Xia Zhen made no attempt to hide her intentions. She blinked, her lashes heavy with tears that threatened to spill at any moment. “I’m terrified of the medicine,” she whispered, her voice a fragile thread. “What should I do?”
Lu Jin remained silent, his expression a mask of porcelain.
She lifted her injured hand toward him again, her eyes wide and pleading. “I’m hurt so badly… are you really going to just leave me here to die?”
In reality, it was a mere graze. To anyone else, it was a badge of a day well-spent; but for a pampered young lady [娇生惯养的大小姐 Jiāoshēng-guànyǎng de dàxiǎojiě: A trope for a girl raised in luxury who lacks basic life skills or pain tolerance], this was a catastrophic injury.
Lu Jin exhaled a breath he seemed to have been holding. He carefully tucked the bag of cat food he had just bought with money he had likely meticulously saved—into his backpack. Then, without a word, he took the iodine-soaked cotton swab from her trembling fingers.
A triumphant glint flickered in Xia Zhen’s eyes as her lips curved into a secret smile. She leaned in, invading his personal space.
The boy silently touched the swab to her palm. She gasped, her hand jerking back instinctively.
Lu Jin looked up, his pale eyes meeting hers.
“You’re hurting me,” she accused, pouting.
After a long beat, he lowered his gaze. “I’ll be gentler.”
She offered her hand again, but as the brown tip of the iodine neared her skin, she flinched away once more.
“It hurts,” she said, as if stating a universal law.
Lu Jin’s voice was flat, devoid of the irritation one might expect. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”
“That’s because your aura [气场 Qìchǎng: A person’s inner energy or presence that affects those around them] is too intimidating. I’m timid; I got scared.” No matter how illogical her words were, she spoke them with the confidence of someone who was always right.
Lu Jin’s patience seemed to be fraying at the edges. “Do you still want my help?”
“Yes.” She reached out a third time.
This time, when she tried to pull away, she didn’t succeed. Lu Jin was faster; his fingers clamped around her wrist, steady and firm. Before she could protest, the swab swept across the wound.
The pressure was light—it didn’t actually hurt—but Xia Zhen’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Lu Jin! You’ve become wicked!”
He didn’t respond. He focused entirely on the task, his usual aloofness replaced by a surprising, focused tenderness.
Under the interplay of the flickering streetlights and the silver moon, the sharp lines of his handsome profile seemed to soften. He looked radiant, almost luminous, like a figure carved from moonstone. Xia Zhen grew quiet, staring at him with a gaze so intense it was as if she had discovered a long-lost treasure.
When Lu Jin finally looked up, he was ensnared by her burning eyes. He was still holding her wrist. It was so different from his own—thin, soft, and terrifyingly fragile hand. The heat where their skin met was both a comfort and a scald.
He released her slowly, his hand lingering in the air for a fraction of a second as if the warmth had stuck to his skin.
Xia Zhen’s smile returned, bright and devastating. “And here, too.” She pointed to her knee, shifting her skirt slightly. “I’m injured here, too.”
She handed him a fresh swab and the bottle of iodine tincture [碘伏 Diǎnfú: A common, non-stinging antiseptic used in China].
The boy pursed his lips but didn’t refuse. He dipped the cotton, his eyelids fluttering closed for a moment before he leaned down to treat her knee. Xia Zhen let out a sharp hiss of “pain,” her voice a mix of a complaint and a coo. “I might kick out because I’m scared of the sting… are you sure you don’t need to hold my leg steady?”
The swab slipped. This time, Xia Zhen’s cry of “It hurts!” was genuine.
He pulled back instantly, his eyes betraying a flash of helplessness. “Sorry.”
Xia Zhen hugged her leg, glaring at him with mock ferocity. “You did that on purpose!”
Lu Jin’s voice dropped to a low, quiet rasp. “If you behave, everything will be fine.”
To her shock, he didn’t wait for her permission. He reached out, lifted her injured leg, and rested it across his own lap. His hand didn’t grope or linger; instead, it closed firmly around her ankle like a shackle.
Xia Zhen tried to twitch her leg, but his grip was iron. A sense of smug satisfaction crept into her chest. “Lu Jin… isn’t this a bit indecent [男女授受不亲 Nánnǚ shòushòu bù qīn: An ancient Confucian proverb meaning men and women should not have physical contact; used here playfully]?”
