The relentless rain paid no mind to pedestrians’ disheveled state, shattering the city’s calm. Chen Yaoyi held a single umbrella, trailing silently behind the girl.
May stayed silent, not crying—but her tears blurred with the rain. Chen Yaoyi couldn’t tell how she truly felt.
Zhao Xiaoluo had gone the opposite way; no wonder he couldn’t find her.
Still, Chen Yaoyi had only located May thanks to Yaya’s help—nothing to feel proud of.
He’d caught up to May outside the shopping plaza, though she barely noticed who followed her.
Truth was, by the time Chen Yaoyi found her, the soaked girl had already been targeted by shady thugs—storybook thugs, cheap and plentiful, popping up on cue.
Chen Yaoyi found it absurd. This city wasn’t lawless—it was just *those* situations that summoned them.
He arrived just in time, taking the thugs down with a righteous backstab.
Then Chen Yaoyi took over the tailing duty, sticking close behind May.
Her clothes were soaked through; light blue undergarments visible, hair plastered to her skin.
Pedestrians rushed past without sparing a glance for the distraught young girl beside them.
Chen Yaoyi wouldn’t console her—he knew his words held no weight.
Zhao Xiaoluo’s search for May was tangled in immature doubts: *“Could someone like me really care for May?” “Is she truly hurt because of me?”*
Afraid of ruining things, he chose inaction—maintaining the status quo. That mindset infuriated Chen Yaoyi.
*Too weak-willed.*
Suddenly, May stopped and turned.
Rain drenched her; Chen Yaoyi stood under the umbrella.
“Pervert.”
“Hm?”
“Pervert.”
“Hm.”
Strange—but after over an hour of following, even this felt like progress.
May turned and walked on. Chen Yaoyi shifted the umbrella toward her.
This time, she didn’t dodge or push it away. His shoulder got soaked—but he didn’t mind. May was testing if someone *unimportant yet dependable* stood beside her.
She needed presence, not pressure. Someone to sit with her sorrow without demanding explanations.
Not Zhao Xiaoluo—that would deepen the ache. Not close friends—they’d blame him, and she refused to hear his name, good or bad.
Going home felt wrong too; she’d only worry her family. So she stayed stuck.
Chen Yaoyi didn’t owe her concern—if she vanished all night, it wasn’t his burden. But if harm came today? He couldn’t ignore that.
“Why aren’t you consoling me anymore?”
“Anything I say would hurt you more—even if it’s a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding? One that lands them *in bed*?”
She’d cried, yelled, raged—yet had no idea what face to wear. Returning meant interrogation. She refused.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t *know*?”
“That was just one tactic to win over Zhao Xiaoluo. Wake up—he has admirers. More passionate than you.”
“B-But! I was the one who came first!”
*A familiar line…* She’d only raised her voice slightly. Deep down, she knew: seeing Zhao Xiaoluo and Su Ziqing tangled in bed sparked confusion, not jealousy.
She didn’t grasp *why* they were together—not rage over losing him.
Only later did emotion overwhelm her, sending her running.
“Being first doesn’t claim him. You’re never proactive, yet flee the moment trouble hits. Maybe learn how to be a woman.”
“It’s not my fault…”
She muttered, feeling Chen Yaoyi saw no good in her.
*It’s not my fault!* That woman was to blame!
“And I still haven’t forgiven you for kicking me…”
Only now did May realize: Zhao Xiaoluo mattered less than she thought. She was just… puzzled.
Then heat flooded her body. Vision blurred. The rain had finally taken its toll.
Her steps slowed. Chen Yaoyi noticed instantly, stopping to watch.
She halted again, swaying right—collapsing against him.
With effort, she lifted her left hand, pushed wet hair aside, exhaled a warm breath. Leaning on his arm, she steadied herself.
Skin contact revealed her icy limbs. Chen Yaoyi pressed his knuckles to her forehead—burning hot.
A cold was inevitable. Cruel, yes—but illness could weaponize Zhao Xiaoluo’s guilt, dragging him to May’s side.
“Go home?”
No better option came to mind. A safe, hollow reply.
May didn’t answer. Breath ragged, damp warmth brushing Chen Yaoyi’s cheek. Her hazy gaze locked on his face. A soft *tsk*.
He met her eyes—swollen red, face pale.
“I don’t want to go home.”
