Wrong is wrong. If everything could be fixed before the mistake happened, that would be ideal.

But Lin An didn’t want reconciliation—he wanted to be dumped. This relationship had been forced on him. The reasons were tangled with complicated emotions, so let’s set that aside for now.

As for that gentle, pure-hearted girl, Lin An might have liked her once. Men naturally feel possessive toward beautiful women—it’s in the genes. He’d had those thoughts, but he knew continuing would only hold her back.

Someone like him wasn’t suited for a pure-hearted girl. He feared hurting her. Even if he gave his all and wouldn’t hurt her, he simply didn’t like her. A forced relationship is never sweet.

Lin An waited to be dumped. If he ended it, it wouldn’t feel right. So he waited for her to speak up. Even if she blamed him or spoke ill of him afterward, he’d accept it calmly. He’d make it up to her. Most of the time, he didn’t want to hurt anyone.

Morning reading was always noisy. He liked lip-syncing with the class—since the racket made sleep impossible anyway, lip-syncing was less tiring, and no one cared. After it ended, Lin An carefully reviewed the material and key points ahead. Then he returned to his own books.

Not textbooks—novels, classics, skill-based reads. They gave him knowledge, helping him judge rightly and act wisely in unfamiliar situations.

The sky was overcast. Autumn rain carried a chilly dampness. He zipped his jacket and kept reading on his phone.

E-books were convenient and cheap. A few yuan for a membership unlocked countless titles—far cheaper than physical books. The downside? Notes felt less intuitive. But Lin An had his method: jot everything in a notebook. Books offered theory; truth required practice and personal reflection. After all, no two lives are the same. True empathy is impossible.

By noon, rain fell. He hadn’t brought an umbrella. Heading to the cafeteria meant getting soaked. Still, Lin An dashed out immediately, sprinting inside.

His girlfriend had an umbrella. She was soft-hearted. Even if she didn’t like him anymore, if he asked, she’d walk him there. If he stayed silent, she might offer. So he had to be fast—fast enough to leave her no chance to speak.

His hair was slightly damp, but fine. At the cafeteria, he bought rice (one yuan), a pork chop (five yuan), and free seaweed and egg drop soup. He found a quiet, empty corner and ate silently.

He disliked crowded places—they were too loud. True to his name, he preferred quiet. A peaceful, silent world was beautiful.

Too focused on eating, he didn’t notice someone across the room staring at his profile, lost in a daze.

...

Su Yuejin hadn’t worn a skirt today. She’d checked the forecast—rain was likely, and she was sensitive to cold. Tights would get muddy and ruin the look. She hated imperfections. She loved things exquisite, beautiful—things she liked.

So she wore white casual trousers and a white hoodie. The hood had two long rabbit ears. Adorably designed.

Usually, her school outfits were sexy—not in a vulgar way, but in a way that stirred desire. She loved showing her legs, and she had the legs for it: slender, snow-white, perfectly shaped. Her figure was flawless. Her face, delicate features, captivating eyes.

Yet she was an outlier—in class, in school. Her style was far from typical high school wear. Unconventional, yes, but excessively alluring. Details gave it away: a camisole to class, a lace-trimmed decorative thigh ring, a tiny tie around her neck. Not calculated tricks. She simply liked it.

Countless boys wanted her. Handsome, charming ones had the courage. Unattractive simps licked boots shamelessly—simps need no courage. Yet no one had truly won her.

She knew what she was: gossip fodder, an outlier, a “bad girl” to conquer and flaunt.

*But… I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?*

Her gaze drifted toward the boy in the corner, lost in thought. Who could foresee fate’s twist? Two days ago, she’d just wanted a drink. She went to her usual bar—her reserved seat, her tab. The club manager knew her family well; he never crossed a line. When she was slightly tipsy, she’d ask an attendant to escort her home, tipping generously.

She loved the atmosphere—the swirling crowd, deafening music, the bliss of an empty mind. But meeting *him* shifted something quietly.

From their first talk until that night, he seemed well-behaved, clever—neither fawning nor awkward. His gaze held no infatuation, no greed, no possessiveness. Just clear, flowing water.

She’d drunk heavily, yet felt clear-headed. Sober when collapsing into his arms. Sober when kissing him. She felt her own heart pounding wildly.

*First time.*

First time she’d wanted to rest in his arms, sleep deeply, think of nothing. Better than drunken emptiness.

Later, she craved hot pot. He took her.

*He must like me. Why else be kind?* She tested him—would he treat her? He looked broke. Generic white tee, jacket, pants, shoes. Only his phone held value—barely over a thousand yuan. Last year’s model.

He still paid. His visible wince didn’t escape her—he’d barely eaten. She complained, saying she wanted to leave.

Then why, when she kissed him again, did he push her away without hesitation? A hint of disgust in his shove. He muttered, “You’re drunk.”

Downstairs, on a bench, she lay with her head in his lap, watching stars. Autumn air chilled. He draped his jacket over her. They chatted drowsily. He murmured, “Silly girl, be kinder to yourself. Why torture yourself?”

*How could he know?*

She barely recalled his words, yet they felt gentle—like starlight, like breeze. She loved this quiet. This peace. Being near him held inexplicable magic.

She asked him home. This time, utter defeat. She saw genuine reluctance on Lin An’s face.

*Why reluctant? Am I not pretty? Not beautiful? I kissed you. Left hickeys. Wanted you to be mine—only mine. And you’re… reluctant?*

*You think I’m a bad girl? You like pure, obedient types? I’m not! But why don’t you like me?*

*I want you… to like me!*

She acted spoiled. He took the bait—gentle, still worried. He walked her home. Final test.

He turned to leave without a second thought?!

It drove her mad. Unacceptable! Was it pride? Or craving his gentleness? While drinking, she let water trickle warmly down her skin. A slight shiver.

She saw restraint break in his eyes. Secret joy bloomed.

*I knew it. You will like me. You have to. I’m pretty. I’m cute. I’ll spoil you, pamper you. You can’t not like me.*

*You think I’m a bad girl? Not your “good girl”? But it was my first time… Believe me now?*

*Why so gentle? Think I’m bad? Then discipline me. Tease me. Teach me. Why scared? Hesitating?*

*You’ve… changed your mind, right? Now… can you like me?*

*You can’t not like me. I gave you my most precious thing. I’ll be spoiled. Throw tantrums. You’ll coax me. Care for me—and only me.*

She loved this: being held, resting in his arms, silent, listening to his heartbeat. So safe.

Before dawn, he woke first.

*Finally adding my contact? Hmph. I’ll be mad tomorrow… but not now. Go to the bathroom. Come back. I still want to hold you.*

At dawn, no friend request. Only a transfer: 161 yuan.

She understood instantly. His cocktail money. But one yuan extra.

That single yuan glared like payment for a one-night stand.