Sophomore classes were lighter than freshman ones, but the intensity remained high, and full schedules still happened.
Winter arrived, with biting cold winds, and even the school’s expensive lawn was covered in a layer of thin frost. For an early 8am class, they crawled out of bed at 7:10, and the originally groggy state nearly caused someone to collapse halfway there from the chill.
Song Fu and her dormmates bundled up tighter than one another, waddling down the road like a row of little penguins, heads down as they trudged forward. They didn’t speak until they sat in the classroom, warmed by the heater.
“Fu Fu, with finals coming up soon, I really suggest you stop playing games.” Her roommate looked at Song Fu, who was buried in her phone sending messages, and sighed helplessly.
Song Fu completed her daily task of harassing the male lead and lifted her face. “It won’t affect anything. Passing with flying colors is fine. I’ll just memorize the key points the teacher marked.”
Her roommate shook her head and said nothing.
The class bell rang, and the white-haired Old Professor entered from the door, smiling warmly. “Last class, and our class has a lot of new faces.”
Hearing this, Song Fu put away her phone and buried her face on the desk.
“Whenever exams approach, students always message me asking if we’ll mark key points and when. Under everyone’s expectant gazes, the Old Professor paused dramatically. “So today, I’ll give you the answer. Our class doesn’t mark key points. It’s whatever we cover in class. As long as you attend, you won’t fail.”
The students in the classroom exchanged glances, their faces bitter.
Was it real? They’d heard this teacher’s failure rate was especially high.
Song Fu flipped through her nearly brand-new textbook. “…” She was doomed.
No, wait. This should count as a class she deserved to fail.
Song Fu propped her cheek on her left hand while her right hand messaged the male lead under the desk: Wuwu, the sky is falling.
fufu: Skipping class is admittedly my fault.
fufu: But treating a water class like a major one is totally fair, right? Attendance only counts for 15%!
A special notification chimed, and Lu Yan Zhi picked up the phone by his keyboard, replying only to the second message: Knowing you were wrong is enough.
fufu: ?
fufu: Brother, you seem to have missed my point. You’re not even backing me up.
Lu Yan Zhi sent a voice message, but it was rejected.
The other side fired back with exclamation points: ! I’m in class!! Brother, why do you think I messaged you so early? Because of this damn early 8am!
fufu: [Unwilling to face.jpg]
Lu Yan Zhi took a sip of milk tea, then frowned the next second. How could she like this stuff? One minty gulp went down like toothpaste, but it was quite refreshing: Very hard to avoid failing?
fufu: Super hard.
Yan: If you don’t fail, I’ll send you a red packet?
Yan: Does that make it easier?
…
Song Fu stared at the latest messages, speechless for a moment.
She knew the male lead would follow through, so it wasn’t doubt—it was pure helplessness.
Song Fu: No change!
Song Fu: Brother, am I someone who loves money that much? No.
Song Fu: To prove it, I’ll definitely fail this time to show you.
Song Fu: [Little dog lay down.jpg]
Yan: ?
Song Fu: Class is starting.
…
Meanwhile, Lu Yan Zhi, whose conversation was unilaterally ended, put down his phone and reached an obvious conclusion: She really hadn’t studied at all.
No hope of meeting the goal, no money, so she was pissed.
After sending, Song Fu put away her phone and sneezed from the cold.
The System wasn’t joking when it said this male lead had the natural pushover saint physique.
Originally, her plan was to provoke dislike by constantly asking for money, but in practice, most of it was the male lead sending money unprompted.
The most outrageous was a month ago. Song Fu went all-in, no excuses or buildup, just brazenly sent him an emoji: [Me, Qin Shihuang, send money!]
Then.
The male lead lectured her.
His first message: That’s not right.
Song Fu’s eyes lit up when she saw it, thinking this pushover had finally wised up—not for nothing she’d picked the most punchable emoji.
Unfortunately, his next message: At least say a couple nice things first, show some concern, or no one will send you money.
Song Fu twitched her mouth: I was just kidding~
Yan: Oh, say it’s a joke after not getting any? That’s a method too.
Yan: [Red Packet]
Song Fu was left dumbfounded.
At this level, even she would think she was special to him. Could she be an idiot with excessive self-awareness like the villainess in the System’s story?
Song Fu chose to pray.
Pray that once the heroine appeared, the plot would go smoothly.
Finals scheduling was extreme: most exams crammed into the first week after classes ended, leaving one lone exam for the next week’s weekend, drawing widespread complaints. Of course, Song Fu wasn’t among them—she had no desire to go home.
