He always got to class early—but today, someone had beaten him to it.

Luo Shuishui wore a white knitted sweater, its neckline slightly revealing her delicate collarbone. Her skin was porcelain-fair, cheeks soft, eyes clear as flowing water. She sat at her desk, working quietly on math problems.

“Why so early today?”

Seeing her glance up—clearly not planning to stay silent—Lin An spoke first. Luo Shuishui gave a light laugh. “Stayed up too late watching a drama. Came early to finish homework.”

She gently rubbed her eyes. Lin An nodded. As he passed her seat, she lightly reached out and tugged the hem of his sleeve. “Lin An… can I copy your homework?”

His expression froze for a second. “I didn’t do it either,” he replied, flustered.

Luo Shuishui gazed at him with a trace of reproach. “I won’t cover for you this time… skipping homework again?”

“It’s fine. Teacher barely checks. At most, a warning. Good grades = no trouble.”

“But I’m class monitor! Gotta set an example… Ugh, that J-drama was *too* good. Lin An, what do I do?”

“I’ll help with some.”

Lin An sat beside her. Usually, twenty minutes passed before others arrived. He came early to avoid Xu Qinghuan—part of their unspoken agreement.

Luo Shuishui slid her math workbook over. Lin An glanced at the problems, picked up a pen. She worked on English fill-ins at lightning speed—clearly fluent since childhood.

Math relied on logic and formulas. Lin An finished the pages in ten minutes and handed it back.

“No wonder it’s you, Lin An.”

He shrugged, watching her bright smile. “What drama were you watching?”

“*The Final Kiss*. Licensed on Bilibili. Super good—you should watch it.”

“Ah? Okay.”

“It’s about a player,” she added, eyes locked on his face. A silent understanding shimmered in her gaze—as if he’d just *get* it.

“Ah? With *that* look… fine, you say so, it’s so,” Lin An joked wryly.

“Not exactly. You and Su Yuejin—were you together while we dated? Or after?”

“Neither. It’s… complicated. We don’t date.” He explained patiently. She listened, nodding slightly—believing him.

A strange warmth washed over Lin An. Like they were friends again—chatting easily, sharing little joys. Exes *could* be friends, he thought. As long as there were no regrets.

Breakups with regrets? Not meant for friendship. Someone always tries to rekindle things. The friction, the ache—it exhausted him. He hated that.

Back at his seat, Lin An opened *The Final Kiss* on his phone, plugged in earphones, and started watching.

Monday meant monthly exam results. Five days till National Day holiday.

He kept earphones in until morning reading began, lip-syncing with the class. Afterward, the homeroom teacher announced rankings—top thirty only (sixty students total). Kindness wrapped in competition.

But this time? A surprise.

Luo Shuishui ranked first. Class. Possibly grade-wide.

Whispers rippled. Glances shot toward Lin An in the back row. He remained calm—no surprise, no frustration.

Second place: Lin An.

Not shocking. They’d long dominated the top two. Only now, she’d edged ahead.

He’d studied hard all summer—Xu Qinghuan tutoring him—so naps and phone-scrolling in class wouldn’t get him caught.

Luo Shuishui frowned slightly. The exam was a week ago… *before* the breakup.

That Friday night: after their split, she’d seen Su Yuejin enter the garden. She’d paused, assuming Lin An had moved on—to someone “more satisfying.”

But he’d barely glanced at Su Yuejin. Disdain flickered in his eyes. No kiss. No embrace. Even though Su Yuejin was undeniably alluring.

Yet with *her*… he’d been gentle, perfect. Her ideal.

*So it was deliberate.*

Had he *let* her win? For him, those problems were effortless.

*He’d planned it all along.*

A quiet ache bloomed in her chest. Not sadness—*yi nan ping*.

Why talk to Su Yuejin… yet reject her advances? Why lean in to kiss *her*? Just to make her uncomfortable… so *she’d* break up with *him*?

Whom did he love? Her? Su Yuejin? No one? *Lin An.*

She knew she didn’t understand love.

...

During break, Luo Shuishui checked homework with her clipboard. Everyone done—until Lin An.

Their eyes met.

She marked a ✓ beside his name.

“Payment,” she said. Lin An murmured thanks. Then—her hand pressed his desk. She leaned close. A soft floral scent brushed his senses.

Too close. He tried to look away—but her gaze held him. Classroom noise faded. Her rosy lips parted.

“You let me win this exam, didn’t you?”

“Huh? Nah. Must’ve slipped up. Too bad.” His lie was smooth. No reason to lose. No clues to leave.

But she already knew.

She nodded, a bright smile curving her lips. Her eyes softened—warm, tender, hiding a flicker of something deeper. Lin An froze. His heartbeat skipped half a beat.

Sunlight gilded her porcelain cheek.

After two silent seconds: “Too close.”

She stepped back. He exhaled—but felt a sudden hollow. Her scent lingered.

“You’ve made me curious, Lin An.”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t you once say? A rule-following girl secretly longs for the boy who’ll break her routine… show her the world’s wonders.”

“Huh?”

“What’s your point?”

“Nothing. Just… curious. I don’t have many friends. I keep secrets I won’t share.”

“Secrets?”

“Yes. Secrets.” A sly smile played on her lips.

“Will you tell me?”

“Only if you choose to step into my world. But… you don’t want to, do you, Lin An?”

“True.”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re still friends, right?”

“Mm. Yes.”

He shook her offered hand. Watched her return to her seat. He didn’t dwell. He believed she had secrets—but he didn’t want to know them.

He wasn’t that curious. A girl like her? Inexperienced. Easy to charm. Easy to mislead.

But he’d never touch her. He cherished her purity—like winter sunshine.

Yet he wouldn’t truly love a girl like her again. Not about status. Without future? Fun, maybe. But he hated twisted, half-hearted affection. And with future? He knew—no outcome.

Middle school had hurt him enough. He wouldn’t ache like that again.

Lin An understood Jinmu’s pain all too well.