Chapter 31: Heart Moves: Day 11

Guanguan turned to look, only to find that the girl who had been lounging on the sofa had quietly come over and was now standing right behind her.

“What’s wrong? Not allowed?” Seeing Guanguan’s dazed expression, Bei Huai raised an eyebrow.

“Ah, of course it’s fine! Go ahead and sing.”

Guanguan jolted to attention and hurriedly handed over the microphone.

“Hold on—this is a duet. What are you doing jumping in, Bei Huai?” Cen Jin called from her spot on the corner sofa. She shook the dice cup as she teased.

The others didn’t dare chime in, but they were secretly looking forward to it.

After all, no one had ever heard Bei Huai sing before. They wondered how this campus legend from No. 13 Middle School would sound.

Bei Huai paused at the comment, then turned her gaze toward the girl who had been chatting with Guanguan.

Jiang Wan noticed and looked up.

She understood the silent invitation at once.

With an embarrassed smile, she said, “Little Bei, I’m not great at this song. I’m afraid I’ll mess up your pitch.”

“No worries.” Bei Huai’s grip tightened on the microphone. The moment Jiang Wan finished speaking, she spoke up.

With the other girl being so insistent, Jiang Wan couldn’t bring herself to refuse. She stood, took a microphone from someone nearby, and stepped up beside Bei Huai.

The private room was toasty from the heater, and the hyped-up atmosphere had flushed the girl’s cheeks pink. She pursed her lips in a smile, looking impossibly sweet and soft.

In the dim lighting, a faint mist shimmered in her eyes, making them gleam with a moist, crystalline brightness—like a fawn deep in the forest, pure and exquisite.

“Don’t blame me if I sing badly, okay?” She tilted her head and blinked up at Bei Huai.

Bei Huai turned away awkwardly, muttering a quick, “You won’t.”

There was something too pure about the girl’s gaze. It made Bei Huai feel as if nothing could hide from those eyes.

Not even the secrets she kept buried deep inside.

Bei Huai had taken all sorts of classes as a child, including vocal training.

She’d made decent progress after a few months, though it paled in comparison to her piano talent.

Eventually Yun Manzhu had her focus solely on piano, but singing a song was still well within her abilities.

The lyrics of Bei Huai’s chosen song told the story of a girl secretly crushing on someone who secretly crushed on her right back, until they finally got together.

The melody was light and bouncy, infused with all the romance and shy sweetness of young love.

It was one of Cen Jin’s go-to songs from her dating days—looped endlessly—so even Bei Huai, with her terrible memory for such things, knew it by heart.

The song didn’t suit Bei Huai’s vibe at all, but the result took everyone by surprise.

Her cool, slightly androgynous voice blended with Jiang Wan’s sweet and soft tones to create something unexpectedly captivating.

Jiang Wan hadn’t been exaggerating; she really didn’t know the song well. A few notes veered off-pitch.

Bei Huai smoothly guided her back on key without missing a beat.

When the song ended, applause and cheers erupted. The room’s energy was electric.

“I had no idea you could sing like that, Bei Huai,” one of the boys said with a grin, clearly trying to butter her up.

Bei Huai shot him a cool glance and returned to her seat on the sofa without a word—an outright snub.

The boy rubbed his nose awkwardly and clammed up.

The girl who’d sung the duet with her, meanwhile, bounced over with a huge grin and gave Bei Huai a childish thumbs-up.

“Little Bei, you sing so well!”

The boy rolled his eyes inwardly.

Big deal—same old praise.

But then came Bei Huai’s voice, warm with a hint of amusement.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

The words weren’t exactly kind, but her tone was worlds softer than before—indulgent, even.

The boy: “…”

Talk about double standards.

When Jiang Wan stepped out to use the restroom, Cen Jin sidled over and plopped down beside Bei Huai, grinning like a fox.

“Well, well. Never thought I’d see the day Sister Huai graces us with her talents. Tsk tsk, this isn’t like you at all.”

“Scram,” Bei Huai said without lifting her eyes from the dice she was fiddling with.

“You sure you want me to?”

She paused. “Hey, I was gonna show you the pics I snapped of you and Junior Jiang Wan singing.”

Cen Jin flipped slowly through her phone’s gallery, exaggerating her movements so Bei Huai could catch a glimpse.

Bei Huai froze, craning her neck toward the screen.

Cen Jin dodged with a quick twist.

“All right, I’m out.” She drew out the words with mock drama, until Bei Huai itched to throttle her.

“Sit back down,” Bei Huai grumbled.

“Where are your manners? Say ‘please.’ Cen Jin pressed her advantage.

“…Please, sit back down.” She pinched her fingers, suppressing her irritation.

“See? Wasn’t that easy?” Cen Jin pressed her advantage and tossed the phone back to Bei Huai with cheerful satisfaction.

Bei Huai caught it and immediately tapped open the photo.

In the picture, Jiang Wan was singing to the group, her smile sweet and radiant—like an angel capable of healing any wound.

She clutched the microphone, her head tilted slightly, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on the girl. Even the sharp lines of Bei Huai’s face seemed to soften.

Bei Huai stared at the photo, emotions churning deep in her eyes. No one could tell what was going through her mind.

