But Song Fu only called out once, because Ci Ye had not added any qualifiers before his wish—like how many times to call it out, or to keep calling it indefinitely—and she was not about to let Ci Ye tack anything on afterward.
After sleeping it off, Ci Ye heard they were flying back and still stubbornly sulked with his arms crossed, determined to stick to his aggrieved attitude of having been scammed.
Was it because there was one more person?
The things she had kept an eye on during this time suddenly came alive again. Song Fu pushed the repacked suitcase aside and explained the schedule: “It’s a two p.m. flight. We’ll eat lunch soon, then head out around one.”
Sulking was one thing; giving the silent treatment was another. So Ci Ye responded promptly, though he first pursed his lips. “I wanted to hang out here with you for a couple days.”
“Your eighteenth birthday has to be done properly.” Song Fu casually inserted the flowers into the vase mouth, torn between white lilies and tulips. “My grandma said at lunch today that she’d prepare a big meal for you. She asked what you like to eat first thing this morning and went out for a walk.”
Ci Ye was not all that interested in the so-called big meal. He paid more attention to the photos of Song Fu he spotted on the wall and flipped through them one by one.
By the time Song Fu noticed, he was already upstairs on the second floor, snapping pictures of them with his phone one after another.
Why not just ask for the originals directly?
It was right then that the doorbell rang outside. A glance at the video intercom showed the visitor was Cheng An.
When Cheng An arrived, Song Fu was still fussing with the flowers in the vase. Without looking up, she said, “My grandma’s out. She probably won’t be back for a bit.”
Cheng An sat in the empty seat across from her. He first glanced at the suitcase nearby, then shifted his gaze back to the pretty face of the girl before him. “No, I’m here to see you. Once you leave this time, it’ll probably be another half year before we meet again.”
Song Fu lifted her eyelashes. There was no reluctance in her tea-colored eyes. “Probably. What’s up?”
Were they some especially close, familiar relationship? What was there to say?
The girl’s thoughts were plain on her face. Cheng An rarely tasted the bitterness of defeat. He came right out with it. “I like you. You should know we’re a great match. I’d make a perfectly qualified fiancé and husband.”
At that, Song Fu narrowed her eyes and asked in confusion, “I should know?”
She set the flower shears down on the table with a thud against the rosewood surface. “I think I told you…”
“You have someone you promised to date.” Cheng An finished the rest, but he did not see it as an issue. It was common for people to fool around separately after marriage, let alone a harmless romance before the wedding.
His suitability was a conclusion drawn from multiple factors. “I can wait. Or we could get engaged first. It wouldn’t get in the way of your dating.”
Song Fu was cool and indifferent. “I have no plans to make my future boyfriend the other man.”
That initial declaration of liking her had zero effect on her—not even a hint of shyness. “Give up on the idea.”
Song Fu admitted she was a bit lazy, the type to only play the main storyline in games and ignore side quests entirely. She could also be called someone without an exploratory spirit. She was the same after entering the mission world: aside from family tied by blood and daily life, or key figures from the plot, she refused to invest energy in anyone else, classifying them as unimportant.
Even as a blue info panel popped up over Cheng An, his status shifting from calm to sad, Song Fu had no intention of softening her stance.
Rejection had to be clean and decisive, or it would leave pointless hope.
Cheng An gritted his teeth. “You really like that guy?”
“He’s the exception with a reason.” Song Fu did not answer directly.
Ci Ye was the most important person to her, the one she cared about the most.
Under the premise of growing up together since childhood, feelings like “like” were too easily confused. But she could hardly imagine putting up with someone else, sharing a future with another person.
She looked utterly serious as she asked uncertainly, “If I’d only ever be with him, that should count as liking him, right?”
Thud. A sound like a foot bumping the table leg.
Looking toward the noise, it was Ci Ye. In three strides, he was at Song Fu’s side, completely ignoring the other person present. His phoenix eyes shone brightly, his words urgent. “For real?”
Song Fu wanted to ask what she would gain from lying. “…For real.”
“Then can you drop that ‘right’ at the end?” Ci Ye tried to haggle.
He did not know how long he had been listening, but from the context, he had not missed any of the important parts. The corners of his mouth curved up. “Just say you like me. That’s enough.”
Song Fu blinked, her face heating up belatedly. She pressed a hand to her forehead to block the scorching gaze now at her side and said to Cheng An, “Anyway, you get what I mean.”
Ci Ye let out a soft chuckle. When he turned to the man beside them, his face turned icy enough to freeze someone, pure cold indifference in his eyes. “Got anything else to say?”
