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Curiosity doesn’t just kill the cat.
It also kept He Youyuan wide awake in the middle of the night.
He naturally wasn’t going to ask for any compensation. He coolly said “no need” and made his exit from the cafeteria with a flourish. Of course, before making that flourishing exit, he had fixed his gaze on Li Kuiyi for five seconds, waiting for her to explain why the amount was exactly thirty-seven yuan and fifty cents.
But that sour-faced pineapple was a cold-hearted shopkeeper with no feelings whatsoever — she only quoted the total, no itemized breakdown.
Hmph. Fine, don’t give one. He was good at math; he’d figure it out himself.
The military training uniforms were rentals, with a deposit of 100 yuan covering five items: camouflage cap, camouflage T-shirt, camouflage jacket, camouflage pants, and camouflage shoes — that made each item worth 20 yuan. He had gotten his T-shirt, pants, and shoes dirtied, totaling 60 yuan. Since the clothes weren’t damaged, only soiled, it certainly couldn’t be charged at the full 60 — apply a discount…
He Youyuan quickly did the mental math. If the final compensation came out to thirty-seven fifty, that meant the discount applied was 62.5%.
62.5% discount — this number seemed… even stranger.
How annoying.
You can calculate it however you want; he couldn’t be bothered to know.
He Youyuan irritably flopped over in bed, lay still for three seconds, then suddenly grabbed his phone from the nightstand, opened Baidu, and typed: “Does the number 37.5 have any special meaning?”
Baidu: 375 means “want to kiss” you~.
Disgusting!
The next day, He Youyuan had two faint dark circles under his eyes. His complexion was fair, so any slight irregularity on his face was glaringly obvious. Zhang Chuang set his food tray down across from him and couldn’t help looking him over: “What were you up to last night?”
He Youyuan stared blankly into the distance, leaning against the back of his chair, quietly chewing his food. After a long moment, he replied: “I used a spinning pineapple as a meat shield and played Plants vs. Zombies all night.”
Zhang Chuang took a bite of his chicken leg, grease running down his chin, and asked curiously: “Didn’t you quit that game?”
He Youyuan, still expressionless: “Venting.”
“Oh.”
Zhang Chuang continued to eat heartily, too lazy to ask what he was venting about. Anyway, this guy was inexplicably odd — if you broke his game controller, he wouldn’t think twice about it, but if a dog stepped on his foot, he’d hold a grudge for ages. His tolerance swung wildly between enormous and minuscule.
Having not slept all night, then trained under the blazing sun all morning, He Youyuan was looking a little drained — heavy-lidded, lashes low — and barely spoke. His usually bold and uninhibited face had, for once in a blue moon, taken on a somewhat melancholy air.
Zhang Chuang couldn’t help glancing at him again. He lowered his voice and snickered: “Hey man, were you really just playing games last night? Nothing else going on?”
“Watch your mouth — do you even know where we are before you start talking?” He Youyuan said through gritted teeth, kicking him under the table.
“I didn’t say anything!” Zhang Chuang grinned triumphantly. “Oh wow, your mind went somewhere else, didn’t it? I was looking at that worn-out look of yours and wondering if you’d gone off to get into a fight last night. That’s all.”
As if anyone would believe that. He Youyuan had barely opened his mouth to bite back when, from the corner of his eye, he spotted two people pausing in the aisle beside him — and of all people, it was Li Kuiyi and the girl who had spilled plain noodle soup all over him.
A torrent of ten thousand curses crashed through his mind at once: she — she — she… didn’t hear all of that, did she?
She wouldn’t misunderstand, would she?
Would she think he was some shameless, perverted lowlife with a head full of filth?
But he hadn’t actually done anything!
He’d admit that using the spinning pineapple as a meat shield had been fueled by a tiny bit of personal grudge — but karma really didn’t have to show up this fast, did it?
Or was this sour-faced pineapple girl genuinely his nemesis?
