Lin An waved at Su Yuejin like it was a friendly goodbye—if not for the bright red handprint blazing on his cheek.

He checked his phone, figured the mark wasn’t too bad, gently rubbed his face, sighed, and headed home. Deep autumn hung in the air, the streets sweet with osmanthus blossoms.

Lin An was an ordinary high school student at a decent private school. He’d earned his spot through grades and received a modest scholarship—500 yuan a month. Teachers saw him as the model student; parents never did. He had none. His only guardian shared no blood tie with him.

An orphan raised in a children’s home, he was adopted by a well-off couple unable to have kids. They came for a boy—but the boy clung tightly to a little girl’s hand, refusing to let go. So they adopted her too. A boy and a girl filled their home with warmth. For seven or eight years, he and she called them Mom and Dad—until a car accident took their parents when they turned sixteen.

Orphaned again, the father’s company was swiftly devoured by former partners. Someone left them a small sum—enough to survive, no debts. Lin An knew stray dogs had feasted on what was theirs. He was powerless to stop it.

That money carried them through junior high. For high school, they scrambled alone. Lin An and Xu Qinghuan were kids clawing up from the bottom, yet neither dropped out. Both got in, hustling tuition however they could. They were sharp—they knew education mattered. The world was unfair, but fair in pockets. Their parents had always praised them: diligent, sensible, deeply loved.

Those were past pages. Every story must turn a new leaf.

Lin An reached home at six—ten minutes late, thanks to Su Yuejin. Their place wasn’t fancy: a two-bedroom, one-living-room apartment on the fifth floor, no elevator. Rent was cheap here—1,000 yuan a month. Their parents had owned a home once. After they passed, assets sold off to cover losses. No debt remained. Lin An accepted it quietly.

But when he opened the door, Xu Qinghuan wasn’t there.

He had no idea where she’d gone. Today, he lacked the energy to search. No groceries bought—only one cup of black pepper instant noodles left.

He went straight to his room, glanced outside, drew the curtains. He disliked bright light—maybe because of his fair skin.

Homework? Done at school. Sometimes skipped. As group leader, he checked others’ work; his own? Rarely written. No one knew. The class monitor spot-checked him—and she was his girlfriend.

Today, she hadn’t spoken a word. Cold war. That morning, the vivid hickey on his neck had flaunted itself like a trophy. Lin An felt a breakup looming. He couldn’t stop it.

He powered on his computer—time for his side gig. Booked again. Gaming companion work. Male companions didn’t need charm; just silently carry. But for a month, a wealthy regular kept booking him… to play support.

Lin An felt lucky. Her voice was clean, clear—not quite loli, not quite mature. Exactly his type.

Adorably clumsy too. In-game, she’d squeal: “Kill kill kill! Charge! Aaah I’m dead! Save me! Where’s my teammate? Dummy! I am the dragon!”

His rate: 20 yuan per game. Low for female companions, solid for male. Mic on. First line: “Hey cutie, miss me?”

Cringey. He never imagined saying that. But life demanded compromise.

“Missed you! Today I’m playing Vayne!”

“We’re Diamond IV. Vayne might be tough,” Lin An reasoned calmly.

She huffed. “No worries. Surrender at twenty if needed.”

“Alright. I’ll do my best.”

Keeping loyal clients meant stable income. He’d even studied chat scripts—he loved reading; books taught him things. Scripts didn’t need to feel genuine—just effective. Like Chacha, the girl playing with him now. Always booked him. Played till ten.

Six to ten: four hours. Eight games. 160 yuan. Platform cut left 140. But he’d added her on WeChat—no fees, occasional discounts, free games.

They played past eight. First game—Chacha on Vayne—won. Lin An on Thresh dominated bot lane. He called shots; she just followed. Luck held. Winning streak. Chacha hit Diamond III.

“You were awesome today, An’an! Tomorrow I’ll hit Diamond II and find my idol in the Rift. Hehe.”

