"Don’t lose heart. This is just preliminary data collection. The real focus starts a week from now: boot camp!"

Bai Ling glanced at her subordinate standing rigidly across the desk. Radiant and handsome, he wore thin-rimmed glasses, projecting an air of stern efficiency. Just by standing there, he embodied a quiet, masculine dignity.

She tapped the files on her desk, using the motion to neatly align the thick stack. To her other department head’s frustration, Bai Ling merely offered a forgiving smile.

Admittedly, Senior Bailin’s smile held a healing warmth. Wu Shaoze, head of the General Affairs Department, had been drowning in self-reproach moments earlier. His anxiety melted away like spring snow under sunlight.

A week ago, during a heated exchange with Xu Xiaoyan, head of the Discipline Department, Shaoze had rashly sworn an oath to Senior Bailin. He’d promised to compile all student records by the first day of term. Somehow, Bai Ling had tacitly accepted his impulsive vow. Now, the once-energetic Shaoze lay defeated by the impossible task.

Even mobilizing every member of the General Affairs Department—with help from the Discipline and Arts and Sports Departments—yielded abysmal results. Without official authorization, they couldn’t openly gather data.

"In short, this was my personal impulse," Shaoze declared. "I pledged an impossible task, burdening my team and others with extra work. I’ll write a self-criticism report and learn from this mistake!"

A self-criticism report?

Bai Ling’s pen paused mid-air. Her previously indifferent gaze turned peculiar. Her slender, jade-like fingers began tapping the desk rhythmically. She pressed her lower lip between her teeth, lost in thought.

When Senior Bailin tapped an object or bit her lip, it meant she was giving the matter serious consideration.

This was her signature work mode—a mesmerizing blend of grace and focus. Even her breathing slowed. Shaoze lowered his head, his earlier calm replaced by fresh unease.

*Could the report itself be wrong?*

As Shaoze averted his eyes, Bai Ling’s ordinary gaze deepened into something serene and profound. Flecks of light danced in her amber eyes, glowing fiercely under the room’s illumination.

"About that report," she said softly. "Remember our rules. This was just a joke between you and Xiao Ye. I issued no written or verbal orders. The task never officially existed."

Xiao Ye was Xu Xiaoyan. After a slip of the tongue during a past assignment, Bai Ling had called her that—and the nickname stuck. Xiaoyan herself adored being "Senior Xiao Ye."

The tapping stopped abruptly. Bai Ling’s eyelids lowered slightly. Her lips curved into an elegant, perfect smile.

Shaoze was diligent, meticulous, and knew his limits—among the three department heads, he was exceptional. Yet one trait made Bai Ling want to laugh and sigh: his tendency to overthink.

He was *too* earnest. Earnest to the point of obsession.

His word was law. Born into a scholarly family steeped in Confucian virtues—benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, trustworthiness—he treated promises like spilled water: irreversible. His rigid integrity was precisely why Bai Ling had entrusted him with the detail-heavy General Affairs Department.

"No, Senior Bailin," Shaoze insisted. "My conscience won’t allow it. Please accept my report!"

"...If you insist," she murmured. Her voice remained gentle, but a flicker of impatience and disdain flashed in her eyes.

*How tedious.* Was he forcing his moral standards onto others? Kneeling and declaring, "I won’t rise until you accept this"? Bai Ling had seen this act too many times to even bother mocking it.

"Fine. Write three thousand words. Given your workload, you decide whether, when, or how much to submit."

At Qianning High School’s Student Council, self-criticism reports typically detailed causes, personal failings, and full reflections—often exceeding ten thousand handwritten words in neat black ink. Bai Ling kept every one.

Shaoze’s report would be mere theater. If he never submitted it, she’d pretend it never happened. Setting down her pen, Bai Ling seamlessly reverted to the poised "Senior Bailin" before he looked up.

"Rest assured, I’ll submit it as required. I won’t put you in a difficult position!"

"...Leave the student records you’ve compiled on the desk. I’ll review them tonight while handling yesterday’s school board notices."

*Foolishly earnest,* Bai Ling thought coldly. Her flawless facade showed only a trace of fatigue as she rubbed her temples.

"Senior Bailin... please take care of your health. If you collapse, our morale will shatter."

Her frail health was a silent worry within the Student Council. Such a delicate girl shouldered immense pressure. Today’s unguarded exhaustion deepened Shaoze’s fear—she seemed on the verge of crumbling.

"I know my limits. If I can’t continue, I’ll arrange a successor."

"But—!"

"Shaoze, do you know your non-flaw flaw? Your virtues become burdens when taken too far."

Shaoze froze, mouth open. But meeting Senior Bailin’s ever-gentle smile, he fell silent.

Her words echoed his elders’ teachings. Yet he refused to abandon his scholar’s integrity—the backbone that defined him.

"Bamboo is noble and pure, green for life without needing other colors. Unyielding yet flexible. Don’t emulate pine. Bamboo suits you better."

As Shaoze pondered this, Bai Ling casually flipped the top student record. A name leaped out, searing her memory:

"Liming..."