Chapter 10

Wen Xiangyi placed the milk on the table.

Qin Li asked in confusion, “When did you buy this?”

Wen Xiangyi replied, “I didn’t buy it.”

“Someone gave it to you?” Qin Li thought for a moment, “But who else knows you like this brand?”

Although Wen Xiangyi usually seemed easygoing, always calm and gentle, she was actually very clear about drawing a line between her school and personal life. No one at school knew about her private affairs or her preferences. Even if someone tried to figure it out by observing her daily habits, it wouldn’t be easy—she didn’t stick to just one brand and often switched up what she drank.

Qin Li found it hard to believe, “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

A coincidence?

Wen Xiangyi wasn’t sure either. More than anything, she wanted to know who had put the milk in her desk.

During the break, neither she nor Qin Li were at their seats. The student sitting in front of them had entered the classroom just before them. Wen Xiangyi turned around and asked the student behind her:

“Duan Jia, did anyone come by my desk just now?”

Duan Jia replied, “I stepped out for a bit after class too, but when I came back, I didn’t see anyone.”

She thought hard, then confirmed, “No one sat at your desk.”

Wen Xiangyi’s eyes shifted slightly, and she rephrased her question, “Did anyone pass by or stop here?”

Her desk was near the aisle, so it was possible someone had passed by and slipped the milk into her desk.

Duan Jia said, “Not that I noticed… Only a few people from the back row passed by when they returned to their seats, just like usual.”

The back row.

Wen Xiangyi paused and raised her eyebrows, looking toward the back.

Most of the students in her group were day students, so the back row was often sparsely populated during evening study sessions. A couple of students were quietly doing homework, while others were sneaking peeks at novels or comics, the scene no different from usual.

He Nianyao could be cleared of suspicion right away. Next to her was Song Cheng, dressed in a loose black hoodie, propping her head up with one hand while quickly scribbling out calculations with the other. It seemed like she was just moments away from solving the problem.

Soon after, Song Cheng put down her pen, picked up her homework and draft paper, and left her seat to ask for help from the math class representative.

Wen Xiangyi thought to herself, “…”

Duan Jia followed her gaze and asked, “Wen Xiangyi, what’s up? What are you looking at?”

Wen Xiangyi turned back, smiled at Duan Jia, and said, “Nothing. What are you writing?”

Duan Jia was writing in a small notebook with an exquisite yellow and purple design.

Duan Jia reflexively covered it for a moment, but then casually let it go.

“Oh, just jotting down random things.”

Qin Li leaned over and immediately noticed Song Cheng’s name.

“Ah? Song Cheng?”

Duan Jia blushed and smiled shyly, sharing a little secret.

“During the break, I saw Song Cheng smile. She looked so pretty that I had to write it down in my notebook.”

At the classroom door during break, Duan Jia and Song Cheng had briefly crossed paths. When Song Cheng smiled, Duan Jia was so stunned that she forgot to sip her milk tea until after Song Cheng had left.

She recalled the tea party she had with her girlfriends, where they all agreed that Song Cheng had a kind of heroic aura that was rare among girls their age. However, some described Song Cheng as “expressionless.”

It was true—Song Cheng was known as the most stone-faced person in class, maybe even in the whole school. No one had ever seen her smile at anyone or show much emotion.

Because of this, despite everyone knowing how beautiful she was, Song Cheng’s cold demeanor intimidated them all.

However, it wasn’t that Song Cheng was without emotions. When her hidden feelings surfaced on her face, they were vividly clear and impossible to describe.

People tend to fear the icy hardness, the cold, and the unknown of snowy wastelands, yet they are simultaneously captivated by the dazzling beauty of snow under the sunlight, stirred by its ethereal brilliance.

In Duan Jia’s diary—or rather, her casual daily notes—she poured all her descriptive skills into writing about Song Cheng’s beauty and aura. It was nearly 300 words, almost long enough to be an essay if she pushed a little more.

As expected of the Chinese literature class representative, her use of rhetorical devices and literary imagery flowed effortlessly. Qin Li and Duan Jia’s deskmate unintentionally got caught up in reading it, and only snapped out of it after a moment.

Qin Li hesitated, then asked, “Does Song Cheng know you do this kind of thing?”

It was hard to describe. The sentences seemed to be about their classmate Song Cheng, yet somehow also not about her.

In a few years, Qin Li might come to realize this was a kind of experience where the boundary between reality and fantasy blurred, as though the real world had been forcefully squeezed into a fictional one. Overall, her feelings were complicated.

Duan Jia shook her head, “Don’t tell her, okay?” She couldn’t even imagine what would happen if Song Cheng found out.

