Old Master Song had acted decisively and swiftly in his youth, but in old age, he began to appreciate the finer things in life. He would fish during the day, tend to a pot of flowers, sit in the pavilion listening to the trickling water, and when in high spirits, even compose a poem or two. He appeared to be a very kindly old man.
“Little Fu, come sit here.” Old Master Song faced his granddaughter with an unusually serious expression.
Song Fu likewise restrained the smile at the corners of her mouth and obediently sat down beside him. “What’s wrong?”
Old Master Song spoke up. “Grandpa isn’t trying to lecture you. He just wants to ask if you really like that child Huai Xu.”
The core persona of the villainess was her obsessive love for the male lead, so Song Fu nodded vigorously without thinking. “Of course. I like him a lot.”
Old Master Song let out a sigh, his brows furrowing helplessly as he spoke earnestly. “You’ve spent too little time with him. You can’t even say you know him—you’ve only just met. He didn’t deny that Yan Huai Xu was indeed admirable, with great endurance and sufficient calm, suitable for accomplishing great things. But when it came to considering him as a grandson-in-law, other factors had to be weighed. “You don’t know his character. In these past few days, has he ever smiled at you?”
When he received a shake of the head in response, Old Master Song continued. “He’s suffered a lot, and those hardships taught him to lie low and hardened his heart. What do you think of him…”
“I think we should get him a psychologist too.” Song Fu nodded vigorously again, looking deeply in agreement. “I’ll go talk to Uncle Wang later and have him arrange it.”
With that, she grinned and shook her elder’s arm. “I just like him, Grandpa. Do you know what fate is? He’s practically a gift from heaven to me. He and I…”
Old Master Song’s head began to ache from listening to his granddaughter’s chattering. He raised a hand to cut off her stream of words. “No matter how much you like him, if he doesn’t like you, are you still going to throw yourself at someone cold?”
Song Fu only smiled without speaking, showing her determination not to turn back until she hit a dead end.
The villainess was a spoiled child at heart, believing the world revolved around her, that everything had meaning. Even opposition and obstruction were just inevitable trials on the path of love, leaving her completely unmoved.
Old Master Song had sought her out after Yan Huai Xu notified him. He had probably said quite a bit to Old Master Song as well, but matters on the male lead’s side weren’t for Song Fu to interfere in, so it didn’t matter.
“You don’t seem like you actually like him.”
Old Master Song’s final words dealt Song Fu a critical hit. She stubbornly retorted, “Grandpa, it’s you who doesn’t understand.”
Damn it, was it that obvious?
Her own personality tended toward reticence, so she couldn’t express joy in the effusive way the villainess should. This made her affection seem superficial, as if it only existed in words.
She had to improve on that. With her mind made up, Song Fu glanced at her phone screen and stood. “It’s time for my class.”
The villainess and the male lead were in the same grade, so they could attend classes together.
Old Master Song had originally worried that his granddaughter was falling deeper and planned to separate them by hiring a new tutor, but Song Fu had overheard and resorted to crying and throwing tantrums, forcing him to cancel the plan.
Song Fu had even specially pushed the two desks in the study together so they could sit side by side. When she arrived, Yan Huai Xu was already waiting there.
The youth had striking looks: pale skin, thin eyelids drooping lightly with distinct lashes curving into an arc, an aloof and indifferent expression, plus a simple white shirt that made him look clean and refreshing. It was easy to imagine how popular he was at school.
Song Fu sat down beside him. “Have you gotten any love letters at school?”
Yan Huai Xu turned his head. “No one writes those anymore.”
“Really? But I get them all the time. Are they just behind the times?” Song Fu propped her chin on her hand and suddenly clapped. “Then if I write you one now, I’d be the first person to give you a love letter, right?”
Yan Huai Xu didn’t answer directly. He didn’t doubt the sincerity in her words either and merely countered, “Is that important?”
“Of course.”
