“…Next up, please welcome thirteen students from Class 16—including Zhou Wenyao, Ma Qianqian, and others—with their chorus performance of *Song of Tomorrow*.”

Soft piano notes drifted through the air. Zhou Wenyao stepped to the front, bowed slightly, and began singing with gentle clarity.

Amid the wind, where does the wind blow?

This enigmatic world—every step unknown.

A restless heart beneath the distant sky,

Calling for that unknown song…

Feng Yijiu gently closed her eyes. This melody had been dear to her in her past life; without hesitation, she’d woven it into this world through Li Yu while writing her novel. Hearing its familiar, tender strains now stirred something strangely sweet within her.

The singing continued. After a chorus of “la la la,” the second verse struck Li Hao straight in the heart.

Amid the wind, where does the wind blow?

Praying all the way, moving ever forward.

Path ahead—where do you lead?

Will we, once parted, meet again?

La~ la~ la~ la~ la~ la~ la~ la~

The gardenia-scented path… that haunting, dreamlike figure… Li Hao’s breathing slowed. He almost saw her again—the faint silhouette of long hair, a white gardenia tucked behind her ear.

She smiled at him, warm as early spring sunshine.

Then she reached out. He hurriedly clasped her small hand—slightly slippery, softly yielding.

*We, once lost, have found each other again. This is fate.*

Li Hao exhaled softly. A faint smile touched his lips.

“Why are you holding my hand?” A cold, sharp voice cut through the dimness beside him.

Startled, Li Hao looked down. His trash-holding hand had somehow laced tightly with Feng Yijiu’s—in an awkwardly intimate grip. Entirely his doing.

He couldn’t see her face clearly, but her hand felt unexpectedly pleasant. Almost without thinking, he gave it a light squeeze.

Cool, yet not cold—like silk on a summer breeze. Soft, perfectly sized, smooth as warm jade. Comforting.

Sensing her pull away, he instinctively held on a little tighter.

“Had enough yet?” Feng Yijiu’s cheeks flushed. She’d only reached for a snack—*intercepted* by *him*. Trapped in this pose, escape was hard. And that lovestruck look on his face just now…

Her hand being fondled by a guy… Embarrassment and irritation prickled across her skin. Goosebumps rose on her knuckles.

“Sorry,” Li Hao stammered, face burning as he released his wandering hand.

Feng Yijiu snatched her hand back, shaking it vigorously with a grimace. “If you’re so bold, go hold Yao Yao—*Zhou Wenyao’s* hand! Why mine? You’re not grossed out, but *I* am!”

She stood and strode toward the door.

“Where to?”

“To wash my hands.” Head lowered. *If hands were replaceable, I’d splurge on a new pair.*

*Phew…* After splashing water on her face and scrubbing her palms raw, the creepy-crawly feeling faded. Damp fingers patted her cheeks. A soft breath escaped. “Feng Yijiu… don’t overreact.”

She’d never admit her pulse had quickened when he held her hand.

Why did a boy’s hand—less delicate than hers—feel so… nice? *But… he’s a guy!*

She laced her own fingers, squeezed gently.

Hmm. Not that different. Her face warmed. Guiltily, she dropped her hand.

Back in the auditorium, Feng Yijiu sat stiffly, ignoring the half-finished cookies.

“Seriously? This much?” Li Hao murmured.

“I have mysophobia,” she stated flatly.

Li Hao blinked. *True… she carries a personal towel. Hygiene-conscious.* Then it hit him—*Is she telling me to leave?*

Feng Yijiu shoved her hands deep into her pockets, abandoning the snacks entirely.

The tension held until the showcase ended. She gathered her things and left in a hurry.

Watching her flee like a dog with its tail between its legs, Li Hao’s eyes gleamed. *So this is her weak spot.*

Hehe. Got it.

At home, Feng Yijiu collapsed onto her bed.

“Yijiu? What’s wrong?” Cen Man asked gently.

“Don’t ask.” Feng Yijiu pulled a fruit milkshake from the fridge, scowling. “A male classmate held my hand today. So gross.”

“Big deal?”

“It’s *how* he…” She mimed it. Her cheeks flushed.

“Oh~” Cen Man drawled knowingly. “Seems you care.”

“No way!” Feng Yijiu’s eyes widened like a startled cat. “He’s a jerk! I’ll treat it like a dog bite. Besides—I know who *he* likes. And my sexuality is *perfectly* normal!”

“Mm-hmm.” Cen Man nodded, smiling faintly.

Feng Yijiu huffed, drained the milkshake in three gulps, then snatched up the orange cat and began *petting*—hard.

At first, purrs rumbled. Then the cat froze. *This isn’t massage… it’s chiropractic torture!*

When the chubby-faced feline bolted in terror, Feng Yijiu’s frustration had mostly vanished.

She remembered the seat change.

*Changing seats was Teacher Wang’s masterstroke.*

Change! Should’ve happened ages ago!