Chapter 22: ◎Love Song◎ Part 1

Zhu Lexing finally understood just how heartwarming “one gesture that warms someone for a lifetime” could be.

This was what it meant to exchange true hearts.

Who else but her?

On the way to school, Zhu Lexing flipped through a few pages of notes. Compared to Song Yingying’s, Yan Mian’s records were far fewer but more concise and straightforward—easy to grasp at a glance.

That bright mood didn’t last two minutes before Zhu Lexing sank into gloom again.

Both Song Yingying and Yan Mian now had expectations for her. If she still bombed the test with a low score, it would be downright embarrassing.

She still needed to work harder.

With the midterm exams drawing near, the hallways had grown quieter, with far fewer students laughing and chatting. But when she passed by Flying Class, the room was still filled with raucous laughter. Clearly, they had formed their own little world, keeping the noise contained within the classroom.

By the time she reached Class 7, Song Yingying was poring over the wrong answers on a practice test, while Yan Mian was working through problems. A quick scan of the room showed most of the class glued to their study materials.

Zhu Lexing glanced at the notebook in her hand and thought with perfect justification, How is this not studying hard?

She didn’t want to disturb Song Yingying, so she pulled out yesterday’s practice test and worked through it in fits and starts, her eyes drifting back to the notebook beside her every few steps.

After it happened several times, Song Yingying couldn’t help but notice.

Seeing how Zhu Lexing clutched the notebook like a spiritual lifeline, Song Yingying finally gave in and whispered, “What’s that?”

Zhu Lexing replied gravely, “My lifeline.”

Yan Mian lending her the notebook meant she had lowered her guard just a little, willing to build a bridge of communication with Zhu Lexing.

Communication equaled closeness equaled a longer life.

Song Yingying’s expression grew complicated, as if she wanted to ask, Are you okay? but her impeccable manners held her back.

Zhu Lexing spoke first. “Let’s do some problems.”

To dispel her worries, there was only one cure: problems. Those gloriously undefined problems!

Though the original host hadn’t left Zhu Lexing any knowledge reserves, she had at least bequeathed her a sharp mind.

No. 1 High School boasted excellent teachers and resources. As long as she stayed focused, she picked things up quickly.

Science was all about testing logical thinking—whoever’s brain spun fastest came out on top.

Her speed drew a raised eyebrow from Song Yingying. But when Zhu Lexing finished the entire practice test and Song Yingying graded it for her, the real surprise came: despite getting many wrong, Zhu Lexing had nailed a solid 40% success rate.

By the numbers, Zhu Lexing was still a hopeless bottom-dweller. But compared to her past self, this was massive progress.

Song Yingying said sincerely, “In your previous exams, were you just not bothering to try and scribbling nonsense?”

Zhu Lexing shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Song Yingying capped her red pen. “Don’t do that next time. You can do so much better.”

Zhu Lexing felt a surge of warmth.

By her standards for friendship, Song Yingying was already squarely in the “friend” category—not super close, but those words were enough to brighten her whole day.

The same could apply to Yan Mian.

Her purpose in this world… was probably to help Yan Mian become more excellent.

Lost in the glow of emotion, Zhu Lexing barely registered Song Yingying speaking again beside her. “But on these problems, you approached them from the wrong angle…”

Zhu Lexing snapped back to reality, staring at the flurry of formulas and diagrams Song Yingying’s pen was etching onto the paper. “…”

Her scalp tingled, as if her brain really was growing.

She crammed as hard as she could, but with only days until the midterms, Zhu Lexing still grinded through problems every day. She even zoned out on math questions during meals.

Once she started devoting her usual free time to “studying,” Zhu Lexing found her days far more fulfilling. At the very least, she could follow most of Song Yingying’s daily chats about problems with others.

Whether her studying was truly effective remained to be seen. But in others’ eyes, at least she was putting in the effort—and their attitudes toward her softened just a bit.

Hard workers had good luck wherever they went.

