Lu Li needed to apply for an available activity classroom to serve as the base of the “Game Development Club.” Chu Jingyi volunteered to accompany him to the Student Affairs Office. Walking side by side down the hallway, the handsome young man and graceful girl truly made a perfect pair.

Chu Jingyi wore Chuanhai No.1 High School’s standard girls’ uniform today—but had swapped the black tights for white and replaced the necktie with a brown teddy bear bow tie. A clear sign she’d put thought into her look.

In Lu Li’s mind, his silly goose wasn’t the type to chase trends. She should’ve been the poised young lady who, when wind blew, would calmly hold her skirt down—wearing elegant yet unassuming clothes, smiling behind a small round fan.

“The socks suit your vibe. And the little bear’s cute,” Lu Li said. He faintly noticed her hairstyle had shifted slightly, though he couldn’t pinpoint how.

Chu Jingyi flashed a sweet smile. “Thank you~”

Lu Li froze for a heartbeat. He had to admit—it was pure. For a moment, he was disarmed. The more life’s bitterness one’s tasted, the harder such innocence is to resist. He almost understood those luxury-car uncles parked outside campus gates.

*Speaking of uncles… am I one?*

He felt like a Ship of Theseus—no longer sure where he belonged.

“I really like little bears,” Chu Jingyi said, pinching the bow tie. Lu Li’s gaze drifted downward. Nowhere near Sister Ya Meng’s grandeur—hers were modest, just enough to cradle gently.

“I prefer big bears.”

They were clearly not on the same wavelength.

“Big bears are scary and smelly! My uncle kept one. We could cuddle it as a cub, but once grown… locked in a cage.” *No wonder she’s a super-connected second-gen,* Lu Li thought. *Only her family would openly keep a bear.*

“Big bears have great texture—ever-changing shapes. Hugging one feels… satisfying,” Lu Li deadpanned.

“Huh?” Chu Jingyi finally caught on. “Ever-changing? Bears don’t change shapes! It’s not the Black Bear Spirit from *Journey to the West*!”

“Why do you like little bears?”

“They’re cute! Fierce when grown, but round and silly as cubs.” She gestured animatedly, then froze—realizing it was unladylike. She stuck out her tongue and clasped her hands behind her back.

“I think you’re pretty cute too.”

“Do you…?"

At the Student Affairs Office, Chu Jingyi’s presence smoothed everything. The teacher sent a few WeChat messages—paperwork resolved in minutes. *Connections work wonders,* Lu Li mused. *Often it’s not inefficiency—it’s fear of blame.*

Lu Li collected the key from Logistics and hurried toward Building 3’s activity room. His silly goose trailed behind, obedient as a little tail.

“Whoa—so much dust! Cough, cough!” Dust billowed as the door opened, stinging Chu Jingyi’s eyes.

Lu Li wrapped an arm around her, shielding her. “Wait outside. I’ll clean.”

She didn’t move. He looked down—her face flushed, hands tucked close.

“What’s wrong?”

“You… remind me of my dad. At the park once, when kids threw baseballs, he shielded me just like this.”

Lu Li gently ushered her out, silent.

*Dangerous signal.* Everyone carries parental shadows in love. Men seek echoes of gentle mothers; women, steadfast fathers. An Oedipus complex hums beneath it all. When a girl says you resemble her father—it often means special affection.

He wouldn’t mislead her. After his failed marriage, Lu Li had curled into a porcupine—spines up, heart guarded. Even for someone as pure as Chu Jingyi.

Broom in hand, he swept the long-abandoned room. Outside, club members passed: Go Club students muttering, “Who plays traditional Go now?”; Swimming Club girls in swimsuits with jackets slung over, goggles still on; serious bookworms—likely Literature Club.

While he drifted in thought, Chu Jingyi arrived with a mop, “heave-ho, heave-ho,” trailing behind.

Lu Li smirked. “Eager to work for my club before even joining?”

“I just saw you working hard.”

“Class monitor—skipping class is fine?”

“M-missing one class won’t matter.” She puffed her chest, trying to look fearless.

Rebellion held strange allure for students—skipping class, smoking, fighting—as if it granted superiority. His silly goose was clearly in that phase. He sensed her quiet admiration: for his nonchalance, his horror games, his rule-breaking ease. For a girl who always followed lines, someone like him was magnetic.

But admiration was the farthest thing from understanding. The more she leaned in, the more he vowed not to hurt her.

“You’re not mopping right—obviously never do chores at home.” Her motions barely touched the floor; more like petting it.

Chu Jingyi blushed. At home, Aunt Wang handled everything. If she was out, Dad stepped in. The women never lifted a finger.

“I’ll learn housework,” she declared firmly.

Lu Li almost said it had nothing to do with him—but held back. Under his gaze, she worked harder, like a child seeking approval.

Just then—

“Lu Li? Are you in there?” An Baili’s voice echoed outside.

*Not here!* He dreaded her most. But his silly goose, naive as ever, opened her mouth to answer. Lu Li swiftly covered it, pulling her close—sweet scent flooding his senses.

“Shh. Don’t let her find us.”

She squirmed once, then stilled.

Outside the door—slow, dragging footsteps. An Baili was near.