The Inevitable Ankle-Sprain Law of Running

“What do you think I’m going to do?” Liu Muye raised the remaining bottle of bruise ointment in his hand and said to Han Juyou, “Didn’t you sprain your ankle? Let me help you apply the medicine!”

As he spoke, Liu Muye took step after step toward Han Juyou.

“Hey, hey, hey—don’t come any closer!”

Han Juyou panicked, abruptly standing up from the recliner and taking several steps back.

“Ha! Your leg isn’t hurt at all!” Liu Muye smirked, as if he’d already guessed the truth. “You were lying earlier, weren’t you? You little liar.”

“You’re the liar,” Han Juyou retorted, hiding behind the medical bed while eyeing Liu Muye warily. “You’re the weird one here. What exactly do you want? You’ve been giving me shady looks since the first day of school!”

Liu Muye scoffed. “Oh, please. Who’d have any shady intentions toward you? Do you think you’re some kind of novel heroine, universally adored wherever you go?”

“Then why were you staring at me with that dumbstruck look during freshman orientation?”

Han Juyou’s pointed question left Liu Muye speechless.

“I…”

“Uh…”

“Well…”

Liu Muye stammered for a long moment, completely at a loss for words.

“See? You definitely have ulterior motives!” Han Juyou pressed her lips together and smirked coldly. “And that friend of yours is probably no good either. Leaving those two alone in the ward—something bad must be happening.”

With that, she immediately headed toward the locked ward where Nangong Ye and Shangguan Yurou were.

“Don’t go over there!” Seeing this, Liu Muye quickly blocked her path.

The more he resisted, the more suspicious Han Juyou became. She sidestepped him and dashed toward the ward door.

“No, don’t—”

Thud!

“Ah!”

Liu Muye turned to chase after her, only to hear Han Juyou cry out in pain. Looking down, he saw her sitting on the floor, clutching her ankle—this time, she’d really sprained it.

As if obeying the “running always leads to a sprain” trope from cheesy romance novels, Han Juyou had gracefully—or rather, clumsily—fallen and twisted her foot.

Liu Muye crossed his arms, gloating. “Told you not to run. Now look at you.”

“Stop mocking me and help me up!” Han Juyou frowned, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. It was clear she was in pain.

“Weren’t you just worried I was some kind of creep? Now you want my help?” Liu Muye said, but he still walked over and extended his hand.

Han Juyou’s sharp, fox-like eyes narrowed as she stubbornly replied, “If you weren’t the only living soul in this hallway, I wouldn’t even consider letting you help!”

Still, she placed her hand in his. Liu Muye’s palm was much warmer than hers—this was their second physical contact, counting the time he’d grabbed her hand on the sports field earlier.

Liu Muye helped her back to the recliner, then uncapped the bruise ointment. “Want to apply it yourself, or should I do it?”

“I’ll do it myself!”

No way would Han Juyou let Liu Muye touch her ankle. She snatched the bottle from him, removed her shoe and sock, and began gently rubbing the ointment onto the injury.

The medicine was a pale yellow, oily liquid. Han Juyou poured some onto her palm and carefully spread it over the swollen area. Her legs were slender and fair, making the redness around her ankle even more pronounced.

The sprain had already begun to visibly swell, the skin turning an angry red. The way she bit her lip while applying the ointment made it obvious it hurt—a lot.

Her arch was elegantly curved, her skin smooth and pale, her toes a soft pink with well-defined joints and no polish… Liu Muye couldn’t help but glance a few times.

Let it be known—he was not a foot guy!

Sensing his gaze, Han Juyou looked up mid-application and glared. “Why are you staring at my feet?”

Liu Muye’s face flushed as he denied it. “I—I wasn’t! Who’d even want to look at you?”

With that, he hurried out of the infirmary, guilt written all over him.

Watching his retreating figure, Han Juyou flashed a sly smile.

……

The ward’s soundproofing was surprisingly good. Despite the commotion in the hallway, the two inside hadn’t heard a thing—and their own shouts for help had gone unnoticed as well.

After futilely trying to open the door, Shangguan Yurou and Nangong Ye had no choice but to stand awkwardly in the room.

Nangong Ye sat on the bed, clutching his sprained ankle, while Shangguan Yurou took the chair beside him.

Seeing him drenched in sweat, Shangguan Yurou handed him the bruise ointment Liu Muye had shoved into her hands earlier. “You should take care of that.”

“Are you… instructing me?” Even in pain, Nangong Ye couldn’t resist his domineering CEO lines.

Shangguan Yurou waved a hand dismissively. “No, I just thought you might want to treat it before it swells even more.”

Nangong Ye smirked. “Hah. Woman, is that concern I detect? Go on, admit it—what’s your real motive for getting close to me?”

His arrogance triggered Shangguan Yurou’s scripted response from the original plot.

“First, I have a name—it’s Shangguan Yurou, not ‘woman.’ Second, I’m not trying to get close to you. Stop flattering yourself!”

This line was supposed to have been delivered during freshman orientation, but here it was, delayed until now.

“Shangguan Yurou… An interesting name, indeed.” Nangong Ye’s smirk returned. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re hoping to use my injury as an excuse to ‘help’ me with the ointment, aren’t you?”

Shangguan Yurou nearly rolled her eyes out of her skull. “Are you serious? Your so-called friend locked us in here—how is that my doing? And I never said I’d apply it for you!”

Nangong Ye shook his head. “That guy outside isn’t my friend.”

“Huh?” Shangguan Yurou frowned. “If he’s not your friend, why would he lock us in here together?”

“How should I know?” Nangong Ye shrugged, his deep, handsome eyes betraying a hint of cluelessness. “I thought you were the one scheming!”

Shangguan Yurou was at a loss for words. “Do you really think you’re that irresistible? Who’d even want to scheme over you?”

“And why couldn’t I be?” Nangong Ye arched a brow with misplaced confidence. “I’m Nangong Ye, future head of the Nangong Family. In Shangjing City, when my family speaks, who dares oppose? Countless women would kill to marry into this fortune.”

“Well, I’m not one of them.” Shangguan Yurou rolled her eyes. “Now tend to that ankle before it balloons into a giant pork knuckle.”

Nangong Ye gazed at Shangguan Yurou, silently musing to himself, "Is this woman actually concerned about me? 'Big pig’s trotter'? What an amusing nickname—she really is different from other women!"

…