Her roommates booked tickets for the day of their last exam, packing big and small bags ahead of time, complaining to their families on the phone. “I really don’t get the school’s arrangement. They just have to make us stay an extra week…”
Another roommate asked Song Fu, “Aren’t you packing?”
“Me?” Song Fu was hugging her book for some last-minute cramming—avoid one flunk if possible. “I’ll just pack a couple clothes and my computer. Nothing much.” Bringing more back would just get her scolded by the villainess’s parents.
She set down the book and messaged the male lead: Heading home for winter break today~
Yan: Congrats.
Song Fu: But once I’m home, I won’t be able to play games. My family’s super strict [crying]
Song Fu: Brother, I’ll miss you.
She typed the sappy words expressionlessly, then yawned and reminded her other roommates: “Let’s go. Time for the exam.”
The villainess’s family strictness was Schrödinger’s: Gaming was absolutely forbidden for her, but expected for their precious son.
That said, even if allowed, Song Fu wouldn’t play. First, her laptop couldn’t run Sword Mastery—in school, she used an external host that was too bulky to pack home. Second, this plot arc had the villainess’s game presence fade, the heroine debut, and romance blossom with the male lead.
Yan: I’ll miss you too.
The villainess’s journey home was arduous: plane, then hours on a bus, taxi, and finally walking past the village elders’ intel hub. It had snowed a couple days prior, turning paths muddy. Her clean shoes were caked thick after two steps, weighing them down.
Good thing she only had a backpack, no suitcase.
The village had repaved the main road once—everyone chipped in except the villainess’s family, so theirs stayed yellow mud. The head of household justified it: “That road’s for others. Why make it so good?”
Song Fu reached the gate and first spotted the chubby villainess’s little brother.
“Sis, you’re back. Bring any treats?”
“Nope.”
“Then why’d you come back?” The kid’s lips pouted skyward.
Song Fu ignored the displeasure and headed to her room.
Her butt barely warmed the seat when the scolding came. “Can’t you have some awareness? Your brother’s clothes are so dirty—don’t you know to wash them?” The villainess’s mom’s voice boomed like a gong in a funeral procession; even covered ears couldn’t block it.
Explanations here counted as excuses. Best response: Acknowledge, then: “Snow’s coming tomorrow. Washed clothes won’t dry, and he’ll just dirty new ones.”
Song Fu had nothing to do in her room. She sat idly; no heater or AC, breath visible as white mist. Soon, her hands and feet were ice-cold.
Until evening, she ate a dry dinner in the living room, got nagged to work at the factory, and retreated to her room again.
Half an hour later, the little brother sidled up, grinning. “Sis, got games on your phone?” His cheeks flushed from the neighbor’s AC room.
“Nope.” Song Fu’s games were on her computer.
Undeterred, the kid said, “Can you download one?”
Song Fu asked: “Where’s your phone?” Fancier than hers by a few hundred bucks.
“I got a new one. It’s charging. I don’t wanna play while charging—it hurts the battery.” He justified, begging to borrow hers. “Just a bit! It charges fast!”
Song Fu refused, of course. “Then wait a bit.”
The kid sulked and unleashed a piercing wail, yanking her clothes. “If you won’t, I’ll bug you forever!”
No exaggeration—the villainess’s memories confirmed he could. Song Fu couldn’t take it; no lock on the door. “What game?”
She conceded, and he shut up instantly, beaming. “I can download myself.”
He grabbed the phone and bolted.
Song Fu pulled her computer from her bag, barely booted Sword Mastery for the daily check-in. It lagged hard—mouse froze, graphics mosaicked.
Even then, she saw the male lead’s message: Didn’t you say you couldn’t log in?
Fu Guang Luo: Sneaking it. Logging off soon.
Fu Guang Luo: Super laggy, can’t reply well. Brother, just ignore me.
Song Fu waited quietly. No reply. Her heart skipped—an ominous feeling. She stood instinctively, hand on the doorknob, when bouncy footsteps approached—
Seconds later, the kid stood at the door, whispering, “Sis, that brother who sends you tons of red packets is voice-calling you.”
Song Fu’s lips flattened. She snatched the phone, gripping it tight. “You went through my chats? Who said you could?”
The kid felt zero guilt, opening his mouth for cash. “I didn’t tell Mom and Dad. I looked myself. Sis, you got so much money now. Give me half, and I won’t tell them. Otherwise, I’ll snitch, and you’ll have none left.”
“I won’t give you any. Go snitch.” Song Fu lowered her lashes, patience gone.