If.

If there was any chance left to persuade Xinyu, this had to be it.

Part-time work.

And it *had* to be tied to their weekend gathering.

Even this might still get rejected. Chen Yuzhe was gambling—and losing meant losing his last shot.

After speaking, he lowered his head with feigned regret, but his eyes never left Xinyu from the corner of his vision.

"Part-time… work?"

A flicker of longing crossed Xinyu’s face before vanishing. She shook her head apologetically.

"Thanks for the offer, senior, but… I already have a part-time job at a restaurant. I probably won’t have time for—"

"Oh, not a long-term gig!" Chen Yuzhe cut in with a smile. "Just a one-afternoon shift. At the same party house we’re visiting Saturday."

This time, genuine interest lit up Xinyu’s eyes.

"See, the owner’s a friend of mine," Chen Yuzhe pressed on smoothly. "Several staff called in sick this week—including Saturday. He’s desperate for help. I’m scouting students for him. Five hundred bucks for one afternoon."

*Five hundred.* He saw Xinyu’s eyes brighten instantly.

For her, that was serious money.

Best of all—if she worked there as staff, she could join the club’s party *and* skip chipping in for her share.

This was the perfect excuse Chen Yuzhe could muster on short notice.

Xinyu hesitated, clearly tempted but held back by pride.

After all, she’d just claimed family obligations. Taking this job now would make her look like a liar.

*Time for my real move.*

"Ah, junior," Chen Yuzhe said gravely, "such a great chance to grow—it’d be a shame to miss it. I’m guessing your ‘family stuff’ is just strict parents not wanting you at crowded places, right?"

"But this? You get to party with friends, gain experience, *and* earn cash. Triple win! How about I talk to your parents as your senior? Convince them it’s worthwhile?"

It was a psychological trick.

When someone hides the truth, they avoid the topic. But if you *misguess* their secret—especially wrongly—their guard drops. They’ll latch onto your wrong assumption to protect the real truth.

Chen Yuzhe deliberately misread her lie. He sidestepped her financial struggles, framed it as "personal growth," and handed her an escape route.

She’d instinctively agree to hide her real situation—and save face.

Sure enough, Xinyu paused, then shook her head. "No need, senior. I’ll… discuss it with my family again. They’ll probably agree."

Chen Yuzhe beamed. "Perfect! Share your contact info. I’ll take you Friday to get familiar with the place."

"Thank you, senior," Xinyu murmured, tilting her head with a quiet, catlike smile.

She was the type who grew prettier the longer you looked. Now that she’d relaxed, Chen Yuzhe realized her smile could elevate her from pretty to stunning.

*Eighty-nine points… an absolute beauty in the making.*

That sweet smile even startled him. Any other guy would’ve felt first-love butterflies.

Chen Yuzhe’s eyebrows lifted involuntarily—then he snapped back to composure, smiling as they parted.

Xinyu bowed slightly before skipping away, light on her feet.

—

—

At least one thing Chen Yuzhe hadn’t lied about:

He *was* friends with the party house owner near campus.

Jing Pengcheng—just "Brother Jing" to Chen—was a thirty-something guy they’d met gaming. Steam co-ops and League ranked matches turned them into real friends.

Chen Yuzhe made friends easily. He mirrored whoever he talked to, making them feel perfectly understood.

But with Jing? It was genuine. The man was loud, loyal, and refreshingly straightforward—a rare, unguarded soul.

Around him, Chen Yuzhe never had to decode hidden meanings or wear a mask.

That trust let him spin this web for Xinyu. He knew Jing would help—hiring a student for an afternoon was trivial. Chen would cover the 500 yuan himself; it wouldn’t burden his friend.

Back in his dorm, Chen called immediately. Just as expected, Jing agreed without hesitation. "Pfft, that’s a *favor*? Done!"

"Clean. Quick. No fuss. That’s my Brother Jing. Solid."

Jing’s laughter boomed through the phone. "Cut the flattery, kid. Even if you *weren’t* paying her yourself, I’d happily shell out 500 for a good worker."

"No, no—I’ll handle the cash. Wouldn’t want to trouble you. That’d be shameless."

"Shut it, you little rich kid. I know you’re swimming in cash." Jing chuckled. "Hey—drinks Saturday? What kind? I’ll stock up."

*Alcohol?* Chen hesitated. It could speed up his plans… but drunk mistakes were messy.

"Coronas," he decided. "Light stuff."

"Got it."

After hanging up, Chen rubbed his throbbing temples and sighed deeply.

*Haven’t worked this hard in a year. Actually… tired.*

But since he’d started, he’d see it through.

His fascination with Xinyu was unlike anything before.

Objectively, she was ordinary—gentle, quiet girls weren’t rare. Prettier ones existed.

Yet from their first meeting, Chen Yuzhe sensed something uniquely magnetic in her. Something only *he* could see.

An extraordinary tension coiled inside her small, fragile frame.

Like a butterfly struggling inside a cocoon.

To others, she was just an unremarkable chrysalis.

But Chen Yuzhe heard the muffled, thunderous beating within—the sound of wings straining to burst free.

He knew girls like Xinyu would one day bloom brilliantly. They’d be adored, living lives they chose.

That moment of emergence—when the butterfly first tastes sunlight—was breathtaking.

But for him?

Crushing that newborn butterfly in his palm…

*That* was beauty too. A cruel, exquisite kind.

One failed romance might shatter her. She could spend years distrusting love.

Or—being stubborn—she might bury the memory and march on.

But the scar would remain. Hidden, unspoken… yet never painless.

The thought of her smiling through tears, heartbroken yet dignified, made Chen Yuzhe’s pulse quicken.

*Beautiful things exist to be destroyed.*

He didn’t know why he did this. Just a twisted game.

Anyway—he’d never fall in love. Never believe in "true love."

Love was a toy for fools. They wept and rejoiced over it like children.

To Chen Yuzhe, it was no different than a video game.

He never cared what happened to the hero after the credits rolled. Just like no player wonders what League champions do before the match starts.

It sounded monstrous. Twisted. Sick.

But to him? Perfectly normal.

After all—he’d never claimed to be a good person.

By any measure, he was irredeemable scum.

Others saw him that way.

He saw himself that way too.

That was enough.