“I didn’t expect Su Mengli and the others to even have a driver picking them up,” Mo Xiangwen said, gazing at the fading taillights.
He knew Su Mengli and her sister’s family was well-off, but he hadn’t realized they were wealthy enough to hire a dedicated driver just to ferry them around.
Yan Nuoya watched the car vanish around the corner and nodded lightly. “They’ve always carried themselves like young misses. It’s not surprising at all.”
“You’re not so different yourself.” Mo Xiangwen glanced sideways at her, his tone half-joking, half-serious.
Indeed, when it came to poise, Yan Nuoya was every bit their equal—if not more so. That innate air of aloofness made her seem even harder to approach than Su Mengli and the others.
To the other students, Yan Nuoya probably came across as a young miss herself, didn’t she?
“I can’t afford a driver,” Yan Nuoya replied with a faint smile. “Why don’t you be my full-time chauffeur?”
“You can wait and see,” Mo Xiangwen said with a playful lift of his eyebrow. “Who knows? It might actually happen.”
The campus path lay quiet under the night sky, filled only with the whisper of wind through the leaves.
They walked on for a stretch before rounding a bend, where the scene suddenly came alive.
Dormitory buildings glowed with light, balconies sagged under the weight of drying clothes, and bursts of students’ laughter echoed from within.
“Still not quite used to it?” Mo Xiangwen asked abruptly.
Yan Nuoya dipped her head slightly. “Su Mengyao wears her heart on her sleeve, so that’s manageable enough.”
“But Su Mengli…” She pursed her lips. “I’m still getting accustomed to her.”
“Take your time,” Mo Xiangwen said, slowing his steps. “No need to overthink it. At the very least, with Su Mengli, Su Mengyao, and Bai Shishi, you won’t have much to worry about.”
“Mm.” Yan Nuoya nodded gently. “I understand.”
“I get that socializing isn’t your thing,” Mo Xiangwen sighed. “But I figured it might be easier with them.”
Rather than answer directly, Yan Nuoya murmured softly, “If it’s just them, I’ll give it a shot.”
Mo Xiangwen stared at her profile, lost in thought for a moment. He suddenly wondered if he’d made a mistake.
Back then, he’d judged that Yan Nuoya needed a place where she could relax. But compared to the library, was the studio truly better?
Perhaps what she really needed was more time to gradually overcome her reluctance to interact with Su Mengli and the others.
Instead, he’d gone and dragged her straight into the studio.
In his haste to help, he hadn’t fully considered the social pressure she might face in the short term.
“I’m starting to regret pulling you into the studio without asking your opinion first,” Mo Xiangwen said, shaking his head with a touch of self-reproach. “Maybe it would’ve been better to bring it up later.”
Of course, Yan Nuoya wasn’t lacking in social skills—she simply disliked socializing.
He had no doubt that if she put her mind to it, she could handle the current situation with ease.
But if it left her feeling uneasy all the same, then bringing her into the studio had been utterly pointless.
“That timing was probably perfect,” Yan Nuoya countered, shaking her head in disagreement.
“And I’m grateful to you,” she added, tilting her head to meet his gaze with a quiet smile. “No matter how much I struggle to adjust, it’s still better than the dorm or hanging out in the library right now.”
“Because, deep down, even if getting along with Su Mengli and Su Mengyao feels awkward, it’s better than dealing with total strangers.”
Before Mo Xiangwen could formulate a response, Yan Nuoya’s expression shifted to one of sudden realization.
“Or were you hoping for something else? Like…” She cleared her throat and drew out her words in an exaggerated tone. “My great benefactor’s boundless kindness—this humble maiden has nothing to offer in return but…”
“Stop, stop, stop!” Mo Xiangwen cut her off hastily, his face darkening. “What kind of nonsense is that? Watch it, or I’ll dock your pay.”
“Pay?” Yan Nuoya blinked, her tone laced with surprise. “I get pay?”
He could clearly detect the teasing undertone in her voice.
“Then you don’t anymore.” Mo Xiangwen sighed theatrically. “Never thought someone would volunteer to help me cut costs.”
Yan Nuoya’s lips curved into a faint smile. “In that case, no pay it is.”
Her smile was soft, her tone utterly casual, as if she truly didn’t mind in the slightest.
Confronted with her attitude, Mo Xiangwen found himself at a loss for words.
Joking around was one thing, but she might actually mean it.
The boys’ dormitory stood closer to the school gate than the girls’. They soon reached the fork in the path.
“I’ll walk you back,” Mo Xiangwen offered.
Yan Nuoya looked puzzled. “The campus is safe enough. No need to go out of your way.”
“It’s on my route anyway,” he insisted. “I still need to swing by the studio to grab the trash I forgot.”
“Then I’ll come with you?”
“That means I’d have to walk you all the way back again.” Mo Xiangwen shook his head. “It’s just two bags of trash. I can handle it.”
Seeing his resolve, Yan Nuoya didn’t press the issue.
At the foot of her dormitory, she gave a small wave. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Mo Xiangwen watched her disappear into the building before turning toward the studio.
He took the side path to the Entrepreneurship Incubation Base, where the area lay eerily still.
Yet glancing around, he saw lights still burning in several activity classrooms—overtime work, perhaps, or simply forgotten switches.
He pushed open the studio door with a click and flicked on the lights.
The room, once bustling with four people, now held only him.
All four computers sat dark and silent, the sofas neatly in place—except for his, which he’d never bothered to straighten anyway, even without the trash excuse.
There was still a little time left. Might as well get some work done.
Mo Xiangwen sank into the plush sofa and powered up his computer.
In this era, the internet brimmed with tutorials and resources from every field imaginable.
So even without a computer science background, he could teach himself whatever he needed.
But he wasn’t in the mood for a full course. Instead, he took the lazy route.
As he studied, he pulled up a document and jotted down his thoughts haphazardly.
The game itself wasn’t all that complex to make. He figured they could have it ready before winter break.
That said, he had no real sense of how familiar Yan Nuoya, Su Mengli, and Su Mengyao were with this sort of thing.
Starting from scratch might take longer.
Three months? Who knew if that was feasible.
The thought drew a self-mocking chuckle from him.
What kind of game producer was he, anyway? His own skills were middling at best, and he hadn’t the foggiest idea about his team’s.
If push came to shove, he’d just have to teach them hands-on.
Which meant he needed to bone up beforehand—to avoid looking like a fool.
