A Gentleman Selects Before He Associates

Once, ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times.

As dusk fell and the moon dipped behind the treetops,

Su Cheng continued practicing tirelessly, even though the movements were already etched into his muscle memory. Yet, there was no natural grace in his demeanor—only the same stiffness and awkwardness as when he had first begun.

"How awful."

Sitting on the wooden floor, Su Cheng couldn't help but criticize himself as he watched the recording of his own posture on his phone.

He had originally believed that through sheer effort, he could achieve the same elegance, dignity, and solemnity as the club president. But reality proved him wrong.

Hopelessly wrong. The gap between them was insurmountable, like heaven and earth.

"Ah…"

With a sigh, he switched to another recording. This time, his performance was flawless—yet it was the complete opposite of the president's style, as if they were polar extremes.

But there was one similarity: both exuded a sense of the highest mastery—a state of selflessness, unconsciousness, and fearlessness, as if even death itself could be transcended.

A state of focus, unaffectedness, emptiness, and effortless action.

He couldn’t even put it into words.

In short, it was a soul-stirring solemnity, yet also an indescribably serene tranquility that drew people in.

Unfortunately,

this was a demeanor he could only achieve when he was "in the zone."

But once he entered that state, he lost control over his intensity, and the result was an overwhelming sense of wild brutality.

"Why is this happening?"

He had thought that taking the medication would allow his talent to carry him smoothly to victory. Yet, against all expectations, things had turned out this way. Frustration gnawed at Su Cheng, but he refused to give up, continuing his attempts over and over.

10 p.m.

Seeing no improvement in his recordings, Su Cheng’s mood plummeted. He slumped onto the floor—not from exhaustion, but from the crushing realization that no amount of practice would help him progress. His confidence was shattered, and the damage was severe.

The fatigue he felt wasn’t physical; it was mental, born from his own relentless self-doubt.

His current state was dire. He was trapped in a spiral of uncertainty, unable to find any explanation for his stagnation, and it was pushing him toward depression.

"What should I do?"

He murmured to himself, his eyes filled with confusion. Slowly, he stepped out of the training hall and gazed up at the bright full moon outside the window. "Is this really all I’m capable of?"

With the deadline looming closer, Su Cheng grew increasingly anxious. He wanted a solution, but no matter how much he racked his brain, all he found was despair.

So, he decided to take a walk.

Perhaps the night breeze would help him calm down.

Strolling along the tree-lined path of the hospital, his footsteps echoed against the cobblestones. The chirping of insects and croaking of frogs surrounded him, but they did little to soothe his mind—if anything, his thoughts grew even more chaotic.

At one point, an unsettling impulse even crossed his mind: to hunt down these noisy creatures and silence them permanently.

They were too loud. They were disturbing him.

But the thought vanished as quickly as it came. Su Cheng froze for a moment, then shook his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. "How childish. I can’t believe I even considered something so stupid!"

Laughing at himself, he turned to leave—but the instant he did, his gaze locked onto something in the distance.

There, in the quiet darkness of the courtyard ahead, stood a girl with long, flowing hair.

Bathed in moonlight, she seemed almost detached from reality—ethereal, dreamlike.

Her fair skin glowed softly under the silver light, and as the breeze stirred, her hair swayed gently, like a goddess of the moon—beautiful yet illusory.

But none of this was what truly stunned Su Cheng.

What shook him to the core was the sound of her voice—soft, delicate, humming a melody so enchanting it felt like divine music. It washed over him, inexplicably soothing the turmoil in his soul, as if offering salvation.

He stood transfixed, an inexplicable longing rising in his chest. He wanted to move closer, to hear more of her song.

So he held his breath, afraid to disturb the serenity. He even suppressed his own breathing, unwilling to break the spell of this fleeting beauty—though it lasted only a few seconds.

Because—

the singing stopped abruptly.

His foot, which had been hovering mid-step, landed heavily on the ground.

Crunch.

The sound of crushed leaves and snapping twigs echoed in the silence.

Su Cheng flinched and looked down.

"...Who’s there?"

Gu Ruoxue’s distinctive voice sent his heart pounding. Panicked, he glanced around, searching for her.

But strangely, though she had spoken, she hadn’t turned her head.

Seizing the opportunity, Su Cheng put on a soft, innocent voice and called out, "Meow~"

Just as he thought she might dismiss it as a stray cat and lower her guard—

Gu Ruoxue suddenly turned her head and fixed him with an intense stare.

"......"

"......"

One second, two seconds, three seconds...

They locked eyes for three full seconds.

The air grew thick with awkwardness, even something eerie. Gu Ruoxue’s expression shifted from curiosity and wariness to something increasingly odd—until finally settling into unmistakable disdain and disappointment.

"Uh, I was just passing by. Don’t mind me."

Su Cheng’s face burned with embarrassment. He forced an awkward smile and began backing away slowly—

But then, Gu Ruoxue tilted her head slightly, her voice cool and slightly husky as she said, "You know the competition is in just a few days, yet you’re neither practicing seriously nor resting properly. What’s with this careless attitude?"

Hearing this, he paused. Clearing his throat, he explained, "I’ve been practicing for hours. I just needed some fresh air to clear my head."

As he spoke, he studied her reaction, then countered, "More importantly, why are you awake at this hour?"

Gu Ruoxue didn’t seem the least bit interested in his reply. She averted her gaze, looking back up at the starry sky as if he were beneath her notice.

"Listening to the whispers of the night wind, watching meteors dance."

Curious, Su Cheng followed her gaze upward—but the sky held only the usual moon and stars.

No meteors in sight.

Realizing he was just setting himself up for further embarrassment, he withdrew his gaze and prepared to leave.

But just as he took two steps, Gu Ruoxue spoke again.

