Lin An turned on the faucet and washed the dishes—rinse, repeat, then slot them into the cabinet. He brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face. Not that he was heading to bed yet; chapters still waited, plus his part-time gig as an online author.

But a thought flickered: *Could he skip updating tonight? Just sleep early?*

If he were sleeping beside Xu Qinghuan… skipping an update wouldn’t matter. It had been so long—*so long* since she’d held him while sleeping. Didn’t this girl ever feel lonely?

He shaved lightly before the mirror. Barely any stubble, but… wouldn’t it prick her tender skin if they kissed?

Meanwhile, Xu Qinghuan sat on Lin An’s bed, her calm facade from earlier now fractured.

In front of him, she had to stay composed, analyze the situation rationally—the “real her.” But the moment he left? Her thoughts surged, unstoppable.

This pair of siblings were sharp, in their own ways.

*Xu Qinghuan reflected: Had leaving him alone too long pushed him to this? Or was there rebellion buried in his actions? If I keep ignoring him, withholding even a crumb of sweetness… will he grow beyond my control?*

A serious question. She’d skimmed Lin An’s chats with his girlfriend in minutes—and caught minor details.

*Was he deliberately trying to get dumped?*

She couldn’t be sure. Was he genuinely clueless or pretending? Saying things to repel an innocent girl, wearing down her goodwill… the end was inevitable: disgust, then a breakup. Or rather—being dumped.

Was he truly aiming for it? Or just being annoying?

Still, last night’s incident gave her a headache. She could accept him sleeping with others—but not her younger brother *developing feelings*.

She knew Lin An. If Su Yuejin was a virgin, and if she took initiative, clung to him… stirring his guilt… he might genuinely fall for her.

And Su Yuejin *was* stunning. For a girl that gorgeous, charming someone came too easily. *If that day ever came…*

No. It wouldn’t. Xu Qinghuan would never allow it.

*So… should I give him a little sweetness tonight? After so long alone… he must feel lonely too. Maybe ease up a little.*

Her fingertips lightly gripped her sweater hem. *How much sweetness… to fully cool last night’s heat?*

When Lin An returned, Xu Qinghuan sat in his chair scrolling her phone. Slender legs crossed. Her backless sweater rode high, barely covering her perky backside. Delicate feet, slender ankles, tiny toes twitching slightly with unease.

“I’m tired,” Lin An said, stepping in. “Heading to bed tonight.”

The wall clock read 10:30.

“Is that so?” Xu Qinghuan set down her phone, lifting her gaze. A warm, bright smile curved her lips.

“How about I tell you a story?” Her voice was sweet—unintentionally so. That coquettish, heart-tickling loli tone.

“Ah? Nah… You rest too.” Lin An lay on the bed, pulled back the covers—but hadn’t settled when Xu Qinghuan’s expression shifted slightly.

*Is he really being a good boy now? Knowing I won’t give even a hint of sweetness… so he stopped hoping?*

No. That wouldn’t do.

“Okay, okay. You sleep. I’ll get some air.”

She stood, opened the window. Evening breeze drifted in, lifting strands of hair over her shoulders. Eyes half-closed, she looked utterly content—for ten seconds.

Then—she spun around, eyes squeezed shut in panic. Rushing to him, voice dripping with coquettish distress: “Sand in my eye! Blow it out for me?”

Lin An sat up. Her eyes strained open—clear, bright. No sand visible. But as he leaned closer… like a fly entering a Venus flytrap’s range—

Xu Qinghuan surged forward, fresh scent wrapping him. Without warning, her soft pink lips *brushed* his.

Just a whisper of contact. Before Lin An could savor the fleeting warmth, a mischievous, triumphant smile bloomed on her face.

“Hehe~ Got you!”

Lin An blinked, surprise softening into pure, fervent affection in his eyes—innocent, unguarded.

“Mm? Blushing?” She tapped his cheek, lifted his chin with one finger. “Naughty thoughts… But I’m in a good mood today. Consider this compensation for last night—you going out to find me, getting bullied by *that* woman.”

Her fingertip stroked his chin… then froze.

Stunned.

In an instant, the coquettish warmth vanished. Like flipping a page. Her voice turned icy: “You shaved just now?”

Lin An stiffened. He fought to steady his expression—but too late. Reading micro-expressions? Xu Qinghuan always won.

“Yeah… felt like I should…”

“Noted.” She cut him off, withdrew her hand, pressed both palms on his shoulders, and eased him back onto the bed. A faint, mocking smile played on her lips. “Then sleep. Since you’re tired.”

She rose, turned away—leaving only the elegant line of her back. Switched off the light. Glanced back with a soft sigh. “You’ve grown up.”

The door clicked shut. Darkness swallowed the room. Footsteps faded.

Lin An stared into the black. Sighed helplessly after seconds.

*Exposed.*

He’d shaved thinking—*if she kissed him*—stubble might prick her skin. But that tiny detail… tipped her off.

…

Lin An couldn’t sleep.

He accepted failure. Learned. Improved. But *concern clouded judgment*—so he slipped.

*Do you feel not even a shred of pity? After everything… can you really bear to dangle hope, torment me like this?*

*If this continues… maybe one day, I really will change.*

*I’ll lie. Make you believe I’m still that foolish boy—wholly yours, loving you completely. Then one day… I’ll appear before you, hand in hand with a girl who adores me beyond measure… and have her say, “Hello.”*

*How would you feel?*

*Regret? Disappointment? Sadness?*

*Would you… cry?*

…

Dawn came. Lin An woke at seven sharp. Freshened up. Xu Qinghuan still slept—he wouldn’t wake her. Siblings. Classmates. Yet their lives diverged: he left at 7:20, reached school by 7:30 to read; she rose at 7:30, arrived at eight.

Never walked together. Never mentioned each other. Like strangers.

Her classroom sat just doors away on the same floor. No greetings. No shared lunches. No PE together.

All her rules. He obeyed.

Inside, he seethed—frustrated, powerless. He was deeper in. *Concern clouded judgment.* So he couldn’t outmaneuver her.

He stopped overthinking. Left. Reached class. Sat alone—his deskmate had dropped out weeks ago. Two seats to himself. Books stashed neatly. Naps during lessons, untouched. Teachers allowed it. Classmates accepted it. Grades stayed perfect.

In Grade 11, Class 3, Lin An had no friends. Only a girlfriend.

The hickey on his neck had faded slightly overnight. As he entered class, the girl in the front row—white dress, organizing books for exams—glanced up, then quickly away. Cold.

Lin An offered no smile. Returned to his seat.

Cold war.

Or rather: silent treatment *from her*.

But he’d caused it.

So yes.

It was Lin An’s fault.