Every new semester kicks off with an opening ceremony—basically, the principal’s speech under the national flag. It’s the only time students glimpse their usually elusive principal, so they won’t forget his face the moment graduation hits.
Once most students had gathered, their homeroom teacher—who’d guided them through freshman and sophomore years—entered with a blank expression. Clearly bracing for the grueling senior-year battle ahead, his whole demeanor turned gloomy. His gaze carried a silent warning: *Critical period. Don’t cause trouble.* The classroom fell into hushed silence.
“The class monitor leads. PE monitor takes the rear. Everyone, keep the line orderly.”
Following the same formation, Class 1 of Senior Three murmured as they filed out. Mo Xuan trailed at the very end.
As a tall guy, he naturally landed at the tail of the boys’ line.
Boys and girls lined up separately. With Qingyuan High’s near 1:1 gender ratio, two even queues formed smoothly.
Mo Xuan’s focus stayed locked on Yun Jiumo, unwavering.
Even while lining up, she remained serene—movements gentle, graceful. Her slender, willowy frame resembled a delicate willow catkin, ready to drift on the slightest breeze.
She held a tiny notebook crammed with English words. Glancing down, then up, her full, rosy lips moved slightly in silent recitation.
Mo Xuan stood quietly at the line’s end—uncharacteristically still.
He replayed Yun Jiumo’s earlier reactions: her gaze, her smile, her greeting. All identical to memory.
She was just that kind of person—never overly familiar, never cold. Even when he pursued her, her responses hovered in that space: *more than friends, not quite lovers.*
That ambiguity was why he persisted. Many couples grew from friendship. He believed he was one of them.
By his old habits, he’d have texted her every few days over summer—pointless “good mornings,” silly nothings. Yet she always replied quickly. Each reply made his heart leap.
Young love was that simple: one smile, one greeting, and joy lasted half the day.
Now? He cringed. *Back then… was I just a desperate admirer?*
Worse—he’d actually gotten the girl.
Mo Xuan’s thoughts churned. A bump from behind jolted him back.
“Hey, bro, you okay?” A boy nearly his height but with notably dark skin peered curiously. Basketball teammate. Class 1’s only other player. His closest friend.
“Are you… Yang Jie?” Mo Xuan stared. Skinny as a cornstalk, strong as an ox—finally matching memory.
He recalled seeing Yang Jie last during college sophomore year. Two years apart, barely recognizable: the eight-pack replaced by a beer belly, huffing with each step, cheeks jiggling. *“Another game? You’d wipe the floor with me,”* the guy had joked, waving a pudgy hand.
Mo Xuan’s eyes dropped to Yang Jie’s stomach. Flat. Perfectly flat.
“What’s with that look?” Yang Jie shuddered, sucking in his gut. “Why stare at my belly?”
“Nothing…” Mo Xuan hesitated. “Just… after graduation, skip the junk food and cola. Hard to lose once you gain.”
Yang Jie shot him a puzzled look, waving his lean, muscular arm dismissively. “Relax. My metabolism won’t let me gain.”
He slung an arm over Mo Xuan’s shoulder, grinning. “Hey—how’s things with you and Yun Jiumo?”
“What?”
“Senior year! Still not official? What if you miss the same university? You’d lose your chance!” His eyes sparkled with gossip-hungry concern.
Their voices carried. Yun Jiumo—also near the back—paused her recitation. She turned slightly, delicate brows furrowed. Her gaze landed on Yang Jie pressed close to Mo Xuan, arm draped nearly around his neck.
The petite notebook tightened in her grip. A trace of barely perceptible anger flickered in her rose-red eyes.
Yang Jie suddenly shivered. Rubbing his neck, he glanced around nervously and dropped his arm. “Why do I feel someone’s staring?”
Mo Xuan barely heard him. Yang Jie’s careless words sank deep.
*He almost forgot.*
After the Gaokao, Yun Jiumo enrolled at his university.
At the time, he’d rejoiced—closer distance, better chances. So happy he ignored the glaring question:
*How?*
His grades were solid, but Yun Jiumo ranked top fifty school-wide. Their college choices differed.
Wait—he remembered. When submitting applications, Yun Jiumo had, for the first time ever, approached *him*.
She’d said she just wanted to “see what others chose.” He told her without thought. Then… nothing.
Later, rumors said she underperformed—missed her first choice, ended up at his school.
Everyone pitied her. He secretly thrilled.
Now? Suspicious.
If her wedding-night words were true… had she orchestrated it all? Deliberately scoring lower on the Gaokao—just to follow him?
Mo Xuan stumbled on the stairs. His heart sank.
Ahead, Yun Jiumo stood with her back turned. Straight hair, slender silhouette. Even the baggy uniform couldn’t hide her graceful curves. Tall, poised—she stood out among the girls.
Teachers patrolled nearby, so she stood obediently, hands pressed to thighs: the picture of a model student.
But beneath that flawless exterior… what soul lay hidden?
Mo Xuan didn’t know. A chill crept into his fingers and toes.
He’d never truly known her. Even after sharing a bed, learning every curve of her body—he never grasped her thoughts.
Maybe she hadn’t lied that night. Maybe from the moment he began chasing her in freshman year… she’d already been watching.
He’d always seen himself as the hunter. Three years of pursuit for this beautiful prey.
But the moment he “caught” her—gazing into those mysterious, cunning rose-red eyes—a shiver tore through him.
A cold whisper rose from deep within, repeating:
*You’re the prey.*