“Mm. Good.”

“Aren’t you even a little jealous?”

“I’m just an emotionless companion. Talent for sale, not my body.”

“So cruel… kidding!”

“Mm. I know.” Lin An nodded slightly. “Wait two minutes? I’ll make noodles.”

“Instant noodles for dinner? Unhealthy.”

“Then order me takeout?”

“Order anything. Hmph—this young miss is a rich loli.”

“Just joking.”

“I wasn’t.”

His phone buzzed—a 200-yuan transfer. He declined. “Thank you. Can’t accept.”

Chacha sent a pouting emoji.

“If you keep this up,” Lin An said quietly, “I might flirt back… scam your money… take advantage. Truth is, I’m greedy. Usually I hold back.”

Unless he couldn’t.

Like last night with Su Yuejin. An accident.

Just as he opened his mouth—his bedroom door clicked open. He turned. Wall clock: 9:30 PM.

She was back.

Xu Qinghuan. Lin An took his adoptive father’s surname; she carried her adoptive mother’s.

Eighteen. Technically his elder sister—but only a month older, shorter: 160 cm barefoot, 163 in shoes. Petite, stunning—beautiful in a way utterly unlike Su Yuejin.

Very well-endowed. Truly.

So Lin An wasn’t drawn to busty girls—he lived with one. He preferred long legs. Aesthetic fatigue was real.

She’d clearly been back awhile. Showered. Changed into a gray backless sweater—pure fanservice—slender legs pressed neatly together. Unclear what (if anything) she wore beneath.

“Working companion?” Her voice matched her doll-like face: soft, sweet loli tone, soothing yet stirring.

Lin An just nodded. Unwilling to engage. He didn’t know where she’d been last night. The unknown grated. He wouldn’t ask—not tsundere pride. Just pointless.

Unless she volunteered it.

“Mm. Yes.”

Over mic, Chacha chirped: “Wait—was that a girl?!”

“My sister,” Lin An replied.

“She’s my *elder* sister,” Xu Qinghuan pouted slightly—an unconscious, genuinely cute gesture. Delicate features, shoulder-length hair falling naturally, a faint sweet scent around her.

She slipped off her shoes, stepped in. Bare fair feet. Slender ankles. Adorable.

Then she leaned close to ask if he was hungry—and froze. Eyes locked on the hickey.

Her expression stilled a split second. Lin An caught her gaze.

“Who gave you that?” Her eyes turned icy—like milk tea stripped of tea and milk, leaving only shards of ice.

“Where were you last night?” Lin An countered.

Xu Qinghuan knew silence meant no answer. She relented, fingers twisting her sleeve, then tugged his hand.

“Photoshoot.”

“You know I hate your cosplay gigs.”

“They’re fools. Easy to handle.”

“Male or female photographer?”

“Same female one you met. That yuri-loving senior keeps groping me… but girls touching girls? Whatever. Don’t worry.” She patted his head like a puppy.

Then her eyes sharpened again. She grabbed his collar, pulled his head down. Gaze cold as the Snow Queen’s.

“So. Who kissed you?”

“Went to the bar looking for you. Met a pretty girl. Chatted. Hung out. She kissed me. No contacts exchanged.” Every word true. Between them, no lies at moments like this.

“Next time I’m late, just call. I said I wouldn’t go to bars. Trust me?” She cupped his face. Her ample chest swayed slightly.

“So I won’t go—and you won’t either. Flirt with another girl? I’ll break your legs.”

She kneaded his cheeks with a sweet smile, then pinched his ear and twisted hard.

“Oh.” Lin An nodded listlessly. Too tired to talk.

Her hand tugged his collar again.

“So. Explain coming home at five AM.”

Her eyes gleamed—sharp as drawn blades.

“We slept together.”

*Crack.*

The second slap of the day landed on his left cheek. Crisp. Sharp. Unmistakable.