Jingjiang City No.1 High School.

In the faculty office on the fifth floor of the teaching building, Shu Yue—the homeroom teacher of Senior Class 3-5, appointed less than two months ago—rubbed her temples as she stared at the troublemaker standing before her.

"Jiang Fan, it’s about time you cut that hair. It’s nearly covering half your face. Scene-kid styles went out years ago."

The fair-skinned boy before her pouted slightly. "Work requirements, teacher. Please understand."

Shu Yue shot him a deadpan look. *What part-time job needs long hair on a boy?*

*And even if one did—it’s definitely not legitimate!*

"Cut the nonsense!" She snatched a college application form off her desk. "Explain this mess! Gaokao’s in under three hundred days. This survey might be unofficial, but it’s no joke."

Jiang Fan took the form, glanced at it, and handed it back with a shrug. "I filled it right. What’s wrong with it?"

"*What’s wrong?*" Shu Yue’s eyebrows shot up. She flicked the paper—*snap-snap*—drawing every teacher’s attention in the office. "You’re seriously planning to work in a factory after graduation?!"

Suppressed laughter rippled through the room.

Mingde High was a provincial elite school. Every year, over a hundred students entered Tsinghua and Peking University. Its first-tier university acceptance rate hit a staggering 100%. A student aiming for factory work? Unthinkable.

Teachers abandoned their paperwork to gawk. They’d taught decades but never seen a college application like this.

Jiang Fan stood tall, utterly unfazed. "Don’t look down on factory workers, teacher. Even an electric meter plant in Shanghai produced a diplomat once."

"*That* was someone else! Skipping college for a factory job? Jiang Fan, you never cease to amaze me." She slammed the form onto the desk and stood to face him. "I know your family situation. But that’s no excuse to throw your life away. Tell me your struggles—I’m your homeroom teacher. I’ll help. Now get your grades up. If you score below average on the next monthly exam, you’ll regret it."

"Yes, yes, I’ll study hard," he mumbled, head bowed in mock submission. Then his eyes lit up. "Teacher, are we done? I’ll be late for my shift. They dock pay for tardiness."

Shu Yue sank back into her chair, palm pressed to her forehead. *He hasn’t listened to a word.*

*That’s why problem students...*

"I swear you’ll be the death of me. Go. Be safe."

Jiang Fan grinned. "Bye, teacher!" He shouldered his bag and bolted.

"And cut that hair!" she called after him.

Only his fading voice answered from the hallway: "Next time, promise!"

*My best years... wasted on this kid.*

*Why must he be so impossible?*

—

"Oho~ High schooler got detention for unfinished homework? You’ve got ten minutes before your shift starts~"

At his part-time job, Manager Chen Jing teased Jiang Fan the moment he dropped his bag.

Guilty as charged, he rubbed his nose sheepishly. "Jing-jie, since you guessed right, no need to say it out loud. I even took a taxi to avoid being late. Can you reimburse the fare?"

"*Your* problem, and *I* pay?" Chen Jing flicked his forehead. She turned away, waving dismissively. "If you’re that broke, serve more customers. Maybe some rich CEO’ll take a shine to you. Who knows? You might strike gold."

"*If only* such a CEO existed..." Jiang Fan muttered, slipping into the changing room. He shed his baggy blue-and-white uniform, then slid into a crisp white shirt and black suit. After knotting his tie and straightening his spine, he gathered the hair at his nape into a small braid, sweeping the front neatly aside.

He hadn’t lied to Shu Yue. Chen Jing *had* insisted he grow it out.

This was just a quiet bar, but eccentric clients existed everywhere. Well-behaved kids didn’t draw crowds here. As a bartender, his image mattered as much as his drinks.

Truth was, what did a high schooler know about mixology? He just followed recipes and winged it.

Chen Jing had told him: "Ninety percent of customers don’t know good cocktails. Just mimic the flair bartenders. I hired you for your hands anyway."

He’d never guessed his idle pen-spinning and butterfly-knife tricks would land him this job. *Guess "hobbies ruin ambition" isn’t always true.*

Behind the bar, warm light swayed above him. Atmosphere was everything. Though barely 7 PM, familiar faces already dotted the stools. True nightlife hadn’t begun, but those addicted to neon and noise never waited for curfews.

Across the room, the dance floor pulsed. DJs spun tracks as dancers writhed—teens and twenty-somethings shaking hips and hair.

*Quiet bar?* Only his section catered to students—the "shallow end" of the pool. The adult zone stayed strictly separated. He knew why.

Most here were thrill-seekers too timid to cross real lines: sixteen-year-olds craving freedom from school and home.

*Most just follow the herd.*

This wasn’t his scene. But rent didn’t care about preferences.

"Hey, cutie. One Sex on the Beach~"

A woman with wine-red curls leaned over the bar, her skimpy top straining as she deliberately arched forward. Her eyes promised trouble.

Jiang Fan got this often—his baby face invited teasing. But he’d seen worse.

Ignoring her pose, he measured vodka, melon liqueur, lemon juice, crème de cassis, and pineapple juice into a shaker. Then he began his performance.

The shaker danced in his hands, a fluid rhythm syncing with the thumping EDM. It looked like a pianist’s fingers flying across keys.

"Your Sex on the Beach. Enjoy." He slid the cocktail toward her.

The woman blinked, startled back to reality. "O-oh. Thanks..."

Snorts and catcalls erupted from a shadowy corner—her friends.

Humiliated, she didn’t leave. She plopped onto a stool, chest still pressed against the bar. "Oopsie~" she cooed, deliberately spilling her drink down her front. "It’s so cold! Can you help me clean up?"

Jiang Fan watched the smug glint in her eyes. *What’s the point of this? Proving you’re irresistible?*

*I’m a student, not some naive kid.*

He pulled out tissues with a polite smile. "For you, miss. Restroom’s through the side door on your right. Don’t catch a chill."

Her smile tightened. She grabbed his wrist, voice dripping saccharine. "I’m feeling dizzy... Help me, cutie~"

*Seriously? That confident?*

She was objectively attractive—curvy, sultry eyes, K-pop-idol material.

But he liked *real* people. Not obvious trouble.

And if he didn’t shut this down, she’d make a scene.

Jiang Fan closed his eyes, took a slow breath, then opened them. His smile—practiced to perfection—unfolded like dawn light. The world blurred around her, tinted with the soft glow of a chance encounter.

He leaned in, tissue in hand.

"Lady," he whispered against her ear, voice like dark honey, "fine wine’s a delight... but don’t overindulge~"

His breath warmed her earlobe. Long, pale fingers brushed the tissue gently over her wine-stained lips.

Then he straightened, polishing a glass with deliberate calm.

The woman?

She’d already fled, face flushed crimson.

His trick wasn’t clever. It relied entirely on that devastating smile.

*New here. Otherwise, she’d know the "MILF Slayer’s" reputation.*

A sharp whistle cut through the music beside him.

"Thirty-eighth conquest," Chen Jing grinned, leaning on the bar. "Still no rich sugar mama caught your eye?"