Before bed, Zhang Shu opened all his gifts.

The ones with names attached he would return when no one was around. The anonymous ones could only gather dust in a corner. Putting himself in their shoes, it was a bit pitiful, but not unfair—sending a gift without even daring to write your name, writing long emotional love letters, how could he guess who they were from? He wasn’t a deity.

But as luck would have it, there was one anonymous gift that let him play deity—he could guess who sent it with his toes.

“Criminal Law of the People’s Republic of China.”

Stars marked the contents page, highlighting a section: [The Crime of Making, Copying, Publishing, Selling, and Distributing Obscene Materials for Profit].

A handwritten note in the margin read: Even without actual profit, the charge still stands as a crime.

How thoughtful.

Though the handwriting wasn’t hers—it was casual and free-flowing, like a man’s writing.

A poor attempt at concealment.

Zhang Shu couldn’t even laugh anymore. He had underestimated her—usually trembling like a leaf, who knew she could be such a force when it counted.

If he was a deity, then she was a Bodhisattva, attempting to save all living beings.

He would keep this gift, not return it, nor let it gather dust.

Zhang Shu unwrapped the package of knee pads and cut off the tags—when school officially started, he would wear them to PE class.

Just to scare her.

…

Sheng Xia was now skilled at cycling, even taking shortcuts through Wenbo Garden.

The early morning wind at six was slightly cool, cicadas chirping softly, the world just beginning to wake.

She hadn’t expected to meet Zhang Shu—at this hour, the notorious time-cutter should still be asleep…

She saw him walk out of the apartment building, without his bike. She silently passed by him.

“Sheng Xia!”

Sheng Xia pressed the brake and looked back.

“Give me a ride?” Zhang Shu patted the seat cushion of Little White, speaking naturally.

“What…” Sheng Xia wore a helmet with ear covers and suspected she had misheard, mumbling.

“My bike’s at school, give me a ride.”

Ah? How to give him a ride…

Little White was a two-seater, but clearly a girl’s bike, very petite. It wasn’t impossible to carry him, just that the space… they would touch each other, wouldn’t they?

“I’ve never given anyone a ride…” she declined tactfully, “afraid I won’t be stable.”

Zhang Shu said: “You get off.”

Sheng Xia: “Hm?”

Zhang Shu: “I’ll carry you.”

Sheng Xia: …

No one could save someone with rejection difficulty disorder. The silence was Sheng Xia’s response this morning.

Sheng Xia had no choice but to get off. When Zhang Shu sat down, the shock absorbers bounced—Sheng Xia felt Little White bore a weight it had never experienced in its life.

Zhang Shu noticed too, asking: “How many jin do you weigh?” When she got on and off, the bike’s height hadn’t changed at all.

“96.” Her voice was very low.

“How tall?”

By now he was sitting on the bike, and she standing beside him, considerably taller than him.

“166…”

Zhang Shu had no concept of how much someone 166cm tall should weigh.

He just looked her up and down: “Eat more.”

Sheng Xia: …

This look made him notice her slightly red and swollen forearm. “Where’s the character on your arm? Didn’t pay morning and evening respects?”

Sheng Xia instinctively hid her arm behind her back.

Heaven knew how long she’d spent removing it last night.

Regular cleaning products had no effect. She’d used Wang Lianhua’s makeup remover to take off part of it, but for the remaining traces, she could only scrub them off with a palm fiber brush.

Her skin was naturally fairer and more delicate than others, and after this ordeal, it was as if she’d shed a layer of skin.

Thinking of this undeserved disaster, Sheng Xia felt somewhat angry, saying indignantly: “Who writes on people’s bodies? In ancient times this was called tattoo punishment, an extremely harsh criminal penalty, that was shameful, for criminals. Although I wrote your name wrong, it wasn’t such a grave sin, and besides…”

Her voice gradually weakened, carrying a tone of daring to be angry but not daring to speak out, “Besides… you’re not an emperor…”