Fang Jingcheng didn’t join in on the conversation. Resting his chin on one hand, he looked like an indifferent passerby as he gazed absentmindedly at Xia Fu’s back.

After all, his relationship with Xia Fu was only slightly closer than that of ordinary classmates—far from the point where he’d interfere in her studies. Last weekend, he’d subtly hinted that he could help her if she needed it, but if she didn’t willingly seek him out, none of it would matter.

Would she finally speak up soon?

Anyone with a discerning eye could see that Xia Fu despised that Chihuahua-like guy. Her back bent under the weight of his words, like a reed bowing in a storm, resilient yet vulnerable, and Fang Jingcheng couldn’t estimate how many seconds it’d take before she’d snap.

He watched the onslaught with indifference, like a hunter watching a hound closing in on a rabbit or a pelican swallowing a fish. Once Xia Fu exhausted herself, he’d simply step in, snap Bao Zhiwei’s little neck, and reap the benefits.

Fang Jingcheng wasn’t exactly a good person, but the world was full of worse people, making him seem kind and approachable by comparison. Just a smidgen of conscience and courtesy could easily win people’s favor.

Patience was key.

As he spun a pen in one hand, counting each full rotation as a unit, he caught sight of the cookie box on the table, now with only a small corner left. He thought, maybe he could cut her some slack:

If Xia Fu just looked back at him once, he’d help her.

But she only tried to explain a few words, then lapsed into silence.

Xia Fu’s head hung low, strands of hair falling from her temple to cover her face. Fang Jingcheng couldn’t see her expression, only her hands clutched together on her lap, fingers red where they gripped the inky pen in her palm.

A draft paper with doodled patterns lay across her knees.

Before he knew it, Fang Jingcheng stopped spinning his pen. He clicked it against the table, rhythmically timing the clicks—“Da da da”—but realized they did nothing to drown out Bao Zhiwei’s relentless chatter.

Fang Jingcheng’s mouth tightened into a thin line as he waited.

…Enough.

This guy was just too noisy. For the sake of his own ears, he needed to shut him up.

Fang Jingcheng turned an annoyed gaze toward Bao Zhiwei, but just as he was about to speak, Xia Fu, as if finally catching on to his telepathic signals, turned and said, “I’ve already joined a team.”

“No need to invite me.”

“I already agreed to team up with Fang.” Her words broke the stillness, stunning both Bao Zhiwei and Fang Jingcheng.

Bao Zhiwei stared in disbelief at the young man he’d been ignoring.

“What? You’re teaming up?”

Fang Jingcheng recovered faster, smoothly settling into his new role. “Yeah, we’ve already made plans. If you join, it’d be too crowded… unless you’re willing to handle data analysis in the back end?”

He crossed his hands and looked Bao Zhiwei over from head to toe, lips curling slightly as he spoke, completely unfiltered: “Judging by your performance in the last basketball game, you’re not exactly great with detailed tasks.”

Bao Zhiwei’s face filled with humiliation at the reminder.

What was this nonsense about who’s good at what? Teaming up with this “peacock” guy would be worse than dying.

Fang Jingcheng’s interference forced Bao Zhiwei to reconsider his assumptions about their relationship. When did they get so close? Was it at the last basketball game? Or maybe earlier? Did Xia Fu avoid the elevator because she was waiting for him?

If they’d already agreed to team up, then why didn’t Fang Jingcheng say anything when he invited Xia Fu? Was he just waiting to make him look foolish?

An internal storm raged within Bao Zhiwei.

Somehow, Fang Jingcheng seemed even sharper than the last time they met, with an almost explosive undertone to his words. Bao Zhiwei inspected Fang Jingcheng’s face closely; he was smiling, but those piercing blue eyes were like icy sheets that made Bao Zhiwei’s stomach twist.

He could push Xia Fu around as he pleased, but he had no idea how to handle Fang Jingcheng.

At that critical moment, his phone rang, offering him a chance to retreat.

“We’ll discuss the team thing later; I was just casually inviting her,” he said, backing away with a forced nonchalance, answering the call with, “Yes, I’m on break. What’s up, Jiang-jie?”

Hearing that familiar name, Xia Fu’s ears perked up like a patrolling meerkat.

Fortunately, her worst fears didn’t come to pass. Counselor Jiang tactfully invited Bao Zhiwei to discuss matters in her office, avoiding any mention of last night’s events in front of Xia Fu.

“Hmm? There’s an issue with the receipts for the basketball game? Ah, Gu Jiashi was in charge of the supplies, so he must’ve slipped up again! It’s my fault; I didn’t review it properly!”

