"Yage, your lunch looks so fancy—and different every day! Did your mom make it?"

Qin Yage shook her head. "I..."

Dongfang Keian, the little girl beside her, patted Yage’s shoulder with a mischievous grin. "Knew it! You made it yourself. Yaya, you’re perfect—adorable *and* capable. In a few years, every idiot boy will swarm around you. Better learn how to shoo flies away!"

"Uh... well..."

"Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. Won’t let those stinky boys steal you away. You’re just *too* cute, Yage." Dongfang Keian, precocious beyond her years, said this without a blush. Unseen by Qin An, a lily bud took root in the shadows—whether it would bloom remained uncertain.

*Brother’s stuff is sister’s stuff. Sister’s stuff is still sister’s stuff. He won’t mind this tiny thing.* Qin Yage scowled at her rice bowl, taking out her frustration on the food. What truly angered her was her brother. Tonight, he had to organize the school library—*teacher’s orders*, he’d claimed, impossible to refuse. He’d even bribed her with five lollipops to go home alone. *Lollipops or brother?* An impossible choice.

After school, Qin An arrived at the library as promised. The school’s library was small, its shelves lined mostly with yellowed, ancient books. Class monitor Huang Jiajun, supposed to help him clean, was absent—as Qin An had expected. *When would Miss Huang ever spare time for dusty books? She’s too busy writing complaint letters!*

Qin An grabbed a feather duster. First, he wiped every shelf clean. Then he hauled and sorted books until he was panting heavily. The library gleamed. In return, the teacher granted him a special privilege: unlimited book loans. The collection was meager, but Qin An still picked a few Japanese manga.

Just as he reached for the lock, a faint cry reached his ears: *"Help..."*

Following the sound, he found a burlap sack writhing like a maggot beneath a tree. If he didn’t untie it soon, the person inside would suffocate.

Yellow fabric came into view first. Then he recognized the face. *Huang Jiajun?*

"*Cough... cough...*" Bruised and trembling, Huang Jiajun crawled out of the sack, clutching grass in her fist. Her teeth were gritted. "Those bastards... I’ll make them pay."

Her pretty face was smudged with dirt, but her arms and legs were worse—mottled with purple and blue bruises.

"We must tell the teacher first," she gasped, struggling to stand.

Qin An had expected tearful gratitude. Not marriage proposals, but at least a reprieve from her nitpicking—maybe skipping homework checks.

Huang Jiajun finally lurched upright, only to sway unsteadily. With a cry of "*Ah!*" she pitched forward.

Qin An caught her arm—careful not to linger, careful not to let her lean too hard.

Huang Jiajun’s eyes flashed like a wounded tigress. "Qin An! Run to the teacher! Tell him Chen Dayong, Li Qing... and the others... they beat me!" She named school bullies from families nearly as powerful as hers. Her scheming had finally backfired—but she seemed oblivious.

"Pointless."

"What do you mean, pointless? The teacher will punish them!"

*She still doesn’t get it.* Qin An sighed. Time for a lesson.

"Fine! If you won’t go, *I* will! Get out of my way."

"Go ahead." Qin An released her. *No good deed goes unpunished.*

"*Ah!*"

Without his support, Huang Jiajun face-planted into the dirt.

"Why didn’t you hold me?!"

"You told me to get lost."

"You... *all* of you bully me!" Her nose stung. Tears welled. *Today was cursed.* She’d planned to report those brats for lifting girls’ skirts—and even forcing a kiss—but the old homeroom teacher had avoided her. Then, ambushed on her way to the library... *Those beasts had no mercy.* Only her face was spared; tomorrow, her father would scold her fiercely.

*And this idiot!* He’d fawned over An Qi like a puppy. *Hmph!*

Then she noticed Qin An rummaging through his worn backpack. Dust clung to his uniform—he’d clearly cleaned the library alone. A flicker of guilt stirred in the duty-bound class monitor.

His bag held gauze, antiseptic, liniment, ointment, cotton balls—a full first-aid kit. *The little tyrant must patch herself up often,* Qin An mused. *Twice in one day...* His past life as a surgeon served him well.

He rolled up Huang Jiajun’s pant leg. She flinched. "What are you doing?"

"Relax. Not robbing you. Just disinfecting your cuts. Infection’s worse than bruises."

"*Ah!*" She yelped. Sheltered and pampered, she’d never endured such pain. She’d suspected revenge—but the cool relief spreading through her wounds proved her wrong again.

Watching this boy focus on her scraped knees, Huang Jiajun felt something unfamiliar tighten in her chest. Her eyes grew damp. *No one’s ever cared like this.* Not her father, not her brother, not even the servants—they all just went through the motions. Only her late mother...

"I’ll make them regret this," she vowed, shaking off the tenderness.

"Still planning revenge? Drop it."

"*What?!*" Huang Jiajun stared as if he’d suggested the moon was cheese. *Drop it?* Those thugs crushed flowers—why shouldn’t she crush weeds? *They weren’t weeds. They were trash.*

"How *would* you get back at them?"

