“Huh? What’s an Executive Officer—something you can chew, or just a shiny label?”

“Don’t play the clown, Dongfang Chen. I know it hits like thunder, but you’ll catch on fast, like grass after rain, right?”

Zixin looked at him with open candor, confidence glowing like morning sun across a quiet courtyard.

“Uh… class rep, you’re too confident in me. If I hadn’t guessed earlier, I’d be lost in fog on a mountain path.”

“Oh! So you’ve guessed already—no wonder it’s you, sharp as a fresh blade.”

The brown‑haired girl smiled bright as sunlight through leaves and went on, voice clear as a brook: “So, Dongfang Chen, how far did your guess run?”

“Since the Lindream Council sealed the Winterwood District like frost over branches, they must be planning something. Many paths fork like a forest, but with today’s Linelor City anomaly blooming like a strange flower, it’s likely plant‑related.”

“Haha, you’re still the Dongfang Chen in my memories—steady as a pine in snow. You’re right. The Lindream Council wants to make Winterwood District a green ecological theme park, lush as a valley in spring. That way we can reweave Dreamwood Star’s economy like rivers merging, and sprout brand‑new jobs like seedlings.”

She kept it brief, trusting clarity to land like a stone in a still pond.

As expected, Dongfang Chen nodded, his reply lifting like a quick breeze across reeds.

“I get it. But… Zixin, class rep, why me?” His question hung like a paper lantern in dusk.

Her being the Council Chair’s secretary had shocked him like cold rain, yet thinking it through, it wasn’t impossible, just a bridge appearing through mist.

As class rep since school days, Zixin joined student events like bees in clover; she knew many teachers at Saint Shima High, and of course old Principal Wang Baijun, steady as an oak.

That’s likely why she was picked as the Chair’s secretary, a choice fitting like a key in a well‑worn lock.

But him, he was different as moonlight from sun. Because of the Moon Post Bookstore, Dongfang Chen rarely joined student groups; the few clubs he tried withered like autumn leaves when their leaders mismanaged them.

So why did Zixin come knocking like rain on his eaves?

“Because… no one fits this job better than you, Dongfang Chen, like a key meeting its lock.”

“Eh? That can’t be it. The Council’s packed with old political foxes, shadows long as evening. If not them, I hear Police Chief Lope’s a two‑faced pro, smooth as oil; transfer him over and it’d work, right?”

“Can’t. They’re tangled with existing factions like ivy on old walls. When interests clash like flint and steel, they’ll whisper deals in the dark like moths around a lamp.”

“Mm… you mean… fold me into Principal Wang’s inner line, like a new thread in his loom? Because I’ve got no faction, clean as fresh snow?”

“Don’t make it sound so cold. The Council isn’t as pure as school, but the current climate’s good, like clear weather after storm. We chose you because you’ve got the skill, and you’ve lived in Winterwood District; your roots know this soil like old trees.”

“Mm… but I’ve been away from Dreamwood Star for over two years, time drifting like high clouds. I don’t know what’s been happening in Winterwood lately, like a map gone pale.”

“That’s exactly your edge. Last time you told me you’d roamed many worlds, horizons wide as sunrise. That breadth is the key for this seat, a compass true as the North Star. We’ll welcome not just locals from this star, but travelers from other stars, winged like migratory birds.”

That’s Zixin: even if she’d been downcast, mention real work and her mood surged like a tide under a new moon.

But Dongfang Chen, being a guy, kept his thoughts steady like a stone beneath flowing water.

“Sure, I’ve met all kinds of people, faces varied as shells on a beach, but this… is it really okay? Director of the Winterwood District Conservation Park sounds heavy as a mountain. Are you choosing me so hastily, like shooting an arrow at night?”

“Not hasty. You might not know—back in school, Principal Wang was already watching you, a lantern in the dark corridor.”

“What? Seriously—shock snapped like a spark.”

“On the surface you looked off‑track, like a kite wandering in wind, yet your academic credits piled up like pebbles, and you always redeemed them for books, stacked like bricks.”

“That was just the bookstore’s work. It’s not like I can read that many pages, fluttering like falling leaves.”

“But you still read plenty, right? And your little inventions glowed like fireflies—Principal liked them. If not for that incident, a storm that broke the bridge, I would’ve pushed you into the student council.”

“So… there was… a past like that, misted like a lake at dawn?”

Old days rose like smoke from a hearth. At Zixin’s mention of Saint Shima High, images drifted through Dongfang Chen’s mind like clouds over a hill.

Those faded memories, those names blurring like rain on ink…

They sank with time into the depths of remembrance, quiet as silt in a lake bed. So recalling them felt distant as mountains under snow.

Yes. After leaving Saint Shima High, Dongfang Chen wandered alone, a leaf on a river. Only upon stepping onto the New Land and meeting LittleSnow did he find a home, warm as firelight.

Yet… if the path opens like a gate at dawn,

the youth wouldn’t mind, heart calm as a pond,

to show his talent again on Dreamwood Star, like a kite rising on a fresh wind.