“But you were the one who asked me to help you pursue her…”

Lu Xun turned his head slightly aside, his voice a little unnatural. “I lied. I just wanted a legitimate reason to see you. Back then I thought you and Mo Tao were together—you said the two of you were rock solid—and that was the only way I could think of. I never actually asked her to a movie, never planned to give her any birthday present. I never went looking for her at all…”

“Then why didn’t you just explain it to me clearly?”

Lu Xun shot Qian Wei a fierce look. “For something like that, I assumed you’d already understand. I thought we both just quietly knew, without needing to spell it out. Why would I need to say it outright?” His voice dropped, carrying a faintly flustered edge. “I do have some pride, you know.”

“But… I know you confessed to her. In the practice room at the gymnasium.”

Though she really didn’t want to dredge up the memory, Qian Wei still laid out the scene simply. “So I heard it with my own ears.”

Lu Xun’s tone turned sharp. “Where exactly did you hear it with your own ears? Did I say anything?”

“…”

“Qian Wei, this is a factual misjudgment on your part. As a law student, don’t you know better than to accept information on hearsay alone? Any material learned secondhand—even something supposedly seen or heard firsthand—needs to be reconsidered and examined independently. And this isn’t even something you actually witnessed firsthand.” Lu Xun paused only a few seconds before zeroing in on the flaw in her reasoning. “In this so-called confession scene of mine to Mo Zixin, you never actually saw me there, and you never heard me say a single word.”

“Did it never occur to you that I might not have even been there at all?”

Now it was Qian Wei’s turn to be stunned. Thinking back carefully, it really was true—her whole judgment that Lu Xun had confessed and been rejected had come entirely from Mo Zixin.

“I’ve never liked her, not once—how could I possibly have confessed to her? If you still don’t believe me, give me the time you supposedly heard this confession, and I’ll find you my alibi. Is that enough?”

Qian Wei’s mind was struggling to keep up. So that meant… Mo Zixin had lied? Had she staged the whole thing herself? Perhaps it was a preconceived bias, the impression from her past life too deeply ingrained—Qian Wei had almost unconsciously accepted the story of Lu Xun’s confession without ever really questioning it. But thinking it over now… every detail of that day, Mo Zixin’s behavior, all of it suddenly looked suspicious. Lu Xun was right—even if he hadn’t been there, as long as Mo Zixin had acted convincingly enough, she alone could have made the whole scene seem real.

It seemed that when it came to anything involving Lu Xun—whether in her naive, youthful past life or now, having lived through the years—Qian Wei could never manage to stay composed. The clear-headed, logical, objective reasoning she used as a lawyer facing clients simply fell apart whenever Lu Xun was involved.

She had never thought about it before, but only now did she belatedly realize it.

Perhaps, long ago, even before she herself had realized it, Lu Xun had always been different to her.

Long, long ago, perhaps deep down she had looked up to him, followed him, watched him from afar, wishing him happiness, wishing him a smooth path in life, hoping he would find the very best love this world had to offer—yet she had never once imagined that she herself could be the one to give him that happiness, that smooth path, that best love in the world.

Lu Xun had always been too outstanding. It had never occurred to Qian Wei that the two of them might actually stand on equal footing. There’s a kind of feeling that makes a person feel small—because it was Lu Xun, her judgment became blind, careless.

Fortunately, in this second chance at life, she’d finally gotten to see her true self, and to see the true Lu Xun as well.

“I never confessed to her. If anything, she confessed to me.”

“Huh?”

Lu Xun looked at Qian Wei. “But I turned her down.”

“Mm…”

Lu Xun looked somewhat put out, raising an eyebrow and saying with feigned casualness, “If you really want to praise me for rejecting someone’s advances and staying true to my feelings, I wouldn’t mind hearing it.”

Qian Wei thought it over, then ventured, “Well rejected, nicely rejected, rejected like a champ?”

“…”

Qian Wei suddenly remembered something. “When exactly did Mo Zixin confess to you?”

Lu Xun thought for a moment. “Around the time of the tango competition, I think.”

“When exactly?”

Lu Xun shrugged. “Don’t remember.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have a photographic memory…”

“A person’s brain only has so much capacity. If I went around remembering every trivial thing like someone confessing to me, would I have any room left for things that actually matter?” Lu Xun glanced at her, his voice a little indignant. “And she’s not you—why would I bother spending effort remembering what she said to me?”