With a flick of her finger, she forwarded the image to her own phone. Then she deleted it from this one, wiping out every backup as well.

Only after confirming there were no more photos of Jiang Wan left did she toss the phone back to Cen Jin.

“No way—what the hell is wrong with you?” Cen Jin checked the album, her mouth twitching as she grumbled in dissatisfaction.

“What are you two talking about?” Jiang Wan had just returned from the bathroom. She noticed their strange expressions and asked, puzzled.

“Nothing.” Bei Huai straightened up, replying as if it were no big deal.

Cen Jin shot her a glare before heading off to play cards with Guanguan and the others.

“Aren’t you going to join them?” Jiang Wan slid into Cen Jin’s vacated spot on the sofa and turned to ask.

“No interest.” Bei Huai lowered her eyes to meet hers. “Why aren’t you?”

“I’ve been running around all day. I’m beat—just want to lean back for a bit.” As she spoke, the girl sank deeper into the cushions, her eyes drifting half-closed. Gone was the poised, meticulous demeanor she wore in class; instead, she looked utterly languid.

Like a kitten curling up in a spot it deemed safe, letting her guard down completely.

This version of Jiang Wan set Bei Huai’s heart itching with the urge to reach out and tease her.

But in the end, she held back. She simply grabbed a nearby jacket and draped it over the girl.

“Too hot.” Jiang Wan mumbled in protest and shrugged it off.

The private room’s heater was cranked up high, and the jacket was too heavy. Everyone had shed theirs after just a short while inside.

Bei Huai removed the jacket and fetched a thin blanket instead, draping it lightly over the girl’s stomach.

Then she sat rigidly on the sofa, her body tense, staring blankly into the distance without a word—like a statue frozen in place.

No one could sense the storm raging inside her.

The girl she longed to touch but didn’t dare was lying right there beside her. How could she possibly stay calm?

And yet she couldn’t let anyone notice anything off. All she could do was endure it, watch over her.

She had no idea how much longer she could hold out.

Meanwhile, the others kicked off a game of Truth or Dare.

Whoever the spinner landed on had to take the punishment.

Guanguan had the misfortune of going first.

She pulled a face and opted for truth.

One of the boys drew a card.

“Say the name of the person you like.”

Guanguan froze for a second, hesitated, then threw in the towel.

“I’ll skip—self-punish with three drinks.” She poured three cups of fruit wine and downed them one after another.

The alcohol content was low; it wasn’t easy to get drunk on it, so she wasn’t too worried.

“Boo, you’re killing the vibe,” the others griped.

Cen Jin stayed quiet, though, giving her a thoughtful glance.

A few more rounds went by, with everyone picking truth. Then it landed on Cen Jin. She crossed her legs, perfectly composed as she declared, “I’ll take point—dare it is.”

“Senior’s got guts!”

“Badass!”

“…”

The group showered her with praise without holding back.

“Say ‘I like you’ to the second person on your left,” one of the girls read from the dare card.

Second person to the left?

Guanguan’s heart lurched.

That was her—Cen Jin’s second to the left!

The others caught on quick and cleared out, giving the two some space.

Guanguan’s eyes went wide as Cen Jin drew closer… closer…

Until they were mere centimeters apart.

She watched the girl give a soft chuckle, her eyes veiled in a haze that made her impossible to read.

“I like you.” Cen Jin leaned in close to Guanguan’s ear and whispered it, her voice a lover’s murmur—intimate and lingering.

Just four simple words, yet they left Guanguan dazed, a tingling itch spreading from her ear.

But the moment she finished, Cen Jin pulled back without a hint of reluctance.

It was as if the whole thing had been a dream—one that shattered at the slightest touch.

Guanguan didn’t have long to wallow before the spinner landed on her again.

This time, she figured she might as well go all in and picked dare. Her punishment?

“Kiss the person directly across from you on the cheek.”

Guanguan looked up.

Sitting opposite her was a classmate—a big, goofy guy.

Guanguan: “…”

In a mix of fury and resignation, she opted for the three-drink penalty.

“Guan Shaorong, this won’t do. It’s the second time—unless you down six cups as a penalty.”

“Yeah, yeah, self-penalize six times over, or you’re just cheating again.”

“…”

“Fine, six cups it is!” Guanguan didn’t hesitate for a second.

But before she could finish even the second cup, a hand snatched the glass right out of her grip.

She looked up in confusion.

There was Cen Jin, holding her half-empty glass. Facing the group, she offered a faint smile. “It’s fruit wine, sure, but too much of it will still get you drunk. For the birthday star’s sake today, let’s not push her. I’ll drink the rest for her.”

With that, she downed every drop left on the table without a second thought.

The others exchanged awkward glances but said nothing.

Guanguan watched the girl taking the hit for her, her eyes flickering as her heart pounded without cease.

She knew Cen Jin loved her liquor and bore the title Thousand Cups Not Drunk. But she also knew Cen Jin was incredibly picky—few drinks ever met her standards, and this ordinary fruit wine was something she wouldn’t touch on a normal day.

So, could she—dare she—just a little selfishly—believe that…

Cen Jin had feelings for her too?