At the birthday banquet for the Young Master of the Song family, the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and vintage wine. Social elites of all over the city drifted through the hall, their laughter harmonizing with the rhythmic clinking of crystal flutes.
“The ball is about to begin,” someone chuckled, leaning into a private circle. “I wonder which young lady Young Master Song will invite for the first dance?”
That single sentence acted like a magnet. The girls, draped in their finest haute couture [high-end, custom-made fashion dresses], turned their expectant gazes toward the center of the room. There stood a young man so handsome he seemed otherworldly—his name is Song Heng.
Yet, there were exceptions. In a dim corner sat a girl in a simple white dress, remarkably plain and seemingly out of place.
“Female Lead.”
The term flashed into Xia Zhen’s mind like a neon sign when she saw that girl. When her gaze shifted back to the man in the tailored suit, another label appeared: “Second Male Lead.”
Normally, Xia Zhen would have been just like the others—a socialite shark circling the “Prince” in hopes of a favor. But a sudden flood of memories had paralyzed her tonight.
“Absolute Favoritism”—a trending Webnovel [a serialized online novel, often featuring specific tropes like reincarnation or ‘sweet’ romance] that she now realized she was living in.
The story followed Tang Susu, a girl who grew up in a “Cinderella” scenario. She was the “lost pearl” of the Xia family, the daughter of a second son who had eloped with an ordinary woman. After her parents died in an accident, the Xia Patriarch had finally tracked her down. Out of pure guilt-driven doting [a common trope where family elders overcompensate with money and affection], the Xia family treated her like a fragile treasure.
As Tang Susu’s cousin, Xia Zhen had always been told to “be the bigger person” and accommodate the newcomer.
In the novel, Tang Susu enters a prestigious “Nobel” academy and attracts a harem of elite men—the cold Male Lead, the School Bully [a ‘bad boy’ archetype common in Chinese campus novels], and the gentle Third Lead and so on . Her “unpretentious” lack of social etiquette was exactly what made these powerful men fall for her.
“How interesting,” Xia Zhen thought bitterly. “I’ve lived here for eighteen years, only to realize I’m the Vicious Supporting Female Lead [a character destined to lose to the protagonist and meet a tragic end].”
As she was lamenting about her fate subtle, judging glances flickered toward Xia Zhen.
She was breathtaking tonight, wearing a retro-style [often referring to ‘Minguo’ or vintage 1950s-inspired fashion popular in modern Chinese social circles] yellow dress with delicate lace that accentuated her porcelain skin and elegant curves. Her wavy hair brushed against her pearl earrings, which shimmered like teardrops under the chandelier light.
As the recognized School Beauty [a title given to the most attractive girl in a school or university], she was used to being the sun that other girls orbited. Plus, she and Song Heng were Childhood Sweethearts [青梅竹马 – qīngméi zhúmǎ, a cultural idiom for a boy and girl who grew up together and are often expected to marry].
Song Heng stood in the center of the room, flamboyant and eccentric. He ignored the rigid dress code, unbuttoning his collar to reveal a sharp, delicate collarbone. He was a notorious “Good-for-nothing” heir—frequenting fights and skipping classes—but his face and fortune made him a god in this room.
Xia Zhen pressed a hand to her forehead. In the original plot, Song Heng was supposed to choose her for this dance. That dance would signal their impending engagement. Later, on their engagement night, he would abandon her to comfort a crying Tang Susu, leading Xia Zhen down a path of jealousy that ended in a mental asylum.
This plot is absolute trash, she decided. I’m out.
Before Xia Zhen could move to leave, Song Heng spoke. His voice cut through the music.
“Her. I choose her.”
He wasn’t pointing at Xia Zhen. He was looking at the corner.
Tang Susu, who had been contentedly nibbling on a macaron, froze. “…Me?”
Song Heng’s lips curled into a predatory, charming smile. “You’ll dance the first dance with me.”
“I… I can’t…” Tang Susu stammered. She was a “freshly recognized” granddaughter of an elite family; she hadn’t even finished her Etiquette Lessons [social training for new members of high society] now.