Song Fu stood and picked a notebook from the bottom shelf of the bookcase. She flipped it open, looking at the pages. “This one, or this one?” She even held it out for the other party to reference.
Yan Huai Xu didn’t choose. “Do you remember the first person who wrote you a love letter?”
Song Fu paused in flipping the pages. “Not really.” She took a moment to realize what he meant. “Will you forget me too?”
Before he could answer, she sat back in her original seat, propping her chin and humming with a smile. “I won’t let you forget.”
A while later, the tutor arrived for the lesson and scribbled on the small blackboard. Song Fu stared blankly at her notebook.
There was nothing worth listening to in the lesson—all material she’d gone over countless times. She was starting to regret it.
Damn, she shouldn’t have taken on this task for herself.
What did she know about writing love letters?
If only the villainess had kept the love letters from others; she could have imitated them.
“Do you understand this part?” After finishing a section, the tutor dutifully asked. “If not, I can go over it again.”
“Yeah, got it.” Song Fu responded cooperatively, though she hadn’t looked at the screen or blackboard at all. Instead, she’d been staring at Yan Huai Xu’s face, determined to be a total fangirl to the end!
During the mid-lesson break while the tutor drank water and used the restroom, Yan Huai Xu idly flipped through his class schedule. “Is there something on my face?”
“No.”
Song Fu shook her head. Then, without missing a beat, she dropped a bombshell. “I just really want to kiss you.”
Yan Huai Xu whipped his head around, his gaze meeting Song Fu’s as she lay on the desk. He opened his mouth but in the end said nothing. “…” He looked away first and shifted farther away.
Song Fu buried her face in her arms, mortified as if steam were rising from her head. Sorry, a fragment from the previous world had suddenly popped into her mind. To make her affection seem more real, she’d subconsciously acted on it. It was amazing how, with the memories intact, she lacked the genuine passion from back then.
It was like watching a romance movie starring herself.
Ah, she’d been surprised by that in the previous world too.
Song Fu continued scribbling in her notebook.
Fifteen minutes later, the tutor returned to the study. She first glanced at Song Fu, who was writing furiously, then at the youth with reddened ears, sensing something was off.
But it wasn’t her business. Her job was to improve their grades and earn a hefty bonus. “Alright, let’s continue the lesson.”
Ever since they started classes together, Song Fu and Yan Huai Xu spent a third of their day in each other’s company, but they hardly spoke.
She didn’t know if it was his natural personality or a habit from years of neglect and suppression, but Yan Huai Xu spoke pitifully little. And Song Fu wasn’t the type to skillfully find topics either… But the System said it didn’t matter—wasn’t it reasonable for the male lead and villainess to have trouble communicating?
On an ordinary day, after the tutor finished the lesson, she smiled. “Well then, have a great weekend. See you next week. Don’t forget your homework, okay?”
“Okay~”
After seeing the tutor off, Song Fu wanted to drag Yan Huai Xu fishing, but he refused. Uncle Wang said the psychologist was arriving. “Next is time for psychological counseling.”
Song Fu said “oh” and raised one hand. “I want to talk to the doctor later too.”
…
Uncle Wang said the scheduled session was two hours, but Yan Huai Xu came out after not even fifteen minutes.
Song Fu reasonably suspected he hadn’t even warmed his seat. “Are you feeling better now?”
Yan Huai Xu glanced at her. “My mood wasn’t bad.” He paused, then added, “Didn’t you want to chat? You can go now.”
Song Fu stood and handed him a cup of milk tea. “It’s sweet. It can improve your mood. Aunt Li made it herself.”
She figured this counseling session wouldn’t amount to much.
If the male lead’s psychological issues were so easily resolved, the heroine’s uniqueness wouldn’t exist.
But Song Fu hadn’t expected Yan Huai Xu to not even bother with pretense.
“His psychological defenses are very strong. He refused to build trust with me.”
