If it was possible, Song Fu hoped that next time the youth’s reaction could be a bit quicker, so he wouldn’t speak up only after she had confessed halfway. Then, should she might as well go all out with the truth, or continue the lie?
The one even more bewildered than her was Cheng Yuan, who had already raised his hand to throw a tantrum. The kid first glanced at his brother, then looked at Song Fu. His big round eyes blinked in confusion. “What?”
“She really is my girlfriend.”
The youth chose to continue the lie. He didn’t know when, but he had already stood in front of Song Fu.
Song Fu looked straight ahead and could just see the youth’s upturned lips—a rather pleased curve.
Song Fu remembered that the kid’s brother was named Shiyue, a high school senior in his crucial third year, around eighteen years old. For some unfathomable reason, she thought he must have secretly eaten something good to grow so tall.
The kid’s expression was still dazed. “But earlier, Sister said…”
“I didn’t know she was tutoring you.”
The youth said it coldly. The kid seemed to think of something and softly replied with a weak “Oh,” fiddling with his fingers as he whispered, “Sister didn’t mean to trick Brother. She said she couldn’t reach you, so don’t be mad, Brother.”
“I won’t be mad.” After the youth named Shiyue said that, he sat back in his original spot. Seeing the big and little ones at the door not moving, he patted the empty seat beside him. “Not coming to sit? Fu Fu.”
Song Fu thought that confirming this intimate nickname should require her permission. Being called that by someone she wasn’t close to felt strangely off.
And he had called it more than once.
“Fu Fu, the cake has several layers—fruit and chocolate. Which do you like more?”
“Fruit.”
“Fu Fu, didn’t you wear a hat when you came? Your ears are all red from the cold.”
“No.”
“I’ll give you one.”
“No need, thank you.”
“Fu Fu, how are you planning to get back later? How about I have the driver take you?”
…
So after the youth arranged for the kid to leave with the cake and the room held only the two of them, Song Fu politely made a suggestion. “You can just call me Song Fu by name. Everyone I know does.”
“Song Fu.” The youth softly repeated it, then looked up and asked, “Which two characters?”
Though puzzled, Song Fu patiently explained the characters. “The common surname Song, and Fu is the one from cream puff.”
Lu Yan Zhi nodded seriously and repeated it again.
So that was her name.
Different from the image his friend had only dared to hide behind the screen, the person before him had a fair and pretty face. His slightly curly hair and eyes were a light tea color, his lashes long enough to veil part of his gaze, giving off an obvious aloofness. When he spoke, his lips held no smile—a completely businesslike attitude that wasted not a single extra word.
Even her gaze hadn’t lingered on him too long, and she added:
“Mm, don’t call me Fu Fu anymore.”
A polite yet subtle rejection made Lu Yan Zhi narrow his eyes and curve his lips. “Alright, Sister.”
A very soft sound, carrying a mischievous hint of laughter.
Song Fu tilted her head and calmly said, “That’s fine too.”
Propping his cheek on his hand, Lu Yan Zhi asked again, “Do you know my name?”
“Shiyue?”
Song Fu turned her head slightly, and as Lu Yan Zhi wished, his figure was reflected alone in her amber eyes. “It’s Shiyue, right?”
“You can call me that.” Lu Yan Zhi’s brows and eyes curved happily. He didn’t explain more—for instance, that it was a nickname only for close ones.
True to his word, attending this birthday party had been the rightest decision.
When he opened the door and saw the skirt similar to the photo, he hadn’t thought much of it. Only after hearing her voice could he confirm it. The person he thought impossible to meet had suddenly appeared before him, without a single discordant note—as if she was exactly as he had ideally imagined—
“Brother, the cake’s here!” The kid bounced to the room door, forgetting to knock again.
Fortunately, Lu Yan Zhi was in a good mood and could tolerate this small flaw. He thanked her and took the cake from the auntie behind, placing it in front of Song Fu first. “Strawberry and mango—which do you prefer?”
“Mango’s fine.” Song Fu didn’t fuss and chose the nearer one. “Thank you.”
With lowered brows and eyes, her slender white hand supported the plate. She looked polite and serene. Lu Yan Zhi thought of flawless, round pearls—they would suit her whether as a necklace or earrings. But was the person who called him Brother every day really this aloof in reality?
Or was it because they weren’t close yet? “There’s also mango pudding. Want some?”
Song Fu shook her head in refusal.
The auntie who had handed over the cake stood there without leaving, surprised by what her eyes saw and ears heard. Had the brother’s temper improved, or had he finally learned to keep up appearances? Something was off.
“Teacher Xiao Song.” She spoke up. “Want something to drink? It’s pretty cold today—warm up a bit.”
