"Beautiful. Ruihui, your voice is amazing—so magnetic. I really like it."

For a fleeting moment, Mu Yao was stunned. Then he voiced exactly what he’d been thinking: a voice both suave and alluring—not many guys could pull off a tone like that.

Nangong Ruihui’s usual voice never stayed locked in a cutesy girl tone. Just a slight drop in pitch shifted it into the neutral, androgynous sound Mu Yao was hearing now.

"How do I feel like you’re pulling my leg? What’s so great about *Two Tigers*?" A faint blush dusted Nangong Ruihui’s cheeks.

Mu Yao’s reply clearly wasn’t what she’d expected. The sudden twist left her completely off guard. Mu Yao, she…

"*Two Tigers* isn’t exactly a masterpiece," Mu Yao said with a smile, "but you sang it just for me, Ruihui. Setting the song aside, your voice is genuinely lovely. If you didn’t care, why sing solely for my ears? Am I wrong?"

"It’s only because you said singing meant forgiveness—or you wouldn’t sleep tonight," Nangong Ruihui stammered, trying to deflect.

"But that’s still proof you care~"

"N-no! Don’t get ideas! I won’t take you seriously until you become Elder Sister."

"Really?" Mu Yao tilted his head.

"Really."

"Good. In a month and a half, I want you to kiss me in front of everyone."

Mu Yao was dead set on winning Elder Sister. Starting now, he’d give it his all. If he somehow became Elder Sister? Nangong Ruihui’s face would turn black as coal.

And making *her* kiss *him*… She’d suffer far more. He’d just get kissed by a guy; she’d have to admit his worth. Her reluctance clearly outweighed his discomfort.

"Did you hear that? President Nangong actually sang for Mu Yao? Didn’t he used to avoid girls?" Cao Ge, with a streetwise vibe, whispered to a boy beside her.

"Must be Brother Wang Chuanqi’s talk. As long as no one bullies Mu Yao, a president who sings for a new student seems kind and approachable~"

Nangong Ruihui overheard them. She’d feared singing would make her lose face—but it backfired *positively*. Classmates now saw her as warm and capable. Maybe Mu Yao asking her to sing wasn’t so bad after all.

Outside, Wang Chuanqi had left one thing unsaid: don’t let romance hurt studies. But with both ranking top of class? Truly exceptional people balanced love and grades. Every teacher knew high school romance wasn’t "too early"—just don’t broadcast it. Wang Chuanqi would turn a blind eye.

"Ruihui, breakfast together tomorrow? I’ll wait downstairs thirty minutes early," Mu Yao finally blurted, courage gathered. Class was ending.

"Thirty minutes? Are you crazy!"

"I don’t know your wake-up time… Better early than late," Mu Yao mumbled pitifully. It was all for her.

"Don’t wait. I skip breakfast." Nangong Ruihui flatly refused.

"You *can’t* skip meals! Stomach issues! You *will* eat tomorrow! As long as I’m here, you won’t miss a single day!" Mu Yao urgently grabbed her wrist, stopping her doodling.

"You…"

Nangong Ruihui hated orders—but his command stirred no annoyance. Instead… a faint liking.

Flustered, she snapped, "Eat by yourself if you want!"

*Now he’ll hate me. So why do I feel so lost?*

Sure enough, his grip loosened. Relief washed over her. For his sake, distance was safer. If he truly liked her… better a short pain than a long one.

Between girls, friendship was the most they could have.

…

Before six the next morning, a strange thought jolted Nangong Ruihui awake. She rushed to the window, peering down. Empty courtyard. She sighed in relief—she’d feared he was dead set on waiting.

She *did* eat breakfast; the excuse was just to annoy him. Skipping once was fine. Campus store jam toast later.

No lazing in bed post-wake-up. Winter had passed—otherwise, that warm bed would’ve been pure utopia.

Dress, wash, leave—in one smooth motion. Only two others in class. And there he was: Mu Yao, beaming at her.

*Good grief. She looked so upset last night. How is she all smiles now?*

Nangong Ruihui couldn’t grasp Mu Yao’s sunny optimism. If someone gave *her* the cold shoulder? She’d never speak first—reconciliation depended on mood and importance.

"Good morning."

Awkward, she greeted him. She wasn’t heartless—she couldn’t resist his warmth, bright as a little sun.

"Good morning, my dear Ruihui~"

"Can you *not* be so cheesy…"

"Alright, no cheesiness. You haven’t eaten, have you~" Mu Yao said casually.

"Haven’t. Don’t worry about me."

"I’m your fiancée! If I don’t care for you, who will? Don’t get carried away! Here—piping hot xiaolongbao."

Mu Yao pulled an insulated box from her desk drawer, fumbled the latch, and pushed eight plump, steaming xiaolongbao toward her—each a little treasure.

Nangong Ruihui froze. Her throat bobbed. A wave of emotion surged—a lump in her throat, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes.

The box was old, clearly from home, but spotless. Even her high tableware standards couldn’t find fault.

The chopsticks weren’t cheap disposables—stainless steel, Hello Kitty patterns on the ends.

"What… what are you trying to do…" Her voice softened.

"I already said last night," Mu Yao replied gently. "I want you to eat breakfast properly."