There is a subtle, hidden streak of mischief in this seemingly innocent girl. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that her “wickedness” is a private performance, reserved solely for him.
Lu Jin couldn’t begin to fathom what he was to her. Was he a passing curiosity, a temporary diversion, or some other impossible, unspoken thing?
As they made their way back to the classroom, she pushed his wheelchair with a steady hand. The little yellow flower had been returned to his grip; she’d told him, with a playful command, that he was to “keep it safe” for her.
She hummed an off-key tune the entire way—not exactly pleasant, yet far from annoying which also make the deserted, tree-lined path felt like a deliberate gift from the heavens, carving out a private sanctuary for their solitude.
“You could tell the teacher you want to change deskmates,” Lu Jin said suddenly.
Xia Zhen paused, tilting her head. “And why would I do that?”
“I’m not… an easy person to be around.” He had always possessed a cold, clinical understanding of his own nature. He wasn’t likable; if he were, his parents wouldn’t look at him with such disdain. He was a well of silence that eventually drained the hope out of anyone who stayed too long.
Xia Zhen’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “But you have a cat.”
He lifted his head slightly, the school jacket shifting to reveal his clear, startled eyes.
“People with cats are blessed with a special kind of luck,” she said with mock-seriousness. “And your luck clearly led you to a world-class deskmate like me.”
He was speechless. Her talent for turning a conversation into self-praise was unparalleled.
Xia Zhen chuckled, reaching out to adjust the jacket draped over him. “See? Even when you want to argue, you don’t actually bite back. If that’s not ‘easy to get along with,’ then the rest of the world is hopeless.”
She had a way of steering the conversation in circles only to land exactly where she wanted. She bent down, bringing her face close to his, her voice dropping to a soft, warm register. “Lu Jin, you are a very good person.”
He looked away instantly, desperate to hide the crimson heat creeping up his ears.
Xia Zhen wasn’t lying; he truly was “good.”
The moment she had heard his name, her memories of this romance novel world [网文世界 Wǎngwén shìjiè: Referring to the trope-filled world of Chinese web novels] clicked into place. In the original story, Lu Jin was a tragic, peripheral figure—a boy with snow-white hair and jade-like skin who lived in a self-imposed iron cage.
His legs hadn’t always been useless. When he was eight, he had rushed into the path of a speeding car to save the girl next door. He saved her life but lost the ability to stand. The girl’s family had paid a “hush money” settlement and vanished shortly after. Since then, Lu Jin had retreated into a world of silence.
In the original plot, that girl—the female lead, Tang Susu—eventually returns as a wealthy heiress seeking to repay her “life-saving grace” [救命之恩 Jiùmìng zhī ēn: A heavy cultural debt in China where saving a life creates a lifelong bond]. Her attention toward Lu Jin sparks the jealousy of the male lead, a “refined” man whose smile hid a dagger. He had visited Lu Jin’s hospital bed, offering the “best doctors” while subtly warning the “cripple” not to use the past to cling to Tang Susu.
In that version of reality, Lu Jin’s health withered, and he didn’t survive the summer.
This summer…
Xia Zhen thought of the mysterious game on her phone. The “Snow White” trapped in the dark room—was that digital ghost a reflection of the boy sitting beside her?
They reached the classroom before the rest of the students returned from the field. Lu Jin handed back her jacket. “Your clothes…”
Xia Zhen took it and slipped it on without a second thought. Watching her fluid, easy movements, Lu Jin felt a strange warmth behind his ears. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that the fabric was now saturated with his scent.
She took the yellow flower and propped it up against a stack of books on her desk, admiring it with a sweet, lingering smile. “Does it look nice there?”
He hesitated. “It looks nice.”
“You say ‘it’ looks nice…” She leaned over his desk, her eyes narrowing mischievously. Her high ponytail made her look vibrant, a stark contrast to his stillness. “Do you mean the flower… or the person?”
Lu Jin withdrew his gaze, his voice a flat, singular note: “The flower.”
