Actually, Mo Xuan had been waiting for those words ever since he saw her return from grocery shopping.
In his memory, Tian Sirui was a kind and warm-hearted girl who single-handedly cared for her younger brother. Though a senior student like him, she kept the house neat and orderly—cooking, washing, cleaning daily, truly managing everything inside and out.
Mo Xuan quietly admired her resilience. Yet this left little time for studying. He often wondered: had chores swallowed her focus after the high school entrance exam, leading her to Rende High School with lower scores?
In his past life, he frequently dropped by for meals—sometimes invited, sometimes because it was too late to leave. Tian Sirui always welcomed him with a genuine smile, never showing a trace of reluctance.
As she once said, after moving here, Mo Xuan was the neighbor she’d known longest and grown closest to. Of course she cherished that bond. Besides, his family situation was even harder—she’d help whenever she could.
Seeing the boy’s sparkling eyes, Tian Sirui covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, eyebrows curving gently.
“Another meal at your place? That’s really embarrassing,” Mo Xuan said with playful reluctance—a habit of his. A smile tugged uncontrollably at his lips. “But since you’ve invited me so sincerely, I’ll just have to accept.”
He tossed the rice cooker lightly, voice turning firm. “One condition though: I’m cooking the rice today. No arguments.”
Reciprocity mattered. Even a neighbor’s simple meal called for return kindness—and Tian Sirui’s open-door hospitality deserved far more. Mo Xuan knew her circumstances well; he’d never freeload. Though cooking might be beyond him, rice? He had that down. He’d use his own rice—after all, she provided meat and veggies. Skipping that would be stingy. And he always handled post-meal cleanup without being asked.
“Come on in,” Tian Sirui said, heading home. Mo Xuan quickly took the heavy grocery bag from her. They exchanged a warm smile.
Tian Yixuan wouldn’t be back yet. Since vocational school, the rascal had run wild. His flashy little scooter carried him roaming day and night, never returning before deep darkness. Mo Xuan once saw him trailing a biker gang, wind-swept hair standing straight amid roaring engines—flamboyant as a strutting rooster. Tian Sirui worried endlessly: accidents, traffic police. Mo Xuan once hinted gently. Got a blunt “None of your business.”
They entered the kitchen, stacking groceries by the sink. Tian Sirui unzipped her uniform jacket mid-step and tossed it onto the sofa. September heat lingered; Rende High’s long-sleeved uniforms were stifling. Beneath, she wore a snug sleeveless tee—clearly bought years ago. It strained slightly over her curves, revealing smooth arms, soft shoulders, faint strap marks through the fabric. The hem rode up with movement, hinting at a sliver of pale skin above her waistband.
Mo Xuan often felt she was careless about modesty at home—accidental glimpses slipping between motions. He wanted to mention it… but where to start? To avoid unintended advantage, he excused himself, fetched extra rice, and rinsed it alone.
Tian Sirui tied on an apron and began cooking.
By the time night draped the world, dinner was done—portion saved for Tian Yixuan. Mo Xuan cleared the table and kitchen in minutes. Tian Sirui placed a desk lamp from her bedroom onto the wide dining table.
He’d planned to study alone, but considering her struggling grades, staying to tutor might change the past’s outcome. Senior curricula at Rende and Qingyuan Highs were similar, yet problem sets differed wildly. Once, she’d seen Mo Xuan’s math test—crafted by their department head, all word problems. She quit by question three. He still recalled her face: hollow, hopeless. Qingyuan pushed rigor to build skill; Rende lacked that edge. Already behind Mo Xuan in every way, Tian Sirui felt crushed. Later, distracted while cooking, her brother complained the food was awful.
Now, facing each other over worksheets, the lamp’s tent-like shade pooled light sharply on paper. The room was silent—only pen scratching paper, soft breaths of concentration.
Last life, Mo Xuan missed his dream university. This time, armed with fragmented exam memories, he vowed to study harder, forge a new path. Focused, he finished assigned work swiftly. Self-study remained—the real gap-maker.
He glanced up. Across the table, Tian Sirui bit her pen, brows furrowed, expression strained. Her uniform jacket lay forgotten. Bare-armed, neckline dipping slightly, delicate collarbones visible. Stuck… Mo Xuan quietly shifted his stool beside her.
“Let me see.” His breath brushed her ear. Calm. Reassuring.
She flinched instinctively—then realized he sat mere inches away, gaze fixed on her paper. A faint blush warmed her cheeks. She leaned away… then back.
“This one…” Her finger extended slowly, trembling slightly.
“I’ll walk you through it.” He took her pen. Skin brushed skin. Her heart skipped. A strange warmth bloomed in her chest. She almost wished the touch had lasted longer. His following words blurred—half-heard, half-lost.
After solving a few similar problems, Mo Xuan flipped through her notebooks. Neat, detailed notes filled several volumes. Some topics overlapped with his school’s, but hers went deeper. Her handwriting alone was lovely to behold.
“Your school gives so many worksheets. And your notes… really thorough,” he murmured.
“Mm. Teacher says we can’t match the naturally gifted,” Tian Sirui replied with an awkward smile, eyes dimming. She sighed, voice soft with melancholy. “Mo Xuan… I feel like… maybe I’m just not cut out for college.”
