“Okay, thanks, Monitor.”
Qiao Liuyue opened WeChat’s scan feature.
She scanned the QR code Chu Xubai held out, sent a friend request, and he almost instantly accepted.
She tapped on his profile picture and paused for a moment.
The avatar was a photo of green grass and blue sky—low resolution, oversaturated, the kind of random scenic snap you’d take without thinking.
His username was: “Today I’m Still Alive, You Know.”
Qiao Liuyue stared at the username for two seconds.
Silently, she tagged the Monitor’s mental state in her head: Pretty advanced, huh.
“All set,” Chu Xubai said, forwarding the registration form to her.
Then he added, with the same serious expression,
“If your application goes through, make sure you keep this Saturday free. The plan is to meet at the school’s north gate at 10 a.m.”
Qiao Liuyue nodded quickly, her bangs bouncing with each nod.
“Thanks, Monitor.”
Chu Xubai paused, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Like he wanted to smile but didn’t want to show it too much.
“Do I really look that intimidating? How come aside from ‘Thanks, Monitor,’ you don’t have anything else to say?”
Qiao Liuyue blinked slowly. Behind her heavy bangs and thick-rimmed glasses, a hint of genuine confusion flickered in her eyes.
She thought for a moment, then tentatively ventured,
“Then… you’re such a nice person, Monitor?”
“Pfft.”
It wasn’t Chu Xubai who laughed—it was the classmate sitting next to him.
That student nearly choked on a sip of water.
While wiping his mouth, he couldn’t help but chime in, “Not gonna lie, Qiao, your answer really sounds like you’re a chatbot.”
“But honestly, you’ve got a pretty good personality, huh?”
He tilted his head, as if re-evaluating the usually low-key girl in front of him.
“Before, Dong Jiaoyan used to say you were odd and dull, but it doesn’t seem that way at all.”
At that, Qiao Liuyue pressed her lips together faintly.
So that’s how Dong Jiaoyan talked about her to others.
No wonder she had hardly any friends in class besides Dong Jiaoyan.
Every time she had a simple chat with another female classmate, Dong Jiaoyan would swoop in, grab her possessively, and whisper harshly,
“Are you betraying our friendship? Didn’t you say we were best friends?”
“Why are you talking to others?”
The tone was serious, as if talking to someone else equaled betrayal.
Qiao Liuyue had always been speechless, not knowing how to respond.
Did being best friends have to mean one-on-one exclusivity?
In your definition of “best friend,” was it all about serving you, putting you down, and controlling you?
Just then, a bright figure slipped quickly through the back door.
Dong Jiaoyan jogged in, her chestnut hair bouncing behind her. She’d probably run all the way from the dorm, her cheeks dusted with a thin, rosy glow.
Her gaze swept across the classroom and locked onto Qiao Liuyue.
She also immediately spotted her talking to Monitor Chu Xubai and the classmate next to him—three heads huddled together, chatting and laughing.
Dong Jiaoyan’s face instantly darkened, shadowed by a veil of gloom.
She strode over and spoke without a hint of courtesy.
“Liuyue, scoot over and sit inside.”
Qiao Liuyue had already sensed Dong Jiaoyan’s approach from the corner of her eye, but she didn’t move.
She merely adjusted her seat toward the aisle slightly and pointed to the window seat, her tone calm.
“This spot’s better for seeing the screen. Jiaojiao, you can take the inside seat.”
Dong Jiaoyan frowned reflexively, complaints spilling out instinctively.
“What do you mean? It’d be way easier if you just—”
But Qiao Liuyue didn’t let her finish. She cut in softly, using Dong Jiaoyan’s own favorite “best friend” line, her voice dripping with sincerity.
“Jiaojiao, aren’t we best friends?”
“Yeah, we are,” Dong Jiaoyan said, startled—she clearly hadn’t expected the words to boomerang back at her.
“Then since we’re best friends, why fuss over something like this?”
Qiao Liuyue layered her tone with a hint of gentle indulgence, as if humoring a fussy child.
“Just go on in already. If the teacher sees you standing, you’ll get called out.”
She even tilted her head slightly, her eyes crinkling beneath her bangs in what looked like a smile.
It carried a magnanimous vibe of “I’m just looking out for you.”
Dong Jiaoyan opened her mouth, ready to retort, but Qiao Liuyue’s reasoning seemed airtight.
Late for class, disrupts the lesson, all for your own good.
For a moment, she couldn’t find an angle to counter it. So she bit her lip, reluctantly squeezed past into the window seat.
That class,
Dong Jiaoyan spent the whole time fuming.
Every time she wanted to say something to Qiao Liuyue, the other girl would just point at her textbook and notes, signaling that she needed to focus on the lecture and not to disturb her.
Dong Jiaoyan had no choice but to open her WeChat chat box and complain to her boyfriend.
Your Jiaojiao: [Baby, what are you doing?]
Thanks, Goodbye: [In class.]
Your Jiaojiao: [Can you chat with me for a bit? I’m so bored, tired and sleepy.]
Thanks, Goodbye: [No can do. Today’s major course is really important—can’t fall behind.]
Your Jiaojiao: […!!! So mad.]
Thanks, Goodbye: [Don’t be mad. Just focus on class.]
No matter how many messages Dong Jiaoyan sent after that, he didn’t reply.
She was so furious she nearly wanted to smash her phone.
Lifting her head, she suddenly caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye—it looked like the Monitor, Chu Xubai, had just been sneaking a look at Qiao Liuyue.
She froze.
Did she see that right?
Chu Xubai was pretty much the untouchable ice queen of the class. When the semester first started, Dong Jiaoyan had tried to flirt with him, but failed.
He was way too cold, and did everything by the book, acting like some old-fashioned stickler.
She gave up after that.
But now! Chu Xubai was staring at her frumpy best friend?
No way she was seeing things, right?