Xia Zhen’s smile vanished into a pout. “No taste at all,” she muttered.
But her mood swung back just as quickly. She grabbed her schoolbag, unzipped it, and dumped a literal mountain of items onto his desk. It wasn’t books—it was a hoard of food. The bag had been heavy because it was a mobile pantry.
Several packets of cookies rolled into Lu Jin’s lap. He picked them up, looking at her in bewilderment. He was wearing his blue-and-white “sack-style” school uniform [运动校服 Yùndòng xiàofú: The loose, tracksuit-style uniforms standard in Chinese schools]. On most, it looked like a shapeless bag; on him, it looked clean, refreshing, and painfully elegant.
“You promised to ‘help’ me,” Xia Zhen grinned. “And I promised to share my snacks.”
“I don’t need them,” he protested.
“Too late. I always keep my word.” She began sorting the pile with clinical efficiency. “Yours, mine, yours, mine…”
Lu Jin watched her hands dart back and forth. When she finished, her desk was a mountain of chocolates and candies, while his was covered in various breads and savory biscuits.
“Eating too much sugar is bad for your health,” she said, blinking innocently. “So, I’ve selflessly taken all the sweets to save you from cavities. Aren’t I thoughtful?”
Lu Jin opened his mouth to decline again, but she was already holding the yellow flower to her cheek. She leaned in, her smile growing radiant and warm.
“You gave me a flower, so these snacks are my return gift. Now, tell me…” she teased, her eyes locked onto his. “Is the flower prettier? Or am I?”
His lips twitched. He knew there was only one “safe” answer to this trap. Her smile grew even more predatory, as if daring him to lie.
“Think very carefully before you speak,” she whispered.
Lu Jin lowered his gaze, his voice barely a breath. “…You.”
After school, the “Plastic Besties” group chat [塑料姐妹花 Sùliào jiěmèihuā: A popular Chinese internet slang for fake friends who are performatively close but toxic behind each other’s backs] suddenly exploded with activity.
【Zhenzhen, did you hear? Song Heng and his dad had a massive fallout!】
Xia Zhen strolled down the sidewalk, taking a nibble of chocolate as she lazily swiped at her screen. 【What happened?】
【You don’t know?】
【Why should I?】
【Wait, aren’t you usually the one tracking Song Heng’s every move?】
Xia Zhen yawned. She couldn’t be bothered to type a reply, but the group was already brimming with the latest melons [吃瓜 Chī guā: Slang for “eating watermelon,” meaning to enjoy juicy gossip].
【My mom heard it at the Mahjong table [麻将 Májiàng: A traditional tile game; Mahjong parlors are legendary hubs for high-society gossip]. Apparently, the Song family ordered Song Heng to apologize to you, but he threw a fit. He’s dead set on getting engaged to that ‘Cinderella’ your family took in!】
【Ugh, the Song family clearly favors you, Zhenzhen. Song Heng must be blind to choose that girl over you.】
【Right? Our Zhenzhen is gorgeous, wealthy, and charming. How could he not like her?】
【Don’t be sad, Zhenzhen! If he didn’t choose you, it’s definitely his loss, not yours!】
These girls had spent years fawning over Song Heng because of his looks. Now, while they showered the group chat with “supportive” messages, Xia Zhen knew they were likely gloating in private.
Xia Zhen finished her chocolate and sent a quick message to her father: 【Dad, I’m feeling a bit depressed right now.】
Less than a minute later, a notification pinged. Her bank balance had just taken a massive leap.
Xia Zhen screenshotted the transfer and dropped it into the group chat.
【If you hadn’t told me, I never would have known. You know how I am; when I’m sad, I just want comfort from the people I love. But my dad… he just gives me this useless money. What’s the point? Can money really buy happiness?】
She added a series of sobbing emojis and a final blow: 【If you hear any more news that might make me ‘sad,’ please tell me immediately. Don’t worry, I can handle it!】
The “affected” tone was so thick it was practically tangible. The group chat went dead silent. There was no way they were going to feed her bank account by giving her more reasons to be “sad.”
