Good morning, young lady Today is another energetic day

The next day.

Shen Qinghan clattered down the stairs, leaning on her cane.

"Good morning, Young Mistress!!!"

Ye Cheng, with a wildflower plucked from nearby clamped between his teeth, struck what he deemed a "dashing" pose—one hand pressed against a tree, the other against his forehead. Spotting Shen Qinghan, he raised an eyebrow provocatively.

Shen Qinghan: "..."

Silently, she considered turning back, but Ye Cheng, already well-versed in the young mistress's antics, preempted her. He lunged forward, dropped to his knees, and wrapped his arms around her leg—clad in socks and shoes—wailing dramatically.

"Young Mistress, wuuuuh, I missed you so much! I couldn’t even sleep at night thinking about you!"

Shen Qinghan: "..."

A faint blush crept across her usually calm face, her ears burning hot. The sensation only intensified as she noticed the growing crowd of onlookers fixated on the scene, her small fists clenching tightly.

To everyone watching, Ye Cheng’s outburst was practically a public confession. The whispers began immediately.

"How bold! Charging straight into the girls' dorm—if the student council finds out, he’s done for."

"Isn’t that the Shen family’s heir he’s hugging? Am I seeing things?"

"Doesn’t that guy look familiar? I swear I’ve seen him somewhere before. Anyone else feel that?"

"Wait—isn’t he the one who confessed to the student council president before?!"

"No way. That guy was dark and scruffy—nothing like this. Look how fair and handsome he is now. Must just be a doppelgänger."

The world was nothing but a massive "looks-based judgment zone." The crowd was already scrambling to rationalize, insisting the awkward spectacle from the freshman orientation couldn’t possibly be Ye Cheng.

At most, it was someone who resembled him. Ye Cheng was innocent. And even if it was him, his actions weren’t cringe—they were brave. Why? Because he was attractive now.

Though the system had only promised "superb muscle definition," the physical overhaul came with unintended perks. The most obvious? Ye Cheng had become downright pretty—pale, flawless, and enough to make half the young ladies swoon on sight.

Unfortunately, Shen Qinghan was too busy fantasizing about throttling him to notice the details—or the gossip.

Still, fragments of the chatter reached her, peppered with her name... and Dongfang Zhixia’s.

"Is this guy a player? First, he confesses to the president, now he’s after the Shen heir. You think the president will get jealous?"

"Doubt it. She never accepted him, right? Ugh, if only he’d confess to me—I’d happily take care of him..."

"Oh no, she heard—run, run!"

The moment that girl uttered the words "take care of him," some hidden switch flipped in Shen Qinghan. Her gaze locked onto the speaker with eerie precision, eyes icy enough to kill.

The girl who was glanced at also shivered in fear, her face turning pale, no longer daring to linger and spectate.

Shen Qinghan kept her gaze fixed until the other person had completely left, vanishing from sight, before finally withdrawing her attention.

Then, she raised the small cane in her hand.

Thunk!

She tapped Ye Cheng on the head—just enough to daze him without causing any real damage.

"Let’s go, we’re going to be late," Shen Qinghan said, handing the cane to Ye Cheng and slightly spreading her arms, her meaning unmistakable.

Ye Cheng instantly understood and switched into "mount" mode, releasing his tight grip on the black-hearted young lady’s leg and crouching in front of Shen Qinghan.

Shen Qinghan leaned forward, collapsing softly against Ye Cheng’s back.

A wave of softness, accompanied by an inexplicably pleasant fragrance, flooded Ye Cheng’s senses. He was already familiar with this scent—it wasn’t from any shampoo or body wash the young lady used, but something natural to her.

Ye Cheng mused that if this fragrance were made into sachets or perfumes, it would surely be a hit.

But that was just a passing thought. If he actually said it out loud—or worse, tried to make it happen—he’d probably be chopped into mincemeat. Well, maybe not that chunky.

With Shen Qinghan on his back, Ye Cheng sped toward the classroom. The passive effect of his swift strides gradually became apparent—onlookers only felt a gust of wind before the two figures shrank to the size of ants in the distance.

After the pair left, the crowd of young ladies who had been spectating at the entrance finally dispersed.

Then, belatedly, the student council arrived.

They had received a report about a boy forcibly entering the girls’ dormitory—a blatant violation of school rules that warranted expulsion.

However, expelling a student required going through the student council’s procedures before being reported to the school administration. In a way, the school was little more than a puppet.

Some things could only be overlooked, as they simply didn’t dare intervene.

Soon, the student council investigators pulled up the dormitory surveillance footage, summarized the incident according to regulations, and issued a preliminary verdict: "Major demerit, probationary observation" for Ye Cheng.

Of course, this was just the initial ruling. It still needed approval, passing through the student council president’s hands, and finally stamped before it could be finalized.

Why did a clear violation still require approval?

Well, as the saying goes: rules are rigid, but people are flexible. Whether the rules stayed rigid or bent depended entirely on Ye Cheng’s status. If he was nothing special, then standard procedures would apply.

...

Soon, the news reached the little secretary’s phone.

Ding-dong.

"Huh? A boy barging into the girls’ dorm?" The little secretary blinked and clicked on the attached video.

And there—Ye Cheng stood outside the girls’ dorm, posing dramatically with a flower in his mouth. No doubt about it, the culprit was this troublemaker right here.

The little secretary’s pupils constricted.

For some reason, even though Ye Cheng was now wearing the school uniform, all she could picture in her mind was the scene from last night—automatically "one-click undressed" in her imagination.

Drip, drip...

Her nose began to bleed, droplets hitting the floor.

She looked down. Blood.

The young secretary's eyes rolled back, her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.

Thud!

The dull thump startled Dongfang Zhixia, who had been eating breakfast at the dining table.

"What was that?"

She turned to see the secretary lying unconscious on the ground, a trail of blood trickling from her nose.

Dongfang Zhixia: "…"