Yan Mian didn’t hesitate. “I’d like to help her study.”
That really was one of her goals.
She didn’t care about the competition outcome—putting in the effort was what mattered.
Her priority right now was Zhu Lexing’s grades. Yan Mian thought back over the past half-year of classes: at first, she’d struggled to keep up, but with hard work, she’d pulled her scores up to solidly above average.
It proved Zhu Lexing actually enjoyed studying.
So Yan Mian would help her excel.
Zhu Lexing had no idea what she was really thinking—
But after Yan Mian was called to the office, Song Yingying sensed that something was off. And that uneasy feeling turned real during the break after third period, when Song Yingying packed up her things to switch seats.
Zhu Lexing stared in shock. “Where are you going?”
They had been desk mates for half a year now. How could they just split up in the final stretch?
Song Yingying pointed to the empty seat right in front of her.
That spot had been vacant during the break, and Zhu Lexing had assumed its occupant had stepped out to goof around. She scanned the room and finally spotted the girl a few rows over, chatting animatedly with her friends.
And that seat had once been Yan Mian’s.
Zhu Lexing instantly grasped the reason for the shuffle. “…”
No way. Yan Mian as her new desk mate? Why now, of all times?
Song Yingying mistook her silence for reluctance and tried to reassure her. “We’re still right next to each other. It’s basically the same.”
Zhu Lexing thought otherwise. Sharing a desk with Song Yingying was nothing but a straightforward friendship.
It was as if the System had caught her in a trap. It chimed in out of nowhere: 【So, sitting with Yan Mian wouldn’t be pure friendship?】
【You’re even better at jumping to conclusions than I am,】 Zhu Lexing shot back. 【I’m just feeling awkward, that’s all.】
Even so, she couldn’t help glancing out the window. She had no idea where Yan Mian had gone. She could always ask the System, but tailing someone’s every move like a surveillance drone felt way too intrusive.
Still, when that familiar figure stepped into the classroom, Zhu Lexing ducked her head and avoided looking.
The chair beside her scraped open softly.
Yan Mian set her bag down and arranged her books in silence.
Zhu Lexing sneaked a sidelong glance. Sensing Yan Mian’s eyes on her, she whipped her gaze away—but inwardly, she wondered why Yan Mian hadn’t said a word yet.
If she hadn’t brought it up with Zhu Xing, they never would have ended up as desk mates.
Yan Mian was the one who had pushed for this. So why wasn’t she breaking the ice?
With Yan Mian staying mum, Zhu Lexing felt too self-conscious to speak up. It turned into a silent standoff, like a game where the first to talk loses. Zhu Lexing drew in a deep breath.
Just hold out.
She’d barely steeled herself when something brushed her hand.
Zhu Lexing looked down in surprise. A sticky note lay there, covered in elegant handwriting: Hello, desk mate^^!
She glanced silently at Yan Mian, who tapped the note with her pen and flashed a quick smile.
Staring at that goofy little emoticon, Zhu Lexing thought Yan Mian was being ridiculously childish. Even so, her own pen moved on autopilot: Mm→-→
Perfectly symmetrical. Zhu Lexing was pleased.
Once they got home, Yan Mian took the initiative to tell Liu Su about their new seating arrangement—and mentioned her plan to tutor Zhu Lexing.
Liu Su sounded taken aback. “This… Mianmian?”
Everyone had total faith in Yan Mian’s abilities, but Liu Su knew there were always stronger players out there. She viewed the competition as a chance for Yan Mian to gain experience, figuring the Gaokao would still be her real focus in the end.
“I can manage my time,” Yan Mian assured her.
She turned to Zhu Lexing, who was gnawing on her chopsticks with a dazed, wide-eyed stare.
The sight reminded Yan Mian of that photo Shi Ruofeng had posted in the group chat: the Alpha standing amid a skyline of towering skyscrapers, her expression utterly bewildered, like a penguin freshly plunked into a strange new world…
“…What’s so funny?” Zhu Lexing asked.
“Nothing,” Yan Mian replied.
Zhu Lexing didn’t take it as mockery and let it drop.
She still couldn’t fathom Yan Mian’s motives, though. Why tutor her? Did she really seem like the type with potential?
More like the type with potential to flop…
Zhu Lexing grumbled to herself, but she knew better. Yan Mian had made the offer herself, which meant her mind was set. No swaying her now.
…Fine. Let her play teacher for a bit.
Zhu Lexing mulled it over without finding any real reassurance, but she forced herself to go along with it anyway.
True to form, Yan Mian wasted no time. After dinner and a shower, she spread their books across the coffee table.
In the past, Liu Su would linger in the living room at this hour, running lines from her scripts. But she knew better than to hover now; she’d only distract them. With a quiet retreat to her room, she left the pair alone.
“Homework first,” Yan Mian instructed. “Ask me if you get stuck.”
Normally, this was Zhu Lexing’s wind-down time—pure, blissful gaming.
She tried bargaining. “Can we… do something else instead?”
Yan Mian’s gaze sharpened. “Like what?”
Zhu Lexing pitched her ideas. “Watch some TV? Talk movies? Play games? I’m way better than Qiao Qiao—”
“No,” Yan Mian cut her off coldly. “Homework. Now.”
Zhu Lexing had no choice but to ask, “I’ll write. But what about you? Just sit there watching?”
Yan Mian slid out another workbook—thicker than Zhu Lexing’s by a good margin.
“I’ll do twenty pages. You do ten,” she said.
Bargaining failed. Zhu Lexing picked up her pen and got to work.
The scratch of nib on paper filled the quiet room. The clock ticked onward. At some point, Yan Mian set her pen down and turned to watch Zhu Lexing. The focused Alpha’s profile was bathed in soft light.