Comfortably tucking her phone away, Xia Zhen looked at the little yellow flower in her hand. She poked the petals and let out a soft, genuine chuckle.
Across the street, a boy with bleached blond hair nudged his friend. “Brother Song, isn’t that the School Beauty?”
Song Heng, who had been hunched over his phone mid-game, looked up. In the golden wash of the sunset, Xia Zhen looked radiant. Even in her Shengyi Middle School uniform, she carried an air of effortless grace. The common wildflower in her hand should have looked cheap, but in her grip, it seemed like a rare treasure.
“The School Beauty really lives up to the hype,” a boy with dyed red hair whispered. “She’s still stunning.”
If it weren’t for the intimidating presence of Song Heng—a “devil” no one dared to cross—Xia Zhen’s desk would have been buried under love letters long ago.
Song Heng didn’t seem to care that his game character had just been killed. He watched her, his expression lazy, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He let out a low, dry chuckle. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. The more beautiful something is, the more poisonous it is.”
“Wait, she saw us!” Blondie exclaimed.
Song Heng’s posture straightened instinctively, his gaze narrowing. But Xia Zhen wasn’t looking at him.
Her focus had snapped to a four-year-old boy chasing a runaway balloon toward the center of the busy road. Car horns blared, a wall of screeching tires approaching.
In a heartbeat, Xia Zhen moved. She lunged into the traffic, scooped the child into her arms, and pivoted back toward the curb. She narrowly cleared the bumper of a car, but her momentum sent her skidding onto the pavement.
“Chaochao!” An elderly woman rushed over, snatching the boy from Xia Zhen’s lap. She immediately began swatting the boy’s bottom. “I told you not to run! You nearly killed your grandmother from fright!”
The boy wailed. Passersby crowded around, helping Xia Zhen up. Her hands were raw, and her knees, exposed by her skirt, were a mess of bloody scrapes. She winced, the pain sharp and stinging.
The grandmother, realizing what had happened, thanked Xia Zhen profusely, her voice shaking. She offered to take her to the hospital, but Xia Zhen gently declined. Her eyes lingered sadly on the yellow flower, now crushed and wilted on the asphalt.
“Thank the big sister!” the woman commanded, pulling the sobbing boy forward.
Xia Zhen knelt, patting the boy’s head with her uninjured hand. She gave him a soft, reassuring smile. “You can’t play on the road anymore, okay? It’s very dangerous.”
Seeing her smile, the boy’s sobs turned into a shy, red-faced hiccup. “Th-thank you, big sister…”
Across the street, Song Heng retracted the foot he had stepped forward. He reverted to his cold, detached self. “Let’s go. If we’re any later, the good PCs at the Internet Cafe [网吧 Wǎngbā: A popular hangout for Chinese youth to play competitive games] will be taken.”
“How can a girl that kind and beautiful be poisonous?” Blondie muttered as they walked away.
As night fell, the streetlights hummed to life.
Xia Zhen sat on a quiet park bench, a bag of ointment beside her. she held a cotton swab soaked in Iodine [碘伏 Diǎnfú: The standard brownish antiseptic used in Chinese households for scrapes], but every time she brought it near her raw knee, she flinched away, unable to bear the sting.
Suddenly, a long shadow stretched across the pavement, engulfing her.
“What happened?” a cool, steady voice asked.
Xia Zhen looked up. The moment her eyes met Lu Jin’s, her composure shattered. Her lips trembled, and her bright eyes instantly filmed over with tears. She let out a small, pitiful sniffle.
“Lu Jin… I’m hurt.”
The tears welled up, threatening to spill over. She held out her scraped palm like a wounded child seeking comfort. “It hurts so much.”
Lu Jin’s breath hitched. In that moment, it felt as though an invisible hand had reached into his chest and violently gripped his heart.