Li Wu didn’t know how he managed to bundle up his bamboo mat and bedding, nor how he packed his books and clothes into his suitcase.

He had no recollection of getting into Cen Jin’s car or returning home. His heart was dead, and he moved like a walking corpse.

But he knew he had no choice.

Without Cen Jin, he would be penniless, possessing nothing—just a complete orphan, a pathetic vagrant.

After packing his belongings, Li Wu sat on the edge of the bed and looked around. This place that had sheltered him for over a year, this place he could call home—he had now destroyed it. His sister no longer wanted him.

He roughly rubbed his face with both hands, stood up, and walked out.

Cen Jin was already waiting on the sofa. On the coffee table were two cups of freshly poured tea, wisps of steam rising.

She rarely sat so formally at home, and her expression was equally rigid—the negotiation’s intent was clear without words.

They exchanged expressionless glances, with Li Wu being the first to look away as he sat down in the chair beside her.

The youth’s eyes were red, like some wounded small animal. Cen Jin’s heart twisted, and to ease this spreading pain, she picked up her cup and took a quick sip.

She admitted that she cared for this boy and couldn’t bear to see him upset.

But this care was limited to family—sister and brother. The current transgression and abnormality made her physically and mentally uncomfortable, like accidentally grabbing a rotten fruit, with strange stickiness oozing between her fingers.

Taking a deep breath and loosely curling her fingers, wanting only to quickly wash clean, she asked, “Have you been estimating your scores these past few days?”

Li Wu hadn’t expected her to ask about the college entrance exam first, and was slightly stunned: “No.”

Cen Jin asked, “Don’t you have a rough range in mind?”

“Yes,” Li Wu’s throat moved slightly. “It should be around 700 for sure.”

Cen Jin paused slightly: “Are you certain?”

“Mm.”

“So you’re confident about getting into several top universities, right?”

Li Wu gave a slight nod.

Cen Jin put down her teacup: “Go to Beijing.”

The youth’s head suddenly dropped, his brows tightly furrowed, as if strongly enduring, struggling, resisting everything in the present moment. For a long while, he couldn’t speak.

Cen Jin watched him, patience exhausted: “Are you listening to what I’m saying?”

The living room was silent for several seconds before Li Wu raised his eyes and said softly, “I heard.” His voice was trembling: “Are you trying to drive me away?”

Cen Jin looked directly at him, her gaze and tone both pressuring: “I’m giving you advice. This is the best choice.”

A suppressed, hoarse sound rolled from Li Wu’s throat: “Fine, I’ll go.”

Getting the desired answer, Cen Jin’s heart calmed somewhat. She spoke methodically: “We don’t know how your final admitted school will arrange things, but if there are scholarships or grants before enrollment, then your tuition will be secure. If not, I can pay it for you first. Later, if you can apply for student loans and poverty subsidies, I think you probably won’t need my help anymore.”

Cen Jin pondered for a moment: “As for holidays, come back if you want. This room won’t have anyone else for now. If there is someone in the future, I’ll move back to Qingping Road. Of course, it’s fine if you want to stay at school for part-time work—that would be best.”

Li Wu had been sitting properly at first, but gradually, he hunched his back and changed to resting his elbows on his knees, becoming like a weak yet agitated hedgehog.

From beginning to end, he remained silent, nodding mechanically in acceptance, like a kneeling criminal being invisibly whipped by the woman’s words, forced to inch forward on his knees to a place beyond her sight, even though it pained him to his bones, leaving him covered in wounds.

“I’ll be responsible until you start university—I won’t go back on my word, so I won’t ask you to leave immediately this summer,” having bestowed her grace, the woman began to admonish: “But about liking me—don’t say another word about it. If you mention it again, leave immediately. I won’t care what happens to you.”

Li Wu’s chest heaved, but he still nodded.

He had returned to that irritating state from when they first met. Cen Jin raised her voice: “Speak.”

Li Wu clenched his teeth, for one second, two seconds, then clearly uttered one word: “Okay.”

Silence fell again.

Though they hadn’t said much, Cen Jin’s throat was inexplicably dry. She picked up her cup and took small sips, using the opportunity to mentally review whether there were any oversights in this negotiation.

During this brief interval, the youth who had been silent throughout suddenly stood up.

He was tall and well-built. Cen Jin raised her eyes, her gaze questioning.

Li Wu looked down at her against the light for two seconds: “I want to go out for a bit.”

