In the bustling cafeteria, Zhu Wenshu fell silent for a long while, forgetting the piece of beef still in her mouth.

After a moment, she typed, quite uncertain.

【Zhu Wenshu】: My…

【Zhu Wenshu】: Song?

She had no idea what Ling Chen was busy with, but it wasn’t until the cafeteria had emptied by half that he finally replied.

【c】: My kid’s the type who repays kindness.

【c】: Went home making a fuss about thanking his teacher.

【Zhu Wenshu】: Hm?

【c】: I didn’t really have anything decent to offer.

【c】: So I just wrote a little melody.

【c】: You don’t mind, do you, Teacher Zhu?

Zhu Wenshu thought—how could she possibly mind.

Calling it “nothing decent,” when it was his original composition.

If she ever fell on hard times, she could take it and hawk it for cash, maybe—

Stop.

Zhu Wenshu suddenly snapped back to reality.

No need to jinx herself like that.

【Zhu Wenshu】: I don’t mind.

【Zhu Wenshu】: I really like it, thank you.

【c】: You’re welcome.

Actually, Zhu Wenshu wasn’t just being polite—she genuinely liked it.

What teacher didn’t want a heartfelt thank-you from a student or parent, and the way Ling Chen had chosen to express it neither crossed any lines nor stuck to the usual routine of cards and flowers.

And given Ling Chen’s status, even casually gifting a melody like that was actually quite generous of him.

Thinking of the word “generous,” a small forgotten episode suddenly surfaced in Zhu Wenshu’s memory.

It had been sophomore or junior year of high school—a math class right before P.E., when the teacher had suddenly taken leave and handed out a test paper for the whole class to work on independently.

Zhu Wenshu hadn’t slept well the night before, and sitting in the front row, she’d had no chance to catch up on rest.

As it happened, the class monitor for that subject, who always sat at the back, had gone up to the podium to keep order, so Zhu Wenshu seized the chance, took her test paper, and went to sit at his seat.

The group closest to the inner wall of the classroom, second-to-last row—right in front of Ling Chen.

Zhu Wenshu had quietly sat down there, and just as she finished the multiple-choice questions, her eyelids had begun drooping helplessly.

She didn’t remember when exactly she’d fallen asleep.

She only remembered opening her eyes to find the classroom completely empty.

Still a little groggy, Zhu Wenshu hadn’t realized the other students had simply gone out to the field the moment class ended—she’d thought something terrible must have happened.

She’d still been slumped over her desk, eyes wide with alarm, wondering if she was dreaming.

Then she suddenly heard the sound of a pencil scratching behind her, and blinked.

Huh? Someone was still here?

So Zhu Wenshu had abruptly sat up and turned around—

Ling Chen, pencil in hand, head bowed as he scribbled something on a scratch sheet, had sharply noticed her movement.

A second before her gaze turned his way, he’d flipped the scratch paper over in a flash and slapped it face-down on the desk.

Startled by the intensity of his reaction, Zhu Wenshu’s expression had frozen on her face.

Ling Chen hadn’t said anything—he’d just stared rigidly at her, his hand pressed on the back of the scratch paper, even his breathing turning a bit heavy.

Such an obvious rejection—Zhu Wenshu could hardly miss it, and of course she wasn’t about to embarrass herself further by speaking to him.

Only, as she’d sheepishly turned back around, she hadn’t been able to resist a glance at the desk.

The scratch paper, hastily flipped over, had only covered part of the test sheet, leaving visible a half-finished geometry proof.

Honestly.

Zhu Wenshu had pouted, unhappy, grumbling to herself.

She’d only wanted to ask why the classroom was empty—not to sneak a peek at his answers.

Besides, she’d always ranked first in the class on every exam—she wouldn’t have bothered looking at a test paper like his anyway.

Could it be, she’d wondered,

he was afraid of being seen unable to finish a proof, and losing face?

That would’ve been even more unnecessary.

The whole class knew that Zhu Wenshu, who dreamed of becoming a teacher, loved nothing more than helping classmates with problems and never mocked anyone.

