The rest went smoothly enough. Chen Dao received a stern lecture, while Bai Qiaoqiao served as the witness.

To his surprise, she never mentioned Xia Jiuli.

Just thinking of her sent a faint wave of melancholy through him.

He remorsefully claimed he’d pursued Bai Qiaoqiao for ages with no return. Frustrated by his monthly exam failure and burning with anger, he’d stormed into the main building, kicked the rooftop door open to vent—and ended up tripping into a puddle of dirty water, staining his clothes. That was how he took Gu Lian’s tracksuit.

Chen Dao didn’t care if anyone believed it. He’d apologized; no one could reasonably press further.

Partly thanks to Teacher Zhu’s kindness in sparing his dignity, partly to Teacher Li’s trust that Chen Dao wouldn’t disturb Gu Lian.

No one spared a thought for the broken rooftop door.

Door: Aminos!

Even Gu Lian’s family covered the repair costs—earning Chen Dao’s quiet gratitude.

The incident caused no worse fallout, though Chen Dao still faced lectures from parents and teachers.

Just as a fuming Bai Qiaoqiao moved to confront him for dragging her in, Gu Lian’s family whisked Chen Dao away.

Bai Qiaoqiao watched them chatting warmly. She even saw Gu Lian’s “dad” bow deeply to Chen Dao before leaving.

Something felt… off about Chen Dao.

Li Fang and Zhao Lexuan agreed—he seemed different. Zhao Lexuan looked thoughtful but stayed silent, fearing Bai Qiaoqiao’s feelings. She gently pulled her friend away.

After all, Chen Dao’s apology was really a quiet severance of ties with Bai Qiaoqiao—delivered through the teachers’ words. But as the one inside the situation, Bai Qiaoqiao saw nothing.

After nearly thirty minutes of chilly wind, Chen Dao finally spotted a figure slipping out the classroom’s back door on tiptoed steps.

A high ponytail swayed gently. Light bangs framed a serene face; delicate features perfectly placed on her round, youthful cheeks.

Only her tense expression betrayed her—eyes carefully avoiding stray glances.

Squinting by the door, she searched anxiously, fearing her careful steps were wasted. Relief washed over her the moment she spotted Chen Dao reading by the flowerbed.

She’d worried he’d ignore her note.

During the last class, she’d only half-listened, stealing glances outside—blocked by curtains. One question burned in her mind.

As the 170cm girl hurried over with light *patter-patter* steps, Chen Dao blinked in shock: even this hideously ugly uniform could glow for a second. He rubbed his eyes.

She did nothing suggestive—just pressed a crumpled yellow sticky note, warm from her palm, into his hand.

She’d finally realized: words on paper worked better than speech.

Yet this simple exchange remained a dream for many.

Chen Dao said nothing. He read the note:

"Are you and she a couple?"

Her gaze burned with tension. Fingers fidgeted the hem of her top, breath held in anticipation.

She’d read countless books. With no friends, she’d only ever mimicked protagonists’ social tricks.

Yet despite mastering over a hundred conversation starters, Gu Lian had never spoken to anyone.

She’d noticed how opposite-sex friendships often twisted into messy romances—soap-opera plots she both longed for and feared.

But names were unknown, space too small to describe faces. So she played a trick: whoever he named first would be his crush.

*That was the plan.*

"You’re basically testing my preference between them," Chen Dao said, seeing right through it.

If he named Xia Jiuli first, wouldn’t that mean he favored her over Bai Qiaoqiao?

Gu Lian’s scheme exposed, she just frowned and pointed insistently at the question.

She genuinely needed to know: the girl on his back, or the one who confessed—which was better?

Not that she liked *him*. She hadn’t forgiven him for the tracksuit.

But the question had nagged her all day—annoying enough to skip a problem set.

"How about I ask *you* something in exchange? Otherwise, not worth it."

He didn’t believe "the onlooker sees clearest," but he needed time.

Gu Lian blinked, then nodded, listening closely.

"If your friend fell asleep… would you wake them?"

She pulled pen and note, scribbled fast:

"I have no friends."

"Tsk. Just imagine. *I* fall asleep right here—what then?"

"Wake you up."

"What if I’m *pretending*?"

The little rich girl froze. *Zhou Lian’s writings…* Was he teasing her? Yet the question lingered: *Can you wake someone who chooses to sleep?*

Her answer came pure, mischievous:

"Let you sleep first. Then wake you up."

An evening breeze playfully lifted her hair, fading into twilight.

Her icy expression + that blunt line = unexpected horror-game vibes.

But Chen Dao, staring into her cool eyes, thought only of the girl who’d slipped away.

"Can I answer your question… next time?"

He stood abruptly, scattering the drowsy breeze.

Gu Lian stayed silent, dumbfounded, as he snatched his bag—and her pen and paper.

Then the seventeen-year-old who’d lived two lives sprinted across campus, vanishing down the slope toward the gate.

Gu Lian? Taken advantage of again.

First: her tracksuit.

Second: her pen and paper.

What’s next?