"You..."

Before Yun Mingxin could finish, the soft sensation vanished in an instant.

A pang of loss washed over him.

For a moment, he actually despised himself.

*What’s wrong with you? Is she even your sister?*

*Acting like some lovesick fool.*

Yun Mingxin mentally scolded himself, trying to bury the feeling.

Crushing on another girl right after a breakup? That’s just trashy.

Shifting his mindset, he finally calmed down.

With a forced, teasing smile, he said, "Happy now, Ziyi? Satisfied with today’s performance?"

But his acting was clumsy—almost laughable.

"Haha!"

Bai Ziyi burst out laughing at his awkward expression.

The slight upward curve of her lips betrayed her delight.

"Very satisfied, Mingxin-gege. Keep up the good work next time!"

"I’ve felt a boyfriend’s warmth now. I’m sure I can write that beautiful feeling perfectly."

"Though... I might come find you again."

She patted his shoulder—a boss approving a subordinate—then strode off with confident swagger.

"Hey—" Yun Mingxin reached out, his mind suddenly racing.

He stood under the streetlight until her shadow disappeared, then turned back.

Halfway home, he froze.

*Wait. I told her to call me "Xinhuo."*

*How does she know my full name? "Mingxin-gege"?*

After her whirlwind of warmth and softness, plus hours of shopping together, he was drained both mentally and physically.

His usual sharpness had wilted.

*Must’ve slipped it out by accident.*

Too tired to dwell on it, he headed home.

*Today was... not bad. Feels like she’s hinting at a next time.*

A faint smile touched his lips as he walked.

Memories from the past two days surfaced, echoing a line from a classic:

*"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."*

He recalled how neighbors with daughters always treated him like family after he moved in—claiming him and his belongings as their own.

From *Pride and Prejudice*. The gist? An exceptional man sparks possessiveness.

*Do I give off that vibe?*

People always swarmed around him, dragging him into their problems.

Were they treating him as family... or just a tool?

*But...*

*Do tools get perks like that?*

Chuckling to himself, Yun Mingxin walked home under the darkening sky.

---

At Skysea University, work continued late into the night.

Inside the Academic Affairs Office, rows of computers glowed. Professors and lecturers scrolled frantically—like a gaming session gone academic.

Most stared intently at screens; a few typed furiously.

Two teachers sipped tea during a break: a gentle, scholarly woman and a middle-aged man with kind eyes.

"Professor Li," the younger woman sighed, "why’s the school suddenly demanding essays? Forcing professors to review drafts?"

Professor Li chuckled warmly. "They say it’s for ‘international cultural exchange.’ We’re just ducks shoved onto a stage."

"We may not be experts, but we’re all postgrads. We know language well enough."

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Besides... the pay’s generous, isn’t it?"

"I suppose..." Professor Lin still frowned.

The university had dumped thousands of submissions on them—lecturers screening novels like literary gatekeepers.

*Since when do professors read trash like this?* she thought. *A youth novel with qi-powered horses galloping through the sky? Seriously?*

Professor Li, ever perceptive, winked and nodded toward a stern-faced man with thinning black hair.

"Ah! I should get back to work!" Professor Lin blushed and fled.

Professor Li smiled like a proud aunt. "Youth..."

---

Flustered, Professor Lin returned to her desk—and froze.

*Huh?*

The title on her screen puzzled her:

*"They Are Intersecting Parallel Lines?"*

*Parallel lines don’t intersect. Even I—a literature teacher—know that. Did this author fail math?*

Curiosity won. She clicked.

Ten minutes later, she dabbed her damp eyes with a tissue.

Glancing at the stern math professor beside her, she asked softly, "Professor Wu... when *do* parallel lines intersect?"

Professor Wu—a renowned mathematician—stopped typing. His expression turned grave.

"Professor Lin! This is unacceptable!"

"Eh?"

"Don’t you know parallel lines *never* intersect? Such a basic error! And you’re a university professor?"

"Technically, non-Euclidean geometry allows—"

"—I won’t confuse you with details. Just teach students: *they don’t intersect*. Never mislead them."

"We must be rigorous. Even literature teachers can’t be careless!"

"*Sigh*. Why are humanities girls so hopeless at math?"

"*And* this pile of manuscripts? Trash."

His lecture left Professor Lin speechless.

Her planned reply—*"Let’s try making them intersect!"*—died in her throat.

Fuming, she slumped in her chair as Professor Wu droned on about "mastering fundamentals."

*How could I forget he’s a mathematician?* she thought, near tears.

Assigned to hunt typos in these dreadful youth novels, he’d clearly lost all patience.