After that day, Chen An’s peripheral vision started to secretly follow Ying Ni in corners no one else knew about.

Unlike the vigilance he had when he first entered the school, his gaze had taken on another subtle, even imperceptible emotional color, one he didn’t even notice himself.

It was as if he suddenly had a superpower.

Even on flag-raising days when everyone wore the same school uniform and crowded in the bustling crowd, with their ponytails raised just as high as everyone else’s when they turned their backs, he could still spot her at the first glance.

He would check his watch, waiting for her to walk into the classroom with the bell’s ring, remember the disdainful expression on her face when the teacher sent her out, and even notice how she liked her water—one-third hot and two-thirds cold—and how she often spilled it all over herself because she forgot to turn off the tap while chatting with Yu Jiaojiao.

He saw many sides of her.

She liked to wash her hair in the mornings, but would stay in bed late reading novels, so the hair she pulled up at the door was always damp with a faint lemon scent.

Although she acted indifferent when scolded by teachers, once outside the classroom, leaning against the railing, she would show a pitiful expression.

Her period came every last week of the month, and during that time, she would only drink hot water. It was also when her temper was the best, because she barely spoke or moved, lying on the desk like a sleepy sloth.

He was getting to know her better.

When he finally realized what he was doing, it had already been quite a long time.

…

Ying Ni waited for a long time, and the silence stretched on.

It felt like a silent confrontation, but it seemed one-sided.

She bit her lip in slight discomfort. From this angle, the man’s eyelashes were hanging low, his features all sunk into shadows.

It was hard to see his expression, and impossible to know what he was thinking.

Ying Ni didn’t understand what there was to think about, unless he was carefully considering how to fabricate a highly believable excuse to win a woman’s favor.

She couldn’t help but recall two years ago, when she met a senior executive from a client at Hua Xing. He relentlessly pursued her, sending endless flowers and gifts.

Ying Ni was quite bothered by it, but as he was the client, she kept her attitude relatively friendly and asked him what he liked about her.

The executive thought for a long time before giving a definite answer that sounded convincing enough to fool even himself: “I like everything, but I especially admire your work ability.”

He added, “You’re different from them.”

Ying Ni couldn’t hold back her laughter. Anyone literate could do the job of an assistant, but she had been fooled into playing the role of a PR, having dinner with him and showing him her face.

Work ability? Different? Did he think she was stupid?

Not even his lies were sincere.

Men always loved to hide their true intentions under various pretenses, and perhaps, from the moment they bumped into each other in the alumni reunion lounge, Chen An had already developed feelings.

After all, Chen Jingjing had once revealed that Chen An wouldn’t even look at the big star across from his house—he liked the beautiful ones.

She had confidence.

She was that kind.

“Forget it.” Ying Ni lowered her head and patted the dust off her pants. The floating dust in the dim yellow light was unusually clear, neither rising nor falling, just like her current mood.

Once the dust settled, when she looked up, Chen An had already raised his eyelids.

His hands were tucked in his pockets, his tall figure gave off an oppressive feeling like a mountain, and his eyes, soaked in the blackness of the night, held an indescribable aura.

It felt strangely affectionate.

Ying Ni smiled without much emotion, and before he could say what she didn’t want to hear, she cut him off, “Forget I asked.”

Forget I asked.

It meant there was no such thing.

Chen An looked at her without saying a word.

Ying Ni had no choice but to lower her gaze and casually kick a pebble on the ground. The sound of it rolling away rhythmically pierced her eardrums.

Her gaze, too, seemed to follow the trajectory of the pebble, unsure where to settle.

Until, with a soft thud, the pebble hit the curb, and her drifting thoughts reluctantly came back to reality.

There was nothing more suffocating than air that had been stirred and then cooled again. He, however, seemed calm.

“Are you okay?” She looked up again, slightly irritable.

The man opposite her had a subtle change in expression, and his hands, once in his pockets, had somehow dropped to the side of his pants seam. He was hard to figure out, but in this moment, Ying Ni knew—this was a sign of him loosening up.

Chen An stood in front of her, his towering presence felt oppressive like a mountain, “Give me a reason.”

Ying Ni raised her brows.

She had originally planned to use her usual tactic—say some harsh words to cut her losses—but considering Lin Rongyuan was Chen Jingjing’s patient, and Chen Jingjing was a fierce protector of her brother, she hesitated, thinking carefully before closing her mouth.

Unexpectedly, the person in front of her was being so unreasonable.

Chen An stared at her steadily. His gaze was like colorless white wine—seemingly pure, but burning the throat once tasted.

There was a sense of pressure that he wouldn’t let her leave without a reasonable answer.

He wasn’t inherently forceful, and Ying Ni didn’t feel panicked. She stood like him earlier, hands in her pockets, lashes slightly lowered.

This situation smoothly pulled her into a memory.

Lin Rongyuan loved shopping at a brand called GD and often took Ying Ni along. Once, Lin Rongyuan saw a pure white dress for a girl.

She thought Ying Ni would look especially beautiful in it, and the sales assistant praised it to the heavens. Even other customers in the store put down their clothes and came over to ask if there were more in that style.

Lin Rongyuan was delighted and prepared to pay, but Ying Ni, in a strong tone, refused and picked up a jacket she had noticed from the moment they entered, but which Lin Rongyuan thought was too unconventional.

