Smart classmate—that meant there was still some appreciation there, right?
Lu Qunwen could only console himself like that.
On the other side, Ci Ye, who had been chased away, walked aimlessly along the road for a while before finding a bench in a nearby park and sitting down. He propped his head up with his hand and kept thinking about Song Fu’s words and the expression on her face when she said them. The more he thought, the more his mouth corners turned downward.
Suddenly, a humming and hawing sound came from nearby.
Ci Ye dazedly lifted his eyes and locked gazes with a Samoyed three steps away. “…”
He figured that if he really wanted to cry, it shouldn’t make a racket like that.
The Samoyed that met Ci Ye’s gaze immediately wagged its fluffy tail and scooted closer. The humming and hawing didn’t stop for a second, though what it meant was anyone’s guess. Ci Ye, who didn’t speak dog, had no clue and could only give the dog’s head a couple perfunctory pats.
“Oh dear, really sorry. It didn’t cause any trouble, did it?” The dog’s owner hurried over clutching the empty collar, asked that first, and after getting a headshake in reply, promptly knocked the dog on the head. “Why won’t you listen and run off everywhere? You’re such a disappointment to Mom. Believe me, do it one more time and Mom’s done with you, you hear?”
The Samoyed kept up the humming and hawing.
The owner patted the dog’s head again and apologized once more. “Sorry about that. It just really likes handsome guys.”
Ci Ye replied with “It’s fine” before tilting his head back and pulling his cap down over his face to brood some more.
Was it because he hadn’t listened too?
Because he’d gone to the library without Song Fu’s permission? Or because he’d exposed how close they were in front of her classmates?
He’d wanted to ask for ages: was being on good terms with him that embarrassing?
Or maybe she was just in a bad mood by coincidence, too lazy to talk to him much, and once they got home everything would be fine, right?
“What do you mean ‘in your view it’s like that’?” Ci Ye still couldn’t hold back and muttered it under his breath.
They’d agreed at breakfast to have dinner together that evening, so Ci Ye didn’t need to give extra notice when he showed up—just sit and wait for the meal. The only real pressure came from Mother Song’s daily lectures on studying: long-winded speeches all circling back to academics, urging him to at least pay attention in class.
Normally, Ci Ye would lower his brows and eyes, staying silent through it. But this time there was a subtle difference. He said, “I went to the library today.”
“With Fu Fu?” Mother Song hadn’t forgotten her daughter’s schedule.
Ci Ye told the truth. “Not exactly. I followed her there, then she got mad.”
Mother Song was stunned. “What’s there to get mad about?”
Song Fu, who had just come down from upstairs, caught that line right as she spotted Ci Ye on the single-person sofa. A flicker of surprise hit her. She’d thought her words today weren’t exactly polite—of course, Ci Ye’s expression right now was hardly what anyone would call good either.
Mother Song noticed her daughter and sighed. “What did you two fight about?” She didn’t buy that Ci Ye tailing her to the library was reason enough for Song Fu to get angry. There had to be more to it. “Talk it out properly.”
Song Fu walked over and sat down. “We didn’t fight.”
She turned to Ci Ye. “Did we fight?”
Strictly speaking, no, they hadn’t—but “You got mad,” Ci Ye stressed.
Song Fu denied it. “No.”
Ci Ye shot back. “Yes.”
Song Fu said earnestly, “I just told the truth.”
Ci Ye’s phoenix eyes widened a full circle. He repeated in disbelief, “The truth?”
That bit about him just living close by?
Ci Ye’s fingers tightened on his lap. He shot to his feet and turned his head aside. “I have something to do. I’m heading out.”
Song Fu rose a beat slower, her tone even. “I’m going upstairs.”
Mother Song, still seated, furrowed her brow and slapped the table. She barked, “Stop right there. Both of you sit back down. Dinner’s coming any second. You both bail, who’s eating it?”
And so the two youngsters sat back down in silence, heads hanging low, locked in identical sulks, neither willing to glance at the other. Mealtime was the same: they ate in silence, sticking to the food right in front of them. Good thing the auntie who cooked knew their preferences and placed everything just right.
The atmosphere left Mother Song feeling indigestion coming on.
She regretted forcing them to stay a little, but she still had to say her piece. “You’re both plenty old enough—now you’re sulking like kids.” Sticking to the principle of punishing both sides equally, she added, “Come on, apologize to each other.”
Ci Ye’s lips pressed into a tight line.
Song Fu stayed impassive.
Mother Song, who’d been raising kids for years, ran into this roadblock for the first time. “No apologies? Fine, both of you to the study for two hours of confinement.”
That got both of them on their feet at once.
In the study, they took seats as far apart as possible.