“My apologies for the hassle. I’ll head over as soon as class ends!”

Bao Zhiwei, who had been impervious to Xia Fu’s protests, now looked like an entirely different person as he fawned over Counselor Jiang on the phone, a picture of deference that Xia Fu could barely recognize.

Well, his respect for the counselor worked in her favor.

Watching his chubby figure walk away, her rational mind told her teachers could be trusted, that Counselor Jiang would be on her side, and Bao Zhiwei would follow orders. Yet, her instincts—those that had kept her safe all these years—whispered ominously like a cold breeze at her ear:

From now on, you’ll live in the constant fear of a volcano about to erupt.

No, no, no.

She couldn’t let that happen…

The break was only fifteen minutes long, and soon Professor Zhang, holding his phone, returned to the classroom. The group settled back into their seats, their minds swirling with their own thoughts as they resumed the lesson.

Close to the end of class, Xia Fu subtly reached under the desk to tug on Fang Jingcheng’s sleeve. He glanced at her, curious, as she slid a loose-leaf notebook toward him.

“Do you have classes later this morning?”

Fang Jingcheng blinked, quickly replying, “Nope, why?”

Perfect.

Xia Fu visibly relaxed, then scribbled her request on the paper.

“Can you stay in the classroom a bit after class?”

She looked at him with earnest, glistening eyes, as if afraid he might say no. Fang Jingcheng didn’t hesitate to agree. “Of course.”

Finally, class was over. Xia Fu, who’d been silently rehearsing how to ask Fang Jingcheng to stay, had been too distracted to participate actively as usual.

The clock ticked closer to eleven, and as students gradually filed out, leaving the room in peaceful quiet, Xia Fu still hadn’t quite nailed down her opening line.

She sat tense, her fingers twisting anxiously. Fang Jingcheng, however, was in no rush.

He packed his books patiently and, with a gentle tone, reassured her, “Don’t worry; I’m not mad about earlier,” his voice smooth and gentlemanly.

“Did you want to talk about the modeling competition? But if it’s about getting me to fend off some guy, you can forget it… Do you actually want to team up? You’ve seen my grades; they’re not the best.”

Judging by the smooth collaboration they’d had earlier, they’d work well together, and since he was only entering to appease his family, he’d be fine teaming up with her. Still, given his less-than-honorable ways of winning, he’d need to warn Xia Fu if they were to work together.

Under his reassurance, Xia Fu visibly relaxed. Taking a deep breath, she seemed to summon a kind of determination as she said, “Yes, I want to team up with you.”

Her resolve was oddly entertaining, sparking a playful urge in Fang Jingcheng. Tilting his head, he grinned and asked, “Why?”

Xia Fu bit her lip, pulled out her phone, and opened her messaging app, switching to her “work account.”

“Like last semester’s evaluation, I’ll do my best to secure you a spot.”

The screen displayed the terms of their arrangement—she was his underhanded “means to success.”

“Huh?”

Fang Jingcheng’s gaze darted between the chat log and Xia Fu, his expression shifting subtly.

Her profile picture on that account was a double cheeseburger, and with her straightforward and businesslike style, he’d always assumed she was just some guy. Ironically, Fang Jingcheng, who used a plushie and cat stickers as his avatar, looked more like a college girl than she did.

While he was lost in thought, Xia Fu fidgeted nervously, as if awaiting judgment.

Bao Zhiwei’s aggression had completely disrupted her plans, and revealing herself as the “ghostwriter” was the best solution she’d come up with in that short time.

Hopefully, her class performance and the paper would leave a positive impression on Fang Jingcheng.

The modeling competition happened every year, and in the end, it was all for the prize money and internship opportunities. If she could earn money, she’d forsake all the accolades.

“Wow, we’re pretty fated to be partners, aren’t we?”

Fang Jingcheng laughed, his bright blue eyes narrowing with amusement, and his smile made Xia Fu think of a sly cat from a fairy tale.

Though technically her employer, he acted with a casual ease that felt anything but imposing.

Leaning closer to get a better view of Xia Fu’s screen, he ended up bending over the table, flashing a grin at her.

“Alright, let’s team up again.”

“Just like last time, I’ll make sure you’re well compensated.”

From sitting at a distance, to chatting from neighboring desks, the closeness between them made Xia Fu catch his cologne, bringing back memories of high school—walking slowly from the cafeteria to the classroom after dinner, in those rare peaceful moments, where she’d look up to see the evening sky aflame with red clouds, the camphor trees rustling as a gentle breeze swept by, brushing her cheeks.