This was Lu Yan's first time officially stepping into Xia Miao's room, and it felt entirely different from peeking through her window every night. The space was filled with her scent—strange, considering she hadn’t done anything. Yet just standing in this tiny room made him lose control of his body temperature.
Xia Miao noticed him frozen in place and tugged him toward a chair. She fetched a dry towel, returned, and pulled off his hat, revealing his messy black hair with a stubborn cowlick swaying slightly.
She draped the towel over his head and scrubbed vigorously, not exactly gentle but not harsh either—he didn’t feel any pain.
Xia Miao pinched a strand of his hair, rubbing the ends between her fingers. "It’s a bit yellowish," she remarked.
Lu Yan flushed with embarrassment and snatched the strand back, ducking his head. His eyes darted around before he mumbled, "Yeah, well, I’m just ugly like this. Laugh if you want."
The cowlick on his head drooped, mirroring his dejected mood.
Xia Miao forcefully lifted his chin, her expression stern. "Who said you’re ugly? Don’t forget, you’re the first guy I’ve ever allowed to pursue me. In this whole world, you’re the only one with that privilege. If you were ugly, I wouldn’t have fallen for you at first sight!"
Lu Yan stiffened, his dead-fish eyes widening into dumbstruck black dots. "F-f-fall at first sight? You’re serious?!"
"Dead serious."
His throat bobbed, the air suddenly stifling, parching his mouth.
She’d spouted nonsense about love at first sight before, but he’d assumed she was teasing him. The first time, he brushed it off as a joke. But now that she’d said it again, a naive hope flickered—maybe, just maybe, there was a sliver of truth to it.
His cowlick perked up, swaying energetically.
Maybe it was Xia Miao’s imagination, but Lu Yan—this usually clueless oaf—suddenly seemed bashful. He hunched his shoulders, fidgeting with his hem, his dark eyes stealing glances at her face before darting away whenever she caught him.
Lu Yan’s hair wasn’t exactly healthy—coarse, frizzy, and slightly yellowed, as if malnourished. He’d never cared about such things before; hair quality didn’t affect his swordplay. But now, it felt different.
He felt ashamed of his messy hair, yet Xia Miao’s words sent warmth bubbling in his chest.
His gaze landed on the table, where the gifts he’d given her were displayed.
The bouquet of white "hand-claw flowers" (a fictional species) remained pristine, as if frozen in perpetual bloom, while pinecones and other trinkets served as charming accents.
For some reason, his heart softened. Staring at Xia Miao’s face, a slow, eerie grin spread across his lips. His pale fingers reached out, snagging a strand of her black hair and twirling it around his fingertips like a newfound toy.
The room’s lights flickered as wind and rain lashed against the window. His ghostly laughter thickened the eerie atmosphere, the dimming lights perfect for a horror movie.
Then—thud—Xia Miao’s fist connected with his face.
"Stop messing around!"
The "hee-hee-hee" laughter cut off. The lights stabilized, and the boy shot her a sulky glare, though he didn’t dare complain.
Technically, he could’ve easily dried his damp clothes and hair with his body heat. But watching Xia Miao fuss over him, he chose to play dumb, letting her towel his hair for ages.
Outside, the rain never ceased, and the night deepened.
Once Lu Yan was finally dry, Xia Miao studied him for a long moment.
The boy sat obediently, his hair fluffy, the white bandages pristine, his dark eyes tracking her every move.
Xia Miao suddenly said, "Maybe you should stay the night."
Lu Yan jolted upright. "S-stay the night?!"
"It’s still pouring outside." She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing with scrutiny. "I just don’t want you getting sick. Pure hospitality—nothing else allowed!"
His face burned. "N-nothing else?"
Now that she’d mentioned it, his mind flooded with very inappropriate imagery.
Xia Miao’s cheeks warmed too. "Remember, you’re still not at a hundred points. That kind of thing is off-limits!"
Lu Yan stiffened. "Obviously! Until a hundred points, that is… forbidden!"
By midnight, the heavy rain triggered a blackout, plunging the dorm into darkness.
The two young souls lay squeezed together on a narrow bed, unable to avoid contact.
Lu Yan lay rigid, afraid to move an inch.
Xia Miao had insisted his jacket was filthy, forcing him to strip it off. Luckily, after her previous "trespassing," he’d wrapped his torso in bandages—no free peeks for her.
After an eternity, Lu Yan whispered, "Hey… you asleep?"
"Asleep."
"Oh. Me too."
Both lay wide-eyed in the dark, staring in each other’s direction. Xia Miao couldn’t see much without light, but Lu Yan’s vision pierced the shadows effortlessly.
Her hair was black, her irises more brown than dark, her skin pale—he knew it’d feel soft under his fingers. And her mouth, always chattering… the red of her lips was… kinda pretty.
Under the covers, his hand crept toward hers, hooking her pinky tentatively.
He swallowed hard. "So… how close am I to a hundred?"
In his human life, he’d skipped the throes of adolescence. But now, surrounded by her scent, her quiet breaths, her warmth—his heart pounded erratically.
He was just a restless, hormonal boy, craving a little more… comfort from the girl he adored.
Xia Miao huffed softly. "Lu Yan, are you really this dumb? You don’t even remember your own score?"
"Of course I remember!" (He didn’t. But he’d rather die than admit it.)
"Then prove it," she challenged. "What’s your score?"
Lu Yan broke into a cold sweat on his forehead, which quickly evaporated in the heat. "Fifty... fifty-six points?"
That was his wild guess.
Xia Miao replied, "Exactly! Fifty-six points!"
She answered too quickly, making Lu Yan's not-so-sharp mind start working. "You don’t actually know either—"
Before he could finish, Xia Miao cupped his face and planted a firm kiss on his cheek. "Good boy, let's go to sleep now."
Lu Yan flushed red, instantly forgetting what he was about to say.