Qian Wei looked a little embarrassed, blinking before explaining, “Because I just remembered—Mo Zixin got together with Qian Chuan around that same tango competition time. If she confessed to you right around then too, I’m worried she never really liked Qian Chuan for real.” Thinking of her scatterbrained twin brother, Qian Wei felt a pang of worry. Before today, she’d never imagined Mo Zixin might be that kind of person. Now that everything had been laid bare with Lu Xun, she started to worry that Mo Zixin didn’t truly care for Qian Chuan at all—that he’d just been a distraction, a buffer after her failed confession…

Qian Wei knew her brother well. Though he came across as a bit careless on the surface, his feelings were actually simple and straightforward—he was really just a well-meaning fool at heart. Once he liked someone, he devoted himself entirely to being good to them. In her past life, she’d never known why Mo Zixin and Qian Chuan broke up; Qian Chuan had refused to say anything about it. But after the breakup, he really had been down for a long time.

Qian Wei sighed. “Qian Chuan likes her so much. I’m really worried he’ll end up getting hurt badly.”

Unfortunately, Lu Xun had no sympathy to spare for that. He curled his lip. “If that guy likes Mo Zixin, then as a man, it just shows his judgment is off. If he gets hurt, that’s a consequence of his own choices. A little hardship will sharpen his judgment. Why are you worrying about him?” He added, somewhat put out, “And here you are thinking about other men while you’re with me.”

“…” Qian Wei protested weakly, “Qian Chuan is my brother…”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“…”

With the misunderstanding that had been weighing on her heart finally resolved, Qian Wei’s mood lifted. Looking at Lu Xun sitting beside her now, it was as if the restless unease in her chest was finally settling. Being with him, it seemed, no longer meant living in constant anxious uncertainty.

Lu Xun didn’t like Mo Zixin. Had never liked her. How wonderful.

Amid her happiness, something else occurred to Qian Wei. “Lu Xun, if it wasn’t because you liked Mo Zixin that you were so cold to me in front of her earlier, then what actually made you so distant all of a sudden?”

She almost wished she hadn’t asked—the moment the topic came up, Lu Xun’s expression soured again.

He glanced at the milk tea in her hand and said, in a tone dripping with sarcasm, “You should ask yourself that. Was the milk tea I bought better, or the one Li Chongwen would have bought?”

Qian Wei didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Are you jealous over Li Chongwen? He’s just my friend. It was only a cup of milk tea.”

“It’s not as simple as just a cup of milk tea.” Lu Xun held back for a moment, clearly failing to contain himself. “Qian Wei, what exactly am I to you?”

“My boyfriend.”

“Then why does no one else know I’m your boyfriend?” Lu Xun pressed his lips together. “Your law school classmates don’t know. Li Chongwen doesn’t know. Liu Shiyun doesn’t know. Qian Chuan doesn’t know.”

Qian Wei was stunned for a moment before it finally clicked—this was the “scorned mistress” routine, demanding to be acknowledged…

“I’ve never minded people knowing you’re my girlfriend. But I don’t think that’s how you feel.” Lu Xun lowered his head, staring at the tiled floor of the community clinic, his voice a little muffled. “It seems like you don’t want to say it—so much so that not even your own brother, not even your best friend, knows who I am to you.”

Qian Wei paused, then finally worked up the courage to speak. “Honestly, I’ve been a little anxious. I keep worrying that your feelings for me might just be a passing fancy—that right after we go public with a big dramatic announcement, before long your head cools down and you just walk off without a backward glance, leaving me alone to deal with the humiliation. That would be really awful…”

Before she could even finish, a pair of hands reached over and took hold of hers. She looked up, but the owner of those hands was still staring off, seemingly unconcerned, at the vending machine in the distance.

“It’s not a passing fancy.”

“I don’t like Mo Zixin. I don’t like anyone else.”

“Qian Wei, you’re the only one I like.”

Amid the gentle patter of rain outside, Lu Xun’s voice came out low and so pleasant it barely seemed real—yet the warmth of his hand tightening slightly around hers kept reminding her that this was real. Lu Xun was real. His voice was real. And his love was real.

“I really didn’t handle this well. Something like going public—I should be the one to take charge of that.”

Qian Wei kicked at a nonexistent speck of dust on the floor and brushed her hair back, trying to hide her nervousness. “I always thought you liked Mo Zixin—or at least had liked her once. That’s why it hurt so much when you were ignoring me like that earlier.”

Lu Xun’s eyes widened slightly. “You were hurt by that?”

“Mm-hm.”

“I’m sorry.” After apologizing, he fixed his eyes on hers again, his tone carrying a faint, complicated awkwardness. “Even though I feel guilty hearing that you were hurt, honestly… I’m also kind of happy.”

“Because it means you actually care about me.”

