“Why isn’t she here yet?” Feng Yijiu had been delayed while changing. Meanwhile, Li Hao had already reached the library and placed a few books on a prime seat to save it for her.
Just like on Earth, library seats here were scarce—especially those near power outlets or single-person carrels. Compared to large communal tables, these offered far more personal space, perfect for studying or working. Prime spots vanished fast: doors opened at nine, and within ten minutes, every good seat was taken.
This was Li Hao’s first time saving a seat for someone. Nervousness prickled under his skin. If Feng Yijiu didn’t show soon, the librarian might clear the spot.
*Phew—*
Relief came quickly. A rustle of hurried footsteps, and Feng Yijiu arrived. A few fine beads of sweat dotted her forehead from the rush.
“Thanks,” she murmured softly. Setting down her bag, she pulled out two wet wipes and gently dabbed her brow. Cen Man always stuffed these into her bag—but by now, Feng Yijiu had grown used to it.
Li Hao blinked, slightly stunned by her outfit. A black summer trench coat hugged her slender frame, radiating cool, restrained elegance. Against the dark fabric, her skin looked strikingly fair. *TV drama CEO types must look exactly like this*, he thought. Glances from passing female students only deepened his unease.
*“But… Feng Yijiu’s still kinda short for a guy,”* he silently consoled himself—a familiar mental ritual.
Feng Yijiu caught the sideways looks—and Li Hao’s stare. A hint of pride flickered in her eyes. Channeling the male lead from that local idol drama *Thai Mei*, she shrugged her shoulders, flipped her hair, slipped on the aviator sunglasses “borrowed” from her dad, and gave Li Hao a confident chin tilt.
*See that? Pure masculine charm!* she gloated inwardly. Ever since her surgery, this felt like her peak moment.
Li Hao wordlessly pulled out his homework and began muttering a calming mantra under his breath.
Feng Yijiu sighed inwardly—*boring*—and opened her English vocab notebook. Simple copying to warm up.
But coolness had a price. Behind the sunglasses, her vision blurred like a grainy news filter, and the frames kept sliding down her nose.
“Ugh, useless thing,” she muttered, yanking them off. Instant clarity.
Li Hao *was* watching her—but not for her looks. He was studying her study habits. *Someone this handsome’s gotta be a guy*, he reminded himself firmly. *He’s a guy. Just a guy…*
Unaware of the “wooden” boy’s internal chant, Feng Yijiu had already shifted into full focus mode. Her philosophy? Play hard, study harder.
Li Hao noticed the change instantly: her concentration was visibly different from her usual lazy, playful self. Her pen moved at a steady, even pace. Handwriting wasn’t fancy, but neat, well-spaced—pleasant to read.
His gaze drifted from the gliding pen tip… to her hands. Slender. Fair. Not flashy with painted nails, but perfectly proportioned—neither bony like chicken claws nor pudgy like radishes. Long fingers, clean-trimmed nails. When thinking, she’d absentmindedly twirl her pen—*click-clack, click-clack*—a crisp, rhythmic sound. Rarely more than four spins before she wrote again. Smooth. Hypnotic.
His eyes lifted slightly. Her profile, head bowed, nose and lips sharply defined. Ears faintly flushed, delicate. But her eyes held him—large, luminous with focus. He even spotted her long lashes… and a tiny mole near the corner of her eye.
A light cough snapped him back.
Feng Yijiu had turned, brow slightly furrowed. Her body language screamed clarity.
“Little bro… what’re you staring at?”
Li Hao jolted, cheeks flushing. *Caught red-handed.* He ducked his head, typed quickly:
**Mu Zi:** Sorry, zoned out.
**Feng:** ???
She watched the stubborn “Typing…” indicator, glanced at his flustered face, and tucked her phone away. Pen in hand, she resumed work.
A soft, relieved sigh escaped Li Hao.
*Chuunibyou*, Feng Yijiu mused with a inward smile. She got it. At his age, she’d also felt like the solo RPG protagonist.
*Been there.*
*It’s just puberty.*