He Youyuan’s face went numb: “You…”
At the same moment, Li Kuiyi also spoke: “I…” She paused. “You go first.”
He Youyuan awkwardly studied her expression, and when he saw that she looked no different from usual — no signs of disgust — he relaxed a little. He crossed his arms over his chest and forced a self-righteous tone: “What are you here for?”
“Oh, after you left yesterday, we talked it over.” Li Kuiyi exchanged a glance with Zhou Fanghua. “We felt really bad about burning you, so we bought you some burn ointment.”
Li Kuiyi extended her hand — a small tube of ointment lay pitifully in her palm.
She had gone to the pharmacy to buy it the previous night. Zhou Fanghua was a boarding student without a day-student pass and couldn’t leave the school gates, so she had asked Li Kuiyi to go on her behalf.
Zhou Fanghua felt too embarrassed to go directly to Class Twelve to look for He Youyuan. Seeing her awkwardness, Li Kuiyi assumed she just didn’t know how to get the ointment to him, and offered to ask her good friend in Class Twelve to help deliver it. But before she could even ask Fang Zhixiao, they happened to run into He Youyuan himself in the cafeteria.
Li Kuiyi pointed at his profile. “What a coincidence — there he is.”
Zhou Fanghua pressed her lips together, hesitating. For one thing, He Youyuan looked rather fierce, and she didn’t quite dare approach him directly; for another, delivering medicine to him in the cafeteria versus going to his classroom was essentially no different — both were guaranteed to draw a round of stares, and she still felt uncomfortable being the center of attention.
So she gently shook Li Kuiyi’s hand. “Can you speak to him for me?”
“Was the burn serious?” Li Kuiyi followed up. “If it’s severe, we can cover the medical expenses.”
A burn?
He Youyuan had indeed been scalded by the noodle broth, but when he’d showered at home and looked at it, his skin was barely pink — it barely counted as an injury.
He was suddenly reminded that yesterday, when Li Kuiyi had asked if he’d been burned, he had snapped back at her to be difficult: “Yes, obviously I was.”
As expected — you reap what you sow. Now he had to keep dealing with this sour-faced pineapple again today, all because of his own stupid choices.
“Ahem.” He Youyuan cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s not serious. I put ointment on it — it’s fine now.”
“Are you sure?” Li Kuiyi looked uncertain, because she noticed his complexion was worse than usual today — he seemed a little frail.
“What is there to be uncertain about?” He Youyuan lifted his eyes to look at her.
“Alright.” Li Kuiyi placed the burn ointment in front of him. “Then you should at least take this.”
Does she not understand plain speech?
“I. Am. Not. Serious.” He Youyuan stared at her, enunciating every word.
Li Kuiyi stared back, looking genuinely puzzled: “I know, but it’s not like we have any use for it either.”
What she left unsaid: at least it’ll be of some use to you.
He Youyuan was so infuriated he nearly passed out.
So apparently he was a waste disposal facility — any useless thing could just be dumped on him.
To be honest, He Youyuan had been on the receiving end of “love letters” from girls since kindergarten. He’d dealt with no fewer than eight hundred — probably closer to a thousand — girls in his time, and he had never once encountered anyone like this sour-faced pineapple, who both enjoyed mocking people and speaking in riddles, and on top of that had absolutely no sense of reading the room.
Truly, you never know how good you have it until you have something to compare it to — he suddenly found himself thinking that all those girls who had chased after him were gentle and warm, radiant and sincere.
And another thing: it was the other girl who had bumped into him — why was the sour-faced pineapple overstepping and negotiating on her behalf? Who did she think she was? Her personal spokesperson?
“I don’t want it.” He Youyuan threw out the words in frustration, schooled his expression into a stern look, picked up his food tray, stood up, and walked straight toward the tray return area nearby.
Li Kuiyi watched his retreating figure blankly, then silently exchanged another look with Zhou Fanghua and concluded: “Our guess yesterday wasn’t wrong — he really does have a bad temper.”