Song Heng didn’t care. He strode through the crowd, his hand firmly locking around hers. “I’ll teach you.”
The room gasped, w ith sympathetic, mocking eyes landed on Xia Zhen. Everyone knew they were “the popular couple.” To be passed over for a “plain” cousin was a public slap in the face of Xia Zhen.
But as the lights dimmed and the spotlight followed the stumbling Tang Susu and the uncharacteristically patient Song Heng, Xia Zhen didn’t feel humiliated. She felt like she had just dodged a bullet.
“Miss, the banquet isn’t over. Why are we leaving so early?” the driver asked as the car pulled away.
“I’m sleepy,” Xia Zhen said, leaning against the cool leather of the back seat. She didn’t care about Tang Susu’s ride home—the Patriarch had sent a separate car for his “precious pearl” anyway.
As the city lights blurred, Xia Zhen’s mind raced. Why did Song Heng choose Susu tonight? In the book, he didn’t even know her yet. As she was thinking about this she suddenly saw something on the road “Uncle Zhao, stop the car,” she commanded suddenly.
In the dim glow of a streetlight, a figure lay crumpled on the roadside. Uncle Zhao rushed out, straightening a fallen wheelchair and helping the person back into it.
Xia Zhen stepped out of the car, her yellow dress a bright contrast to the gloom of the night was like a little sun for the person in the wheelchair , he was a young man dressed entirely in black, looking like he wanted to vanish into the shadows.
He was striking—pale, almost translucent skin, and hair as white as snow. His eyes were a light, glassy hazel, giving him the appearance of a Fallen Immortal [a common aesthetic in Chinese fantasy/romance for beautiful, tragic men].
“Do you need help?” Xia Zhen asked.
“No,” his voice was a mere whisper, cold and brittle.
“Fine. Uncle Zhao, let’s go,” Xia Zhen turned on her heel.
“Miss…” Uncle Zhao hesitated, his heart aching for the boy.
“He doesn’t want help, Uncle Zhao. We can’t force him,” Xia Zhen said loudly, walking toward the car. “Besides, if someone is too proud to save their own pet, that’s their business. That cat isn’t mine, anyway.”
She had noticed the sickly, white kitten huddled in his lap.
The boy’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his hem. The kitten let out a weak, pained cry.
“Wait…” he choked out.
Xia Zhen stopped, as she put her hand on the car door. She arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Did you say something?”
The boy looked up. In the moonlight, Xia Zhen looked like a radiant, untouchable princess. He swallowed his pride, his voice trembling with a mix of shame and desperation.
“Please… help me.”
Xia Zhen’s lips quirked into a satisfied grin. “Uncle Zhao? Load him up.”Uncle Zhao helped the boy into the car with practiced care. Following the boy’s quiet instructions, he folded the worn wheelchair and tucked it into the trunk. He then slipped back into the driver’s seat, steering the sleek car toward the nearest 24-hour pet hospital.
In the quiet of the night, most people would hesitate to get involved with a stranger. But there was something about this boy—a fragile, isolated gravity—that made it impossible to simply drive away without a heavy conscience for her.
Xia Zhen stole a glance at the passenger beside her. He sat as far away as possible from her, his head bowed, seemingly trying to shrink into the upholstery to avoid contaminating her space.
She looked at the shivering kitten in his arms. Reaching into the back, she pulled out a plush travel blanket and draped it over the small animal. As she tucked the edges, her fingertips accidentally brushed his cold skin.
The boy’s long white eyelashes fluttered. He shifted slightly, shielding the kitten with his body. “I’ll pay you back,” he murmured.
Xia Zhen tilted her head, her eyes crinkling into a playful crescent. “My time is priceless; I’m afraid you can’t afford it.”
He went silent, literally pressed against the car door by her breezy, overwhelming confidence.
Suddenly, a silk tissue appeared in his field of vision. He followed the slender hand up to see her smiling face.
