These past few days, rain kept falling over our city.

The air felt much cooler now, no longer scorching hot. At least walking outside didn’t leave my skin slick with sweat anymore, nor did my lips crack from heat despite chugging water nonstop.

Well then, midsummer had passed. Early autumn wasn’t far off.

I should’ve been heading home on this crisp breeze, cool and relaxed. Instead, I stood nervously at the base of a high-rise apartment building.

Yeah. Jiang Muqing lived upstairs. I’d been forced to come back.

Leaning against the building’s smooth marble wall, hidden in its shadow, I pondered things—about Jiang Muqing’s tangled mess, and about my own naive attempts to fix everything.

Meeting someone you once had history with? First, recall your last encounter. Especially the attitude she showed you then.

That way, you know exactly how to respond to her now.

Stable relationships deserve reinforcement. Broken ones? Worth mending. Better to have one more friend than one more enemy.

That day, I remembered clearly: she’d thanked me, paid me money as a "reward for bravery," then left without a word.

Not even a goodbye. Like strangers exchanging courtesies—say, you giving up your bus seat for me, and me simply saying thanks.

A perfectly normal ending. Just like when I’d saved her from jumping off that rooftop. We never needed to meet again. The story should’ve ended right there.

But things kept twisting.

First, she’d pulled something unavoidable at the school assembly. Then, during the crucial final exams, she staged that whole farce.

...

Inside the head teacher’s private office.

"No need for the school to intervene. I’ll handle it. I’ll keep persuading her—and get my dad to ease her family’s debts."

That was my reply to Mr. Li.

Jiang Muqing clearly mattered deeply to the school.

The leadership pinned thick hopes on her—probably counting on her for provincial top-scorer battles in the college entrance exams, or national competition wins.

Even unrelated teachers were pooling money to "clear her debts"?

*Sigh.* I didn’t know whether to feel pleased or sad about my own made-up story.

Maybe I’d acted too convincingly. Now the teachers were fully immersed in my narrative. None bothered to investigate Jiang Muqing’s home situation for the truth.

Or perhaps they couldn’t reach her parents at all. With Jiang Muqing’s "keep out" aura, she’d never spill family details anyway.

So they came to me.

To eliminate all risks to myself, I’d painted myself as the peacemaker between my dad and her family—a kind-hearted do-gooder.

At first, this accidental nice-guy act actually worked. With my equally kind mom’s help, I’d gotten Jiang Muqing back to school.

I’d thought it was over. But now? Things were worse. Proof? My name scribbled all over her exam papers. No denying it.

I could picture her during the test: fingers trembling, pen scratching my name over and over. Then the invigilator’s grim face collecting those blank papers.

No way I could tell the teachers, "There are four Lu Fans in school—she might’ve meant another one."

Seriously. Who else would get tangled in this mess? She was smart, pretty, rich—should’ve had crowds of admirers. Why torment me, someone who just wanted quiet study time?

"Didn’t your dad forbid you from pleading for her?" Mr. Li asked, suddenly smiling at my reply. "Aren’t you scared he’ll break your legs?"

"These finals went okay. Dad’s in a good mood. A little extra talk won’t hurt. We’re classmates, after all."

I wore a face of reluctant sacrifice, yet subtly proud to help.

*Sigh.* Once you choose the nice-guy path, you walk it—even if it costs you a leg. What’s one leg, really?

Maybe there really was a way. Not just to pull her off that rooftop physically, but to lift the heart she’d left dangling there. What I did now might decide her whole life.

...

So here I was again. Back on my nice-guy mission.

At the building’s security gate, I took a deep breath, then keyed in "212"—Jiang Muqing’s unit.

"Hello? Who is it?" Her voice sounded perfectly normal. No oddness at all.

"Jiang? It’s Lu Fan. Mr. Li sent me. We need to talk." I kept my tone calm.

"..."

Silence stretched on the other end.

...

*Click.*

The hang-up was soft, almost gentle.

She felt colder this time. Before, she’d at least yelled "liar." Now? Nothing. That silence unnerved me more.

She must truly hate me now. No—worse. Resent me.

To her, my words that night meant this living, breathing beauty mattered less to me than homework. My supposed "one-hit KO" had backfired into this awkward mess.

Better ask the neighbor in "213" for help. Hope she’s home...

I pressed "213." Only an angry busy tone answered.

*Sigh.* Bad luck lately. Nonstop.

I stepped out of the lobby, tilting my head up toward Jiang Muqing’s window. But the 21st floor? Way too high. My eyes couldn’t reach that far.

Enough. I’d tried.

I turned to leave—then froze. A familiar figure stood right ahead.

A pretty short-haired girl in school uniform, backpack slung over one shoulder, wireless earbuds in. She hummed a tune as she walked toward me.

"Lu Fan? You’re here again?"

Jiang Muqing’s neighbor. She recognized me too.

Same uniform as me—white short-sleeve shirt, blue pleated skirt. Fresh from collecting exam results, judging by her cheerful face. Probably aced her tests.

I opened my mouth to ask for help, but she cut me off.

"Hold on—let me guess!" She pulled out one earbud, grinning. "You’re Lu Fan, the dead-last in Sci-D class. That gloomy face? Seriously scary."

She’d checked the rankings too? Paid special attention to me? Well, unlike Jiang Muqing, no student treated grades as a joke.

"Mood isn’t just about exam scores," I muttered, refusing to explain further.

"For me? It totally is." She shrugged playfully. "Here to see your neighbor?"

"Yeah. Jiang Muqing in 212. She won’t open the door."

"Fight with your girlfriend again?" Her smirk was shameless.

"She’s not my girlfriend. Mr. Li sent me. She just won’t answer." I kept my tone flat.

"Oh? I can get us in." Her eyes gleamed knowingly. "After last time, I know how to handle both the security gate *and* her front door."

"Really?" Last time’s sudden drag inside still confused me—but if it worked, fine.

We took the elevator to the 21st floor.

The moment we stepped out, she made a silly face at me, then knocked loudly on 212’s door. No response.

She leaned close, raising her voice deliberately:

"Lu Fan, since Jiang’s not home, come to my place! I’ve got fresh juice in the fridge—chilled all morning. Seriously delicious."

Her sugary tone was impressive.

She winked at me.

"Love juice!" I called back, just as loud.

Silence from inside. Not even footsteps.

Even she looked puzzled. Frowning, she hesitated—then suddenly threw her arms around my elbow.

I felt the slight swell of her chest brush my arm through her white shirt.

*This extreme?!*

"Hey—" I started, face heating.

"*Shh!*" She pointed at the peephole.

*She’s watching through the door. Don’t blow our cover.*

Was she really looking? I stared doubtfully at the shut door.

Still clinging to my arm, the girl pretended to steer me toward 213. I had no choice but to follow her lead.

Step. Step. Step.

Each step took me farther from my goal. Each step deepened my worry. What if Jiang Muqing never opened that door?

I couldn’t face Mr. Li. And until I saw her back to normal, I’d never find peace.

...

*What now?*