Lin Rongyuan, with great effort, tried to convince her, “This dress is special, it has a very good design, and the color suits you.”

“Ask your aunt, your second aunt, or your cousin.” She sent the photo to their family group.

The replies were all the same—“That dress looks better, it suits you more.”

In the end, Lin Rongyuan couldn’t persuade Ying Ni, and they bought both items.

At home, the jacket seemed to grow on Ying Ni, and she wore it every day. But the dress, like a picture framed on the wall, never moved.

The next time she found it was many years later.

In order to cover her father’s funeral expenses, she was cleaning out clothes she could sell when she found it at the bottom of a box.

The dress was kept in its protective plastic and still had the tag on it.

Ying Ni put it up for sale online, and many people showed interest.

Lin Rongyuan had excellent foresight. Even though fashion had cycled through several times, the dress’s design and cut were still top-notch.

Ying Ni agreed with this. She had inherited her mother’s aesthetic sense and had a keen eye for fashion. The white dress was far more beautiful than the jacket, so from the beginning, she never denied its beauty.

But the problem was.

As she thought about that dress, which many people would have loved to own, she felt no emotion. In fact, because of Lin Rongyuan’s forceful behavior, she even came to dislike that brand.

She instead missed the jacket, which was plain and simple and accidentally lost.

She was that kind of person.

She only liked things she liked at first sight.

A slight evening breeze blew by, and a passing e-bike honked its horn. Ying Ni pulled herself out of her memories and took half a step back.

She thought for a moment, waiting until the e-bike had fully passed before saying, “You’re pretty good. Young and capable, with good character, and you look decent. But—”

Her words trailed off. To be honest, Ying Ni hesitated about how to say it in a way that would not only make him give up but also avoid making things too awkward.

After all, she knew that as long as Chen Jingjing was still friends with Kang Mu, they would meet again.

Chen An walked a few steps toward her. So close that his presence blocked all the light in Ying Ni’s vision, and his lowered eyelids seemed to be trying to gauge her expression.

“But what?” He pressed.

“No buts.” Ying Ni, finally annoyed, expressionless, ended the conversation directly, “Forget what I said earlier. Just get lost.”

Chen An smiled.

Ying Ni didn’t understand what he was smiling about. Based on her previous experience, men who were rejected like this usually had two reactions—either upset or sad.

Chen An’s reaction left her confused.

It seemed like he was effortlessly handling the situation as if he had anticipated it.

“Is this how you reject all the men who pursue you?” Chen An asked her, his smile fading slightly.

Ever since he asked when she had started liking him, Ying Ni had always felt she was the one in control. But with his inexplicable smile, she suddenly felt her emotions being controlled.

She lowered her voice, her expression solemn as if facing a great threat, “Chen An, I don’t like you.”

Chen An gazed at her quietly, “Don’t say it so early.”

This time, Ying Ni smiled.

The curve of her lips openly betrayed her sarcasm.

“‘Don’t say it so early,’ ‘We’ll wait and see,’ ‘You’ll like me’…” She mimicked the countless things she had heard before, looking at the man in front of her with a hint of pity.

It seemed that everyone was the same, thinking they could win her over with money or the warmth it could create.

But she was Ying Ni, proud Ying Ni.

The princess in distress raised her nonexistent skirt, never caring whether the person in front of her was a prince, knight, or villain, “You think you’re special? I know men like you all too well. You’re all the same!”

“Get lost! Go as far as you can!”

After she finished, she turned and walked toward the other end of the street.

Chen An stood there without chasing her.

As she walked farther and farther, her figure shrinking until it disappeared at the end of the street, Chen An finally withdrew his gaze and walked toward the place where his car was parked.

There were few people on the road, and the wind blew through, making the twenty-degree weather unexpectedly chilly.

After getting into the car, Chen An didn’t rush to start the engine. Instead, he opened the armrest compartment, pulled out a green-wrapped lollipop, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth.

Actually, Chen An loved sweets. It was a habit he developed as a child when his father often brought home rock candy. Later, he stopped eating them, afraid the sweetness would make it hard to bear the bitterness.

And he had been abstinent ever since.

Cars sped by in the night, and Chen An rested his elbow on the window, letting the wind blow, trying to enjoy the pleasure brought to his brain by the sweetness of the candy.

But evidently, no dopamine was released.

He frowned, withdrew his gaze, crumpled the wrapper and tossed it into his pocket. He started the engine, pressed the gas pedal, and made the movements in one fluid motion.

After turning a few roads nearby, he finally found Ying Ni at a junction just after the traffic light had turned green.

She was kicking a plastic bottle, venting her frustration, completely unaware that a car had followed her.

Chen An honked the horn.

Ying Ni turned around.

Their gazes met. Behind her was a barbecue restaurant with its flashy neon sign, all orange and dusty.

Much like her eyes—seductive and irresistible.

It made you want to get closer.

He had originally planned to say something else—either get in the car or offer to take her home. But as he opened his mouth, her words “I know men like you too well” suddenly flashed in his mind.

So, he stopped the car, rested his hand on the steering wheel, and called her name solemnly.

“Ying Ni—”

Then, he paused.

When Ying Ni fully turned toward him, he spoke again:

“You know nothing about me.”