Zhou Fanghua nodded, looking worried.
At that moment, Zhang Chuang — who had been watching the whole thing without understanding a word of it — covered his nose with his fist and gave a soft cough.
Li Kuiyi only then registered that Zhang Chuang was also there, and said apologetically: “Sorry — we didn’t mean to talk badly about your friend right in front of you.”
Zhang Chuang: “…”
Brother, when you meet someone like this, you just have to admit defeat.
For the rest of military training, Li Kuiyi never crossed paths with He Youyuan again. Fang Zhixiao, however, would occasionally update her with snippets of news about him — saying things like good looks truly do have their privileges, and that even before school had officially started, bold girls were already lining up to bring him food, drinks, and love letters.
Li Kuiyi said nothing.
She was only now, belatedly, beginning to notice that in the few encounters she’d had with He Youyuan, every single one had ended with him angry. What was more unsettling was that she had no idea what he was actually angry about.
Was it because of her?
But she hadn’t meant to make him angry. And besides — if he was the same “He Youyuan” she had known before, she still owed him a “thank you.”
Surely this name wasn’t common enough to belong to two different people? It was just that the He Youyuan of today looked nothing like the “He Youyuan” in her memory. That one had darker skin and very close-cropped hair; beyond that, she could only vaguely recall a pair of eyes with sharp, clear contrast between black and white.
So Li Kuiyi asked Fang Zhixiao: “Do you have He Youyuan’s contact information?”
Fang Zhixiao looked horrified: “What are you planning to do?” Then immediately broke into a look of gleeful surprise, as if watching a tree that had stood bare for ten thousand years finally bloom: “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for him too?”
Li Kuiyi shook her head: “No. I just need to ask him something.”
“Ask him what?”
“I’ll tell you once I find out.”
Fang Zhixiao’s gossip-hungry heart was thumping wildly. She swiftly pulled out her phone, found the class group chat, and dug out He Youyuan’s QQ account number: “Here, it’s this one.”
Li Kuiyi searched the string of digits — sure enough, a user appeared. His display name was: Looking Good Is My Type.
What kind of “type”? Body type? Face type? Hair type? Blood type?
What a narcissist.
On the day of the opening ceremony, the gymnasium was packed to the brim with new students — lively and bursting with energy. Everyone was reveling in the joy of military training finally coming to an end, while also speculating that the school leadership probably couldn’t stand the heat anymore and had decided to hold the ceremony indoors. Whatever the reason, with the air conditioning running, life suddenly felt worth living again.
The long-winded speech from the school leaders went largely unheard. The same tired phrases about “golden autumn breezes” and “looking toward the future” naturally faded into background noise for the students below, who used the time to doze off, whisper to each other, or sneak a look at their phones.
After what felt like half a century, the emcee finally moved to the next item on the agenda: “…And now, please welcome Li Kuiyi from Class One of Year One to come up on behalf of all new students and give a speech. Let’s give her a warm welcome!”
A burst of laughter erupted through the gymnasium.
The name “Li Kuiyi” — it really did sound uncannily like “Li Kui,” the historical outlaw figure.
She might as well rename herself Marco Pineapple, He Youyuan thought, and let out a scornful snicker.
Then, the phone in his pants pocket buzzed twice.
He lazily pulled it out and opened it. It was a friend request notification.
Li Kuiyi walked up to the podium, adjusted the microphone to her height, and spoke with a calm, composed expression: “Respected leaders, esteemed teachers, dear fellow students — good afternoon. I am Li Kuiyi from Class One of Year One, and it is a great honor to stand here today…”
He Youyuan suddenly felt disoriented. He lifted his eyes from his phone screen and looked toward the stage. The girl up there had her hair tied back in a short ponytail, her camouflage T-shirt still neatly tucked into her camouflage pants as always. Her clear, cool voice traveled through the speakers and reached him.
Hello, He Youyuan. My name is Li Kuiyi.