In any case, after that incident, Zhu Wenshu had thought Ling Chen was a bit petty.

Unless truly necessary, she never approached him to talk again.

The memory flickered past, and looking again at the phrase on her phone screen—”just wrote a little melody”—Zhu Wenshu couldn’t help but marvel at how genuinely generous Ling Chen had become.

It seemed the old saying “the richer people get, the stingier they become” really didn’t hold up.

—

Late autumn in the capital brought high, clear skies and a landscape of desolate beauty, a good seven or eight degrees colder than Jiangcheng, a thousand miles away.

The Xiangting Hotel, located in the outskirts, bustled with activity, a steady stream of business cars circling the fountain out front.

Today, a major domestic music awards ceremony was being held in the capital, and many celebrities were staying at this five-star hotel closest to the broadcast venue.

Media and staff of all kinds shuttled back and forth through the hotel, keeping the doormen run off their feet.

In one of the suites, well-known music media host Liu Leyou was testing equipment with his team, waiting for Ling Chen, who was still having his makeup and styling done.

A few minutes later, Ling Xingyan came over to greet Liu Leyou, and soon after, Ling Chen emerged as well, dressed in a sharply tailored suit.

Liu Leyou was among the most popular internet music bloggers around—outgoing, articulate, and well-liked by musicians.

Most importantly, his professionalism and rigor, and his aversion to cheap gimmicks, had earned him a rare degree of respect even from Ling Chen, who otherwise had little patience for the media.

During his period of seclusion, aside from occasions as significant as today’s, Ling Chen almost never appeared in public. But a while back, Liu Leyou had called him.

After a conversation, Ling Chen had agreed to set aside some time before the red carpet today for an interview with Liu Leyou.

Of course, Liu Leyou’s interviews were never idle chit-chat. He knew Ling Chen’s new album was already in mid-stage preparation, and naturally the topic would revolve around that.

It was a mutually beneficial arrangement everyone was happy with—the interview’s protagonist was Ling Chen, and Liu Leyou would gain more traffic. And for his part, without revealing anything confidential, discussing the new album’s concept and style with Ling Chen would also help build anticipation and promote him.

Forty-five minutes later, having finished going through all the prepared topics with time still to spare, Liu Leyou smiled and said, “Shall we talk about something lighter?”

Ling Chen nodded. “Sure.”

“Come to think of it, we’re not even WeChat friends yet.” Liu Leyou suddenly remembered this. “Mind if I add you?”

“Sure.”

Ling Chen turned to look at Lu Manman, signaling for her to bring over his phone.

While scanning the QR code, Liu Leyou suddenly remembered something and turned to face the camera. “Not easy to come by—now that I’ve added Ling Chen, I wonder if his friend count has even hit a hundred yet, counting me.”

There had long been a well-known legend surrounding Ling Chen—his WeChat friend list never exceeded a hundred.

Fans who liked him thought it showed how simple and unaffected his relationships were, out of step with the glitz and vanity of showbiz.

Those who disliked him thought it made him seem arrogant and stuck-up, poor at socializing.

In any case, when Liu Leyou said this, Ling Chen didn’t take offense, only correcting him mildly: “Unfortunately, I just crossed a hundred a while back.”

“Really?”

Liu Leyou laughed. “What I mean is, is your WeChat friend list really that small? Don’t you find that… a little odd?”

“Not really.”

Ling Chen looked especially relaxed today, leaning lazily against the sofa, a faint hint of amusement in his eyes. “More than that, I couldn’t keep up with them anyway.”

“So you’re saying—”

Liu Leyou, sensing the mood growing livelier, gestured more animatedly, pointing at his own nose. “Your WeChat friends are all people you’re especially close to—friends or family?”

Ling Chen played along nicely, saying, “You can understand it that way too.”

This left Liu Leyou feeling rather pleased with himself, and he suddenly found the prepared Q&A segment a bit dull by comparison.

“Let’s play a game then—I’ll randomly pick one of your friends, you call them and ask to borrow money, and we’ll see if they lend it to you. How about that?”

Standing nearby, Ling Xingyan hesitated a little upon hearing this.

