Except for Lu Siyan, both Jiang Ruoqiao and Lu Yicheng had come away with something.

The little one’s lips puckered into a pout. Jiang Ruoqiao had recently been elevated to the status of “Mommy,” and she had taken an avid interest in dressing the child. She and Lu Yicheng had a tacit understanding: Lu Yicheng handled Lu Siyan’s daily meals and general care, while Jiang Ruoqiao took charge of all his clothing and appearance. The division of responsibilities was remarkably clear. Jiang Ruoqiao certainly wasn’t going to let Lu Yicheng go rummaging around a wholesale agricultural market to buy her son’s clothes, and over time, Lu Yicheng had completely given up that idea as well — last time he’d bought Lu Siyan socks, Jiang Ruoqiao had criticised them at length.

Jiang Ruoqiao gave Lu Siyan’s cheek a gentle pinch. “Don’t be unhappy. I ordered you a ton of autumn clothes — they’re still on the way. I guarantee you’ll be the most stylish kid in the entire kindergarten.”

Lu Yicheng, with no sense of occasion whatsoever, offered a reminder: “Teacher Bear sent a message in the group asking for sizes. She’s probably going to place a group order for autumn uniforms. More than half the week will likely be spent in them.”

That was just how the Big Windmill Kindergarten operated — uniforms were ordered twice a year in bulk. The ones being ordered this time could be worn in spring and autumn alike, and in winter, a jacket resembling a windbreaker was added over the top.

Jiang Ruoqiao had seen the teacher’s post in the group chat and had refrained from commenting.

She had always thought there was nothing uglier in the world than the school uniform she’d worn in primary school — until the day she saw the photo Teacher Bear posted in the Class Three parent group.

Jiang Ruoqiao shot Lu Yicheng a glare.

Sure enough, Lu Siyan’s mouth drooped.

Lu Yicheng’s original intention had been to remind Jiang Ruoqiao that there was no need to buy Lu Siyan so many clothes. Children grew quickly — whatever was bought this year might already be too short by next year.

Sadly, Jiang Ruoqiao had an air of being entirely impervious to all reasoning.

Taking into account how tired Jiang Ruoqiao must have been from the journey back, after dinner Lu Yicheng took Lu Siyan home, and Jiang Ruoqiao returned to the dormitory. The outing had lightened her considerably — back in the dorm, she was humming cheerful songs the whole time she brushed her teeth, washed her face, washed her hair, and bathed. Yun Jia leaned in and listened carefully: this was bad. The most beautiful girl in their dorm was actually singing “My Dear Mommy”!!

Jiang Ruoqiao: “My dear mommy~ you come home from work, you’ve worked so hard all day~”

“Mommy mommy please sit down, mommy mommy please sit down~”

“Let me give you a kiss, let me give you a kiss, my dear mommy~”

Yun Jia: “……”

Save us!

Why had Jiang Ruoqiao suddenly started humming children’s songs? What had gotten into her lately?

On the other end, Lu Yicheng wasn’t exactly behaving normally either.

While Lu Siyan was in the bathroom brushing his teeth and washing up, Lu Yicheng paced into the bedroom, carefully glanced at the bag sitting on the stool by the sofa, then walked over to it. Treating the contents as though they were precious treasures, he hung up both the knit sweater and the trench coat. Before he could even allow himself a look of quiet satisfaction, he remembered something, frowned, walked out of the room, found a cloth, and wiped the bottom shelf of the wardrobe spotlessly clean, making sure not a speck of dust could reach the hem of the trench coat.

Lu Siyan had a reading routine. Every night before bed, he would play with his Little Genius learning tablet — a gift from Jiang Ruoqiao — for exactly fifteen minutes before Lu Yicheng cut him off, after which he would obediently flip open a picture book. In short, his bedtime ritual was a serious affair.

Tonight, however, Lu Siyan noticed that his father seemed oddly distracted.

He had clearly asked a question, but his father kept failing to listen properly. It was genuinely infuriating.

