For Chen Dao, today’s classes still meant nothing but endlessly copying notes.

Skipping just one day made the lessons before and after feel like they’d undergone a total upheaval—leaving him utterly disoriented.

Of course, he wasn’t the only one struggling.

During morning math, the guy seated ahead of him perfectly embodied the “blink-and-you’re-lost” experience.

Worse yet, Bai Qiaoqiao kept drifting near Chen Dao all day—hovering like she had something to say but refusing to speak first, practically nudging him to break the silence.

Li Zhiqiang and Zhou Yu, meanwhile, swarmed around her like mosquitoes buzzing over dung. Pathetic.

The classroom grew too noisy, so Chen Dao slipped into the school library after lunch, planning to study and nap before 2:30.

First time here. Back then, he and Bai Qiaoqiao would hit the nearby McDonald’s after school—study while eating, Chen Dao always paying.

No need for that now. Library it was.

He’d even prepared to stay until the security guard shooed him out post-class.

He’d texted Xia Jiuli at home: running late.

“Madam Ding” Xia Jiuli replied she’d prepared a little surprise for “Lao Cao” Chen Dao.

The library was nearly empty—just a few scattered figures, most napping at desks.

The librarian at the entrance counter watched Chen Dao vanish into the shelves, all the way to a corner.

Probably muttering why he couldn’t just rest at noon… letting her slack off too.

Just as Chen Dao tapped his hollow-sounding head, racking his brain for physics answers, a small hand gently seized his pen cap.

The 0.5mm black gel pen—never gripped at both ends before—slipped free.

Cap separated from barrel. Chen Dao looked up at that fair, clean little hand.

Gu Lian, sleeve hiding her fingers clutching the cap, glared with fierce-cute intensity.

Pouting lips, furrowed brows—thoroughly unapproachable.

The type who’d sulk all day if her snack vanished.

“Give me back my pen.”

Two days ago, she got no answer—and felt her little brain and stationery freeloaded on. Waited all yesterday. Missed him.

This morning during reading period, their eyes met. She’d been waiting to ask for it back.

Not that the pen was precious… but having your things taken stings.

“If I give it to you, I’ve got nothing left… Can’t you cut me some slack?”

Chen Dao feigned distress, chin jerking toward his geography homework: ant-sized scribbles, heavily corrected. Presentation score? Zero.

He used to write beautifully. University faded it. Work erased it. Now even recalling the four-character idiom “qian lv ji qiong” took effort.

A flicker of fluster crossed Gu Lian’s icy face. She’d meant to grab the pen and leave—but now had to wait.

Fine. She still had unfinished questions.

No one nearby. No paper. No pen. Writing impossible. She gathered courage:

“Y-you can… use it first…”

Voice barely a whisper—so faint even she doubted it was heard. Chen Dao’s surprised blink confirmed it.

She rarely spoke to strangers. Boys? Worse. In a library? She’d consciously hushed herself… and failed.

Chen Dao took the cap, pulled out a chair with one hand, tapped it lightly. *Sit.*

Gu Lian’s wide eyes flicked from chair to his profile. She sat.

Then deliberately shifted farther away.

“Thanks for your advice the other day. It helped.”

He pulled a pack of QQ candy from his pocket, set it before her.

Gu Lian stared. Only when Chen Dao turned a page did she realize—it was for her.

“Th-thank you… and…”

She picked it up, gently squeezed the wrapper. Rubber-soft bounce inside.

*Unknown origin. Hand to the butler later.*

“I have… something to ask…”

“Wait—”

Chen Dao snatched it back as she reached to pocket it, tore the pack open, popped a red piece in his mouth. “Go ahead.”

Gu Lian blinked. Dipped a finger. Plucked a purple one.

Sniffed. Carefully placed it on her tongue.

Chewy resistance. Fruity sweetness burst across her palate. Her brows lifted—a trace of satisfaction, quiet delight.

But no. She wouldn’t be bought off by candy. Her question remained clear. Resolve hardened:

“You—”

“Wait—what causes the North Indian Ocean monsoon current again?”

Pen tip jabbed at question four. Chen Dao glanced up.

Gu Lian blinked. Leaned slightly to peek.

“Option C.”

“Why? Explain?”

Chen Dao shamelessly pressed, pulling out another candy pack—different flavor.

Gu Lian hadn’t planned to help… but curiosity won.

After scribbling mnemonics endlessly on scratch paper, only fifteen minutes of break remained. Chen Dao finished two-thirds of his exercises.

“Thanks!”

He grinned, tossed a third candy pack onto the desk—and vanished in a flash.

Gu Lian sat frozen, opening the pack, popping a candy in—

Wait.

Where’s my pen?