Cen Jin was stunned for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

Li Wu turned and walked to the entrance, kneeling to change his shoes. The woman’s voice came from the side: “Don’t forget your phone.” Her words of concern were distant for the first time.

Li Wu didn’t say a word, just stood up and left. The sound of the door closing was as gentle as always—he was furious, heartbroken, devastated, yet he didn’t even dare slam the door.

As soon as Li Wu left, Cen Jin collapsed onto the sofa, continuously inhaling and exhaling, unable to calm down.

She grabbed a nearby cushion and hugged it to support her chin, then took out her phone to browse pet videos, trying to divert her attention. But it had no effect—Cen Jin’s gaze gradually became unfocused on the flowing images.

Much earlier, she had been imagining this summer. The most vivid vision should have been them celebrating wildly at home after checking his results, crying and laughing and jumping around after their struggles had finally paid off. She had many wonderful plans, like making a vlog to record the moment, taking Li Wu traveling, sending him to learn to drive, and giving him the world’s most thoughtfully prepared college starter package. She even thought about going to this kid’s village to hold a three-day feast to show off. But now, everything was gone, nothing could be done. They had fallen apart in just one short day.

It was too regrettable.

Cen Jin’s nose stung. She tossed aside the cushion and walked back to her bedroom, burying her exhausted self in the bedding.

Her bed was her bomb shelter and haven. Here, she could find temporary world peace.

―

When she woke up, it was already past nine in the evening.

Cen Jin put down her phone, rubbed her slightly aching temples, and got out of bed.

The living room was pitch black. Cen Jin turned on the lights—the environment remained exactly as it had been before she slept. It seemed Li Wu hadn’t returned home.

Standing in place, a chill crept up her spine as news stories about student suicides began circling in her mind. Cen Jin immediately took out her phone and called Li Wu.

After just one ring, the other end hung up.

Anger shot up, and Cen Jin made a second call.

This time the other party answered, but at the same moment, the door to Cen Jin’s side was opened and someone walked in.

Cen Jin turned to look—it was Li Wu, holding a supermarket shopping bag in one hand and his phone in the other, his expression somewhat cold. This coldness made him appear particularly calm as if the agitated youth from the afternoon had merely been possessed.

Their eyes met for a second. Cen Jin let out a breath, feeling she had made a mountain out of a molehill, and quickly ended the call.

Li Wu’s plastic bag was full of ingredients. His gaze quickly swept past Cen Jin before he walked to the kitchen without looking back.

He started cooking.

Cen Jin also brought her laptop to the living room, focusing on work.

Everything was as usual, yet somehow different.

Li Wu prepared the toppings and came out to ask, “I’m making noodles, do you want some?”

Cen Jin didn’t spare even half a glance, her face cold white in the screen’s glow: “No, I’ll order takeout later.”

Li Wu replied: “Okay.”

Then he returned to the kitchen and only cooked his portion.

He sat alone at the table, unhurriedly finished eating, cleaned the bowls and chopsticks, tidied up, and returned to his room.

Cen Jin propped her chin, finally glancing up from behind her computer, staring at the corridor for a while before letting out an inexplicably mocking laugh.

The cold war officially began from this second.

In the following days, they didn’t speak a single word to each other, not interfering, treating each other as air.

The home was automatically divided into their respective areas—Li Wu’s activity space was the second bedroom, main bathroom, and kitchen, while Cen Jin stayed in the living room and master bedroom.

Besides, she had work, coming home late, and wasn’t home much.

Cen Jin had paid slight attention to Li Wu’s activities—he seemed to have found something to do, leaving early in the morning and returning home between seven and eight, occasionally cooking. Of course, only one portion, just for himself.

It was somewhat uncomfortable at first, but after four or five days passed, Cen Jin became accustomed to this situation, even drawing some peace of mind from it.

Li Wu’s attitude gave her a kind of comfort zone. She even began to appreciate his choice to cut losses quickly and not persist—because of this, she didn’t have to face and deal with their relationship.

If this holiday could end like this.

She would be very willing.

As the time for revealing the college entrance exam results drew closer, cracks began appearing in Cen Jin’s comfort zone.

This change began with a phone call on the afternoon of June 22nd when Cen Jin was dozing off in front of her company computer.

The caller claimed to be from Peking University’s admissions office.

Cen Jin jolted awake: “Who?”

The other party’s tone was friendly as they introduced themselves again and asked, “Are you Li Wu’s guardian?”

That was the first time Cen Jin learned that some universities would get information before scores were released and lock down rare talents across the country at the fastest speed.

In the evening, Cen Jin received a second call.