Song Fu shook her head again and said politely, “No need to trouble yourself. I’ll head out now.”
She hadn’t forgotten she was essentially an uninvited guest.
No relatives or friends had come to this birthday party, meaning not many were invited—just a small family celebration. Cheng Yuan had invited her because of her fake girlfriend role. Excluding that, she had no business being here.
At the thought, Song Fu’s face heated up, making her uncomfortable. She found an excuse. “I have a class meeting this afternoon—they’ll take attendance.”
The auntie didn’t press. The first to exclaim “Ah” was Cheng Yuan, who had eaten two bites of cake. His mouth was pouting sky-high. “Brother, you’re not leaving too, right?”
The kid awaited a negative reply.
Unfortunately, reality was cruel.
Ten minutes later, Song Fu and the youth sat together in the back row of the car, facing each other. The car’s interior was spacious—conservatively enough for seven or eight people. When Song Fu got in, she chose the spot by the door. Then the youth boarded and sat directly in the single seat across from her.
Song Fu thought the interior designer was too inconsiderate, not accounting for how awkward two strangers would feel sitting like this. She tried to shift naturally to the other side.
The driver asked her destination. Song Fu named her university. “If possible, please drop me at the north gate. Thank you.”
The brief exchange ended, and the car fell quiet.
But the silence didn’t last. “You’re a freshman?”
“I’m a sophomore.” Song Fu didn’t hide it and took on the responsibility of livening the mood, proactively starting a topic. “I remember you’re in your senior year of high school, right? Must be a lot of pressure.”
Song Fu’s original plan was to draw out the academic complaints all high schoolers had—talking about how many practice sets a day, no time to eat, and so on. But plans didn’t always pan out. The pretty youth across from her tossed back a “Not bad” and continued questioning her—
“Are your classes heavy now?”
Song Fu took it as a high schooler’s longing for college life. “It’s okay. Freshman year has the most classes.”
“I see.” The youth paused slightly. “Where’s your hometown? Can’t really hear an accent.”
From hometown, to why this university, then major, hobbies… Song Fu answered one by one, starting to doubt her life. Even a household registration check wasn’t this detailed.
She thought young people really had poor skills at making conversation.
His voice was hoarse, yet he could talk so much. “You…” Song Fu pointed to her throat. “Doesn’t that hurt?” She advised kindly, “Drink more water, talk less.”
The youth coughed once and cleared his throat. From the effect, it didn’t help—it was still hoarse, but it came off as rather obedient. “I will.”
Finally, the driver announced they’d arrived. Song Fu saw the youth sigh, as if reluctant to part. “…”
She got out and thanked him politely again. The rain that had justified the Cheng Family driver taking her back to school had stopped at some point, leaving only the gray sky and damp earthy scent.
Song Fu walked a few steps away before being called back.
“Here.” The youth got out of the car too, just to hand her an umbrella that wouldn’t see immediate use.
Song Fu didn’t reach for it and reminded him, “The rain’s stopped.”
“No matter. You can use it later.” The youth stuffed the umbrella into her hand, a smile glinting in his eyes. “Sister, see you next time.”
Song Fu, “…See you next time.”
The new umbrella had no extra decorations, much like the youth’s inky black hair—deep black. It felt high quality in her grip. Before Song Fu even reached the dorm, it came in handy halfway.
This spring rain was a passing shower.
“Fu Fu, how’d you get back so early? Didn’t you go to the kid’s birthday party?” Her roommate, back from an appointment, saw Song Fu already sitting there and couldn’t help asking.
Song Fu found it hard to sum up. “The one they really wanted to invite was his brother, but the cake they ordered was truly delicious. Not sure if the family auntie made it or they bought it outside… Probably bought.”
“That must’ve been pricey. Probably like in TV dramas—made by some French dessert master.” Her roommate joked. “Not for us ordinary folks.”
Song Fu agreed and sketched a couple more renovation drawings before setting down her pen to do her daily task of teasing the male lead.
Song Fu: Brother, I ate the world’s best cake today!
Song Fu: The sweetness was perfect—one bite and you know it’s expensive, the kind I can’t afford TT
Yan: [Transfer.]
Yan: [Transfer.]
Yan: [Transfer.]
…
Five transfers popped up one after another, each with a note for purpose—buying clothes, meals, desserts… Song Fu suspected the male lead had gone mad from her teasing, so he used this lavish way to shut her up.
Song Fu accepted each one and sent a formulaic thank-you: Brother, you’re the best~
Yan: Mm.
Lu Yan Zhi’s lips curved. He also called the Cheng Family butler. “Hello, yeah, it’s me.”
“How much do you know about that Teacher Xiao Song for Cheng Yuan today?”
“She’s still tutoring?”