Night fell, the moonlight silvery and bright.
Bai Yuyou beside him had already fallen asleep, her posture no longer curled up defensively but relaxed, nestled close. Under the gentle caress of the moonlight, her delicate features seemed even more refined.
Yet Ye Shuang lay awake, one arm tucked beneath his head as he stared quietly at the ceiling.
Sleep eluded him—his mind was occupied with thoughts of Yuyou, Chen Qin, and the matter of Yuyou’s birth parents.
Just then, the girl beside him stirred slightly. She murmured something unintelligible before nuzzling against his neck, pressing even closer. The warmth of her breath brushed against his skin.
Noticing this, Ye Shuang tugged lightly at the thin blanket, covering her exposed shoulder.
Shifting slightly, he gazed at her face, so close he could almost count her lashes. With a finger, he gently brushed aside a stray lock of her hair. His dark eyes were unfathomable, lost in thought.
Suddenly, the girl leaned in and—
"Mwah~"
Ye Shuang blinked in surprise.
She mumbled again, "Cricket… gotta catch it…"
Watching her unconscious antics, he couldn’t help but chuckle. "What the heck?"
Amused as he was, his thoughts soon drifted back to her—back to how, not long ago, even a kiss required formal permission, let alone anything more intimate. Now, he finally understood: he was simply unwilling to let go.
"How many years have I wasted?" he wondered.
He used to keep track down to the exact day. But ever since Yuyou picked him up and brought him home, those calculations had faded from memory.
Some obsessions, it seemed, could be released in an instant.
Lost in reminiscence, lulled by the faint floral scent of the girl beside him and her soft warmth, he gradually succumbed to sleep.
The night passed without incident.
Morning arrived.
After sending Yuyou and Tang Keke off to school, Ye Shuang washed the dishes and settled at his desk, booting up his computer. Writing had become a daily habit, and over time, his word count had grown—along with his readership. Even his novel’s rating had climbed to a solid 9.0.
He clicked through the reviews, filtering out low-star critiques before browsing the latest feedback.
"The recommendation period’s over. Seven days of exposure just isn’t enough. I really hope my dear readers can help spread the word," he muttered to himself. Still, as promised, he uploaded three new chapters today and left a note at the end: "For every 0.1 increase in rating, one extra chapter."
"Alright, time for work."
Checking the clock, he saw that the three-chapter update had taken him right up to his shift. Heading down to the garage, he drove his sports car to the school.
"So slow."
The moment Ye Shuang slipped on his white coat and turned on the AC, a voice sounded behind him.
"Hm?" He paused before realizing it was An Shiyu. "How’d you get in? The infirmary wasn’t open."
"Uncle, of course I have a key."
An Shiyu was sprawled across one of the beds, lazily flipping through a book with one leg bent, her skirt riding up slightly.
"Your underwear’s showing," Ye Shuang pointed out.
"Whatever. Feel free to use me as you like, Uncle." She didn’t seem bothered, continuing to read as the quiet room filled with the sound of turning pages.
Ye Shuang’s eye twitched as he took his seat. "And you call me a pervert? You’re the real weirdo here, you little Jap."
"How rude…" An Shiyu replied flatly. "My great-grandfather was one of the few foreign anti-war heroes buried in the local cemetery. I’m a born-and-raised Chinese citizen."
"Ah, my apologies." Ye Shuang bowed his head sincerely.
An Shiyu didn’t dwell on it, returning to her book until Ye Shuang spoke again. "Didn’t know you read."
"Just a novel… Tokyo Landlord or something. The author’s so slow." She skimmed a few more pages before losing interest. "Why do all these pretty girls flock to the protagonist?"
"Even if you put it that way…"
Ye Shuang gestured to himself. "I actually write novels too."
"Oh? What’s yours called?" An Shiyu twisted to look at him, though her bangs still shadowed her perpetually bored eyes.
"Here." Suddenly enthusiastic, Ye Shuang pulled up his story on his phone and handed it over.
An Shiyu took one glance at the word count and set it down.
"Too short. Not reading."
Ye Shuang: "…"
Suppressing the urge to smack her backside, he retrieved his phone.
"Let me know when it’s longer." An Shiyu flopped onto her back like a salted fish, yawning.
But seconds later, she abruptly sat up.
"Is writing hard?" she asked.
"Not… really?" Ye Shuang said. Getting successful was the tough part—publishing was easy.
"How long does a chapter take?"
"About two hours at first?"
An Shiyu did some mental math based on a million-word novel’s chapter count, then lay back down expressionlessly.
"Goodnight."
"Don’t give up so fast, damn it!"
"Shut up, Uncle."
Ye Shuang sighed and returned to his desk just as a student walked in. "Nurse…"
Instantly switching to professional mode, he smiled warmly. "What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed An Shiyu had already drawn the curtain around her bed.
Fast.
"I scraped my knee when I fell." The student pointed to the grazed skin, still speckled with sand.
Ye Shuang fetched antiseptic and began cleaning the wound.
Once bandaged, he checked if she could move comfortably. The girl blushed under his attentive care.
"I-It’s fine! The bandage doesn’t restrict me at all."
"Good. The cut’s shallow, so no need to change the dressing—just keep it dry." Kneeling before her, Ye Shuang adjusted the strap.
"Thank you."
"Anytime. Off to class now."
"Okay~" The girl hesitated, then added, "Nurse, can I have your number? I fall a lot…"
"If you get hurt, just come straight here," Ye Shuang deflected smoothly.
"Oh… alright."
After seeing her out, he turned to find An Shiyu now sitting in his chair, legs crossed.
"I think," she said, "I get it now."
Ye Shuang: "?"
Get what?