On the eve of the midterms, Zhu Lexing set aside her problems. She left just a lamp glowing on her bedside table, sprawled out on the bed in a big X, breathing in and out deeply in a bid to absorb the spiritual energy of the air and unlock her intellect through unconventional means.

She repeated it a few times with zero results. Deadpan, she said: 【System, when are you going to add 200 intelligence points? Then I wouldn’t have to work so hard.】

By now, the system’s limitations were clear as day. It could recreate scenes from the original work for Zhu Lexing, but it had no insight into other characters’ thoughts or motives—and it wouldn’t go probing on its own.

System: 【Please work hard yourself, Host.】

Zhu Lexing hadn’t spoken to the system in days. A new daily task had appeared in her ever-visible interface, one she could accept without its help.

But seeing the instant reply, Zhu Lexing suspected it might actually need her. She pondered for a few seconds before saying cautiously: 【Little System, I have one question. Answer honestly, and we’ll let bygones be bygones.】

The suddenly infantilized system stayed silent, as if waiting.

Zhu Lexing asked: 【Am I the original Zhu Lexing of this world?】

In transmigration novels, the ultimate twist was often that the protagonist really was the original owner, derailed by amnesia or substitution plots leading to disaster.

To dodge any landmines, Zhu Lexing decided to rip off her own mask first.

Even a battle-hardened system was struck speechless: 【…Host, I suggest reading fewer web novels to maintain a healthy mindset.】

Zhu Lexing: 【No shame in a twist now. The real shame is if I find out later it’s true.】

System: 【The Host is the Host. Zhu Lexing is Zhu Lexing.】

Zhu Lexing took that as a denial.

Relieved, she fell silent for a few seconds before asking: 【Can’t you have any special powers? Like summoning a divine dragon or calling down heavenly thunder to strike Lin Song dead in one bolt?】

The system, apparently too exasperated to respond, went silent.

After bickering with it for a while, Zhu Lexing finally felt like the missing chunk of her soul’s “silly” side had been patched back in.

She sat up and flipped through a few pages of practice problems. Suddenly, she remembered the live stream room from a few days earlier. She’d been so buried in studying these past couple of days that she hadn’t touched her phone much, let alone checked the reactions online.

She tapped out a search, but Star Net had zero topics related to 《Snow White》. Clearly, someone had shelled out cash to bury the buzz.

Zhu Lexing stared at this all-too-familiar tactic. “…”

This world was right on trend with suppressing hot searches and throwing money at PR.

Before looking up Yan Mian, she casually searched her own name, “Zhu Lexing.”

There wasn’t much, but every post she clicked into was a wall of text. Some dissected the “deep meaning” behind the stage play; others ripped her script apart as incoherent drivel, a total trainwreck, suggesting she quit writing and go back to farming.

Zhu Lexing was used to hater comments—she didn’t have to like reading them. She backed out and searched Yan Mian instead.

Compared to her own topics, Yan Mian’s real-time feed brimmed with concern. The live stream had only cut off when the chandelier crashed down. Most people were asking if Yan Mian was okay, if she’d gotten hurt.

Anyone with eyes could see the chandelier had been right above her.

Beyond the worry, tons of folks were hunting for Yan Mian’s contact info. Some netizens had even tracked down the No. 1 High School forum app, but without a student ID, they couldn’t register or view any posts. They were begging for shared logins.

A few were already shipping Yan Mian and Zhu Lexing as a pair.

In a world short on romance vibes, though, “CP” usually got called “partners,” and everyone kept it tame: “They look like a great match.”

Zhu Lexing scrolled through it all, utterly speechless. As she closed the app, she made a mental note to tell Yan Mian after exams to snag an account while the hype was still fresh.

Those netizens had generated real heat, sure—but Zhu Lexing had zero interest in siccing them on the Lin Family.

The Lin Family had deep pockets. Even if she kicked up a fuss, slick PR would scrub the posts and slap gag orders in no time.

