Her forehead pressed tightly against Chen Dao’s back as she chewed the cold roujiamo.

She deliberately avoided Xia Baixiao—for the very reason she’d stated: she had no intention of letting them meet.

She wouldn’t give up this precious sliver of time after their long-awaited reunion.

“Let’s go down that alley. Lend me your phone for a sec.”

After a brief hesitation, Xia Jiuli decided not to turn back.

Chen Dao followed where she pointed—the same path Yu Xin and the class monitor had taken earlier.

Keeping an eye on Xia Baixiao pacing near the school gate, they slipped into the alley in that close stance, then emerged beside a blue notice board.

“Phone.”

She snatched the Meizu from his pocket, offering the half-eaten roujiamo in exchange.

With practiced ease, she typed his lock screen password and unlocked it.

“Wait!”

Her movements were so fluid Chen Dao hesitated a few seconds—*How did she know my password?*

Unlocked?

“What’s wrong?”

Xia Jiuli didn’t pause. She opened Contacts, fingers already dialing.

Chen Dao’s phone had few apps; phone, camera, and browser sat neatly in the bottom dock. No need to snoop elsewhere.

(Though she *might’ve* wanted to check chats… but no proper reason. Never mind.)

“How did you know my password?”

Chen Dao wasn’t angry—this was Xia Jiuli. He had no harsh words.

His question held more fear than blame.

Xia Jiuli’s gaze dropped to the screen, then lifted.

“You… uh, in our past life? Back in college, we swapped passwords.”

“Did we?”

Different memories happened. But Chen Dao truly recalled nothing—except that punishment game.

Classmates had teased them into it. Rarely joining such things, he’d handed over his phone after a drink. Xia Jiuli found a video: a woman in a flattering outfit holding a glossy roast chicken.

*That chicken looked so good!*

She’d been speechless then. They were only nominal boyfriend and girlfriend—nothing to resent.

Now? He never changed passwords between phones. The Huawei from college and this Meizu shared the same six-digit code.

But “swapped”? He remembered no such thing. Timidly:

“Didn’t I just *tell* you the password?”

*She probably remembers the roast chicken video too…*

“For fairness, I gave you my phone and my password too,” she said.

Xia Jiuli blinked, pouted slightly, brows furrowing—a gentle complaint he’d forgotten.

Then her expression sobered. Tilting her head, she lightly poked his arm.

(Her finger had aimed for his chest first—but “just friends” meant redirecting. He noticed the awkward shift.)

“So… did you ever eat that roast chicken?”

“Huh?”

“You’re a normal guy—I won’t judge. But that video… obviously tech-enhanced…”

She lectured while poking his arm—soft, cute. Then realization flushed her cheeks.

*What am I even saying?!*

She still vividly recalled the woman, the oil-slicked chicken…

Even Chen Dao couldn’t recall why he’d saved it. For the chicken? *Just* the chicken?

Definitely not baby food.

Seeing her blush, he pressed: “Aren’t you mad?”

“Hm? You watched it. I won’t stop you. Human nature—just don’t let your girlfriend find out.”

(Xia Jiuli stayed calm. She couldn’t admit *she* scrolled past handsome guys too.)

“Then it’s fine. I’m not dating—can watch all I want.”

Chen Dao looked relieved. Xia Jiuli shot him a tiny resentful glance, waved a hand, and dropped the topic.

But when she dialed her aunt’s number… *blacklisted*.

“Huh? Why’d you block Auntie?”

“Nonsense! I’d never—oh… right.”

Chen Dao stepped closer to protest—then saw twelve blocked calls from her.

He knew that number would expose him. Hence the alias.

“You can’t use my phone. You’ll be found out.”

Plus, his number was from another province—suspicious instantly.

“Mm. I’ll call my classmate. Say I’m staying at her place tonight.”

Tomorrow was weekend. She knew Chen Dao skipped afternoon classes just to come.

*These two days are mine. Even Principal Chen Zhiyi won’t take him away. I said so.*

Chen Zhiyi, Changli High’s principal, patrolled streets hunting early dating or troublemakers.

Later years saw better conduct and stricter rules. But now? Internet cafes, gangs, smoking—common. Thankfully, the “Iron-Blooded Patriarch” lived up to his name. Discipline at Changli? Impeccable.

So strict that a boy and girl alone on a bench meant “early dating tendencies”—and a self-criticism essay.

But student safety? Flawless.

Anyone causing trouble at school? Chen Zhiyi would slap them senseless—and maybe their mom too.

Xia Jiuli called Yu Xin to share her plan.

“How’d it go?” Chen Dao asked, taking the phone she offered and tucking it away.

“They’re eating malatang at the right turn.”

She strode toward the shopping street. Chen Dao followed, naturally offering the roujiamo.

She didn’t take it—just leaned in and bit a piece.

“So good!”