This time, everyone nearby turned to look, each of them holding back expressions, wanting to laugh but not daring to look too gleeful.

No matter what, Jiang Wen was still just a young boy, inexperienced when it came to feelings and desire. Her remark hit far too hard, striking a serious blow to his fragile young heart.

He was thoroughly flustered, his small face flushing quickly from pale to red, and he snapped in a low voice, “Are you a pervert?”

A boy nearby turned around too, teasing her. “Hey, hey, hey, Feng Ning, what’s gotten into you, always scheming after the class heartthrob?”

In front of everyone, Feng Ning asked lazily, “Oh, so who should I scheme after then? You?”

The boy, who’d only been making idle small talk, found himself at a loss for words after being countered. Coming back to himself, he grumbled, “Forget it, you — don’t be a toad lusting after swan meat.”

Feng Ning rolled up her book and gave Jiang Wen’s wrist a light tap with it, her eyes curving into a smile. “Handsome, what kind of toad do you fancy?”

At that, the other boys completely lost it, pounding the tables with laughter. The commotion was so loud it drew the attention of people all over the classroom, everyone craning to see what was happening.

Jiang Wen’s expression shifted several times, and finding no room to think it through, he turned away in embarrassment.

It wasn’t as if he’d never been confessed to publicly before — some had made scenes far worse, far more dramatic. But never once had it been like this, where he couldn’t tell whether to react or not react. Mixed in was also a tension and awkwardness he couldn’t quite name; he actually felt embarrassed, yet couldn’t figure out why.

Word of Jiang Wen being teased publicly by a girl spread fast.

At dinner that evening, some acquaintances from another class saw Jiang Wen and pounced on him with sly grins, tugging at his clothes, saying, “Tsk tsk, let me admire it — where exactly is that sexy mole of our top idol’s, hm?”

Jiang Wen cursed and dodged aside, batting the hand away.

As they laughed and joked around, a girl not far off hesitated for a while, glancing around. Pushed forward by her friends, she finally worked up the courage, shuffling slowly over to their table, and asked timidly, “Um, could I add your WeChat?”

Jiang Wen only turned after someone nudged his shoulder. His gaze traveled up a few inches, sizing her up for two or three seconds. Lazily, his dark lashes lowering, he said flatly, “Sorry, I don’t have a phone.”

His tone lacked sincerity, though it wasn’t exactly arrogant either — just a habitual brush-off.

“Oh… okay.” The girl couldn’t hide her disappointment and quickly walked away.

The table full of people, used to this by now, chimed in noisily. “Why’s Jiang Wen getting more heartless toward girls by the day — look at him, so spoiled it’s unbecoming!”

Zhao Binlin snorted. “As handsome guys, we’ve got to keep our guard up even with pretty girls, okay? Only the truly hopeless ones don’t bother staying reserved.”

Xi Gaoyuan patted Jiang Wen’s head, asking with mock seriousness, “Hey, bro, why’s smoke coming out of your head?”

“Get lost.” Jiang Wen raised a hand to muss his own hair, glancing at him lazily. “What smoke?”

“The smoke of your own handsomeness!”

Laughter erupted all around.

Tong Erdie poked at the rice in front of her, poking a hole into it and still not letting up, until someone called her name. Distracted, her eyes drifted sideways. After a while she pulled out a tissue, stood up. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

As she passed that table, she deliberately slowed her steps. Amid the group’s laughter, Jiang Wen seemed to raise his head slightly and glance her way.

Tong Erdie walked past step by step, her mind wandering, wondering whether he had really looked at her a moment longer. Her heart was in turmoil; she badly wanted to turn and check, but she couldn’t.

If she turned around so blatantly, how would that be any different from the other girls constantly pestering him?

After a sudden flash of joy came an empty, wistful feeling. She bit her lip hard, her chest pounding fiercely, and thought back to the day they first met.

It had rained heavily that day, with fog rolling in, visibility on the road very low. Tong Erdie had just left the dorm building when her foot slipped at the corner, and she bumped into someone. Wincing from the impact, she looked up at the person she’d hit.

He was holding an umbrella, tall and thin, a wristbone as slender as bamboo. Her gaze traveled further up. A low-collared black T-shirt, collarbone jutting out, a design on the chest of a withered, wilting red rose, rising and falling faintly with his breath.

