rested his hand on the doorknob, his height nearly matching the doorframe. Instead of stepping in immediately, he turned to glance at the room's owner.
Only after Sang Lu trudged in reluctantly did he follow, closing the door behind them.
Sang Lu plopped down onto the floor with exaggerated ease, spreading her hands in a resigned gesture as she looked up at Feng Yan. Her expression was a mix of exasperation and wariness, as if she wanted to complain but feared Madam Lin might overhear.
Feng Yan gazed down at her, a faint trace of amusement flickering in his eyes. "The floor's cold," he remarked mildly.
Sang Lu shrugged. "Not to me. I've been sitting like this since I was a kid."
Feng Yan didn’t press further. He pulled over a nearby chair and sat down.
The chair had been custom-made for Sang Lu during her high school years, tailored to her height and frame. For a long-limbed man like Feng Yan, it was an awkward fit.
His legs stretched slightly apart, his hands with nowhere else to go rested idly on the edge of the desk. He picked up a pen from the table, spinning it absently between his fingers as he looked down at her.
"Where should we start organizing?"
The sight made Sang Lu pause for a second before she stifled a laugh.
Feng Yan, dressed in an expensive shirt and tailored trousers, looked utterly out of place against the backdrop of a bookshelf plastered with colorful stickers.
The cushion pressed against the small of his back was shaped like a bow.
From Sang Lu’s angle, it almost looked like a pink bow had sprouted from the back of his black shirt.
And the pen twirling between his slender, elegant fingers? Topped with a blinking Hello Kitty charm.
The sheer absurdity of the contrast was too much.
Sang Lu couldn’t hold back a snort.
Feng Yan’s composed expression faltered into momentary confusion as he watched her.
She laughed for a good few seconds before finally tilting her head up, teasing him, "Do you even have any experience tidying up clutter?"
Feng Yan hesitated briefly before answering honestly, "No."
Sang Lu grinned. "Then you can be my assistant. I’ll sort out what to throw away, and you can pack them into the boxes. Just stack them neatly."
Feng Yan nodded. "Alright."
As she spoke, Sang Lu stood up and leaned slightly forward, reaching over Feng Yan’s head to pull out a few old magazines from the left shelf.
It was noon, and sunlight streamed brightly into the room.
The window was cracked open, the curtains tied back on either side, leaving only a thin layer of gauze fluttering in the breeze.
A gentle wind slipped through.
The gauze lifted, then drifted slowly back down.
As Sang Lu leaned in, a few strands of her hair slipped free, brushing lightly against Feng Yan’s arm.
The faint touch against his skin made him lift his gaze.
Her profile was suddenly so close that his dark eyes momentarily stilled.
Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft, hazy glow over Sang Lu.
He could see the fine down on her cheeks, the natural waves of her hair swaying gently in the air—vivid, alive, breathtaking.
Just as he was lost in the moment, a stack of magazines was thrust into his hands.
Sang Lu arched a brow, rolling up her sleeves with determination. "Let’s get to work. The sooner we finish, the sooner we eat!"
She was always like this.
Even if she’d been grumbling about the task a minute ago, she could flip her mood in an instant, diving into things with infectious energy.
This bright, spirited version of her—time and again—effortlessly captured his full attention.
From the kitchen came the sizzle of ingredients hitting hot oil.
The aroma of sautéed garlic and ginger drifted into the room.
The two fell into a seamless rhythm.
By the time Sang Changfeng finished stir-frying one dish, they had already filled the first box with discarded items—mostly textbooks, supplementary workbooks, and a few magazines.
"One down," Sang Lu announced, walking over to the box.
She wrapped her arms around it and lifted.
The box didn’t budge.
Her eyes widened.
This heavy?
Refusing to accept defeat, she rolled up her sleeves again.
Just as she was about to make another attempt, a pair of pale, toned arms intercepted her, effortlessly hoisting the box up.
Sang Lu blinked.
What had been immovable in her hands now seemed as light as a feather in Feng Yan’s grasp. His arm muscles showed no visible strain as he lifted it with ease.
The sheer disparity in their strength was undeniable.
"Put it with the others outside?" He glanced at her for confirmation.
Sang Lu nodded. "Yeah, just line them up."
Feng Yan complied, returning shortly with two empty boxes in hand.
Sang Lu’s eyes flickered with surprise.
Huh. Didn’t expect him to be this proactive—already bringing in replacements.
Definitely better than her dad, who always needed step-by-step instructions when helping her mom clean, showing zero initiative.
Unbeknownst to him, the first-time organizer had just earned silent praise.
Feng Yan continued bending over, carefully arranging items into the new box. From behind, his broad shoulders were evident, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing lean, defined forearms.
Before long, another box was filled.
Sang Lu, ever the perfectionist, decided to refine their progress.
She’d seal the boxes with tape—neater that way.
Action followed thought.
Pulling out a roll of tape from the nearby drawer, she called to the man standing by the desk, "Pass me the scissors. They’re in the pen holder."
Feng Yan acknowledged with a quiet "Mm," his gaze sweeping across the desk.
Before he could locate the pen holder, something else caught his attention, freezing him in place.
Beneath the glass desktop were several class schedules, one marked with fluorescent letters—"SL," Sang Lu’s initials.
On one of them, a line of youthful handwriting stood out: My one true love: ■■ Hideichi.
A character from the anime she’d always adored.
Just as Feng Yan was about to look away, his eyes caught on something else. His brows slowly knitted together.
Between the scribbled-out characters, faint traces of two letters remained—LS.
LS?
In an instant, the initials connected to a face he’d seen before.
Feng Yan’s expression darkened abruptly.
Lu Sheng’s face flashed in his mind.
LS—Lu Sheng?
Before being crossed out, the original line must have read: My one true love: LS.
The realization struck like a physical blow.
A net seemed to tighten in his chest, tangling his thoughts.
His fingers curled slightly at his sides, knuckles whitening.
"Couldn’t find the scissors?"
Sang Lu’s voice pulled him back. She tilted her head, puzzled by his sudden stillness.