But several of Liu Leyou’s staff started egging him on, and not wanting to disappoint Liu Leyou, Ling Chen handed over his phone.

Liu Leyou, being a man with some sense of boundaries, didn’t rummage around carelessly—he simply scrolled through the friend list.

Ling Chen really did have very few friends, so it didn’t take long to look through them all, and Liu Leyou recognized quite a few of the names—respected veterans of the music industry, not really suited for this kind of game.

Finally, he scrolled to the very bottom of the list and pointed at the last friend on it. “How about her?”

—

At sunset, Zhu Wenshu carried the music box home.

Her desk was already crowded, covered in books and reference materials, with no real space left for something even as small as this.

But leaving it in the office felt somehow too conspicuous.

Even though no one else could possibly know it was a thank-you gift from Ling Chen.

In the end, Zhu Wenshu cleared away a few books she’d already finished from her bedside and set the music box there instead.

Then she took a photo and sent it to her mother to show off.

【Mom】: What’s this?

【Mom】: It’s pretty.

【Mom】: A gift from a boyfriend?

【Zhu Wenshu】: …

【Zhu Wenshu】: It’s from a student and parent.

【Mom】: Oh

Her good mood was instantly ruined by her mother, and Zhu Wenshu put down her phone with little enthusiasm, lying on her bed to zone out.

She stared at the ceiling for a while, her gaze slowly drifting to the piano music box on the nightstand.

She pressed the button, letting it play twice, then sat up, remembering she still had work to finish, and got up to open her laptop at her desk.

She’d only typed a few words when she felt the single, repeating melody was growing a little monotonous after all this listening, so she got up again and turned on the Bluetooth speaker.

The playlist was still sitting on the Ling Chen playlist she’d selected last time.

She worked on the lesson plan for the teaching competition for a while, when a knock suddenly sounded at the door.

Absorbed in her work, Zhu Wenshu didn’t look up from her laptop and simply said, “Come in.”

Ying Fei pushed the door open. “My hair dryer’s broken, could you—”

Before she finished, she heard the song playing in the room, and her expression turned subtly odd, the sentence trailing off.

“What?”

Zhu Wenshu turned. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, my hair dryer’s broken.”

Ying Fei continued, “Can I borrow yours?”

Zhu Wenshu: “Sure, it’s on the sink.”

The two of them shared a two-bedroom, one-living-room apartment, and Zhu Wenshu’s room was the master bedroom with an en-suite bathroom, so all her toiletries were kept in her own room.

Ying Fei went in to get it herself, and seeing Zhu Wenshu occupied, said nothing more and quietly slipped back out.

With the music flowing, Zhu Wenshu’s thoughts moved smoothly, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

So much so that when the WeChat voice call ringtone sounded, she frowned, reluctant to interrupt her train of thought.

But the ringing didn’t stop, and she couldn’t really ignore it.

Zhu Wenshu sighed, carefully saved her work, then got up and went to the bed.

The moment she picked up her phone, she stared at the screen, puzzled and frowning.

Ling Chen?

Why was he calling at a time like this?

Could something have happened with Ling Siyuan?

Just as she was about to answer, a second before pressing the button, Zhu Wenshu suddenly remembered the awkwardness of their last call.

She paused, and instead carefully turned off the Bluetooth speaker first before finally picking up.

“Hello, is something wrong?”

The other end of the line was very quiet, without a trace of background noise.

But the moment Ling Chen spoke, he left Zhu Wenshu utterly bewildered.

“Teacher Zhu, would it be convenient for you to lend me some money right now?”

Zhu Wenshu: “Huh?”

She abruptly held up her phone, checking again and again to confirm just who was calling her.

It really was Ling Chen.

That voice—there probably wasn’t a second one like it in the world.

But Ling Chen… borrowing money… from her?

“Is this for real? Are you… in a hurry?”

Zhu Wenshu asked.

“Yeah, something’s wrong with my bank card, it’s urgent,” Ling Chen said. “If it weren’t urgent, I wouldn’t have come to you.”

Made sense, really.

For a celebrity like him to turn to a schoolteacher to borrow money, he must be truly desperate.