“Your face is dirty; wipe it.” Xia Zhen paused, her grin widening. “Consider it a freebie. You don’t even have to ask for this one.”
He felt a wave of awkwardness wash over him—a heat that sat strangely against his naturally pale skin.
The pet hospital was a sterile, brightly lit island in the middle of the night. As they entered, the staff couldn’t help but stare. In daily life, Albinism [a genetic condition resulting in little or no melanin production] is rare, and the boy looked like a delicate porcelain doll that had been dropped in the mud.
Wary and protective, the boy clutched the kitten tightly, his eyes glued to the vet as if the animal might vanish if he blinked. When it was time to move to the examination room, Xia Zhen didn’t wait for him to struggle. She stepped behind his wheelchair and began pushing.
He looked up, his clear, translucent eyes meeting hers through the fringe of his white hair.
“Don’t you want to see what’s wrong?” she asked softly.
He pursed his lips and pulled his hood lower. “Yes,” he whispered.
The diagnosis was simple: the kitten had eaten something spoiled. After a round of medication, the boy went to the counter to settle the bill. Xia Zhen watched as he pulled out a wad of crumpled, small-denomination bills—Mao Grandpa [a common Chinese slang for the 100-yuan note featuring Mao Zedong, though here used ironically as he only has small 1-yuan and 5-jiao notes].
Having lived as a pampered heiress for so long, Xia Zhen felt a strange pang of nostalgia at the sight of those weathered single-yuan notes.
The cashier’s gaze darted between the boy in the dirty hoodie and the girl in the designer dress. The contrast was jarring—the “Prince of Poverty” and the “Aristocratic Rose.”
“She just helped me,” the boy said, his voice flat, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his hem. “We have no connection.”
The cashier blinked, caught in his own silent prejudice. “Oh… I see.”
Xia Zhen didn’t miss a beat. “Actually, we do have a connection.”
The boy’s hand, stroking the kitten’s fur, froze.
Xia Zhen beamed. “We are both Successors of Socialism [a humorous, patriotic phrase often taught to Chinese children, used here as a witty ‘icebreaker’ to dismiss social class differences].”
The cashier let out a genuine laugh. “Young lady, you certainly have a wit about you!”
The tension in the air evaporatedjust like that by her laugh. Even the boy’s stiff shoulders seemed to relax slightly, though he kept his gaze fixed on the kitten, his thoughts hidden behind a veil of white hair.
When they came out of thre clinic, the night wind had sharpened resulting in drastic drop of temprature.
“Let us drive you the rest of the way,” Uncle Zhao offered. “Where do you live?”
“No need,” the boy replied after a long pause. “Thank you, but I can manage from here.”
Uncle Zhao looked to Xia Zhen, but she simply nodded. “Alright then. Get home safely.”
Before the car pulled away, she left him with the small blanket.
As the car merged back into the quiet streets, Xia Zhen tore open a bar of chocolate she’d grabbed from the hospital’s vending machine.
“Miss,” Uncle Zhao asked curiously, “how did you know he could get home on his own?”
“I saw him run out of money,” Xia Zhen said, taking a slow bite of the sweet chocolate. “He couldn’t afford a taxi even if he wanted one.”
Uncle Zhao sighed. “That boy has a terrifying amount of pride. I wonder where his parents are? Letting a child in his condition wander out so late…”
“Maybe he doesn’t have anyone,” Xia Zhen mused.
Uncle Zhao smiled. “You usually don’t like to meddle in others’ business. Why were you so patient with him today?”
“Because,” Xia Zhen sighed, a touch of mock-melancholy in her voice, “I fell in love at first sight.”
Uncle Zhao’s smile vanished instantly. “Were you… bullied that badly at the banquet, Miss?”
Xia Zhen didn’t answer. She just stared out at the river, the sweetness of the chocolate a sharp contrast to the “villainous” fate she was currently rewriting.
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit apartment building, a boy in a wheelchair sat by the window. He watched the tail lights of her car disappear into the darkness, his hand resting quietly on the soft, expensive fabric of the blanket she had left behind.