Chapter 45: Because of You Part 1

Zhu Lexing didn’t dare look at Yan Mian’s expression. After speaking, she turned and walked away.

She felt they both needed to cool off. With that, she headed straight for Qin Yun’s car.

A while back, Liu Su had given Qin Yun a short break. When she returned, the car had been upgraded and replaced, and she herself had become Liu Su’s occasional driver.

A soothing fragrance filled the car, calming the mind. The moment Zhu Lexing opened the door, she locked eyes with Qin Yun.

In front of an elder, Zhu Lexing naturally dropped her cold expression. “Let’s go.”

Qin Yun’s impression of Zhu Lexing had improved a lot since that previous incident. She hadn’t grasped the full story, but she patiently typed out a note anyway: 【Don’t fight. You and Little Mian are both good kids.】

Zhu Lexing wasn’t having any of it. “Yan Mian’s good. I’m not.”

She was the rebellious, vicious supporting character. The role had been tailor-made for her, and “good” had nothing to do with it.

“Alright.” Afraid Qin Yun would try to persuade her further—Zhu Lexing had no idea how to handle that—she hurriedly steered the conversation back. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”

Qin Yun had no choice but to start the car.

Yan Mian watched the car drive off into the distance. She lowered her eyes and loosened her scarf.

Driver Lin had overheard the entire exchange. The individual words made perfect sense on their own, but strung together, he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He got out of the car first to check on her. “Miss Yan, Lexing, she…”

“It’s nothing,” Yan Mian said.

Even as the car pulled away, the driver kept stealing glances at her face in the rearview mirror. The girl’s complexion was pale, her eyes faintly red-rimmed. She looked utterly pitiful.

Hadn’t they been fine just moments ago? How had they ended up fighting again?

The driver didn’t get it.

Yan Mian didn’t understand it either.

Just a single touch, and Zhu Lexing had reacted so intensely.

But in the past, they’d had far more contact than that.

Yan Mian carefully reviewed their conversations and interactions over the past few days. Aside from suddenly becoming deskmates and the tutoring sessions, nothing was really different from before. It didn’t seem like anything was forcing Zhu Lexing to suddenly draw a line between them.

Besides, if something truly was compelling her, why wait until now? Why this exact moment?

The possibility of coercion didn’t add up. That left only one conclusion: Zhu Lexing herself…

Had suddenly gotten shy.

Recalling how the Alpha had coldly muttered to herself earlier, Yan Mian bit her lip to stifle a soft laugh.

Did Zhu Lexing even realize that her attempt at icy detachment had only revealed grievance in her eyes? There hadn’t been a trace of real anger.

Zhu Lexing was truly adorable.

This realization added fresh evidence to what Yan Mian already knew, lifting her spirits considerably.

Zhu Lexing was soft-hearted at her core. Act pitiful in front of her, and she’d eventually let you mold her like putty—it was only a question of time.

But showing weakness wasn’t working this time. Yan Mian decided it was time for a new approach.

Once they arrived at school, Zhu Lexing had barely settled into her seat when Song Yingying asked, “Where’s Yan Mian?”

It wasn’t just Song Yingying. Even her new deskmate turned to look. “Don’t you two commute together? Why aren’t you today?”

Zhu Lexing instinctively glanced at the empty seat beside her. Only then did it hit her: she was deskmates with Yan Mian now. Escape was impossible, even if she wanted it.

“…We’re not conjoined twins. Isn’t it normal not to go to school together?” After her somewhat brusque reply, Zhu Lexing asked, “Yingying, do you want to… switch back and be my deskmate again?”

The idea felt stranger the more she said it aloud. Her voice rose without her realizing.

The Omega entering the classroom from outside paused mid-step. Yan Mian’s grip tightened unconsciously on her bag strap as her gaze settled on Zhu Lexing.

Everyone else in the room perked up and looked over.

Song Yingying looked awkward. “I… no, thanks. I like it like this! I can see the board much better now.”

Her deskmate nodded vigorously. “Yingying even helps me with my homework.”

Yan Mian walked up and set her bag down.

She said, “I think it’s good like this too.”

The moment Zhu Lexing spotted Yan Mian, a fresh wave of embarrassment and irritation washed over her. “Just because you think it’s good, it is?”