"Haven’t decided. I’ll plan at home."

"Plan now."

"Well..."

"Let me guess—more tattling to the teacher?"

Flushed, Huang Jiajun snapped, "So what if I do?"

"Has it ever worked? They’re still bouncing around like happy frogs the next day. And the teacher? He fears your family—but he fears *theirs* too. You’ve made his life hell. He’s more scared of you than those brats are."

Silence.

"You hunt ‘bullies’ from weaker families. Aren’t *you* just another spoiled brat? Hiding behind a ‘virtue’ signboard. Stop tattling. Everyone fakes smiles around you—they fear the Huang name. Without it? You’d be dead a thousand times over."

"You—"

Huang Jiajun seethed but had no retort.

"Today’s attackers? Their families could crush yours combined. Even your father would break a sweat handling this."

Qin An held back the harshest truths. Her spirit was already brittle.

*She’d never considered any of this.* She’d only wanted to fix the school’s morals—as class monitor, as Young Pioneers captain...

"So... what should I do?" Huang Jiajun asked softly. Asking for help felt strange.

"*Ah!* Easy there."

"To earn trust, don’t force it. No more tattling. Smile more. Ask classmates about their struggles. For poor families, organize a class charity drive—or lend money quietly."

"Why not just give cash?"

"Poor people have pride. Throw money at them, and they’ll hate you for the insult."

"Oh..."

"Girls are easier. Share gossip, be approachable. Start small—gifts under ten bucks. A hair clip, candy. No LV bags—they’ll think you’re showing off."

"And the bullies? Please. They’re just pranksters. Push them too hard, and you’ll *make* them real thugs."

"*Oh!*" Huang Jiajun’s eyes widened. *I’ve been doing everything wrong.* Qin An didn’t seem like the daydreaming boy anymore—he felt like her father. *Stronger, even.*

Qin An gave a teacher’s nod. "Lastly—use your money. Organize class trips on holidays. Teachers love those too."

"All yours now, Miss Huang’s personal doctor." Qin An stood, dusting his hands. He stuck band-aids on her worst scrapes.

"That's it?" Huang Jiajun still felt unsatisfied. She suddenly wondered why she hadn't been more seriously hurt—but even she chuckled at such a foolish thought.

"Call your family to pick you up!" Seeing Huang Jiajun still sitting dazed on the ground, Qin An felt like he was trying to forge iron that wouldn't bend. That earlier impression of her being teachable must've been an illusion.

Phones were luxury items back then, but for a young miss like Huang Jiajun, they were everyday tools.

"My phone's dead. But they should be waiting at the gate by now," she said, glancing at the half-sunken sun. She couldn't be bothered to check the battery.

"Oh, once it gets dark, they'll definitely come looking. I'll head out first then. Bye, Class Monitor."

"You—ugh! Qin An, get back here!" Huang Jiajun's eyes welled up again. Was being near her really that unbearable?

"What now, Class Monitor? I'm busy too. Just finished cleaning the library, and I still need to cook dinner."

"Carry me. Can't you see I can't walk?"

"Traditionally, men and women shouldn't be too close, Class Monitor. That wouldn't be proper," Qin An declined gently.

"If you don't carry me, I'll spread rumors at school tomorrow that you bully girls—a wolf in sheep's clothing."

Qin An's headache worsened. He should've ignored her and let her face the consequences.

Huang Jiajun wasn't heavy. After months of training, Qin An carried her with ease.

Feeling the boy's warmth, Huang Jiajun flushed with shyness. As class monitor, she also felt like she was breaking her own rules.

"Miss, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Let's just go home."

"Yes, Miss."

"Thanks today, Qin An."

"Just doing my part. If you really want to thank me, stop throwing chalk at me in class and tattling to the teacher."

Huang Jiajun smiled—a radiant flash that made Qin An falter for a second. He snapped back quickly; he wasn't some creep into twelve-year-olds! She usually wore a frosty scowl, as if everyone owed her money. But now, her dimpled grin glowed: crystal-clear eyes, a slightly upturned nose like a playful child's, and lips curved in a perpetual bloom. The contrast struck him like a fleeting glimpse of beauty.

"Your dimples are cute."

Those simple words burned Huang Jiajun's cheeks crimson. She scrambled into the car, gasping for air, clutching her chest to calm down. Her fingers brushed the dimples—her "flawed charm." She rarely smiled: partly for monitor dignity, partly to avoid standing out. Kids always followed the crowd; having something others lacked felt like isolation.

*Did he mean I should smile more?* She forced a stiff grin at the mirror. Shame flooded her—her face could've fried an egg.

The bodyguard watched his flustered young miss, puzzled. *Is she sick?* But he stayed silent; he was just paid to guard.

As the black BMW vanished, Qin An felt a weight slam onto his back. Something clamped his neck like an octopus latching on.