“You said you’d move because you’re afraid of the pain.”
Her legs were long, shapely, and flawless—the kind of legs that had set the boys at school whispering about hormones and “blessings.” Yet, as Lu Jin held her, his expression remained indifferent. His gaze was fixed solely on the wound, refusing to stray even an inch higher.
“Lu Jin,” she whispered, leaning closer. “Are you even a man?”
“I don’t answer nonsense,” he replied tonelessly.
“Then… we’re so close right now. Don’t you feel anything?”
“No.”
Xia Zhen let out a small “Oh,” appearing to lose interest. But she was merely biding her time. She watched him, moved a fraction closer… then another…
With lightning speed, she lunged toward his chest.
Snap.
Her wrist was caught in mid-air by his cold hand. He raised his eyes; they were calm, yet they carried a sudden, immense pressure that made her breath hitch.
Xia Zhen put on her best “innocent” face. “I just saw a mosquito,” she lied. “I wanted to shoo it away for you.”
In truth, she wanted to feel his heart—to see if the “No” he had uttered was a lie.
The boy’s voice was like ice. “Are you sure you want to keep pushing this?”
He touched the iodine swab to her raw knee, a silent threat. This boy, who seemed as transparent and indifferent as glass, was actually capable of a threat!
Xia Zhen shut her mouth tight, nodding frantically to show she was “scared.”
Lu Jin lowered his head and continued. The abrasion on her knee was larger than the one on her hand, requiring a deep, careful cleaning. As he changed the swab, Xia Zhen’s leg rubbed gently against his thigh.
Driven by an irrepressible curiosity, she leaned into his ear. “Lu Jin… if I keep going… will you really hurt me?”
Her dark eyes reflected the moon, shimmering with allure.
The boy didn’t look up. His long lashes cast shadows across his cheekbones, hiding whatever storm was brewing behind his eyes. His lips moved slightly. “Yes.”
The pressure on her ankle increased, grounding her, while the hand cleaning her knee remained as light as a feather.
Xia Zhen looked at his ears. They were glowing a brilliant, unmistakable red.
She smiled to herself, a deep, knowing warmth spreading through her. Fine, she thought. I won’t expose him just yet.”Today i saw a car moving fast toward a small child on a road .Seeing that car coming, I rushed over like a flash, scooped up the child, and scrambled back!” Xia Zhen recounted her heroic feat with sweeping, cinematic enthusiasm. Then, her shoulders slumped as she peered at the band-aid on her knee. “Unfortunately, my combat stats are still a bit low. I actually managed to get hurt.”
She added with a genuine touch of vanity, “Do you think my skin is too fair? Will it leave a scar?”
“No.”
Xia Zhen looked down at him. “How can you be so sure?”
Lu Jin didn’t look up as he meticulously pressed the edges of the adhesive bandage against her skin. “Minor abrasions like this heal quickly. They won’t leave a mark.”
“You sound… like you have a lot of experience with being hurt?”
He offered no answer. Instead, he gently but firmly nudged the girl’s leg off his lap, his voice regaining its usual chill. “You’re fine now.”
Xia Zhen’s face crumpled instantly. “I’m not fine at all.”
Her eyes were still rimmed with red, and a fresh glisten of tears threatened to spill over, making her look like a piece of fragile porcelain about to shatter.
He sighed, his resolve softening. “Where else does it hurt?”
“Here,” Xia Zhen murmured, cupping both hands over her heart.
Lu Jin stared at her for a beat, his expression flat, before he gripped the wheels of his chair to pull away.
But her hand was faster, catching the armrest before he could retreat. She held out the wilted, bruised little yellow flower like a peace offering.
“The flower you gave me is ruined,” she said, her voice heavy with disappointment. “I was going to put it in a crystal vase on my desk.”
Lu Jin looked at the bedraggled weed. “It’s just an ordinary wildflower. It’s not worth the effort.”
“But it’s the ‘First gift’ [首礼 Shǒulǐ: The first gift, which carries heavy emotional weight in romantic contexts].”
His gaze wavered.
Xia Zhen leaned into his space, her expression turning uncharacteristically solemn. “You’ll give me plenty of things in the future, but this is the very first gift you ever gave me. You should know, for a girl, the ‘first’ of anything has a soul of its own.”
