Truly.

In the second week of the new semester of her second year, Pei Huan’s easygoing nature made her popular—many people liked hanging out with her, and she gradually became familiar with the class, except for a few girls she simply couldn’t get along with. She had blended in with almost everyone around her, everyone except for Lu Yinghuai. It wasn’t that Pei Huan didn’t try to talk to him; rather, Lu Yinghuai’s aloofness made him unapproachable. He rarely spoke, always kept his face expressionless and cold, as though warding off strangers. Apart from Pei Huan, almost no one dared to approach him.

Whenever Pei Huan couldn’t help herself during class, she would instinctively lean toward Lu Yinghuai and share a joke. Most of the time, he ignored her; on rare occasions, he would glance at her, his eyes detached and emotionless, and after a fleeting look, he would look away again. Pei Huan was well aware of his reactions, but she couldn’t keep her own mouth shut.

During the lunch break, most students lay napping on their desks, while some worked on the math test handed out earlier. Pei Huan, hopeless in the sciences and uninterested in napping, randomly grabbed a novel from her drawer and began to read.

The classroom was so quiet that the slightest sound could be heard, and even the simple act of turning a page, Pei Huan did with utmost gentleness.

At that moment, the afternoon sun blazed through the window, casting its light inside. Pei Huan found it a bit dazzling but still tolerable, so she didn’t ask the person in front to draw the curtains.

After reading a few pages, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Lu Yinghuai was napping, his face turned toward the window. The harsh sunlight made his brows furrow, and he looked anything but peaceful. Pei Huan watched him for a few seconds, then placed her book on the desk, reached forward, and gently tapped the back of the boy in front of her, whispering, “Wang Xun, could you pull the curtains?”

“Afraid of getting sunburned?” Wang Xun teased.

“It’s not for me,” Pei Huan denied, pointing at Lu Yinghuai. “It’s for Lu Yinghuai. He doesn’t look like he’s sleeping well.”

Wang Xun obliged, pulling the curtain over, and Pei Huan took it from him, drawing it tightly so not a single ray of sunlight could sneak in. When she turned back, she met Wang Xun’s teasing gaze.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Pei Huan asked, puzzled.

“I didn’t expect you to be so considerate,” Wang Xun raised an eyebrow.

“That’s just one of the many fine qualities I possess,” Pei Huan answered with mock humility.

Wang Xun laughed but, because it was still the lunch break, didn’t continue the conversation. He turned back to play on his handheld game console.

Pei Huan resumed reading her novel, but soon, perhaps from drinking too much water, she felt the urge to use the restroom. She placed her book on the desk and quietly left through the back door.

Once her footsteps had faded, Lu Yinghuai, who was supposed to be sleeping, opened his eyes and stared at the tightly drawn curtain in front of him, a turbulent emotion flickering in his gaze.

He hadn’t been sleeping at all—just lying there with his eyes closed, letting his mind wander. He had heard every word of the conversation between Pei Huan and Wang Xun, including the part about him not sleeping well.

No one had ever really cared about him, except for a few perfunctory, self-serving occasions. Lu Yinghuai was instinctively wary of such sudden displays of concern, but Pei Huan’s words and actions had left him momentarily stunned.

He shouldn’t expect anything, he thought. What if, just as Pei Huan had said, it was merely her good deed for the day?

Lu Yinghuai sat up slowly, his gaze falling on the novel she had left on her desk. While he pretended to nap, he’d heard her stifled sounds of excitement as she read. He stared at the book for a long time before finally picking it up, examining the cover with a curious eye.

The cover was garish, the title almost nonsensical, a world apart from the dense tomes he preferred. He glanced at the highlighted excerpts on the back but couldn’t see the appeal.

When Pei Huan returned from the restroom, the lunch break was just ending. Her novel, which had been on the desk moments before, had vanished. Assuming one of the girls in front had borrowed it, she glanced around and noticed that Lu Yinghuai was holding a very familiar-looking book. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was the romance novel she had just been reading.

When did Lu Yinghuai develop a taste for such stories? Pei Huan wondered silently.

After a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “Do you like reading these?”

Lu Yinghuai shook his head.

“Then why did you take my book?” Pei Huan blurted out.

“Abstract,” Lu Yinghuai replied, offering just one word, but Pei Huan understood.

He meant the book was not only abstract in content but also a typical Mary Sue story.

Having returned the book to her desk, Pei Huan huffed in protest. “What do you know? Life is hard enough already—what’s wrong with reading a little Mary Sue fiction to feel happy?”

Lu Yinghuai didn’t respond, but he didn’t refute her either.

Pei Huan unscrewed her water bottle, took a sip, and then, almost conversationally, asked, “You’re so aloof—don’t you have any friends?”

“Mm,” Lu Yinghuai answered, for once acknowledging her.

Pei Huan had only meant it as a joke, but seeing him respond so earnestly, she suddenly felt at a loss. She waved her hands hurriedly. “No, don’t get me wrong, I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t trying to say you have no friends.”

“I don’t,” Lu Yinghuai shook his head.

Pei Huan was stunned.

