By late morning, Finance Class Four was a near-full pond; only Tang Coco left a missing ripple. As the middle‑aged instructor stepped in like a ticking clock, Meng Xiaoxiao’s puzzlement tightened like a knot.
"Where’d she go? Why skip class?"
The instructor took the lectern like a small hill. First period meant roll call, beads on a string, and Tang Coco’s name fell out like a missing pearl.
"Where is Tang Coco? Skipping the very first class?" the young male teacher asked, anger flickering like a match.
Just as Meng Xiaoxiao readied a soft lie like a paper umbrella, knock knock drummed on the door like raindrops on bamboo. Heads turned like sunflowers; shock rippled through the room like wind over grain. A stunning girl stood at the threshold. Her white dress was fresh as morning mist, skin pale as porcelain, hair flowing like a dark waterfall—Ye Yiyi herself.
"Student, what do you need?"
The young male teacher’s gaze snagged for a heartbeat, like a kite in a tree. Then it smoothed to calm water. As a teacher, he’d seen Ye Yiyi a few times.
"Hello, teacher. I’m here to ask leave for Tang Coco," she said, voice clear as a bell in a valley. "She was injured last night, so she needs a few days at home to recover."
The class boiled over like a pot on high flame, first-years buzzing like summer cicadas. "Hey, look—beauty, right there, bright as dawn!" "And her voice—sweet as wind chimes!" "You don’t know? She’s a sophomore goddess, Ye Yiyi, one of Ninghai University’s four campus flowers. Running into her here feels like catching a falling star." "Wow, no wonder she’s a campus flower; her aura’s something else. But she’s here to ask leave for Tang Coco. What’s their deal?" "Yeah… who even is Tang Coco?" "I think there’s a skinny girl in the back named Tang Coco, but her looks are so-so, plain as boiled rice." "Who knows, but they sound close. We should chat with Tang Coco more; with that bridge, maybe we’ll see Goddess Ye often."
"Alright, quiet!" The instructor’s voice cracked the air like a snapped twig, and the chatter fell like leaves.
"I see," he added, stepping forward, tone settling like dust. "I’ll let her advisor know."
"Thank you, teacher." Ye Yiyi dipped a nod like a willow, then drifted away like a breeze.
"The goddess is gone," someone sighed, the words fading like smoke. "It’s fine. With Tang Coco as a link, we won’t lack chances," another chuckled, hope glinting like sunlight on water. Disappointment ebbed like low tide. Thoughts hooked back to Tang Coco. Pitiful Coco got a silent follow from many hearts, like moths to a lantern.
Surprise pricked first, sharp as a thorn; then Meng Xiaoxiao frowned, thoughts circling like swallows. She didn’t expect Tang Coco to be that close to Ye Yiyi; and how did she get hurt? Last night, when I saw her off, she looked fine, calm as still tea. Forget it—at noon, I’ll go check on her, steady as a promise.
Jinxiu Garden, in Ye Yiyi’s villa, the world was hushed like a sealed box. Tang Coco lay on a soft bed, the mattress cloud‑light under her.
"Ah… I’m so bored," she groaned, boredom pooling like stagnant water. "Like this, I can’t do anything."
Her knee had begun to knit, like a mending seam. Any bend tugged the wound like a pulled thread and lit pain like a spark. She had to keep those long legs straight as reeds, unmoving as a painted scroll.
Lying down felt worse, like a stone on her chest, so she pushed herself upright, spine stacked like bamboo. Her gaze slid to her long legs. Ignore the bandage, white as snow on her knee. The lines were perfect as carved jade, not a grain of extra flesh. Last night, Ye Yiyi and her friend had changed her into a pale sleep dress, with pink underwear beneath, soft as peach blossom. She’d refused, heat rising like steam, but hurt as she was, how could she fight the two of them?
Boredom swelled again like a slow tide, and her thoughts loosened into wild vines. Sitting on the bed, she dipped her head without thinking; then her eyes stuck like sap. The reason bloomed obvious—her chest, full and wrapped in pink‑white, looked from this angle dangerously tempting, like ripe fruit under gauze. Beauty snares everyone. Even when she’d been the toughest mercenary under the sun, she’d been no exception. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have had Gu Xin and Meng Yuting as girlfriends.
This… this is actually on me, she thought, a dizzy thrill fluttering like a sparrow. What a waste to leave it untasted.
Heat rose first, a hush of storm; then the thought slipped out. Maybe… just a touch. Just once. It’ll be fine, right?
At last, her trembling hand landed on her own chest like a skittish butterfly, and she gave the slightest squeeze. A jolt of tingling shot to her head like lightning in a clear sky. She almost cried out, breath catching like a snagged thread. She forced her hand down, cheeks flushing rosy as sunset.
No… why so sensitive? The protest came first, uneven as a drum. When I touched other people, it never hit this hard.
She panted, breath hot as summer wind. The feeling at her chest didn’t fade; it sharpened like a drawn blade… and there was even a streak of pain, a thorn in silk.
"Mm… ah… what’s happening?" The question trembled first like a plucked string. "Why is it getting worse?"
Her mind went hazy like fog over a river, and pain leaped brighter, centered on the left like a burning coal.
"Ah! No… wrong, wrong—"
The tingle vanished like a snuffed candle; in its place, a savage stab bloomed in her left chest like an iron nail.
That’s… that’s not there, the denial faltered like melting snow. It’s… the heart—my heart—
The pain deepened, an auger through bone; thought scattered like startled birds. Sweat beaded across her skin like dew on petals. She curled tight despite her knee, drawing herself in like a shrimp, writhing against the sheets.
"Ah!" The cry ripped out, raw as torn cloth. "Ah!" Again, as the heart‑pain drilled like ice. The agony was a knife to the core, unbearable as winter wind, until blackness closed over her like night and she fainted.
