His fingers sank deep, encountering the unripe softness of a young girl—clinging to him like suction.

This was **’s unique advantage.

Her long, pale legs stretched from denim shorts, crossed naturally. The only flaw: a bandage on her knee.

Zhou Zhiyi’s hand trembled as it drifted lower. His heart hammered like it might burst.

Normally, he’d never dare such acts—not even to stare at a beauty this long. But today, madness gripped him.

Self-destruction? Or something else?

At this rate, he’d become the human-scum version of Male Lead #2.

If this were a manga, Liu Muyu wouldn’t report him. But the protagonist would accidentally discover his deed, sever ties, and turn enemy.

Worse—Qin Huan might find out. And grow to despise him.

The first scenario meant certain doom. The second? He’d lose all chance with Qin Huan.

Yet Zhou Zhiyi feared the second far more.

A faint, girlish scent suddenly filled his senses—Liu Muyu’s unique aura, like lethal poison twisting his thoughts.

*Qin Huan has nothing to do with me now. Maybe she’s giving the protagonist special perks anyway?*

*What’s there to hesitate about?*

“Next would be…”

As his desire swelled like an overinflated balloon, Zhou Zhiyi caught Liu Muyu’s eyes.

All fear had vanished. Only hollow emptiness remained—and a sorrow too deep for words.

She didn’t struggle. He could take what he wanted.

But that profound grief seeped into him. A wave of nausea crashed over him—disgust at himself.

“I’m sorry. I really am disgusting,” Zhou Zhiyi sighed. “I frightened you.”

“It’s fine. Men are all disgusting.”

Liu Muyu brushed dust off her clothes. Her expression had returned to its usual calm, with only a trace of surprise.

*Must be my imagination.*

“Guys like me are rare.”

“So you’re proud of that?”

“No. I just meant… some men are decent.”

“Wu Feng?”

Liu Muyu’s sarcasm had vanished—until now.

“Why bring him up?” Zhou Zhiyi frowned, utterly lost. *Is it because she’s a Fate Mark bearer too?*

“Nothing. Just popped into my head.”

“You like him?”

“Maybe.”

Her words felt layered. Zhou Zhiyi sensed hidden meaning.

Outside, rain poured harder—impossible to ignore.

“When will you head back?” Zhou Zhiyi glanced at the window. “The rain’s fierce.”

“Maybe I won’t.”

“Won’t your parents worry?”

“None of your concern.” Liu Muyu’s voice turned sharp. “Leave. Your presence unsettles me.”

“Want to share an umbrella?”

“Even if I didn’t mind—which I do—you don’t have one.”

“Isn’t there that old umbrella in class? No one’s claimed it.”

“It belongs to someone. I won’t take it.”

“I’ll take it. No skin off your nose.”

“I won’t share an umbrella with you.”

“I’ll walk without one. No problem.”

Zhou Zhiyi forced lightness into his tone. He was scrambling to fix his mistake—though hope felt thin.

“Fine then.”

Liu Muyu’s voice dropped to a whisper…