Qian Wei grumbled a little. “I noticed you looked pretty pleased with yourself playing the hero earlier. The second Mo Zixin was in danger, you went charging right in. What a coincidence.”

Lu Xun shot her a sideways glance. “Even though I don’t like her, if a girl’s in danger and a guy just stands there doing nothing, that’s not exactly manly, is it? Would you prefer a version of me who just looks the other way and lets people get hurt?”

Fine, fine, Qian Wei thought—when have I ever won an argument with him?

“Besides, the real reason I rushed over so fast was that I was worried you’d get caught up in it too.” Lu Xun glanced at her. “Your consultation spot was right next to Mo Zixin’s. Who knows if that drunk lunatic might have hurt you too.” He thought for a moment, then added in a warning tone, “Next time something like this happens, stay far away, understand?”

Yes, yes, understood, Qian Wei thought—not only can I never win an argument with him, apparently I can’t even win at flirting either!

“But still… about me and Mo Zixin—you really don’t like her, and you like me instead?” Qian Wei still found it a little hard to believe; her old biases were simply too deeply rooted, leaving her somewhat dazed even now. “Honestly, I always feel like, standing next to her, she’s like some top-grade imported caviar, and I’m like… the onion garnish on the plate next to the caviar…”

“I happen to like onions.”

“…”

“No, that’s not it.” Lu Xun rubbed his forehead, sounding thoroughly exasperated. “Qian Wei, you really do have a talent for going off on the strangest tangents. Onions, of all things.” He stared straight into her eyes, enunciating each word. “You were never any kind of onion.”

“The person I, Lu Xun, like—there’s no delicacy in this world that could ever compare to her.”

Outside the window, the winter rain soaked the banana leaves. Winter rain carried its own kind of bleak chill, and the mist drifting in on the wind made the cold feel all the more biting—yet inside, Qian Wei felt nothing but warmth rising in her chest, soft and settled and tender.

She felt a little giddy, a little bashful. “But… I am kind of curious—why don’t you like Mo Zixin? And why do you say Qian Chuan has questionable taste?” A bit of scholarly curiosity stirred in her too. “I mean, she’s quite striking, seems fairly good-tempered, is solid academically, and comes from a good family. What exactly were you guys thinking?”

Lu Xun mulled it over for a moment. “Do you want the honest answer or the polite one?”

“The honest one, obviously.”

“I don’t like flat chests.”

“…”

Lu Xun cleared his throat. “Hers are too flat.”

“…” All Qian Wei could think in response to that was—well, that’s about as bluntly straightforward a man as they come…

“And besides, you’re prettier.”

Qian Wei: “Am I really??”

“Men and women have different standards of beauty.” Lu Xun glanced at her. “Mo Zixin’s looks are a bit bland and washed-out. I prefer women with more vivid, striking features—eyes that draw you in, the kind that seem to glow…”

“…” Qian Wei thought, the way he’s describing this, it sounds more like some kind of seductress…

“But most importantly.” Lu Xun cleared his throat and fixed his gaze on her. “You’re cuter.”

Well… that’s more like it…

“What about you, then?”

“Hm?”

Lu Xun paused, seeming to choose his words carefully, then glanced off toward the rain outside the window with feigned nonchalance. “You know—me and Li Chongwen.”

Qian Wei blinked, then couldn’t help the corners of her mouth curling up. She pressed the canned milk tea against her cheek, as if only the can’s cold surface could cool down the warmth spreading across her face. Eyes fixed unblinkingly on Lu Xun, she said, “The milk tea—this one tastes better.”

She lowered her head. “Because you bought it for me.”

Though he kept up his composed expression, Lu Xun’s ears had gone faintly red.

“Really? This one tastes better?”

Qian Wei nodded.

“What does it taste like?”

“Really good. Rich milk flavor, just the right amount of sweetness.” Qian Wei looked a little embarrassed, shaking the can with a wistful sigh. “Ah, I finished it though—otherwise you could have had a taste too…”

Her sentence never made it to the end, swallowed instead by Lu Xun’s lips against hers. It was a brief, fleeting kiss—but perhaps the briefest things linger the longest in memory. When Lu Xun finally pulled back, his eyes, still fixed on her, held a trace of longing for more.

He kept his gaze locked on hers, breath slightly uneven. “The milk flavor really is rich. And the sweetness really is just right.”

Being looked at like that by someone as good-looking as Lu Xun would already be enough to make anyone’s heart race—but what was even more unfair was that when Qian Wei looked back into his eyes, all she could see reflected in those beautiful dark irises was herself. It gave her a dizzying, breathless feeling—that in his eyes, there was only her.

Lu Xun’s gaze stayed fixed, unwavering. “I want another taste.”