On an early late-autumn morning, the sluggish sunlight occasionally pierced through the windows with a sharp glare.
Zeng Shunxi had just savored the fleeting beauty of falling leaves on her walk to class, and with that sliver of warmth still lingering on her face, she stepped into the classroom feeling refreshed.
She had barely crossed the threshold when the room erupted into hushed murmurs. The Chinese Literature department was mostly female, and all of them were staring at her with something close to envy sparkling in their eyes.
Following their gazes, she froze.
A cup of milk tea was sitting neatly on her desk, steam curling upward like a silent confession.
She rushed over. Under the cup, a small note was tucked:
"My dear Shunxi,
With autumn winds rising and the cold settling in, may this warm milk tea reach where my heart already has."
Mo Lü, the culprit, was already slipping away unnoticed, whistling as he headed toward his own classroom—fully immersed in his self-made romance.
Zeng Shunxi glanced at the note, expression unreadable, then tossed it straight into the trash. Amid the disappointed groans of her classmates, she shoved the milk tea into Wu Xinx i's hands.
"Who's this bored? You drink it."
The girls exchanged looks, realizing there was no drama to be had, and dispersed with audible regret.
But every morning after that, without fail, new snacks and drinks appeared on her desk—never the same, always accompanied by a cheesy love note beginning with "My dear Shunxi."
Some curious souls even hid in corners trying to catch the mysterious admirer in action, yet no one ever succeeded. Everyone buzzed with speculation.
Everyone except Zeng Shunxi, who seemed the least curious of all. She split the snacks among her friends, tossed the notes without reading, and carried on with remarkable apathy.
That day, after a dreaded P.E. class—one universally hated by the literature girls—they were forced to run 3000 meters within 20 minutes. Wu Xinxi nearly died at 1000 meters, collapsed dramatically, and surrendered to the teacher's scolding.
Zeng Shunxi, blessed with long legs and a slim figure, barely finished in eighteen-something minutes. She collapsed on the track, drenched in sweat, chest heaving, throat burning.
Her vision blurred. When she blinked, a bottle of cold water appeared above her.
She grabbed it like a drowning person grabbing a lifeline, twisted it open, and gulped it down. Only after quenching her thirst did she breathe out a grateful, "Thanks."
"You're welcome, my dear Shunxi."
That voice—familiar and annoyingly smug—instantly snapped her out of her exhaustion.
She looked up to see the last person she wanted to encounter: Mo Lü.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, bewildered. A second later, realization struck her. She shot to her feet, shouting, "It's you?! The one leaving all that stuff on my desk every day—it's you?!"
Every panting classmate turned toward them.
When they saw Mo Lü—the campus heartthrob—standing there, the girls collectively screamed.
They had all assumed the secret admirer was some shy, unattractive otaku too embarrassed to show his face.
No one expected it to be him.
Among the onlookers, Wu Xinxi felt a sting of loss—despite knowing Shunxi would never like him, reality still hit harder than she expected.
Mo Lü beamed, dazzling and dangerous, as he said:
"Did you like today's Macchiato? It's made from Colombian beans—sweet, fragrant, low-key but elegant. Just one sip can make you feel blissful~~~"
With his long single-lidded eyes and bright smile, he looked like he'd stepped straight out of a commercial.
If he'd been holding the coffee, they could have filmed the ad on the spot.
"I wouldn't know. I poured it out."
Zeng Shunxi replied flatly.
She hadn't poured it out, of course—she'd given it away. But she wasn't about to let him off easy.
She returned the empty water bottle to him and turned to leave.
Mo Lü chased after her, pulling a towel from his shoulder. He draped it over her head and began gently drying her sweat-soaked hair.
"Look at you—you're drenched. It's cold today; you'll get sick if you don't dry off. Your hair's so long… I'll help you."
His movements were gentle, almost tender.
He even praised her soft, silky hair as he worked.
For a dangerous moment, Zeng Shunxi felt her defenses waver. He was behaving so differently from the arrogant guy she remembered that she almost believed him.
But the moment she recalled their past conflicts, her rationality snapped back.
Ignoring the crowd of female classmates watching with starry-eyed envy, she shoved him away.
"I told you not to show up in front of me! Go away! Stop giving me things. Stop pretending. Who knows what tricks you're playing? I won't fall for it!"