Nothing. Just scram already.
Cheng An read between the lines. He merely eyed the person before him with puzzled confusion.
Truth be told, Ci Ye was far from Cheng An’s image of the sort of person Song Fu should like—at least, not like this: sharp-browed and fierce-eyed, attitude prickly, no knack for maintaining a polite facade. He seemed flashy and willful.
“Alright.” Cheng An did not press. He mustered a smile for Song Fu. “See you.”
Ci Ye tsked impatiently.
See, see, see—what was there to see?! Good thing they were leaving soon.
Perhaps because of that simple “like,” after Cheng An left, Ci Ye stayed in a highly excited state, all clingy and sticky, practically orbiting Song Fu… right up until they boarded the plane, where he still would not settle down.
Song Fu got a blanket to cover up with, took a deep breath, then softened her voice. “Brother, I’m going to nap for a bit. Don’t call me during this time, okay?”
“Okay.” Ci Ye mimed zipping his mouth shut and obediently fell silent.
The schedule was tight.
They had just stepped through the door after getting off the plane—no time to even catch their breath—when they were dragged off to get styled. Trying on outfit after outfit was one thing, but just picking a cologne scent took over fifteen minutes of back-and-forth sniffing. In the end, Song Fu’s nose went numb; she claimed she could not tell the difference anymore, her face blank.
Ci Ye’s birthday banquet featured a famous host and celebrities from the screens performing—some friends of Ci Ye’s stepmother, there to join the fun. Every segment followed a fixed flow. By the time Father Ci finished his speech, over two hours had passed.
Ci Ye, the birthday boy, dozed off downstairs.
Some treated the party like a matchmaking corner. A man with a glass of red wine sidled up to Song Fu. “That pearl necklace suits you.” It was true; the pearls gleamed softly and roundly, her flawless skin matched it, her neck slender and pale—the necklace was the perfect accent.
The man introduced himself, rattled off his impressive resume, then added, “I saw a pearl necklace at an auction before. Better quality than the one you’re wearing now. Should’ve bid on it.”
Song Fu sipped her red wine and smiled politely.
The man went on to say it was a shame she did not have pierced ears; pearl earrings would have been even prettier.
Song Fu lifted her glass of red wine again, but just as it touched her lips, another slender hand took it away.
It was Ci Ye, sour-faced. “Watch out, or your stomach’ll hurt tonight.”
Song Fu knew her limits. “It won’t.”
Ci Ye asked again, “Wasn’t Uncle just with you?”
Song Fu nodded toward the other side. “Over there.” Chatting with acquaintances.
The two went back and forth. The man beside them felt superfluous and quietly slipped away.
Ci Ye watched the man’s retreating back and ground his teeth. “You shouldn’t even acknowledge guys like that. Just roll your eyes at them.” What riffraff dared to sidle up.
Song Fu: “…That’d be a bit too rude.”
He came over with genuine compliments, and she would give him attitude? Inappropriate.
Ci Ye saw no issue. “He’s five years older than you. When he was in high school, you were still in elementary.”
The thought of more guys coming to chat her up next made him unhappy.
To Ci Ye, his birthday had long been celebrated properly with Song Fu. This one was just to satisfy his dad’s social needs, so hanging around here was boring—better to do a few practice sets instead.
His studies had hit a bottleneck lately. He was still working hard, but the results were not as obvious as at the start.
Rationally, he knew the initial gains came from a low baseline; his scores now were already much better than before. But…
Still too far off.
Ci Ye lowered his dark lashes.
…
“You’re skipping school too? Studying at home?”
Winter break was nearly over—just two days left. The class group without teachers buzzed with kids swapping homework to copy.
To get into Song Fu’s target school, following the school’s pace would not cut it, so Ci Ye simply skipped and hired a tutor at home. When he told Song Fu his plan, she said she was not going either.
Ci Ye could not figure it out and frowned. “Why? Don’t tell me you’re…”
He shook his head. “I don’t need your help studying. I don’t want to drag you down.”
Song Fu was at a loss for words.
Where had that come from? She stated the facts. “I just don’t want to go. It has nothing to do with you. Same as you—school’s pace doesn’t match mine. Better to arrange it myself at home.”
Having assumed too much, Ci Ye felt no embarrassment—just relief. “Good. Then we can do it together.”
Song Fu nodded.
The study rhythm was one reason; another was that at this point in the plot, the female side character lagged behind the heroine in every way, got too proud after losing face, and refused to go to school to avoid mockery. Of course, that second reason no longer applied.