After a cranky Lu Siyan had finally fallen asleep, Lu Yicheng breathed a sigh of relief. He wanted to get up, but was afraid of waking the child, so he lay there stiffly for about ten minutes before finally rising. He didn’t go to the study to open his computer, didn’t go for water. Instead, he opened the wardrobe and stood looking at the knit sweater and trench coat hanging inside, his expression quiet and serious.

In Lu Yicheng’s childhood, his family had been poor. He and his grandmother had depended on each other for survival, and he had always worn hand-me-downs from relatives and neighbourhood children.

His grandmother had placed great importance on the Spring Festival. In the middle of the twelfth lunar month, she would take him by the hand to the market, and in addition to buying ingredients, she would pick out a new padded coat and padded trousers for him from one of the stalls.

She would hang the new clothes in the wardrobe and tell him: he was to wear new clothes on New Year’s Day.

From the day the new clothes were bought until New Year’s Eve, he would sneak to the wardrobe and peek at them several times every single day.

Now he had long since been capable of supporting himself and living well. But today, out of nowhere, he found himself transported back to that feeling.

It felt exactly the same — and yet somehow even happier than it had been back then.

Mid to late October. Life was calm and quiet.

Until one morning, Jiang Ruoqiao woke up and checked her backend out of habit, only to find an official notification. Someone had reported her account, and the report had been upheld — she would be silenced for a week, unable to comment, post updates, or upload videos. The reason cited was laughable and vague. Jiang Ruoqiao contacted customer service, who said they would reply within seventy-two hours — three days.

Three days was enough for a great many things to happen.

It was hard not to suspect that this was deliberate.

She figured the person behind it likely had more moves to make — she just didn’t know under what pretext they would try to drag her through the mud this time. She and Jiang Yan had already broken up, and not for anything as cliché as money or status. She had also made it clear in her last video what kind of work funded her lifestyle. What else was there? After turning it over in her mind, Jiang Ruoqiao concluded it could only be one of two things: the first involved Siyan, and while she believed that would be difficult to dig up, it wasn’t a threat to ignore. The second was her relationship with Lu Yicheng.

Sure enough, around midday, an anonymous tip was submitted online. The blogger who posted it had a decent following, and within two hours, the reposts and comments had surpassed ten thousand.

The anonymous submission claimed that a certain young woman, riding on the reputation of being a campus beauty at some university, had built up a considerable following and was possibly eyeing a career in entertainment. But this young woman’s personal life was, to put it mildly, difficult to explain. Most unacceptable of all was that she had been two-timing in relationships, stringing along two men who had previously been close friends — and now, because of her, the two had completely fallen out. She was a classic femme fatale, and to top it all off, she was currently enjoying the advances of her ex-boyfriend while simultaneously keeping his good friend dangling — neither rejecting nor accepting him. It was so egregious that even bystanders couldn’t stomach it anymore — hence the tip.

Jiang Ruoqiao: “…………”

Although it was a masked submission, people quickly guessed it was about Jiang Ruoqiao.

Perhaps the entertainment world had been too quiet lately, with nothing worth gossiping about. The bystanders starved for drama had latched onto this campus affair — wholly unrelated to the celebrity world — and it had still managed to stir up attention and buzz within a limited circle.

Jiang Ruoqiao: Oh my goodness!

Meanwhile, students following the forum at university A were equally stunned: What’s going on?! Wasn’t this ancient history — something that had already been posted and discussed to death by Li Tao without anyone even bothering to bump the thread?! You internet people are really that starved for content?!

Some students from university A commented under the Weibo post: “We never once said the campus beauty was two-timing!! The person who submitted this tip definitely isn’t from our school — we already chewed through this story completely a long time ago! Show some respect, please. When you’re out here spreading gossip, could you at least try to be a little more accurate?!”

Jiang Ruoqiao had been keeping a close eye on the situation, at once exasperated and amused.

Was this tactic effective?

Of course it was. People these days loved the whole public-shaming routine.

She just wanted to say: even if she were two-timing, so what? Even if she really were stringing Lu Yicheng along, what of it?

This wasn’t a big deal. Not even remotely worth all this noise.

And furthermore — the comments were saying she had been in too many relationships. So what? Was she inconveniencing anyone? Was there a law anywhere explicitly stating each person was only permitted one relationship? That exceeding that limit was grounds for prosecution or fines?

