Xinchi No.4 High School—the most revered sanctuary among Xinchi’s 127 high schools—was practically regarded as celestial by certain parents and students.

Students from other schools would inevitably greet them with the polite phrase: “Mighty talents gather in the Four Sects; no villain dares cause trouble here.”

Yet this didn’t mean strong talents didn’t exist beyond the Four Sects. Last year’s Xinchi top scorer, for instance, came from a sect with a lower first-tier university admission rate—a fleeting moment of glory.

But such prestige was confined to Xinchi, this “newbie village.” To locals, Xinchi truly shone.

Thus, producing a top scorer—or attracting a few renowned students—became No.4 High’s hope for the next two years.

Accordingly, the elders of the Four Sects poured all their efforts into a prodigy named Gu Lian, elevating her as the “Holy Maiden” of the Four Sects, tolerating no unorthodox interference in her cultivation.

This was the root of Teacher Li’s hostility toward Chen Dao.

No one could have predicted—no one—that Gu Lian, their great hope, now stood beside a mere menial disciple, being casually toyed with—

Overalls. White shirt. Bun. Petite face.

Ordinary at first glance, yet within the library, she was a ripple of spring slipping quietly into the eyes, seeping gently into the heart.

But right now, she glared fiercely, staring intently at Chen Dao—and the Chenguang pen in his hand, originally hers.

“How can Qin Shi Huang win by touching an electric fence?”

She grumbled, cheeks flushed crimson, neck and ears burning—a Lamborghini flashing warning lights.

“Flustered?”

Chen Dao mimicked Teacher Tom, finger pointed at Gu Lian, eyebrow slightly raised.

“I’m not flustered!”

Utterly literal-minded and missing the joke entirely, she kept insisting she was calm. Truth was, Gu Lian simply couldn’t stand Chen Dao’s bizarre Chinese riddles.

Like:

“Cao Pi’s wife weeding the vegetable patch—Zhen Ji weeding?”

“A knife to the butt—now you’ve seen something!”

What had just made her flush with rage was “Qin Shi Huang touches an electric fence—winning so hard it numbs you!”—perfectly matching Chen Dao’s three straight wins and reclaiming the snacks he’d “given away.”

Back and forth, he teased the delicate Little Miss Rich, ate his own shrimp chips, and had Gu Lian honor the bet to keep tutoring him.

He won. He won so hard it numbed him!

At first, Chen Dao only suggested switching games to escape the boredom of math crowding his mind.

After pondering, the little rich girl pointed to the reading comprehension exercises they’d “played” repeatedly.

No ordinary person would accept this as a game.

Few anywhere treat English reading comprehension as fun.

Honestly? Even a native Brit would struggle to pass this test—let alone local students calling problem-solving “play.”

So Chen Dao played xiehouyu and brain teasers. But Gu Lian kept testing this slick trickster with clichés like “Zhou Yu beats Huang Gai” or “Zhang Fei glares at mung beans”—

And she lost.

“Alright, Little Lian, don’t be mad. Take this half-finished bag of shrimp chips as my apology!”

Chen Dao smiled, offering back the very snack he’d originally bought for her—now “repurposed” as a peace offering.

Gu Lian grumbled a few times upon seeing the fragrant chips return, then let it go.

But as she smiled, popped a few into her mouth, she suddenly realized:

Wait… were these chips meant for me all along?

Exactly! Win-win! Chen Dao won twice—so four wins equals win-win squared!

Still, Sunday morning in the library felt uneasy. Gu Lian’s elderly driver-butler sat nearby, quietly reading *Boule de Suif*.

Just his distant presence made Chen Dao’s back damp with sweat.

Beyond that pressure, melancholy lingered.

Xia Jiuli had gotten busy.

Though just good friends, Chen Dao knew his place: he still had room to retreat. She didn’t.

Their chat history remained frozen on his 7 a.m. greeting.

Home held no trace of her—no lingering scent. Shampoo, body wash—all his brand. Only his own smell remained.

He never bought the “girls have natural fragrance” myth. Sweat glands were sweat glands—only fouler with time (a reward for some, he mused).

Unlike him, who preferred slender, porcelain-white thighs and delicate, tender little feet.

Yet for the first time, he secretly hoped to find even a faint trace of Xia Jiuli’s presence.

Just in case she ever mailed back the seashell… he’d have something to burn for her.

(But seriously—don’t mail it back!)

Chen Dao jabbed a finger at empty air. Gu Lian nearly checked the bookshelf for ghosts, hiding behind her textbook with a cautious peek.

“We should continue studying.”

Feeling snack-indebted, Gu Lian tutored diligently. Chen Dao played the total amnesiac—needing help with everything.

Reluctantly, she tailored a study plan and even consulted her own tutor.

Bottom line: without her, Chen Dao’s college dream was doomed.

“Little rich girl… can you spare me some rice?”

His gaze shifted from the shelf to the girl blessed with both jade-like feet and plump thighs.

“Popcorn? I’ll ask Uncle Liu to buy some.”

Gu Lian blinked, glancing toward the elderly man.

“No, no! Not that kind of rice!”

Truth was, after the beach trip, he’d already advanced next month’s allowance. Couldn’t ask his parents again.

His seventeen-year-old past self wouldn’t hesitate. But now—nearly thirty—begging parents felt shameful.

“Uh… ‘rice’ means money. I’m… borrowing cash.”