This kick landed squarely on the motorcycle thief’s side. A grotesque spray of saliva and stomach acid erupted—utterly revolting!

The bicycle rolled forward a few more meters, then wobbled and collapsed as if realizing its rider was gone.

The purple handbag tumbled to the pavement.

Without hesitation, Chen Dao turned back into Shuiyun Jian and asked the receptionist to call the police.

The door stood open; the young woman had already seared that kick into memory. Now, seeing him return so calm and collected, she couldn’t help but admire him.

Then it hit her—this was the same guy who’d used shady slang to ask for the “full set” and swiped her preserved plum candy. What a jarring contrast!

Borrowing a rope from Shuiyun Jian, Chen Dao stepped out to find the thief writhing on the ground, clutching his abdomen, barely able to crawl.

Chen Dao simply walked over, tied the thief to his stolen bike, and murmured with a faint smile,

“How about upgrading to a motorcycle next time?”

A few passersby discreetly snapped photos. Meanwhile, the purple handbag’s owner finally reached Chen Dao.

Around thirty, she clutched two roujia mos, breathless, slowing her steps.

“Th-thank you… kind sir…”

Xia Baixiao braced a hand on her hip, catching her breath.

“No need. Just a small thing.”

Chen Dao moved to step past her—he still had to wait for Xia Jiuli outside school and couldn’t linger.

“Wait! Don’t go, kind sir!”

The elegant woman grabbed his arm without thinking, forgetting even her fallen bag.

“I haven’t repaid you yet!”

Xia Baixiao’s heart raced. Without his help, she’d have missed picking up her child!

But Chen Dao was clearly leaving—and she didn’t want to release this clean-cut, fair-skinned, tall young man. Neatly dressed. Heroic. That kick? Downright cool.

She pressed the two roujia mos into his hands.

“Handsome, hold these? I’ll get money from my bag—”

It was the only cliché gesture she could muster. A married woman—what else could she offer?

“Oh… fresh out of the oven?”

Chen Dao took them, inhaling deeply. Fragrant, with a generous dusting of chili powder.

He watched as she smoothed her qipao hem against her thigh, crouched slowly while keeping hold of his arm—determined not to let him slip away.

Since she insisted on repaying him, he stayed. Her grip left no choice.

She snatched the bag, pinned the strap under her chin, pulled out several hundred-yuan bills—and froze. Steam curled from Chen Dao’s mouth.

“So good! So good!”

He was already munching, praising the roujiamo between bites.

“Kind sir… you’re…?”

“You said repay me? Perfect. I skipped lunch. Thank you!”

Chen Dao smiled, no hint of returning them. Xia Baixiao blinked in surprise.

“Then… let me treat you! I’m picking up my child soon, but I’ll order a full table for you—please enjoy!”

She couldn’t be rude. That bag held precious things.

“No need, miss. I’m a simple guy—fancy food’s not my style. These roujia mos? Exactly what I wanted. Thanks!”

He gently freed his arm with a warm smile and strode off, unaware he’d already been photographed—especially by Shuiyun Jian’s receptionist.

*What a guy! Didn’t even want money… truly good-hearted!*

*Wait—I never asked his name!*

Xia Baixiao froze, chiding herself. She’d only meant to buy snacks for Xia Jiuli…

Yet something nagged her. That voice… familiar?

Had she heard it somewhere before?

Her gaze drifted back to Shuiyun Jian. *Did my savior really just come from there?*

She checked her phone: just past five. Xia Jiuli’s class ended at 5:30. Plenty of time. She’d wait for the police—see the thief arrested herself.

She never expected to be taken for a statement too, along with the receptionist.

Who vividly described how Chen Dao had positioned himself calmly before the thief arrived, delivered that effortless kick, then returned composedly for the rope—and even shared his photo.

Unaware, Chen Dao hurried toward Changli Middle School, glancing at the poster pinned to a pillar: *MISSING: XIA JIULI*, beside his own face.

Ten minutes later, he stood beneath a towering banyan tree at the school gate—a place he’d only rushed past in his past life.

Back then, it had been uprooted for “cityscape reasons” before he saw it. Now, awe struck him.

Fifteen, twenty meters tall. Bare branches still shaded half the road. Easy to imagine its lush, majestic glory.

He munched his roujiamo, waiting.

At 5:30, students began trickling out.

5:37—a wave poured forth.

5:41—

A girl with a high ponytail appeared. Serene. Tranquil. Like moonlight gently settling into view.