Xia Miao raised an eyebrow. "Isn’t that stating the obvious?"
Anyone with eyes could see her broken heel—the same shoes that had accompanied her onto the train and survived an alien creature crisis had finally met their end.
No. 13 looked up with a bright smile. "No worries, I can try to fix them."
Xia Miao was surprised. "You know how to repair shoes?"
"Don’t let my unreliable appearance fool you. I’m a bit of a jack-of-all-trades."
No. 13 wasn’t much different from those shallow men, all vying for Xia Miao’s favor because of her noble status.
Xue Fufu stopped observing the scene and, following her memory, walked to Room 501. Summoning her courage, she knocked on the door.
Before long, someone answered.
Long Shenting’s eyes lit up with delight. "Miss Xue, what brings you here?"
Xue Fufu glanced worriedly at the bandage still wrapped around Long Shenting’s forehead and said softly, "I heard something happened here. I was worried you might be hurt, so I couldn’t help but come see you."
Long Shenting was visibly moved.
His mother had been relentlessly pushing him to marry Xia Miao, treating him as nothing more than a tool for political alliance. And those who flattered him only did so because of his status and influence.
But Xue Fufu was different. She had extended a helping hand to him without knowing his identity, becoming his friend. Her gaze was pure, like untouched white paper—beautiful, ethereal, untainted by the world.
Like pristine sunlight, she illuminated his dark world.
How could such a wonderful girl not stir his heart?
"Miss Xue, I’m grateful you came to see me. Please, come in for some tea," Long Shenting offered.
Xue Fufu hesitated—being alone with a man in his room might invite misunderstandings. But under Long Shenting’s hopeful gaze, her resolve wavered, and she stepped inside.
Meanwhile...
No. 13 crouched on the ground, grinning. "Need a piggyback ride?"
Xia Miao didn’t immediately agree. Instead, she lifted her chin haughtily, scrutinizing him as if assessing his worth. Only after deeming him qualified did she put on an air of reluctant concession. "Fine. Since you saved me, I’ll grant you this opportunity."
Her tone was exaggerated, as if she weren’t addressing someone offering help but a sycophant desperate to please.
Fortunately, No. 13 had an excellent temper. Unfazed, he effortlessly hoisted the young lady onto his back, carrying her high heels in one hand—the picture of dutiful service.
Up close, Xia Miao noticed his hair was an unusually pure shade, free of any impurities. His entire aura leaned cool-toned, yet paradoxically, he radiated warmth and an almost unbelievable cheerfulness.
Her eyes drifted to his previously injured arm, and she muttered, "Your wounds were way worse than mine. How’d you heal so fast?"
"Well..." No. 13 mused, his answer half-serious, "Maybe my body’s just gotten better at healing from all the injuries."
Xia Miao was skeptical. Her own fingers were still wrapped like dumplings—it’d take weeks before the bandages came off. Thankfully, Linda was around to help, or managing daily life with one hand would’ve been a struggle.
Arriving at Room 444, No. 13 stopped at the doorway. "Miss Xia, we’re here."
Xia Miao tilted her head. "Aren’t you taking me inside?"
No. 13 smiled politely. "It’s late. As a man, entering a lady’s room wouldn’t be proper."
"What’s improper about it?"
"It might invite gossip that could harm your reputation."
"And what if I don’t mind that gossip?"
No. 13 froze, turning his head just in time to meet Xia Miao’s unflinching gaze. She stared at him openly, without a hint of shyness—bold to the point of audacity.
Uncharacteristically flustered, No. 13 averted his eyes like a retreating soldier. Clearing his throat, he said stiffly, "It’s late. You should rest."
Xia Miao hummed. "Then hurry up and carry me in."
No. 13 didn’t budge—he had his principles.
Unfazed, Xia Miao remained on his back, swinging her legs idly. The skin of her calves brushed against the fabric of his black uniform pants, though it was unclear who felt the tingling sensation.
Just then, a neighbor stepped out of a nearby room.
Xia Miao waved cheerfully. "Good even—"
No. 13 swiftly strode forward, entering the room and shutting the door with a sharp click.
The neighbor blinked, certain someone had greeted him, but saw no one. Scratching his head, he walked off, puzzled.
Inside the unlit room, No. 13 shut his eyes in frustration. He had the distinct feeling of being led by the nose—an unsettling realization.
Xia Miao slid off his back, her right foot still shod while her bare left foot pressed against his cold black boot, maintaining a precarious balance.
No. 13 glanced down. Even in the dim light, his vision was sharp.
Her foot was tiny compared to his—pale as jade, toes round and delicate, a stark contrast against the dark leather.
The way she stood on him felt like a blatant declaration of their dynamic: who held the power was unmistakable.
Bad. Very bad. This situation was spiraling.
Instinctively, No. 13 tried to retreat, but Xia Miao leaned forward, forcing him back against the wall—nowhere left to go.
She pressed further, her knee nudging between his legs. He stiffened as her arms caged him in, palms flat against the wall, pinning him under her predatory gaze.
No. 13 hunched slightly, his tall frame suddenly diminished before the girl half his size.
"Mikhail Anatolyevich Dobrolubsky."
Hearing his full name, No. 13 tensed. "Y-yes?"
"I think you’re quite something. So here’s the deal—I’ll give you a chance to pursue me. Succeed, and I’ll let you kiss me."
The blue eyes blinked, and the young man with orange-yellow hair looked slightly dazed. "I never thought about pursuing you."
"No!" Xia Miao said sternly, her expression serious. "You have to pursue me, because I want to kiss you. I remembered you the moment I first saw you—I wanted to kiss you right then!"
No. 13: "..."
Xia Miao rose on her tiptoes, leaning closer until her face was level with his as he instinctively bent down. She stared into his striking blue eyes, her demeanor haughty and unyielding. "Don’t tell me you don’t want to kiss me too?"
That was a good question.
No. 13 wanted to say of course not, but as his gaze drifted over her rosy lips, he pressed his own together tightly.
The next moment, the young man’s hands flew up to cover his face in self-disgust. Through the gaps between his fingers, a faint flush could be seen spreading across his unnaturally pale skin—especially in those ocean-like eyes, now shimmering with unrestrained emotion.
Damn it.
He really did want to.