She laughed, “I’ve even written about you, Qin Li. Do you want to see?”

Qin Li quickly declined, “No, no, I’m scared.”

Her eyes darted around, “But I bet you’ve written about Wen Xiangyi too, haven’t you? I want to see that.”

Duan Jia closed the notebook, “Hmm, I haven’t written it yet.”

Qin Li scolded her, “How could you not? Hurry up and write it.”

Wen Xiangyi shot Qin Li a warning glance, “If it’s not written yet, then don’t. There’s no need to write about me.”

She seemed a little overwhelmed as well.

Duan Jia nodded repeatedly.

After Wen Xiangyi and Qin Li turned back around, Duan Jia secretly flipped to the last few pages of her notebook. They were filled with pages and pages of “Wen Xiangyi,” all overflowing with flattery. She couldn’t let Wen Xiangyi see this, or it would surely change the way the beauty thought of her.

Thinking it over, Duan Jia removed the loose-leaf page where she had written about Song Cheng and placed it together with Wen Xiangyi’s.

The content about Song Cheng was no less excessive, so both pages needed to be hidden at the bottom, far from the eyes of their subjects.

Once both Song Cheng’s and Wen Xiangyi’s pages were securely hidden, Duan Jia finally felt at ease as she closed the notebook.

At the front of the classroom, after Duan Jia’s diary had briefly interrupted her thoughts, Wen Xiangyi sat holding the milk, lost in contemplation.

Ordinarily, something appearing at her desk without warning would make her feel very uncomfortable, and she would get rid of it immediately. But the milk’s mysterious origin, paired with how well it matched her preferences, left her intrigued.

Qin Li’s curiosity was killing her, “Who could it possibly be?”

She began throwing out random guesses, “It can’t be Lin Hang—he’s given you things before, but it’s not like anyone else is chasing you right now…”

Wen Xiangyi, however, had a suspect in mind.

Someone who could pass by her desk and perform actions beyond ordinary expectation. If it were Song Cheng, it would make perfect sense.

She suddenly remembered something and brought the milk closer to her nose.

Although it had mostly evaporated, if she focused, she could still faintly detect the scent of alcohol disinfectant.

In the entire school, only Song Cheng would sanitize something she intended to give to Wen Xiangyi.

All of her lingering doubts vanished.

Song Cheng was strange—so strange that nothing she did would surprise Wen Xiangyi anymore.

She often did inexplicable, seemingly random things for Wen Xiangyi, with a cold expression on her face, as if it were only natural. She was so calm about it, never seeming to consider that they were merely distant classmates.

Imagining Song Cheng secretly sneaking the milk into her desk, Wen Xiangyi felt an inexplicable urge to laugh. Did Song Cheng think she had pulled it off flawlessly?

Had she realized that she herself was the biggest giveaway?

As Wen Xiangyi pondered, the warmth from the milk spread through her fingers. It couldn’t speak, but it clumsily and earnestly worked to warm her cold fingertips, making her feel inexplicably content.

She glanced down at the milk, paused for a moment, then opened it and brought it to her lips. The temperature was just right, and the taste was exactly what she liked, so comforting that she narrowed her eyes.

At that very moment, Song Cheng was sitting at the desk in front of the math class representative, waiting for her to explain a problem.

Her expression was calm, but inside she was filled with turmoil.

During the break, she had snuck out to buy Wen Xiangyi some hot milk, wiped it down with an alcohol wipe, and hid it in her hoodie sleeve before returning. Then, when passing by, she swiftly and precisely placed it in Wen Xiangyi’s desk, all in one smooth motion. Even Song Cheng had to admit it was a perfect execution.

Wen Xiangyi only drank milk, never milk tea.

Without her behind the scenes, who would buy Wen Xiangyi hot milk?

She’s so picky, never drinking other people’s milk tea, so naturally, Song Cheng had to pay extra attention.

Feeling smug, Song Cheng returned to her studies, though her thoughts kept wandering.

Had Wen Xiangyi found the milk yet? Hopefully, it wasn’t getting cold.

She couldn’t stop thinking about it. While scribbling formulas on her draft paper, she habitually glanced up at the front of the classroom, only to suddenly realize that Wen Xiangyi seemed to be looking back at her. The realization startled her.

That intense gaze, like a detective eyeing a suspect, lingered uncomfortably, making Song Cheng feel on edge.

Wen Xiangyi was smart, but surely she wouldn’t guess it was Song Cheng who left the milk. Right?

Stop looking. Stop looking.

It’s just a bottle of milk—what’s the big deal?

Song Cheng abruptly stood up, grabbing her draft paper and walking over to the math class representative.

Fine, she was leaving!