Su Yuejin murmured her story to him.

Truth be told, everyone’s life is a story—sometimes fascinating, sometimes mundane. Yuejin came from a well-off family; her parents’ combined annual income exceeded five million yuan. Raised in comfort since childhood, she received an excellent education.

But her earliest memories began around age six or seven—her parents argued constantly, sometimes escalating into physical fights. After each clash came icy silence. She was never the bridge between them, only a helpless child caught in the middle.

Yuejin took her mother’s surname. Her father wanted another child; her mother refused. Over time, love faded beneath marital strain. Infidelity sparked endless quarrels, until they simply let go. Divorce wasn’t an option—their assets and company were too entangled.

Eventually, they lived apart. Yuejin stayed with her mother, who held sky-high expectations. Yuejin met every demand, craving praise—but to her mother, it was merely what was owed. Later, her mother moved abroad. Since middle school, Yuejin lived alone: first with a nanny, now entirely on her own.

She kept to herself socially—not from shyness, but clarity. Sharp and perceptive, she saw through hollow connections. Most people felt... foolish. Not worth the effort.

Yuejin spoke softly. Lin An watched her face, murmuring occasional replies to show he was listening. He wouldn’t offer life advice—he disliked meddling—but gently wrapped an arm around her delicate frame, whispering by her ear, “There, there. It’s all behind you now. You hold your life in your hands. No need to ache over the past.”

“I know,” Yuejin replied softly. She wasn’t fragile—rarely cried, usually carried a calm, poised strength. Yet before him, vulnerability surfaced.

“And you?” She looked up into his eyes.

“I’ve no story worth telling. Maybe another time.”

“I’m sleepy. Let’s rest?” Lin An’s voice was tender, gaze warm. He hoped she’d agree—so his thoughts would quiet.

“Just sleep?” Her voice held a faint hollow note.

“You want affection, not desire… right?” His fingers stroked her jet-black hair.

“But if you *were* willing… wouldn’t that mean you like me… just a little?”

“Not necessarily. Maybe I’d take what I want and vanish.” He smirked. “Yuejin, a lesson: True liking isn’t about how much someone gives you. It’s what they *lack*—yet still offer. Short on time? They make time. Struggling financially? They find a way. That’s real. Not perfect, but it keeps you safer.”

“So… are you a liar, Lin An?”

“Of course. Otherwise, why would you like me?”

“But you’ve told me all your lies… and I still do. What now?”

“Sleep. Cool your head.” His fingertip traced her earlobe. Yuejin melted into the warmth—like sinking into a safe embrace.

Yet his words cut cold.

“You said it felt like a dream… Then I never want to wake. Never.”

“People change. If you grow tired of this feeling later, just tell me. It’s okay, Yuejin.”

“Why… won’t you believe?”

“Night strips away daytime masks. We speak raw truths, make rash choices. It’s not that I don’t believe in love—I do. I just… can’t bear being hurt again. That past relationship broke something in me. I used to think: love deeply, even if it hurts.”

“Because of your ex… the one before last?”

“Yes.”

“You said I might know her. Who is she?”

“I won’t speak her name. She has no place in my life. Ever.”

“Then I hate her. Without her… would you like me?”

“Who knows? Life’s magic lies in its twists—surprising, strange, beautiful. Unpredictable.”

“Like me meeting you.” On impulse, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Sleep well, Yuejin. Goodnight.” He patted her back. She nestled her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes.

...

Morning light filtered through the window. Lin An woke first; Yuejin still slept soundly. Her nightgown strap had slipped. *No bra—why would anyone sleep in one?* Her shoulder gleamed smooth, collarbone delicately defined. Strikingly lovely.

He counted her eyelashes. At sixty-seven, her eyes fluttered open. She froze, meeting his gaze.

“Morning,” he whispered.

“Morn…ing…” She pinched her own cheek—*real*. Groggy memories returned: a dreamless, deeply warm sleep. She loosened her arms from around him.

Lin An sat up. “You snore.”

“Wh-what?! Impossible! No way—I don’t… Did I? Oh no…” She spiraled into flustered muttering.

After a beat, his serious face cracked into a grin. “Kidding.”

She blinked, sighed in relief, and lightly pressed her bare foot against his back.

As she lifted her leg, the nightgown hem slid down her thigh—slender, fair, flawless. Lin An gently cradled her small foot, tracing from instep to ankle, a light squeeze, gliding up her calf. Yuejin stayed still, a faint blush blooming on her cheeks.

He withdrew his hand.

“Nice!”

He showed zero embarrassment. Yuejin turned her face slightly. “My legs are pretty, right?”

“Very.”

“Then do you like me?”

“Nope.”

“You’re the worst.” She tapped his arm with a pillow. Lin An stood. “Time to rise, Miss Su Yuejin. Forty minutes till school.”

“So early…” She curled like a doll hugging a teddy bear. “Don’t wanna move.”

“What’ll make you?”

“You dress me… and I’ll get up.” Shameless coquetry.

He opened her closet—neatly arranged. Chose a cerulean sweater, a beige pleated skirt (hem resting just above her knees).

He slipped off her camisole, guided her upright, fastened a white lace-trimmed bra one-handed. “Arms up.” Sweater on. “Change your panties.”

Hers were the same delicate style from last night—not ideal for comfort. Lin An turned away. As she opened her mouth to protest, he pecked her cheek.

“Be good.”

Obediently, she changed, stepped down. A light pink hair tie circled her wrist. She tilted her head. “Hair down… or up?”

“Both suit you. You’re beautiful either way.”

“But which do *you* prefer?”

“Someone who truly likes you loves every version of you. Honestly? Doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. “Not that I like you.”

“Say it again.”

“I don’t like you, Classmate Su Yuejin.”

“I know. But kiss me first.”

She sat beside him, arms circling his neck, eyes heavy-lidded with tender allure—and kissed his lips.