Yan Mian hadn’t even opened her mouth yet when Song Yingying jumped in. “Lexing, why are you talking to Mianmian like that?”

Zhu Lexing: ?

Hadn’t you just called her Yan Mian? But now that she’s here, it’s suddenly Mianmian?

“It’s nothing,” Yan Mian said. She paused for a few seconds. “Whether I think it’s good or not doesn’t matter, but—”

Zhu Lexing hated that dismissive attitude toward her own feelings. She shot back without thinking, “Who said your opinion doesn’t matter?”

Every eye in the room swiveled back to Zhu Lexing’s face.

Zhu Lexing: “…”

The System replayed it for her: 【You think it’s good so it is?】

Three times in a row. Zhu Lexing wanted to dig a hole and bury the System in it.

Yan Mian looked momentarily stunned. A few seconds later, her lips curved into a smile. “Mm. My opinion does matter. So I think being deskmates with you is great. I don’t want to switch. Satisfied with that answer?”

With things said so plainly, Zhu Lexing could only mutter, “I never said I wasn’t.”

Yan Mian replied, “That means you’re very satisfied.”

Zhu Lexing shot back, “Don’t add your own drama.”

Yan Mian did exactly as Zhu Lexing had demanded: she kept her distance.

All morning long, she didn’t pass any notes to Zhu Lexing like she had the past few days. She didn’t jot down multiple solutions for new problems or remind her of key points to watch for.

She didn’t even glance Zhu Lexing’s way during class. Her eyes stayed fixed on the blackboard and her workbook.

Zhu Lexing, who had grown accustomed to their previous dynamic, suddenly found herself at a loss.

She spent the entire morning lost in thought. She wasn’t dwelling on last night’s dream—instead, she kept replaying their morning conversation, Yanmian’s stunned gaze and the faint redness around her eyes.

Zhu Lexing stole a glance at Yan Mian, trying to gauge from her expression whether she had cried.

The omega’s profile remained strikingly beautiful, especially when she was focused. It was impossible to tell if tears had fallen, but Yan Mian parted her lips slightly and asked, “Lexing? What’s wrong?”

Caught red-handed, Zhu Lexing choked out, “I’m just looking out the window.”

With that, she abruptly shifted her gaze away.

Ever since senior year began, the morning exercise break had been replaced with free time. Most students stayed in the classroom, buried in their homework, leaving the hallway unusually quiet—save for the distant sounds of running feet outside.

In the past, Yanmian would probably have joined her, turning to gaze out the window as well.

But today, Yanmian merely replied, “Is that so?” before returning to her studies, as if Zhu Lexing’s words hadn’t registered at all.

Wasn’t Yanmian even a little curious about what she was looking at?

The more Zhu Lexing thought about it, the stranger it felt. In the end, she simply stepped out into the hallway for some fresh air.

Only then did the girl in the front seat turn around and ask, “Yan Mian, what’s out there?”

Yanmian set down her pen, her eyes lingering on Zhu Lexing’s retreating back. Casually, she said, “There was an argument a moment ago. Nothing now.”

“A moment ago?” The front-seat girl blinked in confusion. “When? I didn’t hear anything.”

“Five minutes ago,” Yan Mian replied.

“…There’s nothing out there. What could Zhu Lexing possibly be staring at?” Unable to make sense of it, the girl tugged at Song Yingying’s sleeve.

Yanmian glanced at the empty seat beside her and fell silent, lost in thought.

Zhu Lexing had been looking at her.

To Zhu Lexing, their cold war was glaringly obvious.

It was so obvious that it left her deeply frustrated, desperately hoping someone would notice and offer some guidance.

Yet for a long time, no one had.

In an effort to avoid speaking to Yan Mian, Zhu Lexing had redirected her attention to the others.

But they were all stuck chatting in the same group window. Aside from Li Nian commenting that Zhu Lexing had been posting more frequently lately, no one saw anything amiss.

Even at mealtimes, Zhu Lexing no longer sat next to Yanmian. Instead, she paired off with Qiao Qiao.

Yet the vibe across the table felt far more intimate than sitting side by side, full of those lingering, ambiguous glances. And with Qiao Qiao invoking Xu He’s name three hundred times over a single meal, the atmosphere grew even odder.

Finally, Zhu Lexing couldn’t take it anymore. She said coolly, “Someone who didn’t know better might think your name was Xu He.”

