Over the next week, Xia Chuan went running almost every day. Each time, he crawled back exhausted like a dog.

Thanks to daily training, he could now finish a ten-thousand-meter run.

Mo Yao and Qian Yu had free evenings, so they often came to the park. They watched Xia Chuan practice, then walked home together.

That week held many events. Bai Yifan and Northsea Yuxue joined the sports meet. But their experiences wouldn’t be as brutal as Xia Chuan’s.

Then there was Liu Yixia. Xia Chuan wanted to salvage their friendship. Lovers were impossible, but friends might work. Lately, she seemed unhappy. So he decided to leave her alone for now.

Today, Xia Chuan finished his run again. He’d covered ten thousand meters and stood gasping.

After over a week of practice, he still panted heavily. But he wasn’t as wrecked as a dead dog like before.

Mo Yao, sitting nearby, walked up to him.

“Tired?” she asked with a smile.

“I’m… fine,” Xia Chuan replied. Even dead tired, he’d say this. A man’s dignity demanded it.

“You should rest anyway,” Mo Yao said gently. Anyone could see his exhaustion. But she didn’t call him out. That was Mo Yao: usually thoughtful, yet oddly clueless sometimes.

“I-I planned another ten thousand meters. But since you insist, I’ll reluctantly agree,” Xia Chuan boasted between gasps. He seemed oblivious to how unconvincing he sounded. He’d said such things often lately. Just talk—no crime.

“Yes, yes,” Mo Yao quickly agreed.

They walked to a nearby bench and sat.

At this hour, the park buzzed with people. It bordered residential areas. Folks strolled, danced in groups, or played chess.

Xia Chuan and Mo Yao sat side by side. Familiar music drifted nearby.

A night breeze brushed Xia Chuan’s face. His fatigue eased slightly.

“Thirsty? I brewed chrysanthemum tea,” Mo Yao said. She handed him a thermos. Post-workout hydration was essential.

“Thanks,” Xia Chuan took it. Warmth spread through his fingers. He opened the lid. Pale yellow liquid held floating chrysanthemum petals. A light floral scent rose.

He felt a warmth in his chest. Truly parched, he gulped a mouthful.

Before tasting the fragrance, a familiar flavor hit him. That profound, unforgettable taste—only from Mo Yao’s cooking.

She’d added salt to chrysanthemum tea?!

“Ptooey!” He spat it out instantly.

The salty aftertaste made him dizzy. Had he just swallowed a handful of salt?

“What’s wrong?” Mo Yao asked anxiously.

“Your Majesty Mo Yao, have I offended you? Salt in cooking is one thing—but in tea?!” Xia Chuan’s voice turned hoarse. Her “special” tea made him thirstier.

“I didn’t add salt! Just… lots of sugar,” Mo Yao insisted, then hesitated.

She’d definitely mistaken salt for sugar.

“But even sugar—why so much?” Xia Chuan complained loudly.

“Does sugar dissolve in water?” Mo Yao countered, ignoring his scolding. A child’s question.

“Yes,” Xia Chuan replied, puzzled.

“Exactly! Dissolved means gone. If I don’t add extra, won’t it all vanish?” Mo Yao stated matter-of-factly.

Xia Chuan stared, dumbfounded.

You make such sense, I’m speechless.

Sister Wang Yin said this girl was once a top student?

Ridiculous!

Xia Chuan grabbed Mo Yao’s hand and stood.

Shy by nature, Mo Yao blushed instantly at the touch.

“Where are we going?” she asked, flustered.

Xia Chuan turned back, face full of mock sorrow. “To apologize to your chemistry teacher. Now!”

Another morning arrived. Xia Chuan resumed his routine.

As Qian Yu’s godfather—honorary father—he managed most things well. But styling her hair? Hopeless.

He facepalmed at the silly hairstyle in the mirror.

He’d searched online for girl’s hairstyles. But Qian Yu was only two—a toddler with barely any hair. Too short for normal styles.

Unlike Xia Chuan’s frustration, Qian Yu giggled at her reflection. As if the mess wasn’t hers.

“Whatever. Her happiness matters,” Xia Chuan thought. Her silly smile eased his worries.

Rushed from the delay, he dropped Qian Yu at daycare and hurried to school.

He entered the classroom just as the morning bell rang.

He slowed and walked to his seat.

Bai Yifan was already slumped on the desk.

“Xiao Bai, morning.”

“Mornin’…” Bai Yifan mumbled weakly.

“What kept you up?” Xia Chuan frowned.

“Nothing. Just couldn’t sleep,” Bai Yifan said, forcing a tired smile.

“Come on—you weren’t up all night ‘generating electricity,’ were you? No need to explain. I get it. Youthful energy,” Xia Chuan winked suggestively. He found the excuse amusing. Their bond had warmed quickly. Xia Chuan seemed cold but was shamelessly playful inside.

“What’s ‘generating electricity’?” Bai Yifan asked blankly.

So pure. Nothing like flashy fakes outside.

“Ah—like bicycle generators! You were using one all night, right?” Xia Chuan stammered, embarrassed, making up a lame excuse.

“I don’t own one. Forget it. I’m exhausted,” Bai Yifan yawned. He didn’t question the excuse and slumped back down.

He really was tired. Watching Bai Yifan sleep, Xia Chuan thought.