Overall, the hobby of light novels was a poor fit for Jiang Muqing.

It was like injecting a drug that triggered an allergic reaction in her system—she rejected it violently.

I had to argue extensively to make her understand that an author and their protagonist aren’t necessarily the same person. While a character’s personality might echo the author’s to some degree, most roles are deliberately crafted for the story’s sake.

Think of actors in films: they might portray a character flawlessly, but that doesn’t mean they *are* that person.

Sure, typecast roles exist—but they’re rare exceptions.

So, writing harem stories doesn’t mean craving a harem. Writing gender-benders doesn’t mean hating your own gender. Writing "danmei"...

Wait—I’ve *never* written "danmei" stuff, okay?!

Jiang Muqing scoffed at my reasoning.

"What meaning does a story hold if it isn’t written from the author’s genuine emotions?" she declared, her gaze startlingly innocent yet fiercely indignant. "It’s just a wall built from countless square characters—black, suffocating, blocking the reader’s breath."

Writing light novels with *true sincerity*?

Who has enough sincerity to finish even one?

In reality, do harem kings exist? Even if some ultra-charismatic guy managed one, would he have time to write his story into a light novel? Just managing his harem would keep him busy enough.

As for those who’ve had gender reassignment surgery—they truly embrace their new identity, eager to forget their past. Who’d write a comedic story about being "a man inside, a woman outside"?

And "danmei"...

I’ve never researched it, won’t touch it now, and hope to avoid it forever. It’s crushing when people mistake my non-"danmei" work for "danmei".

Let alone this "sincerity" nonsense.

"Though I still don’t fully get it... I’m glad you’re not a light novel character," she murmured, relief softening her voice. "You won’t be fickle, won’t turn into a girl, won’t like boys... You’ll just like only me, normally."

After my long lecture, the girl finally relaxed. She beamed, leaping up to wrap her arms around me.

*Seriously ill...*

Aren’t we acting out some absurd light novel trope right now? You suddenly liking me, me casually liking you back?

"I’ll only ever like you," I whispered, gently stroking the long, silky hair of the girl in my arms.

*...Until you recover.*

---

Tutoring classroom.

Mo Shiyu truly was a great study partner. No matter how tough the topic I raised, she’d dig deep alongside me.

Yet her own science questions were oddly basic—simple formula plug-ins, practically free points.

Feeling it unfair to waste her time on easy problems, I shifted to discussing the key challenges from my tutoring notes.

Mostly, I did the talking while she leaned quietly beside me, listening without much input.

Doubting her focus, I glanced up—and caught her staring at me.

"Something on my face?"

"No. Please continue."

This exchange repeated often. To test her attention, I’d occasionally quiz her on tricky points. She always answered correctly.

Just as I thought we were done, she’d point out several confused spots, asking for more explanations.

Her questions cut straight to the core. Sometimes, I had to pause and think hard before clarifying.

We lingered long after class ended, stuck in the stuffy classroom.

The tutoring center rented space in a private school building—poor ventilation, no AC, just ceiling fans spinning lazily overhead.

Days of scorching sun had reversed the slight cool-down. The sealed room grew stifling. Sweat soaked my bear-print T-shirt, clinging uncomfortably to my back.

Mo Shiyu was sweating too. Her simple ponytail offered little relief; beads of sweat dotted her forehead. She kept wiping her brow with her wrist, wincing. Her white blouse turned translucent with dampness, faintly outlining her bra beneath her arms and back.

My eyes kept wandering to her.

*Why do I keep staring at weird places like this?*

*Guess I’m just a normal guy.*

Unaware, she loosened her bow tie and tugged her collar to fan herself.

*Idiot. Don’t you know you’re alone with a guy?*

This was hopeless. I couldn’t focus.

"Class rep," I suggested, "it’s too hot here. Let me treat you to ice cream. There’s a good shop across the street—with AC. We’ll study better there."

"O-okay..." Her face was flushed crimson from the heat.

---

Studying under AC truly boosted efficiency. Brain-melting problems clicked into place with the cool breeze.

After packing our books, I slumped tiredly against the ice cream shop’s black leather booth. Mo Shiyu sat rigidly upright, glancing nervously around.

The shop had a cool-toned decor: gray floors, black ceilings patterned like starry skies, white walls adorned with edgy black calligraphy advertising ice cream.

Behind the counter, glass freezers displayed rows of ice cream tubs and chilled drinks. The ice cream artist crafted intricate sculptures in glass bowls, blending flavors and toppings.

Judging by Mo Shiyu’s wide-eyed curiosity, she’d never been to a specialty ice cream parlor.

A waitress approached once we’d finished studying, balancing a tray with our orders.

Two towering glass cups arrived—chocolate "volcanoes" sculpted with dramatic peaks.

Mo Shiyu eagerly raised her spoon, but the waitress gently stopped her.

"Please wait, miss. These artworks aren’t complete yet."

She pulled out a lighter and touched the peaks of both "volcanoes."

Sparks flickered to life at the summits.

I’d never ordered this special effects set before. Wanting to impress the class rep, I’d splurged on the pricier option.

We watched the sparks burn inward—then silence.

"Did it go out?" I asked stiffly, eyeing the still-smiling waitress.

Suddenly, half-person-high flames erupted from the "craters," startling us both.

*Is this even safe?!*

I instinctively leaned back.

Red "lava" surged from the peaks, cascading down the chocolate slopes.

"Honored guests," the waitress bowed politely, "this is our ‘Alaska Frozen Volcano’ set. Enjoy!" She left to serve others.

"Strawberry ice cream... already melting," I murmured, tasting the red "lava" in disbelief.