At the elevator door, weathered wooden planks and rusted iron sheets told a story of age.
This building had clearly endured years of wind and rain.
No wonder the rent was so cheap—just 900 yuan a month. Unthinkable for downtown Luodu.
Though Gu Chuan’s place was technically in the suburbs.
Decades ago, an elevator might have boosted its value significantly.
Now? It was merely a bare-minimum requirement.
Qiu Muzhe chose this place to rent. Gu Chuan didn’t need her to say it—he knew.
Purely for his sake.
She was compromising herself.
He pressed the down button. The elevator groaned as it ascended.
Gu Chuan showed little reaction to Qiu Muzhe’s sudden confession.
His gaze lingered on the peeling marks of the wooden planks. Silence stretched between them.
The doors slid open. They stepped inside.
Qiu Muzhe pressed the first-floor button before he could.
As the doors closed slowly, the space became an intimate, nerve-wracking capsule.
Perhaps swayed by the mood, Qiu Muzhe spoke softly:
“If I had senpai’s concern… even if the elevator broke down and trapped us here, I’d welcome it.”
“…Don’t say such foolish things. That feeling isn’t pleasant at all.”
From his words, Qiu Muzhe caught a hidden nuance. Her eyes widened slightly, blinking with curiosity.
“Has senpai ever been trapped before?”
Leaning forward as she asked, her chest swayed unavoidably with the motion.
Gu Chuan stayed silent. Anticipating this, Qiu Muzhe continued lightly:
“Modern elevators aren’t like old TV dramas—phones stay connected, help arrives fast.”
“But if we faced an unavoidable disaster… would senpai choose to stay with me then?”
“Please… it’s my final wish in life!”
Gu Chuan knew yielding meant falling into her trap.
Refusing felt cruel—like stealing her right to dream.
Silence wasn’t ideal, but it spared the most trouble.
Floors descended steadily. No stops.
Qiu Muzhe murmured:
“Once, in Hawaii, a resort island got a false alarm text: nuclear strike in one hour.”
Gu Chuan listened, expression calm.
“People revealed their true selves. Some waited on beaches; others chased regrets away.”
“One pair of siblings… ahem, achieved life’s ‘great harmony’.”
“…”
“So you’re asking—if we were together then, would I let go of restraint and leave no regrets?” Gu Chuan asked, slightly exasperated.
Qiu Muzhe’s eyes crinkled into a smile.
“No. I’m just asking… if it were Senior Ji Gewei, would it be okay?”
“Huh?”
The doors opened. A faint warmth prickled Gu Chuan’s cheeks.
Why did Qiu Muzhe never follow the script?!
Afterward, Gu Chuan reduced their interactions—though they’d never been frequent.
Hoping she’d back off? A grave miscalculation.
He never believed his coldness could dim her warmth.
Middle school’s two years proved it: Qiu Muzhe mastered distance. Sometimes, Gu Chuan felt she was weaving a net—
elegant, soft, yet unbreakable.
Even after a year apart, no distance lingered. Instead, it felt like returning to that sweltering summer.
She’d been just like today—by his side, or watching quietly from afar.
A devotion that stood the test of time.
On the subway, Gu Chuan browsed his phone after snagging a seat.
Qiu Muzhe sat beside him, occasionally tilting her head to glance at his screen—
never speaking, never disturbing.
Mid-ride, she pulled out a mirror, smoothing stray hairs from her forehead.
She was worlds apart from her former plain, unrefined self.
She’d learned styling, grooming, fashion, even cooking.
Qiu Muzhe strove toward some invisible goal—to become a qualified… girlfriend? Wife?
“I heard senpai walked to school with President Ji this morning?”
She asked softly, pink lips pursed around a waiting hair tie.
“We just happened to meet.”
“Oh.” She didn’t press further.
Undoing her long single ponytail, she restyled it into twin tails.
“Imitating An Qianmeng?” Gu Chuan couldn’t help asking.
“Eh? Twin tails aren’t Senior An’s patent. If anything, I’m channeling Kagura.”
Her hair had grown long—never cut. She knew Gu Chuan preferred long hair.
Yet truthfully, he still favored her single ponytail:
high, sharp, like a kendo girl gripping a shinai.
Each strike poured her full strength in—the blade landing true, while a certain part trembled faintly.
(Only in his imagination. He’d never say it.
Or she might actually take up kendo… and that was slightly terrifying.)
Finished, she shook her head. Strands swayed gracefully off her shoulders.
Eyes bright with hope, she turned to him.
“How is it, senpai~?”
If An Qianmeng’s twin tails were a “steering wheel”—perfectly suited—
then Qiu Muzhe’s longer ones were more like a “leash,” weren’t they?
One tail flicked his cheek with a light sting.
Yet the gentle jasmine scent of her hair drifted irresistibly close—
soft, intimate, perfectly balanced.
Gu Chuan gave no comment. But his mood softened with the fragrance. Voice gentle:
“Next time, don’t skip class to wait for me.”
“Since it’s senpai’s order… of course.” Her tone was obedient.
“But please answer my doubt, senpai.”
“You’re not… the ‘player’ others call you, right?”
“Otherwise… why refuse the meat served right to your lips?”
