I quit my part-time job at the taekwondo gym, throwing myself into learning the Card Clan’s fundamentals every night after school under Luo Wei’s guidance.

As Ouyang Earth explained, the Card Clan was a martial arts family that had existed in Yixian Province for over a century. Low-key and selective, they rarely opened their doors to outsiders, accepting disciples only when fate aligned. Bloodline meant little to them; talent was everything. Anyone they deemed worthy—with an upright character—could join after passing their basic skills assessment.

Yet this unassuming, fame-shunning family was brutally wiped out two years ago.

It sounded like a plot ripped from a wuxia novel, but reality was crueler: that day, every Card Clan member perished except Card Brother and the missing Uncle Card. Card Brother fled with the family’s assets, disguising himself as a down-on-his-luck thug to infiltrate the Black Dragon Society. He lived a "hard" life—gathering intel by day, drowning sorrows in fleeting pleasures by night.

He never told me who their enemies were. Never asked me to get involved. So I didn’t pry.

Meanwhile, Huang Yingdie’s personality shifted after learning about her father. She grew slightly less shy, less willful. She used the restroom alone now. Her answers came without hesitation. She even thanked the homework-collecting group leaders.

I could see Xiaodie forcing herself to adapt to this world. Maybe, like Yi Yao, she’d armored herself in coldness and caprice—a fragile, soft-hearted girl hidden beneath the shell.

One thing worried me: she still avoided talking to boys. Male teachers were tolerable, but she’d flat-out ignore male classmates. Even when a top student—handsome and brilliant—handed her a love letter, she silently returned it unopened in front of the whole class. In under three days at her new school, Xiaodie had unwittingly offended most boys in our grade.

Love letters were unheard of at Shangjing No. 3 Middle School. Boys here were shy; the bold ones followed Huang Qinghao’s path into gang life. So when Xiaodie rejected that letter, the story exploded across campus. Her name—Huang Yingdie—seared itself into every single guy’s mind.

Guys are like that. The harder something is to get, the more they scheme to win it. But if a girl flirts first? They won’t cherish her.

*"Just wait. I’ll make that school flower mine."*

*"Bet she rejected him ’cause he’s broke. Send our class rich kid next?"*

*"Pfft. He’d rather spend cash on games than girls. Our class rep’s better—hot basketball skills, cute face."*

*"What if she likes younger guys? Try cross-dressing?"*

*"Eww! Don’t. We share a dorm—I’m not bunking with you if you do that."*

Rumors spread like wildfire. Everyone guessed what could possibly melt this young lady’s heart.

Ninety percent of us ninth-graders lived on campus. Boredom made even tea-time gossip last weeks.

Only I knew their plans would fail.

Not just some guys. *All* guys. No chance.

Xiaodie’s illness was of the heart. Still healing. Harassing her now would only deepen her wounds. She’d already suffered—her beauty sparking a boyfriend’s lust, her friend nearly destroyed. Less than a week after transferring, some boy writes *"I’ll love you for ten thousand years"*? Any animal could see it was just hormones chasing her looks.

*"Yi Yao, help me with this problem?"*

Another Friday afternoon. The second-period teacher was absent, so it was self-study. Xiaodie, as usual, slid her worksheet toward me.

Transferring from Shangjing City’s top school, her formerly bottom-ranked grades now sat solidly mid-class. *"It’s like jumping from rice paddies and water buffaloes back to the modern world,"* she’d joked. *"I feel… lighter."*

*"This triangle’s equilateral. These two sides are equal. Use the Pythagorean theorem to find the lengths. Matching them proves it."*

*"Which formula?"*

*"Cotangent. Page 241."*

*"Oh…"* She flipped to the page, eyes widening. *"I see! Yi Yao, you’re a genius."*

*"You’ll get there too, with practice."*

To me, these middle-school problems were as simple as elementary arithmetic.

The bell rang.

*"Sports class!"*

Boys sprinted past me, basketballs in hand. At the door, one turned back. *"Yi Yao, wanna join our game later?"*

I smiled. *"Only if you’re short players. Aren’t you fighting for courts?"*

*"Pfft. We’ll share with Class 12. With you backing us up, we’ve got guts now."* He glanced cautiously at Xiaodie beside me, then waved. *"We’ll head down first."*

*"Be careful."*

I turned back. Xiaodie was glaring at me, lips pursed.

*"What’s wrong?"*

*"Nothing!"* She snapped her notebook shut, voice petulant. *"Yi Yao… can you come over for dinner tonight? Just us two. Teach me to cook."*

A week was enough to turn strangers into confidants. For us—friends for over a month—it deepened fast.

I learned she was an anime addict. A hopeless directionless wanderer.

Silent, tsundere, airheaded, yandere—Xiaodie shifted like quicksilver. Sometimes I wondered which version was real. Or if she simply refused to be caged by labels.

She’d once described her dream future: *"A cozy little home where I can binge anime all day. Sometimes dress up for cons, stroll parks with someone I love, watch the sea…"*

Huang Yingdie shattered my "official’s spoiled daughter" stereotype. She rarely spent lavishly. Never demanded gifts from her father. Never used his influence for friends. Few in the Jiangnan Society even knew she was the mayor’s daughter—except Huang Qinghao.

Her meeting Huang Qinghao mirrored my own story: her father kept canceling weekend outings. Furious, she’d stormed into an arcade—and met the local thugs.

*"How complicated can dinner for two be?"*

I capped my pen, stretching as I stood. The hallway’s blazing sun hit me—*One run outside, and my skin’ll burn black.*

Had becoming a girl this long rewired even my thoughts?

*"Simple’s fine!"* She sprang up, latching onto my arm like a girlfriend. *"Anything you cook, I want to learn."*

*"I only know home-style dishes."*

Our bond hovered in that liminal space—*more than friends, not quite lovers*. At school, she clung to me. At home, she’d message nonstop on QQ: big news (*"Dad got paparazzied again!"*) to tiny confessions (*"Today’s underwear is…"*). She called me her "closest girlfriend," but the line felt blurry.

*"I’ll come… but after school, I need to visit my mom at the hospital first."*

Between lovers and family, most choose family.

Especially when she wasn’t my lover.

*"Fine. I’ll go with you to see Auntie."*

Her agreement surprised me. *"Then let’s get our stories straight. What am I to you?"*

*"A… friend?"*

*"Okay, *friend*. How long have we known each other?"*

*"A month?"*

*"A month? Your mom reads newspapers—she knows who I am! We’ve been best friends for *half a year*."*

*"Wait, she’ll—"*

*"So what? Can’t the mayor’s daughter have a six-month friendship?"*

*"…Half a year it is."*

*"…"*

What even was this?