Easy Mastery, Professional Problem Child Heart Massage Therapist

The next day.

Early in the morning, Ye Cheng was jolted awake by his alarm clock blaring the "Great Compassion Mantra."

He glanced at the time, turned off his phone, and went right back to sleep.

Another half hour passed before Ye Cheng finally dragged himself out of bed at a leisurely pace.

Then came the unhurried routine of washing his face and brushing his teeth.

In reality, Ye Cheng was already late.

So, the question arose—why was he still so relaxed and unbothered?

Because he had secretly tampered with the alarm clock on the "Black-hearted Young Miss's" phone, setting it to the same time as his, all for the sake of catching a few extra minutes of sleep.

Ye Cheng had come to a realization: privilege was absolutely fantastic.

Turns out, what he’d always resented wasn’t privileged people—it was that he wasn’t the privileged one himself.

After two days of indulging in late mornings, Ye Cheng had completely lost the ability to wake up on time for class, let alone suffer through the absurdity of an 8 a.m. lecture. Whoever wanted to go could go—he wasn’t about to.

In under two minutes, Ye Cheng packed his school bag, left the boys' dormitory, and strolled leisurely to the deserted girls' dormitory to wait.

Sure enough.

Less than five minutes later, crisp click-clack footsteps echoed from the stairwell, and Shen Qinghan’s limping figure appeared on the first floor.

"Good morning, Young Miss! GOOdmOrning!" Ye Cheng grinned broadly, waving at Shen Qinghan from outside the dormitory entrance.

At that moment, Shen Qinghan’s face stiffened as if she’d just pieced something together—a sudden epiphany.

No wonder her alarm hadn’t gone off earlier. It had gone off… just at the wrong time, thanks to some shameless scoundrel’s meddling.

Silently, Shen Qinghan halted her descent and turned back around.

Ye Cheng: "……"

In a flash, Ye Cheng lunged into the girls' dormitory, clinging to Shen Qinghan’s leg like a desperate koala, wailing theatrically.

"Nooo, Young Miss! Don’t abandon me! Waaah, I’ll die if you leave me behind… sob sob…"

Shen Qinghan: "……"

Her cheeks tinged pink, chest rising and falling with restrained irritation.

"Why did you change my alarm?"

Ye Cheng’s eyes darted away, whistling innocently—his guilt practically written across his face.

"Change your alarm? What are you talking about? Oh, maybe I grabbed the wrong phone by mistake? Thought it was mine and just… adjusted it…"

As his flimsy excuse hung in the air, Shen Qinghan’s delicate hands slowly clenched into fists.

THUD!

A few minutes later, Ye Cheng sported a fresh lump on his head but cheerfully escorted Shen Qinghan to class, arm in arm.

The familiar scene played out once more in the classroom—same as always, same old routine.

Zhong Deng’s eye twitched at the sight of Ye Cheng’s smug, swaggering demeanor, as if he were some privileged lackey.

Right under the teacher’s nose, Ye Cheng helped Shen Qinghan to their usual seats in the back row.

At Great Sea City Noble Academy, tardiness was a serious offense—but for Ye Cheng and Shen Qinghan, it had become so routine that their classmates barely batted an eye anymore.

Truly, habit was a terrifying thing.

Rumors in the class had been spreading like wildfire. The kinder ones painted Ye Cheng as Shen Qinghan’s loyal sidekick; the wilder ones labeled him her "kept man."

The gap in their social status was undeniable.

Ye Cheng was one of the rare few commoner students in the school.

Just standing side by side, the two were a walking gossip magnet—especially since Ye Cheng was the same guy who’d boldly confessed to Dongfang Zhixia. Wherever he went, eyes followed.

Class time was mind-numbingly dull. Ye Cheng had already absorbed a semester’s worth of material in a single lesson—memorized it all, in fact.

Now, his only task during lectures was deciding what to eat later: chicken drumsticks? Pork knuckle? Or maybe mooching off the Black-hearted Young Miss for a fancier meal?

Hmm. All options sounded pretty good.

As he performed a "C-section" on his eraser (for no discernible reason), Ye Cheng pondered the day’s menu.

By the time the "surgery" was complete, class was nearly over.

Ding-dong! The bell rang. Ye Cheng stretched and stood up, ready to step out for some air.

He twisted left, then right—crack-crack—his joints popping satisfyingly.

"Huh?" Something felt off about Shen Qinghan today.

Normally, she’d stare out the window during class or flip through philosophy books between lessons. But today? Just… blankly spacing out.

Her expression was as unreadable as ever, yet Ye Cheng could feel it—the Black-hearted Young Miss was in a foul mood.

Then it hit him. Oh right. I stood her up yesterday.

Was that why she was upset?

Nah, couldn’t be. The Young Miss was pretty easygoing—

Ye Cheng’s brain abruptly flashed back to Shen Qinghan’s… enthusiastic handling of the claw machine. Specifically, the BANG-BANG-BANG of her fists hammering into it.

Ye Cheng: "……"

If he didn’t act now, disaster loomed.

Grabbing his stool, Ye Cheng scooted closer to Shen Qinghan’s desk—inch by inch, then finally ditching subtlety altogether.

With a thump, he merged their stools into one.

"Young Miss, I feel I owe you an explanation for yesterday’s… no-show."

His expression was dead serious, eyebrows so furrowed they looked cartoonishly thick—an oddly comical sight.

Shen Qinghan didn’t even glance his way, keeping her gaze fixed outside.

Definitely mad. Absolutely mad.

Drawing from his vast anime-watching expertise, Ye Cheng deduced the Black-hearted Young Miss was 100% holding a grudge over the stood-up hangout.

And honestly? Fair.

Finally finds someone to vibe with, only for that someone to bail on the first outing.

Anyone would be pissed.

He recalled the video Shen Qinghan had sent last night—no fancy edits, just a single, brutal punch to a plush toy, screaming "I’m upset."

This Black-hearted Young Miss… might have some social quirks.

Was she bad at communicating? Or just naturally aloof?

Though no psychologist, Ye Cheng had picked up a few things from their two days together.

Her clash with Dongfang Zhixia yesterday confirmed it: Shen Qinghan’s status at school was on par with Dongfang’s.

Yet unlike Dongfang, who had lackeys trailing her everywhere, Shen Qinghan had… no one. Not even a secretary. Just solitude.

She even lived in the standard dorms like everyone else—no special treatment.

A textbook problem child.

Well, wasn’t that perfect?

Because he, Ye Cheng, was a self-proclaimed Problem Child Whisperer! This? This was a cakewalk.

Taking a deep breath, Ye Cheng began, "Young Miss, I—"

"Get lost." Her voice was ice—colder than usual, sharp enough to freeze hell over.

"Right away, boss."

And with that, Ye Cheng scrambled away.

Ye Cheng was about to pick up his little stool and obediently scram when he suddenly noticed a readable prompt appear above Shen Qinghan's head.

[Would you like to view the current status prompt?]