"You forced yourself to grow beyond your limits for the sake of winning in seven days. Do you regret it now?"

"Huh?"

Su Cheng stopped and turned back, offering a bitter smile. "Maybe. Is there still a way to fix it?"

"That depends on you."

Having delivered this indifferent remark, Gu Ruoxue ignored him once more, her attention fully absorbed by the starry expanse above.

"Then… do you have any advice?"

Su Cheng pressed, frowning.

Right now, he was desperate to improve.

Gu Ruoxue spoke calmly, as if pronouncing a verdict on his fate: "Have you ever considered that the obstacle standing in your way might be none other than yourself—whether it's your talent or something else entirely."

Such an abrupt and baseless statement left Su Cheng frozen in place, utterly bewildered.

"I'm the one standing in my own way?"

Yet Gu Ruoxue showed no intention of offering an explanation, continuing with her usual ambiguous remarks: "Who knows? Perhaps you have ulterior motives, or maybe your talent hasn’t acknowledged you yet."

Hearing such novel yet illogical words spill from her lips, Su Cheng felt an inexplicable dissonance, yet he couldn’t pinpoint a single flaw to refute.

In the end, he could only force a bitter smile and nod. "Maybe so. But why do you always speak in riddles? What exactly are you thinking?"

"Likewise. It’s no different from how you constantly evade making decisions," Gu Ruoxue replied, casting him an impassive glance, her tone as cold as snow.

"Ahaha…" Su Cheng let out a dry laugh, scratching his head awkwardly before shifting the topic. "Hah, is that so? You might not believe it, but I recently dreamed of you. In that dream, I even got the answer I wanted—straight from your mouth."

"Oh?" At this, Gu Ruoxue’s gaze deepened. She turned to face him fully, her eyes locking onto his. "Then tell me—was that truly the answer you sought?"

But Su Cheng, ever the grudge-holder, wasn’t about to let her off easy after her cryptic remarks. He fired back, "One thing’s for sure—the 'you' in that dream betrayed the real you."

Just as he expected her to choke on her own medicine, she merely shook her head, as if she’d already arrived at the answer. Raising a slender, pale finger, she pointed at him and sighed. "You still don’t understand. I’m not like you. I am who I am, and no matter which side I’m on, my decisions remain the same. It’s like how you know about our relationship, yet you don’t understand why it exists in the first place."

Su Cheng was stunned.

How could she be so confident—and so accurate?

Unfair. Why did she get to be the cryptic one?

"Time’s almost up."

Gu Ruoxue glanced at her wristwatch, then stood to leave. Before walking away, she left him with one last reminder: "Let’s hope your performance tomorrow meets expectations."

With that, she departed, leaving Su Cheng simmering with frustration.

"Why is she so unwavering, while I’m the one who betrays myself?"

"Damn it, now I’m even more annoyed!"

He kicked a pebble on the roadside in irritation before heading back to the training ground. Even if he hadn’t found a solution, doing nothing at all felt unacceptable.

………………

23:30

Half an hour remained until the next day.

In the hospital’s tea room, a monitor displayed the live feed from the training ground. On-screen, Su Cheng went through his motions, but his movements grew increasingly erratic—stiff, graceless, riddled with mistakes.

"I can’t imagine how he’ll manage to break through."

"Maybe some deus ex machina when we least expect it?"

"Are we watching his performance tomorrow afternoon?"

Seated around the tea table were four young women, each with a cup of fragrant tea in front of them—Li Guanqi, Liu Qingyue, Ji Qingyi, and Gu Ruoxue, who had just arrived.

They exchanged thoughts on Su Cheng’s current state, speculating and confirming the schedule for the following day.

"Who knows until the very last moment?"

Liu Qingyue set down her teacup, crossing her legs as she leaned back into the sofa. A faint smile played on her lips, her eyes fixed on the screen as if she held unwavering faith in Su Cheng.

Gu Ruoxue took a sip of tea, holding the delicate porcelain with elegance. Her tone was indifferent. "Then let’s wait and see."

"The deadline is set for noon tomorrow," Ji Qingyi declared, then turned to Gu Ruoxue. "Did you uncover anything new from him tonight?"

"I confirmed one thing—his contingency lies in his dreams. The potion was most likely obtained from there."

Gu Ruoxue answered plainly before placing her cup on the table. "That’s precisely why none of us can interfere with how events unfold."

"Tch. Dream within a dream, realms beyond realms? Like a poor student blaming his tools," Ji Qingyi scoffed in amusement.

The room fell into silence again. They sipped their tea, eyes occasionally flickering to the monitor where Su Cheng trained. Only the faint clink of porcelain broke the quiet—until—

24:00

The hospital’s clock tower chimed.

Ji Qingyi, Gu Ruoxue, and Liu Qingyue simultaneously turned their gazes toward Li Guanqi, awaiting her decision. Yet she remained deep in thought, head bowed.

A few seconds passed.

Finally, Li Guanqi looked up. Her eyes first landed on the screen, where Su Cheng had also paused at the sound of the bell, before meeting the expectant stares of the three women. Slowly, she nodded in understanding.

Then—

She conjured a book from thin air, plucking it out of her ring.

With deliberate movements, she opened it.

Page by page, she flipped through—until she hesitated at the third turn.

Beyond this lay the contents of Chapter Two.

But after only a brief pause, she continued.

Instantly, the words of the second chapter imprinted themselves in her mind—every character, every sentence, every hidden meaning—etched into her memory.

Though the passage was short, it felt as though the author had seen through the very fabric of existence. Worse yet, they had left behind a choice—or rather, a question of fate!

The more she pondered, the more unsettling it became. Those few lines carried multiple layers—messages for her, for Su Cheng on the screen, and for all of them. A single question of destiny, left for them to decide his fate.