This time it was Tsinghua University.

She responded gently for a few sentences, then said they would wait until the child saw his scores.

Later, more and more calls came—from universities, education offices, Yi Middle School, and various teachers. They bombarded her in turns, so many that Cen Jin wanted to set up call forwarding from her phone to Li Wu.

Route Qiqi even asked with empathy if she had recently encountered a university version of a chain fraud group.

Cen Jin could only curl her lips in a cold smile.

It seemed a certain Li surname’s heaven’s pride had miscalculated.

Before the scores were released, she was already busy enough to want to turn off her phone and refuse visitors.

The feeling was hard to describe.

She didn’t want to follow up and be responsible for this youth’s life anymore, yet had to participate in it at the end in a way that brought glory by association.

It could be considered a form of advancing and retreating together.

But Cen Jin was also too lazy to be his full spokesperson, listening to these usually arrogant schools transform into brown-nosers, tirelessly talking about ideals and character for an hour or two just to attract students to enroll.

So she still pushed them all to Li Wu, uniformly letting him handle it himself.

On June 23rd, the dust settled, and Li Wu’s results were finally revealed.

His total score was 718, with full marks in science comprehensive, ranking seventh in the province and fourth in Yi City.

The good news was announced by Teacher Qi in the group chat—this year’s provincial science stream top scorer was also from their school, their class.

Everyone was overjoyed, congratulating each other, and celebrating this highlight moment of entering the adult world.

Although he knew the results in advance, Li Wu still checked his scores alone at home. He carefully looked through each subject, and each number, then closed the computer.

After sitting quietly for who knows how long, the youth raised his eyelids and caught a glimpse of his expressionless face on the black screen.

With this one look, all thoughts collapsed. He slumped onto his desk, sobbing in pain.

He vented for nearly two minutes before sitting up straight, messily wiping away the tears covering his face. He couldn’t understand why he was crying—everything was within expectations, there was no excitement, no relief. Finally, he realized that he was sad because he didn’t have anyone to share with. The person he most wanted to share with no longer wanted to hear a single word from him, wouldn’t be excited about his scores. Heaven knows how long he had waited for this moment—when he could rightfully please her, see her smile for him, be proud of him. He had destroyed it all in advance. He hated himself thoroughly.

The same day, Cen Jin sat at the company, restless from beginning to end.

From morning to night, she repeatedly performed two actions—opening Li Wu’s WeChat, closing it; opening Teacher Qi’s WeChat, and closing it, countless times.

In the end, she didn’t type a single word.

After work, Cen Jin didn’t go home.

She reactively didn’t want to face everything, didn’t know what response would be appropriate, and rejection written all over her from head to toe.

Worried that Chunchang would overthink and be talkative, she didn’t go to her friend’s home either, but stayed at a hotel near the company, in her consistently skilled posture of avoidance.

Escape is shameful but useful.

At least for this night, only needing to face the Cen Jin reflected in the floor-to-ceiling windows against the city’s brilliant lights—that’s what she thought.

That night, Cen Jin didn’t sleep soundly.

So the next day, she woke up earlier than usual.

She opened her phone, checking WeChat messages first thing.

She found Li Wu had sent her a message.

Heart racing, Cen Jin hurriedly clicked to open it. As soon as her gaze touched the chat interface, Cen Jin’s whole body froze.

It was a very eye-catching transfer notification, orange background with white text, and quite a long number.

The youth had transferred exactly one hundred thousand to her, without saying a single word.

Cen Jin sat up in shock, exiting and re-entering repeatedly to confirm the message’s authenticity.

Finally, she confirmed she wasn’t in a dream.

Cen Jin immediately switched to her contacts, found Li Wu’s name, and called.

In a moment, the other end connected.

Momentarily speechless, in the receiver, there were only their calm breaths.

Cen Jin couldn’t control her voice that had turned cold from shock and suspicion, demanding: “What’s with the hundred thousand? Where did it come from?”

But Li Wu was extraordinarily calm: “Yi University gave it, just received it today.”

“What?”

“This is one of Yi University’s conditions for enrolling me.”

Cen Jin broke out in a cold sweat, followed by fury: “You’re not going to Beijing anymore?”

“Mm.”

“What did you promise me back then?” Cen Jin was nearly having a heart attack, every strand of hair about to catch fire: “Why suddenly go back on your word?”

The other end was quiet for a few seconds before speaking again. The youth spoke lightly, as if in defiance: “Starting from my eighteenth birthday, I write my own life story—that was your blessing.”