During the hushed self-study period, Mo Xuan chewed absently on his pen cap, mind restless.

He still recalled Shen Bingjing’s earlier exchange with Yun Jiumo. No matter how he viewed it, unease lingered.

Having spent lifetimes beside Yun Jiumo, Mo Xuan knew her well—a deeply calculating woman. She always wore a gentle smile, revealing not a trace of true emotion, leaving others utterly unable to guess her thoughts.

Precisely this made her terrifying. Without understanding her, he couldn’t predict her next move.

Yet one thing was certain: a spark of friction had already ignited between Shen Bingjing and Yun Jiumo.

Reflecting calmly, it was almost inevitable. Setting aside Shen Bingyao’s role, their sisterhood alone placed Shen Bingjing firmly on Yun Jiumo’s opposing side.

He remembered how, in his past life, Shen Bingyao’s actions were often subtly propelled by Shen Bingjing. In essence, she served as her elder sister’s accomplice—the two united against Yun Jiumo.

And still, they suffered total defeat. The memory deepened Mo Xuan’s wariness. *Just what kind of woman is she?*

His gaze lifted slightly, settling on the girl seated ahead.

By height alone, Yun Jiumo should’ve sat farther back. But her stellar grades earned the teacher’s special arrangement—a front-row seat to further sharpen her excellence.

Across a few desks, her slender back remained perfectly straight. Always poised like a dancer, never bowing to anyone.

No wonder some girls whispered behind her back: *so arrogant*.

She scribbled rapidly; the pen tip trembled. Mo Xuan could almost hear the faint *rustle* of ink on scratch paper.

At first glance—utterly normal. A diligent model student, seemingly having brushed off the earlier incident to focus wholly on studies.

*Typical of her.* If she could dismiss it so easily, why was *he* clinging like a nagging aunt? How embarrassing.

Gradually, his tension eased.

That time, Yun Jiumo had asked him to sit beside her next period—"for joint study." Mo Xuan, prioritizing caution, deflected with a topic shift.

She saw through it. Said nothing. Didn’t glance his way. Didn’t speak to her deskmate. When the bell rang, she simply opened her book and worked—flawlessly ordinary.

Relief washed over him. Had she insisted, he’d have had no excuse left.

But this also meant Yun Jiumo was making moves. His strategy needed recalibration.

*Enough for today.* Next time, he’d subtly hint to Shen Bingjing to keep distance from Yun Jiumo. For Shen Bingyao’s sake, he couldn’t let that girl walk into danger.

He shook off the thoughts and refocused on his test paper.

…

The jet-black pen slashed across pristine paper—chaotic, jagged lines twisting like frenzied serpents. Resentment and malice bled outward like spilled ink, staining the sacred white.

Her pale fingers gripped the pen until fingertips turned bluish, nails losing their pink hue. Teeth clenched tight, emitting a faint *click-click*—as if mentally tearing someone limb from limb.

Long black hair veiled her distorted face and bloodshot eyes. A thick stack of books shielded her deskmate’s view. All the girl heard was rapid scratching, assuming Yun Jiumo was diligently solving problems—envying her brilliance, utterly unaware this paper was Shen Bingjing’s face, being shredded in her mind.

She was annoyed. *Deeply* annoyed.

Mo Xuan, laughing carefree with another class’s girl. That memory-less girl boldly inserting herself. Both fueled her foul mood.

Beneath the rage, a faint trace of resentment toward *him* stirred.

*You’d rather lean on the railing chatting with strangers than spare me a word?*

*Did I upset you?*

*Has my indifference made you give up?*

The urge surged—to shove the desk aside, storm to the back, pin Mo Xuan against the wall, and kiss him with all her strength to prove her love.

But reason held. At the last second, she reined it in. The cost? A sharp thrust drove the pen tip clean through the paper—and deep into the wooden desk.

She slowed her breath. In. Out. Calming the storm within.

*Impulse is the devil.* One misstep, and years of effort collapse.

Mo Xuan’s coldness puzzled her—but he was still *him*. Cracking jokes, mimicking Captain Jack Sparrow while walking alone. Grades unchanged. Habits unchanged. Only his warmth toward *her* had cooled.

*Senior year. Everyone’s buried in studies.*

*Understandable.*

Yet discomfort remained.

That energetic girl with the high ponytail had shattered her quiet certainty—and sparked a quiet crisis.

Mo Xuan’s oblivious male mind likely noticed nothing. But Yun Jiumo, as a woman, sensed it clearly: *that girl held more than casual interest in him.*

Unforgivable.

She could tolerate Mo Xuan joking with others. Could endure their playful banter—if no line was crossed. Even if it stung, she’d rationalize it away.

*But only if no feelings existed.*

Once affection entered the picture, every glance, every word became critical.

For years, she’d masterfully balanced aloofness and allure, drawing Mo Xuan’s focus entirely to herself. Classmates noticed. Girls stepped back, avoiding gossip.

The plan was perfect.

Then *she* charged in—a wild horse, reckless as a newborn calf, trampling boundaries.

*As if Yun Jiumo would tolerate that.*

…Though the girl seemed special to Mo Xuan. Rash action might backfire.

Yun Jiumo’s eyes flickered. The crimson haze in her gaze slowly receded.

She tapped the ruined test paper, hesitating.

*Senior year. No room for distractions. One misstep ruins everything.*

Mo Xuan was studying hard too. She wouldn’t divert his focus. Deep down, she hoped he’d reach his dream university. *He’d be happy.*

*Fine. Observe. Wait.*

Let that girl have the sense to recognize reality—and avoid shooting herself in the foot.

Yun Jiumo could endure venomous words spoken to her face.

But *any* intimate gesture toward Mo Xuan?

Not a brush of shoulders. Not a single touch.

A cold smile ghosted her lips as she forcibly buried the turmoil and fury within.