“I have very few friends,” he added.

At that, all the words Pei Huan had wanted to say got stuck in her throat. Even she, usually so glib, couldn’t think of anything to ease the atmosphere. Just as she wondered whether she should beg for his forgiveness, Wang Xun turned around to borrow her homework, rescuing her from the awkwardness.

There were three periods that afternoon. When school ended, as she packed up to go home, some boys from her class draped their arms around each other’s shoulders and invited her to play basketball with them. Pei Huan thought it over, realized she had no plans, and agreed.

Lu Yinghuai left immediately after packing his bag. Pei Huan didn’t even have time to catch a glimpse of him before he vanished through the door.

It had been a while since Pei Huan had played, but her skills hadn’t gotten rusty. Her moves as she dribbled past her opponents were clean and agile, and in no time, she scored. Wang Xun wiped the sweat from his brow and said, “Not bad, Pei Huan. You’re even better than last time.”

“Oh, please, you’re not even a match for one of my fingers,” Pei Huan laughed.

Wang Xun was speechless.

They chatted and played for another ten minutes before calling it a day, and Pei Huan walked out of the school gates with the group of boys.

From the bleachers, Yuan Tao watched them leave. Thinking of how Pei Huan had been talking to Lu Yinghuai lately, she gave a soft, derisive laugh. “People like Pei Huan always manage to fit in anywhere.”

Yuan Tao was strikingly beautiful and possessed a gentle, outstanding presence. Even in a crowd, she was the kind of person who drew the eye instantly. Since her first year, her name had always topped the school’s beauty rankings, and she had no shortage of admirers.

But in private, Yuan Tao was anything but gentle—her close friend Tao Ranxi knew this all too well.

Tao Ranxi, also watching the group walk away, scoffed, “No wonder Pei Huan is so popular—she’s a natural social butterfly.”

The two of them exchanged barbed comments, both openly and covertly belittling Pei Huan, though Tao Ranxi was the more outspoken of the two.

“She can really throw herself at someone indifferent, can’t she? She knows full well that Lu Yinghuai doesn’t care for her, yet she keeps chasing after him,” Tao Ranxi said mockingly.

At the mention of Lu Yinghuai, Yuan Tao fell silent. Her feelings for him were an open secret at school, though he had never responded.

“Why so glum?” Tao Ranxi glanced at Yuan Tao. “No matter what, you and Lu Yinghuai are a perfect match. Someone like Pei Huan couldn’t possibly compare to you.”

Yuan Tao said nothing, but a faint smile appeared on her face, as though she was tacitly agreeing.

Yes, someone like Pei Huan—how could she ever compare to Yuan Tao?

Outside the school gates, Pei Yan and his classmates were eating at a nearby snack shop. When Pei Huan arrived, he pushed her portion over to her. One of Pei Yan’s friends grinned, “Hey, Huan, just finished a basketball game? How’d you do?”

They always joked with her like this, and even after all this time, Pei Huan still wasn’t used to it. She had just sat down and replied helplessly, “Come on, seniors, don’t tease me like that. You’re making me nervous.”

“You’re a straight shooter, kid,” one of the boys laughed heartily, clapping Pei Huan on the shoulder.

The cafeteria food had been disappointing that day, and Pei Huan hadn’t eaten her fill at lunch. She only stopped eating when she was half full. After bidding goodbye to Pei Yan’s classmates, the siblings headed home together.

“Haven’t you gone ages without playing basketball?” Pei Yan walked with one hand in his pocket.

“They’ve been asking me to join for ages. It would’ve been rude to keep saying no,” Pei Huan replied, helpless.

The siblings chatted idly as they strolled. Pei Yan yawned and asked, “How are you getting along with Lu Yinghuai lately? He hasn’t bullied you, has he?”

Pei Huan recalled the rumors she’d heard recently and shook her head. “No, he doesn’t seem like that kind of person.”

Pei Yan snorted as if he’d heard a joke. “Shows what you know.”

“What do you mean by that?” Pei Huan was taken aback.

Pei Yan shrugged, looking mischievous. “Just what I said.”

“Yeah, right,” Pei Huan rolled her eyes.

But thinking it over, in all the days she’d spent with Lu Yinghuai, she’d only seen the side of him everyone called a genius. As for his other side, she felt she’d never had the chance to see it.

She didn’t know him well; his cold demeanor didn’t strike her as the type to lose his composure for anyone, nor did he seem the troublemaking sort.

With these thoughts in mind, Pei Huan followed Pei Yan home.

When Lu Yinghuai got home, he drew the living room curtains shut, blocking out every ray of light. Wearing slippers, he crossed the pitch-dark room and entered his bedroom, tossing his backpack aside and sitting at his desk, his mind drifting back to the events of the afternoon.

If it wasn’t just a good deed for the day, could it have been genuine concern?

Lu Yinghuai allowed this absurd thought to surface.

He didn’t want to dwell on whether her kindness was sincere, or to guess how much of it was real and how much was not. Constant suspicion was exhausting—he might as well take it at face value.

That’s what Lu Yinghuai decided.