The more clearly she saw it, the more absurd it all seemed.

Look — none of this was actually a problem, none of it amounted to anything, yet if a powerful entity wanted to crush her, they could use precisely these ridiculous grounds to grind her into the dirt.

They didn’t even need sophisticated tactics.

By afternoon, Lu Yicheng had heard about the matter and called Jiang Ruoqiao in a state of troubled worry.

On the call, he hemmed and hawed — ten sentences and he still hadn’t arrived at the point. Jiang Ruoqiao eventually grew impatient and said: “Lu Yicheng, what exactly are you trying to ask? Surely you already know whether I’ve been two-timing or not?”

Lu Yicheng: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry — that’s not what I meant at all.”

Jiang Ruoqiao gave a helpless laugh. “Then why are you talking about the weather one minute and rambling about something else the next? What do you actually want to ask?”

Lu Yicheng let out a sigh as well. “I wanted to ask if you’re doing okay.”

Jiang Ruoqiao stilled. Holding her phone, she fell into an uncharacteristic silence for a few seconds before saying: “You mean that Weibo thing? I’m fine. Worst case scenario, I lose the account. In this life, being misunderstood by others is inevitable — the only real shame is that this might cost me the Outstanding Student award.”

What she had now was a firmer, more resolute will than ever.

Things couldn’t get worse than what had played out in the original story, and she believed that even in the original story, her counterpart had ultimately found her footing. So things couldn’t be worse than that.

She had already used her foreknowledge to ensure her grandmother’s illness was discovered more than a year earlier than it had been in the original timeline. The surgery had gone well. She was already satisfied. As for the rest —

Whatever came, she would handle it.

Besides, she wasn’t without her own cards to play. These people loved manipulating public opinion. She wondered: had they, proud as they were, ever considered that one day it might blow back on them? She was already itching to see the look on their faces when it did. They probably couldn’t imagine that she — someone they considered completely defenceless — also had cards in hand to fight them to a standstill.

Lu Yicheng fell silent after hearing this.

In the vastness of the world, he and she alike were far too small.

After hanging up, Lu Yicheng went to the study. He didn’t work, and he didn’t read. Instead, he carefully watched every single video on her account — from the very first to the very last. It took just over two hours. Dusk fell; he rose and walked to the window. Outside was darkness like ink.

Her videos were made with real care.

Anyone who watched them could feel it — there was nothing sloppy or haphazard; every detail had been considered.

Was she really just going to abandon this account?

Why?

What had she done wrong?

From start to finish, she had done nothing wrong. So why, out of all the grievances between three people, should she be the one left to face this hostility alone?

Lu Yicheng made up his mind. He opened his laptop, logged into the forum, and started a new post:

【Hello everyone. My name is Lu Yicheng.

If any fellow students who feel it’s unjust, and have a reasonable following on Weibo, could copy this to the comment section of that post, I would be grateful.

I apologise for using this space — the forum should be a place for discussing life and studies. I simply cannot stand by while someone faces criticism because of my personal feelings, so I am taking a moment of your time and space. Please forgive the intrusion.

During the second semester of my sophomore year, a friend dragged me along to a freshman welcome event. That was the first time I saw Jiang.

Anyone who attended that event will remember her talent.

I was no different. I admired and was drawn to Jiang.

Jiang is a remarkable person — hardworking and earnest both in life and in her studies. If my personal feelings have caused her trouble, and if people who don’t know the full story have come to misunderstand her after hearing baseless rumours, I am deeply ashamed. If anyone deserves to be criticised and condemned, it should be me.

Please don’t misunderstand her.

She simply became the subject of my very abrupt affection. Please direct any reproach at me instead. Thank you.】

The students still on the forum were stunned.

It was one thing when Lu Yicheng had sent her breakfast — that had been a gesture open to interpretation. But this was a public declaration: he openly admitted that he liked Jiang Ruoqiao.

And had for a very long time. Anyone who did the maths could see that Lu Yicheng had already liked her before Jiang Ruoqiao and Jiang Yan had even met.

He liked her this much?!

—