Zhu Lexing meant it as mockery, but Qiao Qiao’s eyes lit up as if she’d heard a brilliant idea. “Actually, that’s not a bad suggestion.”

Zhu Lexing: ?

Back at home, even Liu Su remained oblivious to the tension between them.

During dinner with Zhu Lexing’s desk mate present, Liu Su made sure to remind her, “Lexing, your next treatment session is in a few days.”

Zhu Lexing’s chopsticks froze midair as she shot Yanmian a stiff glance. The omega, however, showed no sign of awkwardness or surprise. She responded to Liu Su with perfect ease.

In the next breath, she solicitously asked Liu Su about her day, smoothly steering the conversation away. Liu Su happily shared some on-set anecdotes with Yanmian, completely missing Zhu Lexing’s sullen departure.

“Xingxing’s really knuckling down these days.”

Zhu Lexing, who had just reached the stairs, overheard Liu Su’s admiring sigh: “…”

In the end, what Zhu Lexing and Yanmian had discussed boiled down to one thing: she didn’t want any more close contact. But in front of others, they had never been particularly intimate to begin with. All of Yanmian’s tenderness and affection had been reserved solely for Zhu Lexing’s eyes.

Back in her room, the frustration only mounted. Zhu Lexing decided to boot up her game to take her mind off it.

The moment she logged in, a notification popped up: 【Your friend 【Xu He】 has invited you to join a room】

Zhu Lexing: ?

Xu He? Since when did she go by her real name online?

Zhu Lexing hit accept. But the avatar labeled 【Xu He】 spoke in Qiao Qiao’s voice: “Wanna play? I’ll carry you.”

The one called 【Qiao Qiao1】 chimed in too: “No going easy on you this round!”

Zhu Lexing: “…Why’s there a ‘1’ after your name?”

【Qiao Qiao1】: Someone already had it.

Zhu Lexing took a deep breath and checked their profiles. Sure enough, they had swapped game IDs—now listed as each other’s names—and their relationship status showed as a couple.

Fuming, Zhu Lexing quit the room.

Qiao Qiao messaged: What’s up?

【Zhu Lexing】: Not playing with lovebirds.

【Xu He】: Oh, in that case, we’ll play with Yanmian.

【Xu He】: YANMIAN

Qiao Qiao had typed out Yanmian’s ID with meticulous care. Zhu Lexing’s fingers froze over the keyboard.

—As if Yanmian would ever play games…

She had just typed it out but hadn’t hit send when another system popup appeared: 【Your specially marked friend 【YANMIAN】 is now online~】

Zhu Lexing pulled up a separate matchmaking window.

The invitation trailing Yanmian’s name stood out boldly. Zhu Lexing told herself it was nothing—just one quick game to show off her skills.

This didn’t count as contact. Definitely not!

Yanmian hadn’t logged in since adding Zhu Lexing as a friend.

The moment she came online, the system notified her of 99+ unread messages. She spotted a flood of gift notifications from 【Zhu Lexing】. She scrolled for a while, but the list seemed endless.

She was about to add Qiao Qiao and ask if she could return the gifts when Zhu Lexing’s invitation popped up.

Yanmian stared at the screen for several seconds before tapping accept.

Zhu Lexing had no idea how long she’d been rehearsing lines in the room. She said gravely, “Can you hear me? Whatever, doesn’t matter.”

The instant Yanmian joined, Zhu Lexing’s voice cut off abruptly. “You—”

Assuming Yanmian hadn’t caught it, she tried to play it off. “Uh, you didn’t hear that, right?”

“I heard.”

Yanmian’s response struck straight to Zhu Lexing’s heart like a knife.

A few seconds later, she said, “I want to hear it too. So don’t mute the mic.”

In the midst of endless embarrassment, Zhu Lexing gritted her teeth and clicked start.

In the game, Zhu Lexing played support, sticking close to Yan Mian’s character and running all over the map with her, explaining how to play.

A few minutes in, Yan Mian had already gotten the hang of it. Zhu Lexing, meanwhile, kept chattering away nonstop. It was only after she died to a blunder that she realized—as Yan Mian had pointed out—she hadn’t muted her mic after all. But Yan Mian fell completely silent, replying only with typed messages.

【Got it】