But then again—how much would someone like him need to borrow?

And Zhu Wenshu had just been paid a few days ago; she knew exactly how much was in her account.

“But…” Zhu Wenshu sat up straight, asking carefully, “I’ve put most of it into savings, there’s not much left in my card. How much do you need?”

“To borrow—” Ling Chen paused. “Twenty thousand?”

“Twenty thousand?!”

Zhu Wenshu’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Then—then I’d barely have anything left…”

“…Oh.”

Ling Chen’s tone wasn’t particularly urgent, and he even spoke a bit slowly. “Would it be enough to cover your meals these next few days?”

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

Not really, actually.

Seeing her silence, Ling Chen asked, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Zhu Wenshu: “I’m struggling internally.”

Ling Chen: “How much longer will you be struggling? I’m actually a bit pressed for time on my end.”

Zhu Wenshu lowered her head. “Almost done.”

Ling Chen chuckled lightly. “Should I send you my account number, then?”

“Sure…”

Zhu Wenshu had only just graduated not long ago, and every yuan of that money was money she’d saved herself. The thought of lending it out made her heart ache a little. “When will you pay it back?”

“Next week, probably.”

Ling Chen said, “Don’t worry, I won’t skip town with your money.”

True enough.

Even if he did skip town, his son was still with her… no, in her class, anyway.

Worst case, she could always expose him publicly.

But even thinking this, having just handed over her entire savings, Zhu Wenshu still didn’t feel entirely secure.

She felt she needed to instill in Ling Chen some sense of urgency about paying her back.

“By the way… I actually have a pretty good appetite, you know—standing up teaching a class for forty-plus minutes, sometimes back-to-back, so I really need a piece of fried chicken with every meal or I won’t be full. If you don’t pay me back on time, I’m going to have real problems.”

Ling Chen: “Mm, don’t worry, I won’t leave you without your fried chicken.”

Was the fried chicken really the main point here?

Zhu Wenshu was speechless, but her mind was entirely occupied with calculating how she’d survive on seven or eight hundred yuan until her next paycheck if he didn’t pay her back, so she didn’t press the matter further.

“Then… I’ll transfer it to you now.”

She’d barely finished speaking when she heard, on the other end of the line, Ling Chen’s voice pull away slightly, saying, “So that counts as passing, right?”

Then he added, “Thank you so much for Teacher Zhu’s trust, I’m not actually trying to—”

Just then, Ying Fei knocked on the door and poked her head in.

“I’m here to return the hair dryer.”

In the receiver, Ling Chen’s words cut off abruptly, and Zhu Wenshu, equally bewildered, looked up at Ying Fei.

“Oh, just set it on the desk.”

Ying Fei put the hair dryer back on the desk, and her eyes swept casually across the desk, landing on the album sitting there.

Her arm still outstretched, she hesitated, then couldn’t help asking, “Do you have a thing for Ling Chen?”

“Huh?”

Zhu Wenshu had neither heard Ling Chen continue speaking nor caught what Ying Fei said. “What did you say?”

Ying Fei pressed her lips together, hesitating for a moment, then repeated, “I said, do you have a thing for Ling Chen?”

Click.

Ying Fei didn’t hear Zhu Wenshu’s answer, but saw her jab hard at her phone.

She glanced down and only then noticed that Zhu Wenshu had actually been on a call with someone.

“Were you on a call? Sorry, sorry, I’ll head out.”

Zhu Wenshu sat frozen, saying nothing.

Only after Ying Fei closed the door did she slowly lower her head to stare at her phone.

The screen still showed the call log, the call she’d just hung up on.

Belatedly, she reached up and raked a hand through her long hair.

Oh no, why had she just—reflexively hung up like that…

But if she hadn’t hung up—

Whether the answer was “I do” or “I don’t,” neither was something she could easily say out loud.

But then again, maybe Ling Chen hadn’t even heard what Ying Fei had said from the doorway.

Just as she hesitated over what to do next, her phone suddenly buzzed twice.

【c】: What are you flustered about?

【c】: If you don’t like me, that’s fine too. I’m not bothered.