Song Heng reclaimed his usual posture—languid, arrogant, and untouchable. He smirked, a sharp edge cutting through his nonchalance. “If you hadn’t sabotaged Su Su behind her back, I’d let it go. But… Xia Zhen, don’t let me catch you doing it again.”
It didn’t matter what she said; in his mind, her “privileged bully” persona was set in stone.
Xia Zhen felt a mix of genuine amusement and sharp annoyance. This man had actually strutted into her home to issue a warning based on a delusion. As he turned to leave, she called out, her voice melodic but cold. “Song Heng.”
He paused, glancing back.
“I’ll let it go this time, since you’ve come to me with nothing but fairy tales,” she said with a thin smile. “But if there’s a next time? I won’t be nearly this polite.”
Their eyes locked, an invisible war of wills igniting the air between them. Song Heng hesitated for a heartbeat. Xia Zhen was the first to look away, dismissing him entirely. He let out a hollow, meaningless chuckle and walked out.
She hadn’t noticed it before, but Song Heng was becoming increasingly repulsive.
Before remembering her past life as a Chuanyue [穿越: Transmigrator/Soul-traveler], Xia Zhen had been a typical Bai Fu Mei [白富美: “White, Rich, and Beautiful”—the Chinese ideal of a privileged young woman]. Back then, she naively thought she was special to him. He was cold to all girls, yet he never missed a gift for her birthday. Everyone assumed they would eventually marry, a misconception she had nurtured until the “reawakening” at the banquet.
If I hadn’t remembered, she thought, would I have become the villainous supporting character from a cliché drama, throwing away my pride for a man who doesn’t see me?
She looked at the yellow wildflowers in the vase and sighed. Two days away from Lu Jin was going to be an eternity.
Late that night, her father, Xia Yu—the legendary Workaholic—finally returned. During dinner, he observed his daughter with the quiet, heavy authority of a business tycoon.
“How is No. 1 High School?” he asked. “I heard the Academic pressure is intense there.”
“It’s fine,” she replied, sipping her soup.
Xia Yu nodded. He didn’t care if she studied; a daughter of the Xia family didn’t need to “change her fate through knowledge” like the common masses. “I heard the Song’s boy came by. Did you suffer a loss?”
“No,” she smiled.
Xia Yu’s expression remained stony, but internally, he was re-evaluating his investments. If Song Heng was foolish enough to trouble his daughter over an outsider, he was no longer a “promising asset” for him.
“I want to go shopping tomorrow,” Xia Zhen announced, gesturing grandly. “I need bags, shoes, and so many clothes that my former classmates’ group chat will go silent with envy.”
Xia Yu gave a rare nod of approval. “Good. The Xia family shouldn’t lag behind. I’m going on a business trip tomorrow, and I’ve instructed the staff: Song Heng is no longer allowed inside this house.”
That night, Xia Zhen’s phone buzzed with a massive bank transfer. In a jubilant mood, she opened her Cute pink game app. The “little house” on the screen now had a bed, but the pixelated boy didn’t look peaceful. He was curled into a ball under a thin sheet, his brow furrowed in pain.
Then, she saw it: a fresh, dark scar on the boy’s wrist.
It was 10:40 PM. Driven by a sudden, impulsive urge, Xia Zhen changed into a green floral dress, packed a bag with self-defense tools, and slipped out of the villa.
A thirty-minute taxi ride brought her to the outskirts. She didn’t go to his room; she followed a hunch and headed toward the secluded spot where he practiced his secret Rehabilitation.
There he was.
Lu Jin sat in his wheelchair under the silver glow of the moon, a white kitten cradled in his lap. With his snowy hair and translucent skin, he looked like a ghost inhabiting a white world—utterly, heartbreakingly alone. The moonlight caught the jagged scars on his wrists. Like the stray cat in his arms, he looked like something the world had thrown away.
As a long shadow fell over him. He looked up.
Standing there was a girl in a floral dress, her spirit as vibrant as the small yellow flowers she loved. “Lu Jin,” she called softly.
“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice steady but his eyelashes fluttering.
“Because I sensed my Snow White was in danger!” she chirped, running to him with open arms. She looked as if she were trying to embrace the moon itself—or perhaps just him. “I’ve come to rescue my princess!”
A flicker of genuine amusement touched his eyes. “The one forced to pick beans from the ashes is Cinderella,” he corrected quietly.
“Details, details,” she dismissed, cupping his face in her warm hands. “Tell me, how were you bullied? A hunter’s blade? A wicked stepmother?”
He looked into her eyes and said, “A poisoned apple.”
Xia Zhen’s breath hitched. The excitement made her scalp tingle; the atmosphere was thick with a sweet, dangerous euphoria. “Are you sure it was a poisoned apple?”
He reached up, his cold hand covering her warm one. “I’m sure.”
The temperature difference was electric. Under his softening gaze, Xia Zhen lowered her head. He finally lost the battle with his own restraint, his arms reaching out to pull her down into his lap.
In the old stories, the princess always awakened from poison with a kiss.
“Meow?”
The little white cat’s plaintive cry cut through the moment. It blinked up at them, utterly confused, as if to protest why this girl had suddenly claimed its favorite spot on the boy’s knees.