Zhu Lexing’s thoughts drifted back to Liu Su.

Over the past few days, she’d tried calling Liu Su repeatedly. Each time, it rang busy or went ignored, leaving Zhu Lexing wondering if she’d dialed the wrong number.

She dialed again, steeling herself: if Liu Su ghosted her this time, she’d go nuclear—

And have the System pull Liu Su’s real number!

It had that capability.

To her surprise, the call connected after a few rings.

The woman’s voice came through, weary and offhand: “No house sales, no loans. Person’s overseas, drowning in debt. What do you want?”

Zhu Lexing: ?

She double-checked the screen—the contact read Liu Su. But this speech, this tone… how did it square with the internet’s “gentle and poised” Liu Su?

“I…”

Zhu Lexing hesitated over how to start when Liu Su paused on the other end. Like she’d recognized the voice, her tone shifted: “…Lexing? Is that you? Why the new number—”

Zhu Lexing: “…Yeah.”

Liu Su’s demeanor flipped on a dime. “Lexing, I’m so sorry I missed your birthday last time. Mom’s been kicking herself over it. I want to come visit, but work’s been insane…”

“Lexing…” Liu Su’s voice softened. “Once this shoot wraps, can Mom come see you?”

Gone was the earlier chill and impatience. The tentative plea hit Zhu Lexing right in the chest.

“Yeah,” Zhu Lexing said stiffly.

“Perfect, it’s a date. Oh, and Xingxing, today…”

Zhu Lexing eased up and laid out the whole Lin Family mess. Liu Su went from stunned disbelief to probing questions, then fell silent.

Zhu Lexing figured she was caught in the crossfire, unsure where to stand. “About this…”

“Mom will make damn sure Yan Mian gets justice,” Liu Su said, her voice icing over. “Lexing, don’t you worry. Tell Yan Mian… not to be scared.”

“Just wait for Mom to get back,” Liu Su added.

Before the call, Zhu Lexing had been parked at her desk.

After hanging up, her cheek was smooshed against the wood. She let out a long sigh and scrolled Star Net.

Zhu Lexing’s birthday this year had fallen on Liu Su’s best actress nomination night. Liu Su snagged the award without a hitch, and in her speech, she’d name-checked her “daughter” with birthday wishes.

Neither Zhu Lin nor Liu Su had wanted Zhu Lexing thrust into the entertainment spotlight too soon, so they’d never dropped her name publicly. To the original host, though, it felt like they didn’t care—which had sparked blowups with both.

Zhu Lexing stared at the screen in silence until the phone dimmed. Finally, she straightened up and dove back into her problems.

The next day.

Yawning her way into the exam room, Zhu Lexing remembered her first day in this book-transmigrated life. Back then, she’d regretted skimping on school in her past one.

Now? An unfinished life had its own charm.

Nobody actually wanted to study!

No. 1 High School randomized seating. Zhu Lexing had learned her room the day before—not with Song Yingying. She’d hoped for a quiet three days. But stepping into the classroom, she spotted Qiao Qiao primping her makeup right by the door.

Zhu Lexing: “…”

Qiao Qiao: “…”

Their eyes met; even Qiao Qiao looked startled. “Small world.”

Zhu Lexing: “…Sure is.”

The real kicker? Her seat was right behind Qiao Qiao’s.

She’d barely set her bag down when Qiao Qiao twisted around. “No. 1 High’s proctors are brutal. Whose paper are you planning to copy?”

She called out the names of a few more students in the exam room, and Zhu Lexing followed her gaze. Most of them were top performers.

Zhu Lexing never imagined that Qiao Qiao would kick things off with a question teetering right on the edge of the system’s landmines.

She refused firmly. “No need. I can do it myself.”

Qiao Qiao began, “You—”

She had half a mind to tease Zhu Lexing, but the girl’s expression was deadly serious. Her gaze had grown much steadier lately, brimming with quiet confidence.

Qiao Qiao let the topic drop. “Fair enough.”