“…When did I ever say I’d give you anything else?”
Xia Zhen blinked, unfazed. “Don’t try to move the goalposts. We’re talking about this flower. Why are you bringing up hypothetical future gifts?”
She had a way of being utterly illogical yet sounding entirely righteous. Lu Jin’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“The very first flower…” Xia Zhen sighed dejectedly, poking at a limp petal. “Gone before I could even appreciate it. I’m so sad now. Even a mountain of chocolate won’t fix this. What am I supposed to do?”
“I…” His voice was a mere ghost of a sound, swallowed by the evening breeze.
“What was that?”
He tightened his grip on the cold metal of his armrests. “I’ll… I’ll pick more for you later.”
Xia Zhen feigned a gasp of surprise. “Are you serious? You promise?”
He gave a small, reluctant hum of agreement.
She broke into a radiant grin. “Okay, I’ll trust you—just this once.”
Her eyebrows arched into playful crescents, her eyes shimmering with a victory that outshone the moonlight. She made no effort to hide her smug satisfaction at her little ‘Routine’ [套路 Tàolù: A popular internet slang for a “scheme” or “trap” used to get someone to do what you want] succeeding so perfectly.
How could someone swing from despair to pure joy in a single second?
A flicker of frustration—and perhaps something warmer—crossed Lu Jin’s eyes. He had warned himself a thousand times that she was a little ‘Con Artist’ [小骗子 Xiǎo piànzi], yet he still found himself walking willingly into her traps.
Xia Zhen sprang up, her energy fully restored. “Lu Jin, let’s go home together!”
He looked up at her, confused.
“Oh, I haven’t told you!” she laughed. “I moved into the building right across from yours. From now on, we’re neighbors. Aren’t you thrilled?”
He remained speechless.
“We can commute to school together every day,” she continued, piling her bags into his lap before stepping behind him to take over the handles of the wheelchair. “Our main house is too far, and I didn’t want to wake up at the crack of dawn, so my dad bought me a place here.”
She said it so casually—buying a ‘School District Apartment’ [学区房 Xuéqū fáng] in the city’s most expensive zone as if she were buying a snack.
Xia Zhen’s mouth never stopped moving. “My dad was worried about me walking alone. I told him, ‘Don’t worry, I have a wonderful classmate who lives right there. He’s kind, incredibly handsome, and so helpful. He even lets me copy his notes and explains the hard math problems…'”
She listed so many virtues that Lu Jin felt a hot prickle of embarrassment.
“Once my dad heard I had such a ‘perfect’ classmate to look after me, he finally agreed to stop the driver from dropping me off.”
In reality, Xia Zhen’s story was a creative blend of truth and “embellishment.” Her father, Xia Yu, had run a background check on every resident in the building to ensure there were no “eccentrics” before letting his precious daughter move in. And the lack of a driver? That was Xia Zhen’s own demand, part of her plan to ‘Adapt to Local Customs’ [入乡随俗 Rùxiāng suísú] and get closer to her target.
On the walk back, Lu Jin was a man of few words, offering only the occasional “Mm” as she chattered away. He couldn’t understand how she found so much to say; in her world, even the flavor of her lunch was a headline.
“Do you really think I need to know everything you ate today?” he finally asked.
“Yes,” Xia Zhen said, leaning over his shoulder from behind. “Lu Jin, I’m ‘Sharing’ my life with you. That’s how people get closer.”
Her breath tickled the shell of his ear.
Lu Jin’s eyes flickered upward, catching her smiling face just inches from his own. He hadn’t realized how much she had breached his defenses. The side of his face felt as if it were tingling. Before the sensation could turn into a full-body fever, he looked down, his pale lashes trembling.
Sharing…
The word made his heart itch, as if a kitten were softly kneading its paws against his chest. His gaze fell to the bright yellow spot in his lap—the crushed, wilted flower she had refused to throw away.
He reached out a pale finger and gently poked a petal. Why would someone like her take this trash home?
The sound of her voice drifted over him again, a constant, bright melody. He pulled his hand back quickly, realizing the smooth texture of the petal wasn’t even a tenth as soft as the memory of her skin against his palm.
He lowered his head even further, hiding his face.
Xia Zhen tilted her head, peering at him from behind. “Lu Jin? Why are your ears turning red again?”