Jet-black short hair, pale skin, faint lashes. A small brown mole beside his brow, the corners of his eyes tilted slightly upward, utterly cool and detached.

Tong Erdie instinctively stepped back, for a moment almost forgetting to breathe, blinking a couple of times. She had never seen anyone so good-looking.

It was just like a scene out of a comic. The people around blurred into background, indistinct. He simply tilted his head, slowly, slowly, lashes lowering, looking at her. Fine brows, long eyes, so aloof and above it all.

On the way to class, the friend walking with her told her that boy was named Jiang Wen, that quite a few girls at school had feelings for him, and that he was very popular. Tong Erdie’s mind was already complete mush, utterly dazed, but she remembered that name firmly.

The second time she saw him was one evening. In the dim light of dusk, she was sitting in the classroom, looking out at the corridor through the window.

A girl, her eyes brimming with tears, stood in front of Jiang Wen, gripping his wrist, crying as she spoke, head tilted up. How could she cry like that, knowing full well so many people were watching and laughing at her?

But from beginning to end, he only kept his brow slightly furrowed, no change at all in his gaze or expression.

Behind her, people were whispering, watching the show with relish, discussing in low voices how shameless the girl was. “Ugh, so embarrassing.”

“Right, right, she must have broken down after learning Jiang Wen’s with that someone from class six.”

“What, are you sure? Who in class six, really?”

“Not sure exactly, but someone apparently saw Jiang Wen eating with her or something. Pretty much confirmed, I’d guess.”

“They’re just from two different worlds to begin with, why bother?”

…

Tong Erdie pricked up her ears, her mind wandering. When she came back to herself, she found the ink on her homework had already smeared into a blot.

She couldn’t write another word. A powerful fear welled up inside her — that she too would one day become like that girl outside the classroom, sinking in hopelessly, becoming someone else’s laughingstock.

That night back in the dorm, in the dark and quiet, Tong Erdie lay in bed and cried quietly. She didn’t dare cry too loudly, afraid her roommates would hear.

It was really nothing, in the end.

Jiang Wen had always been someone she shouldn’t even dare to think about.

Before it got dark, Meng Hanmo brought some fruit to see Feng Ning, calling her to come out to the school gate.

He was smoking. Feng Ning crouched shapelessly on the flowerbed beside him to keep him company, chewing on a small piece of candy.

The old gatekeeper in the security booth kept glancing this way, seeming like he wanted to say something but holding back.

“Bro, you smoke so much, it’s fierce. Want some water? I’ll go buy you a bottle.”

Meng Hanmo pinched out the rest of his cigarette, a careless smile at the corner of his mouth. “No need, I’m heading out soon anyway, got something to do later.”

“Are you still watching the floor over at Brother Ma’s place?”

“No, I just go help out sometimes. What about you, how’s high school treating you?”

“Nothing special. I’m just not used to communal living, feels kind of restrictive. But I did run into a pretty cute little girl. Ugh, you have no idea how charming I am, this kid’s already become my fan. Oh right, do you have time to check on my mom? I’m worried about her being alone at home, going stir-crazy.”

Meng Hanmo ruffled her hair. “I know.”

Feng Ning peeled an orange, tore off half, and held it to his mouth, grinning. “Here, let’s have a race, same old rule — whoever finishes eating first in one breath wins. Loser pays ten yuan.”

Across the street, Jiang Wen took in the whole scene. It was six or seven in the evening on a summer day, the orange sunset slowly sinking, people coming and going. He watched them quietly; a truck drove by, blocking his view, then sped away.

A group of boys who’d just finished dinner were chatting in twos and threes; someone spoke up, “Young Master Jiang, watch out for cars when you cross the street.”

Amid the rising and falling noise around him, Jiang Wen was jolted awake, forcing his voice back and giving a faint acknowledging grunt.

That night, back in the dorm, Zhao Binlin came out after his shower. He sat on the edge of his bed, flipping through a basketball magazine he’d just bought, loudly proclaiming that LeBron James was just too handsome.

He rambled on for a long time; no one responded.

Jiang Wen said nothing, propped up on his arm. His long, well-defined fingers rested on the desk, clearly not having taken in a word.

Zhao Binlin finally sensed something was off and peeked over. “Can I ask, who set you off?”