The psychologist wasn’t unfamiliar with this—resistance from patients was normal. “I can’t diagnose the psychological issue, but his daily life hasn’t been affected. His logical thinking is clear, and the ideas he conveyed to me were simple: pouring one’s heart out to a stranger is extremely foolish.”
Song Fu: “…” She couldn’t entirely disagree.
The psychologist asked, “Besides him, do you have any other questions?”
Song Fu had prepared hers in advance. “Doctor, what do you think is the best way to make someone feel your affection?”
The psychologist nodded understandingly—adolescents often struggled with this. “Sufficient sincerity. I believe that can convey your feelings properly.”
Song Fu fell silent for two seconds. “What… what if there’s no sincerity?”
The psychologist: ?
Yes, Song Fu’s dilemma was how to convey something that didn’t exist without seeming fake.
In the end, she didn’t get a concrete answer. The System judged that the psychologist had high professional integrity.
Beyond verbal declarations of love, Song Fu prepared a gift in action. She picked the prettiest flower pot from the greenhouse and personally delivered it to Yan Huai Xu’s room, placing it on the bedside table where it would be the first thing seen.
That day, Yan Huai Xu suffered pollen allergies and put on a mask.
At the corner, Song Fu overheard Uncle Wang recognize it as the flower she liked and felt a pang of guilt. Forget taking credit—she should apologize. But for the sake of persona, it was harder than climbing to heaven to make the villainess say sorry, so—
Was this what they meant by the harder you tried, the more heartbreaking it got?
Song Fu could only be glad it was one-sided infatuation. She didn’t need the male lead’s reciprocation, or the task would have failed long ago.
Out of guilt, with Yan Huai Xu wearing a mask, Song Fu didn’t dare approach him. Even when they had to sit together for lessons, she stopped making small talk.
She obediently listened to class, giving the male lead some peace.
Only after the lesson ended and they saw the tutor off did Yan Huai Xu speak first. “That potted flower is dying.”
“What?” Song Fu, with one foot already out the door, pulled it back and tilted her head in confusion.
Yan Huai Xu said in a casual tone, as if he’d long known who was behind his allergy culprit. “Your potted flower—its leaves are wilting. Watering it didn’t help.”
Caught red-handed, Song Fu couldn’t pretend it had nothing to do with her. She bit her lip, then suddenly realized. “You watered it? You?” She looked up. “Aren’t you allergic?”
Yan Huai Xu explained, “I put it on the balcony. No direct contact.”
Then he brought it back to the point. “But it seems to be dying.”
Song Fu puzzled over it without conclusion and followed Yan Huai Xu to check the flower. After agonizing, she said, “Maybe too much sun?”
So the flower ended up under the desk.
Song Fu carried it there herself.
She squatted to adjust its position. “This flower’s bloom period is short. Once only leaves are left, you can bring it inside.”
Yan Huai Xu grunted in acknowledgment, then got dragged off by Song Fu to play a board game.
A way to pass time.
Mainly, playing with Old Master Song wasn’t fun—his skill was overwhelming, and she always got crushed. Song Fu and Yan Huai Xu used the Go board to play five-in-a-row. Old Master Song watched for a while. He meant to be the gentleman who observes without comment, but he really couldn’t follow their moves. “Is this how it’s played?”
Faced with the head-scratching Old Master Song, Song Fu wagged her finger. “I have my own rhythm.”
Then she lost.
She’d overlooked a diagonal line of four black stones.
Once Old Master Song learned it was five-in-a-row, he burst out laughing. “Go out and brag about being proficient in zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting. When they ask what chess, you say five-in-a-row.”
“Oh, I could say it like that.” Song Fu’s eyes curved in a smile. “But I can’t paint.” Zither could mean piano, calligraphy the villainess had practiced since childhood with beautiful handwriting—the only shortfall was painting.
Old Master Song recalled. “Huai Xu should be pretty good at painting, right?” After all, his mother was a painter.