Outside, the night pressed heavy and humid, a restless summer heat seeping into the city. But inside the quiet apartment, Lu Jin’s skin was like cool jade against her own warmth, grounding her, drawing her closer.
Xia Zhen leaned into him, pressing her cheek against his chest, savoring the unexpected chill. And then, beneath her, she felt it — the ice of his usual reserve melting, giving way to something raw and unguarded. His hands gripped her waist, firm but careful at first, then tighter, pulling her flush against him.
Everything felt new and urgent, clumsy and intoxicating. Their breaths mingled, ragged and sweet; their hands fumbled, searching. Xia Zhen had teased him into this, but now the momentum had shifted. He was the one surging forward, reckless yet tender, guided by a force he couldn’t resist.
When they finally pulled apart, she pressed a hand to her lips, soft and tingling, slightly swollen from the kiss. Her eyes, rimmed with pink, flashed at him with mock irritation.
“I’m sorry,” Lu Jin whispered, his voice low and vibrating in the quiet room. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth in a motion so delicate it made her chest flutter. Xia Zhen’s breath caught, her heart thrumming in her ears, as if the room itself had shrunk to just the two of them and the tiny white cat staring in bewilderment.
Xia Zhen’s irritation vanished into a mischievous grin. “It’s okay. We just need to practice a few more times.”
The pressure of his thumb suddenly intensified against her lip. “Ow! It hurts!” she gasped.
Lu Jin jerked his hand back, though he tried to maintain his mask of composure. “Don’t be silly,” he muttered, though his ears were burning.
“This isn’t ‘silly,’ Lu Jin. It’s called being Affectionate!”
She was always right, and they both knew it.
She slipped off his lap, and for a panicked second, Lu Jin’s hand shot out to catch her wrist. “Don’t go,” he urged, his eyes dark with the fear of her vanishing.
“I’m not leaving,” she laughed softly, squatting beside his wheelchair. “I just don’t want to tire your legs. Once you’re healed, you won’t be able to get rid of me. I’ll be clinging to you every single day.”
Lu Jin’s grip relaxed, but his gaze remained anchored to her face, hungry and docile all at once. “Why did you really come back tonight?”
“Because I couldn’t let you go,” she replied honestly.
His throat moved as he swallowed hard. “You know… I can’t resist you.”
He felt like a gambler who had bet his very soul on a single roll of the dice. He didn’t know how long this “Star” would stay in his sky, but she was within reach, and that was enough to make him burn.
“Just as well,” Xia Zhen whispered, leaning up to press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I can’t resist you either.”
For the first time, his stony expression melted into a look of pure, unadulterated joy. The corners of his lips curved upward into a rare, tender smile that made him look breathtakingly beautiful. Xia Zhen couldn’t help herself; she lunged forward and buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. He smelled like nothing in particular—just clean, cool air—but she found it intoxicating.
They moved into the living room. Xia Zhen unceremoniously scooped the white kitten off Lu Jin’s lap and set it on the floor.
“From now on, this is my spot,” she told the cat, pointing at Lu Jin’s knees. “No sitting here without my permission.”
The kitten looked at its master, pleading for justice, but Lu Jin pointedly looked away. At this moment he was the true example of “To be blinded by charms”. The cat let out an indignant meow and retreated to the sofa to sulk.
As the cat got settled in the sofa Xia Zhan focus on the matter she was here for tonight and as she rooled Lu Jing’s sleeves her playful mood died. The fair skin of his hand was marred by a map of bruises—purple, angry red, some fading, some fresh.
“They hit you!” she blurted out, her voice trembling with a sudden, fierce protectiveness. She looked like a cat whose favorite toy had been stepped on, ready to unsheathe her claws.
Lu Jin actually smiled. He reached out and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“I’ll call the police, I’ll—”
“It won’t help,” he said softly, his voice weary with the wisdom of someone who has lived in the shadows too long. “I have my own ways of surviving. I don’t want you dragged into this Filthy world.”
He took her hand, his voice growing steady with a new kind of resolve. “I’m saving money, Xia Zhen. Once I graduate, I’m leaving. I’ll work for my own Tuition. The doctors say there’s hope for my legs… I want to live a good life.”
He was speaking his secret dreams aloud for the first time. He wanted dignity. He wanted a future.
But Xia Zhen knew the “Story.” She knew that in the original timeline, his life ended in his eighteenth summer. He was meant to be a tragic footnote, a tool to make the main characters look better.
A hot tear splashed onto the back of his hand, scorching him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, panic rising in his chest at the sight of her genuine sorrow.
“I want you to live,” she sobbed, the weight of his predetermined fate crushing her heart. “I want you to live well.”
Lu Jin’s heart hammered against his ribs. The desperate, stubborn boy who had once crawled through the dirt now felt a fire ignite in his soul. “I will,” he promised, his voice low and vibrating with a terrifying sincerity. “I will live well. Don’t cry.”
“Hug me,” she choked out.
He didn’t hesitate. He lifted her back onto his lap, ignoring the strain on his legs. She felt light, fragile, and impossibly precious. He pressed his forehead against hers, his light-colored eyes shimmering with a new, dangerous purpose.
Before, he only wanted to survive. Now, he wanted to thrive—for her. And for that, he would stop at nothing.
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