Nangong Ruihui couldn’t promise much—but one thing was absolute: she’d never genuinely fall for a girl. She was, after all, straight as an arrow.

“Ruihui, with grades like yours, do you still need to study?” Mu Yao chirped, shifting restlessly until half his hips nearly occupied her chair.

“Live and learn.”

Where there’s a rule, there’s a workaround. While answering Mu Yao’s questions, Nangong Ruihui leaned back against the wall—nowhere left to retreat.

The more she dwelled on it, the tighter the frustration coiled. Every rumor so far? Mu Yao’s doing. Without *him*, no whispers, no pointing fingers, no so-called love scandals.

Just then, Wang Chuanqi strolled into the classroom. A frequent evening self-study supervisor—he preferred it; little effort required.

“Teacher! Report!” A boy seated four rows behind Mu Yao called out.

“What is it? Speak.”

Wang Chuanqi removed his black-rimmed glasses, rubbed his eyes, and asked with lazy ease. Truth was, he was well-rested—his soft voice and half-lidded eyes just gave off a chill vibe. Close colleagues nicknamed him “Fat Cat.”

“I suggest separating Mu Yao and Nangong Ruihui’s seats!” The boy looked gentle, but his voice boomed like a bell.

“Why?”

Wang Chuanqi frowned. He’d assigned them as desk mates himself. No major issue? No change. Too much hassle.

“I heard Mu Yao say Nangong Ruihui hurt *her* and even mentioned marriage! As student council president, she bullied Mu Yao instead of protecting her. Shouldn’t they be switched?”

“Huh?!”

The words sent shockwaves. Wang Chuanqi froze. The whole class erupted. All eyes locked on Nangong Ruihui. Mu Yao couldn’t even get a word in to defend *her*.

Fuming but silent—lashing out would only make her seem petty, protesting too much.

*Damn it. How’d he hear us from that far? UN spy material. And he *misheard*? Why not just claim we did something indecent?!*

A bitter smile flickered. This baseless slander made her want to ignore Mu Yao entirely. *Too soft on him. Wish he’d never shown up. If he’d just stayed quiet…*

Gossiping guys were the worst. She never knew “male gossipmongers” existed.

“Nangong Ruihui. Come with me.”

“Just wait till I get back—I’ll deal with you.”

She stood, shot Mu Yao a glare, then—still unsatisfied—gave his calf a light but firm kick.

A dark smudge bloomed on the creamy-white stocking. Mu Yao barely noticed. *How did rumors spread this fast?* Ordinary words, twisted by tone. One thing was clear: he’d apologize properly when she returned.

Any incident involving Nangong Ruihui was headline news. The moment she and Wang Chuanqi left, the classroom exploded.

“I heard Nangong Ruihui made Mu Yao do *that*! When he didn’t satisfy *her*, she bullied him and forced marriage!”

“Slavery! Poor Mu Yao—switch seats now!”

“No—I heard Mu Yao likes *her*, and she agreed only after showing her beastly side.”

“Ugh, good girls fall for bad boys. What a shame~”

All the gossipers were boys. Few liked Nangong Ruihui. Many resented an “effeminate” student council president—especially how *she* played violin to charm girls. With *her* around, every girl’s eyes were on *her* alone.

Admittedly, jealousy simmered beneath. Most were rich kids—how could *she* hog all the spotlight? Silence to her face, whispers behind her back.

“Mu Yao. You too.” Minutes later, Wang Chuanqi called him out.

Now the girls joined—but united behind Nangong Ruihui. *Their* idol couldn’t be low-class. Simple logic: why would someone like *her* need to force anything? With her charm, even pretty Mu Yao would be captivated. Why else follow her since day one?

……

“That’s the truth, Brother Chuanqi. We’re engaged—arranged by our elders.”

“And the ‘hurting’ part?”

Before Nangong Ruihui spoke, Mu Yao jumped in: “Not her fault! I played around and hurt myself. She even took me to wash it. She didn’t bully me!”

*Hmph. At least you’ve got conscience.* Her anger softened.

Wang Chuanqi believed them. Why would a victim defend an abuser? And Nangong Ruihui—student council president—surely had integrity.

“You’re… engaged?” He shook his head. *Kids these days.* This was the 21st century—age of free love.

“Yes! And we get along great!”

To prove it, Mu Yao wrapped his arms around her arm, nuzzling his head against her shoulder.

Nangong Ruihui was utterly disarmed. How could she stay mad?

But… this wasn’t over. Scores to settle. She’d tease him—just enough—until he disliked her. Then he’d stop clinging.

She was meant to be alone. Meant… to stand far above everyone.

Back in class, Mu Yao struck a dramatic “Spare me, Your Majesty!” pose. “Don’t hold a grudge! I’m innocent too!”

“Don’t even think about it.”

He clasped hands over his head. If she stayed silent, he’d be bored to death.

Brief time together had shaped his impression: *She’s kind.* Didn’t walk away when he fell. Picked up his shoe, knelt to tie it. Cold to others—but different with him.

*She… didn’t look down on me because my family fell.*