Yan Mian took a sip of water, shaking off the distraction—only for Zhu Lexing to pipe up. “Didn’t you say twenty pages?”
“I’m supervising you,” Yan Mian replied.
Zhu Lexing looked up. “My homework… or me?”
“…Teacher Yan.” Zhu Lexing deadpanned. “Spacing out isn’t a good look for you.”
The student was still grinding away, but the teacher was already zoning? Unacceptable.
Yan Mian caught the teasing lilt and smiled faintly, a lazy edge to it.
Lately, she’d grown remarkably at ease—no matter who was around, that subtle shyness of hers had vanished.
Like a gem polished free of grime at last, gleaming with its natural luster.
Yan Mian asked out of the blue, “What do you want for your birthday?”
Zhu Lexing belatedly realized that the original host’s birthday was fast approaching.
Recalling what the System had said about a month of repairs: “…”
The System’s maintenance would end right on the original host’s birthday? Wasn’t that a bit too coincidental?
“There’s still so much time left. Why are you asking now?” Zhu Lexing said.
Yan Mian replied, “Of course it’s to… prepare in advance. Is there anything you want?”
Zhu Lexing hesitated for a moment before nodding.
Yan Mian lowered her gaze. “Then I’ll… prepare something on my own?”
Zhu Lexing suddenly had a bad feeling, thinking it might be better to suggest a gift herself.
But Yan Mian looked completely absorbed in her studies, impossible to pull away, so Zhu Lexing let the matter drop.
When Yan Mian said she would tutor her, she meant it. She spent the entire evening explaining formulas and key concepts to Zhu Lexing. Even as Zhu Lexing lay in bed, she had intended to puzzle over whether the System was plotting something. But with a single blink, her mind was filled only with mathematics.
Zhu Lexing had thought she could escape this torturous subject in her dreams.
To her surprise, the moment she opened her eyes in the dream, she was back in the living room that evening, with Yan Mian tutoring her once more.
Zhu Lexing cracked her eyes open, about to speak, when she heard herself say, “Didn’t you say we had to write twenty pages?”
The same scene. The almost identical lead-up dialogue.
But when Zhu Lexing voiced her question—”Isn’t this too close?”—
Yan Mian didn’t simply smile the way she had that evening.
She leaned in slowly. Zhu Lexing felt herself holding her breath. The air around them was so still she could almost hear their heartbeats. Until their foreheads touched, breaths mingling.
“How about this?” Yan Mian reached out and brushed Zhu Lexing’s hair aside. Her fingertips were cool, sending a ticklish shiver through her. “Still too close?”
In the next instant, the dream version of herself grabbed Yan Mian’s hand.
Seizing the initiative, she pinned the girl against the wide seat. Yan Mian tilted her head back, letting Zhu Lexing’s touches roam over that small expanse of skin, stirring tremors beneath the surface.
Zhu Lexing thought, what on earth is going on here?
Even in a dream, this was too unreasonable.
But the dream pulled at her like quicksand—the harder she tried to wrench her thoughts free, the deeper she sank.
It wasn’t until a sound came from outside the dream that Zhu Lexing sensed a chance to break away.
On the day of her differentiation, after the curtains had been pulled open, Zhu Lexing hadn’t touched them again. Today it had finally started snowing in earnest; the light filtering through was hazy, as if revealing a snowy landscape.
Zhu Lexing opened her eyes, her mind still tangled in the dream. Before she could decide whether to reproach herself first or the System, there was another knock at the door.
“I’ll come downstairs in a bit—” she said on instinct.
“Hm?” The voice from outside wasn’t the familiar one she’d expected. It was Yan Mian. “Okay. I’ll wait for you.”
Her thoughts scattered like dust in the wind. “Yan Mian? W-wait for me! I’ll be ready in a second—”
What followed was a frantic scramble to get ready.
Zhu Lexing couldn’t say why she was rushing so much. Deep down, it seemed she just didn’t want Yan Mian waiting too long. When she finally opened the door, Yan Mian wasn’t in the living room. She was standing right outside.
Zhu Lexing paused. “L-let’s go.”
Yan Mian took a step forward, and Zhu Lexing remembered the dream—stepping back on reflex.
Yan Mian noticed the flinch, her gaze darkening. But Zhu Lexing was still lost in the dream from the night before and didn’t catch it. Silence fell between them. Liu Su had an early shift that day, and even if the others sensed something was off, no one spoke up.
“Don’t you like it when I touch you?”
Zhu Lexing thought, what kind of mortifying conversation is this?
“I didn’t say that!” She had no idea how many times she’d uttered those words by now.
“But your actions did.” Yan Mian pointed out.
Zhu Lexing finally lost her patience and mustered her courage. “I—Yan Mian! Do you even remember that you’re an Omega?”
Yan Mian nodded.
“I’m an Alpha,” Zhu Lexing said. “You’re an Omega. It’s already unreasonable for us to be this close.”
Yan Mian stared at her. In a matter of seconds, her eyes reddened.
Zhu Lexing stammered. “Why are you crying? I didn’t bully you!”
Why had she yelled at Yan Mian?
As for the perfectly timed tears, Zhu Lexing chalked it up to genuine emotion.
But after a dream that shameful, failing to put some distance between them now would only make things worse down the line.
She hardened her resolve. “Think about it carefully.”
“Wasn’t it you who said it yourself?” Zhu Lexing’s tone cooled to its usual chill. “You’re my sister. Blood relation or not, that doesn’t change. You’re still my sister. So—”
“See you at school.” Zhu Lexing finished, her expression blank.