Song Fu pulled a random book off the shelf to read, while Ci Ye stole glance after glance at her before finally blurting, “Is our relationship really that bad?” Childish as a grade-schooler, he was fishing for a “no.”
No such luck. “Just… pretty average,” Song Fu said.
Ci Ye choked up—this time he could barely get the words out, chest tight and miserable. “We’re at least friends…” Before, he’d have tacked on “best” with total confidence. Not anymore. “Right?”
Song Fu clutched the book without reading a word. Of course she thought they were—but they shouldn’t be.
She went silent.
Silence was what Ci Ye hated most. “You’ve never seen me as a friend? You just…” Just pitied me? He trailed off, eyes rimming red who-knows-when.
Real men don’t cry easily—a principle Ci Ye had stuck to since elementary school, especially not in front of people, and especially not Song Fu. But right now he didn’t care. He just wanted an answer.
[Host, tell him yes. Your relationship’s right on track to implode—keep the plot rolling.]
Prodded by the mechanical voice, Song Fu let out a soft “mm,” eyes lowered, avoiding the boy in front of her.
Ci Ye said nothing. Did nothing. Just turned and walked out—head not even turning at Mother Song’s puzzled call from downstairs.
Song Fu let out a small sigh and slid the book back onto the shelf.
[Scared me half to death. I was sure the male lead was gonna hit you!] The System heaved a sigh of relief. Ci Ye’s clenched fist earlier had it on edge. If it had a heart, it’d have been in its throat.
Song Fu shook her head gently. “He wouldn’t.”
So tiring.
Even grinding through nonstop classes and practice tests every day to stay number one hadn’t worn her out like this.
Their high school had one humane policy: no grade postings over break. They waited till evening self-study on the first day back.
That afternoon, as Song Fu packed for school, Mother Song—who knew exactly how much her daughter obsessed over rankings—tried some preemptive comfort. She repeated variations of “Don’t sweat the scores, Fu Fu—you’re already amazing,” and “First place is great, but not getting it doesn’t mean a thing.” She was still at it even after they got in the car.
Song Fu gave a listless “mm” and stared out the window, lost in thought.
Caring too much about Ci Ye’s feelings made her current gloom hit extra hard—and feel all too real.
School normally kicked off Sunday afternoon—arrive before evening self-study for extra dorm time. But Ci Ye skipped that this time.
Three evening self-study periods in a row. He didn’t step into the classroom until the bell rang for the very last one, then plopped into his seat and face-planted on the desk. As their homeroom teacher put it, why bother coming early? Tomorrow would’ve been fine. Ci Ye didn’t care about the postings anyway.
Zhu Chenxi stared at her tardy deskmate in shock. “Your dark circles are insane. What happened?” No answer—just the cold back of his head.
The homeroom teacher didn’t press, rapped the desk, and began the verdicts. “First place this monthly exam: Zhu Chenxi. Second: Song Fu…”
All eyes on her, Song Fu raised a hand. “Teacher, I don’t feel well.”
The teacher blinked. “What’s wrong? Infirmary? Or straight back to the dorm?” He fussed over his star student. “I’ll call your parents.”
Song Fu lowered her lashes and slumped onto her arms. “Mm. I wanna go home.”
Plot point: the supporting female hears she’s not first again on the monthly exam and “falls ill” from sheer spite—pure pettiness and small-mindedness on display, all to keep the spectacle from prying eyes.
Fever control: System-handled, foolproof.
Everyone had clocked Song Fu’s off-color face since she arrived that afternoon. So post-announcement, her saying she felt sick and wanted to go home? Extra sympathy. She looked rough already; bad news on top? Totally understandable.
“Someone take Song Fu to the infirmary first, wait it out there,” the teacher called.
Ci Ye—who’d seemed dead asleep—jumped first. “Me.”
Teacher nodded. “Perfect. Go ahead.”
Song Fu’s deskmate lowered her hand a beat too late, silently.
…
Ci Ye regretted it the second the words left his mouth. Two little figures duked it out in his head: one sniveling that he didn’t even qualify as her friend, no need to butt in; the other just as hurt but playing tough, claiming the classroom bored him, that was all.
“I’ll grab you some water.” Ci Ye snatched up the thermos cup he’d given her way back when.
Song Fu’s conscience twinged. She sat on an infirmary stool for a temperature check. Doctor confirmed fever: balance work and rest, more downtime usually, light exercise now and then.
Ci Ye returned with the water and sat beside her, voice stiff. “Auntie’s on her way.”
He’d meant not to comfort her—but couldn’t rein in his mouth. “Don’t sweat the ranking. Just beat your old self. Find other stuff to do.”
Song Fu hugged the thermos. “I’m about to do something else right now.”
Next up in the plot: the supporting female pulls family strings, steamrolls the male lead’s feelings, and forces an engagement.