Jiang Wen spoke with extreme coldness. “Stay away, don’t talk to me.”

Back in middle school, Feng Ning had once coached Zhao Weichen on how to pursue the school beauty, offering this rather classic bit of wisdom:

To win someone over, the most important thing is to get them used to your presence. Whether they like you or hate you, even if they think you’re crazy, it doesn’t matter — first you need to establish a strong presence. Once they’re used to you being around, you’ve already won more than half the battle.

So this was how Feng Ning was “pursuing” Jiang Wen too — taking advantage of her seating position nearby, tossing loose candies and chocolate bars onto his desk whenever she had the chance.

The canned ones were too expensive; she couldn’t quite bring herself to spend that much.

Jiang Wen had long since gotten used to rejecting people, expertly mixing whatever she gave him in with everyone else’s offerings and tossing it all straight into the trash, without mercy.

But what kind of person was Feng Ning? On the surface, a total airhead beauty; underneath, unshakeable and thick-skinned as steel. She was completely unbothered — she’d give what she wanted to give, he could throw it away if he wanted, without the slightest sense of being slighted.

Weeks passed like this, and it was Jiang Wen, of all people, who started to crack.

Jiang Wen had been raised under strict family discipline, and on the surface he was polite enough to everyone. But that was all an act — once his temper flared, he’d look down his nose at anyone, no matter who they were.

The last class on Friday let out, and everyone was eager to get home. Feng Ning packed up her things. The seats around her emptied one by one, and she enjoyed the rare quiet, taking out her notebook to start writing paid notes — fifty yuan a set — for a classmate who was hopeless at studying.

Jiang Wen walked straight over and set something down on Feng Ning’s desk, looking down at her from above. “Thanks. No need to keep giving me these from now on.”

Feng Ning, deep in furious writing, paused, looked up blankly, sized him up for a moment, and asked with perfect calm, “Why not?”

After a silence, Jiang Wen said, “I don’t like it.”

Feng Ning made a few “oh” sounds, tapping her pen against the paper, and asked very earnestly, “Then what do you like? I’ll make a note of it.”

He felt a fire building inside and couldn’t help snapping, “I. Don’t. Need. It.”

Feng Ning grimaced. “But I just feel like giving.”

He suddenly lost his temper, unable to stop his voice from rising. “Why do you keep giving me things?!”

“You even have to ask?” She tilted her head, drawing out her words wickedly, still copying notes. “You know exactly why.”

“Do you just like provoking people wherever you go?” Jiang Wen said, suppressing his anger with a smile, though the smile looked ugly.

She paused for a couple of seconds before speaking. “Uh, who have I provoked?”

“You know very well yourself.”

Jiang Wen hadn’t yet changed out of his school uniform; his blue-and-white shirt billowed in the wind, the collar dazzlingly white. It wasn’t dark yet, and crimson evening glow was bursting through the gaps in the clouds. He wasn’t old, yet the contours of his brow and eyes looked as if they’d been drawn with the fine brushwork of traditional Chinese painting, carrying also a haughtiness bred from being pampered since childhood.

What had she done to anger this young master in front of her? He was throwing around harsh words as if he’d caught his wife cheating red-handed, like some middle-aged man scorned.

Feng Ning thought carefully but said nothing.

“Heh.” Jiang Wen planted both hands on her desk, leaning down slowly, and gave her an extremely bitter, mocking smile, his blood-red lips parting and closing. “You’ve really gone to a lot of trouble to get my attention. But I’ve seen plenty of girls like you. I’d advise you not to hold any unrealistic fantasies about me. If you have that much spare time, you’d do better spending it on your studies — maybe then you’d actually have some kind of future.”

Without waiting for another word from her, he didn’t even look at her again before walking away.

Stunned for a moment, Feng Ning’s blank face finally shifted into an expression. She wasn’t even angry, just utterly bewildered, thoroughly baffled.

But… the image of Jiang Wen walking away rose in her mind, chin tilted up slightly, his whole face full of aloof, icy pride.

Feng Ning couldn’t help but laugh.

— He really was a bit like a little peacock.

Author’s note: Feng Ning: I’d also advise you not to hold any unrealistic fantasies about me.

Thanks to the fairies who sent bombs and nutrient potions, more red envelopes going out today~