At that moment, Ming Xiaowei was crouched in front of a fruit stall.
"Women are truly the hardest creatures to please in the world," Ming Xiaowei muttered, weighing an orange in her hand before finally deciding to buy two pounds of mandarin oranges for Ji Cheng.
"Yeah, unlike you—the hardest-to-please mutt," Si retorted, sending Ming Xiaowei into an icy despair.
"Your words are truly chef's kiss," Ming Xiaowei replied dryly, signaling that while the remark was impressive, she’d prefer not to hear it again.
Si: ?
Whatever. She couldn’t be bothered to argue with this guy. The fact that Ji Cheng hadn’t been driven to an early grave by now was nothing short of a miracle.
Just as Ming Xiaowei finished paying, a pair of pristine white sneakers appeared in her line of sight. Lifting her gaze, she was met with Ji Cheng’s aloof, aristocratic face.
Ming Xiaowei thought for a second—no, she definitely didn’t owe Ji Cheng eight million. So she flashed a bright smile and chirped,
"Professor Ji, wanna crush some mandarin oranges?"
Ji Cheng’s brows furrowed slightly, as if she didn’t understand.
"You shouldn’t wander off like this," she said coolly.
A giant question mark popped up over Ming Xiaowei’s head.
"Wander off? I’m a grown adult, not a cat. I’m not gonna just disappear."
A cat?
Ji Cheng gave Ming Xiaowei a once-over, her gaze lingering on those dark, feline eyes. She did resemble a cat—a spoiled, pedigreed one.
Everything about her screamed "spoiled brat," though her heart wasn’t actually bad.
Before Ji Cheng could drift further into thought, Ming Xiaowei shoved the bag of mandarin oranges toward her.
"You didn’t eat earlier, right? Have some."
"No. I have a class to get back to."
Ji Cheng remained as frosty as ever.
Tsk, tsk, tsk.
Left with no choice, Ming Xiaowei carried the oranges herself, trailing behind Ji Cheng like a lovesick puppy.
"Professor Ji, I wanna attend your class too. I suck at advanced math."
Ji Cheng walked at a leisurely pace, tilting her head slightly to glance at Ming Xiaowei.
"You don’t."
Ming Xiaowei: ?
"You scored over 700 on the college entrance exam, and you’re telling me you can’t handle that level of math?"
Not to mention, the solutions Ming Xiaowei had submitted for her assignments were flawless—so precise that even students with decent math skills would struggle to follow.
Ming Xiaowei: …
Well, the one who aced the exam was the original Ming Xiaowei, not her. Though, admittedly, she had inherited the girl’s IQ.
"But I really don’t get it," Ming Xiaowei insisted, lips pressed into a tight line, her expression tinged with grievance.
Ji Cheng: …
Whether she understood or not—what did that have to do with her?
Did her face scream free tutoring or something?
"Professor Ji, you’re not that expensive, are you? How much per hour?" Ming Xiaowei counted on her fingers.
She was still hoping to extract some useful intel from Ji Cheng.
At that, the corner of Ji Cheng’s lips curled up, her eyes glinting with cold amusement.
"Ten thousand."
Damn. That was pricey. But Ming Xiaowei doubted Ji Cheng could last a full hour anyway.
"Never mind. You’re too rich for my blood. I’ll find someone else." The moment the words left her mouth, Ji Cheng let out an indifferent "Oh" and walked away.
Ming Xiaowei had words.
"That Ji Cheng is officially the worst Mo Qing sister I’ve ever had the misfortune of teaching."
Si: …
Ahem. "Pretty sure she just wanted you to back off."
In other words, Ji Cheng interpreted Ming Xiaowei’s request as nothing more than a tease.
Ming Xiaowei got it.
Her apology gift was still in hand, but the recipient had already bolted.
Dejected, Ming Xiaowei trudged into the orphanage. As Ji Cheng entered the classroom, Master Wang stepped out and spotted his young mistress squatting under a tree, counting ants. He blinked.
Weren’t these two classmates?
How did a simple outing leave his mistress in such a funk?
"Young Mistress, what’s wrong? Bad mood?"
"Yes!" Ming Xiaowei wailed. "She’s the worst classmate I’ve ever had in all my years as a student!"
Just then, Ji Cheng appeared at the classroom door, casting an indifferent glance their way before shutting the door with cold finality.
Wahhh.
As if she cared.
Divorce? Fine. She’d sign the papers right now.
With her spirits thoroughly crushed, Ming Xiaowei had Master Wang drop her off at the nearest cinema before sending him back to manage the family’s stores. After all, while Master Wang was technically her driver, he mostly oversaw the Ming family’s local branches.
Weekend chauffeur gigs were just a side hustle.
To nurse her wounded heart, Ming Xiaowei bought tickets to an anime screening.
Clutching a jumbo bucket of popcorn (double-sized, because why not?), she shuffled into the theater, utterly dejected.
Emo hours.
She hoped something terrible happened to Ji Cheng soon—just so she could attend the funeral feast.
No sooner had Ming Xiaowei settled into her seat than someone plopped down beside her, glued to their phone, furiously texting.
She spared them a glance but paid no further attention, promptly face-planting into the popcorn bucket and dozing off.
Meanwhile, Zhao Qinghan was having the worst day imaginable.
And she didn’t even understand why.
Her morning began with a dress inexplicably tearing down the back, leaving a scandalous slit. At breakfast, she discovered a fly in her food—promptly firing the chef on the spot.
Then, the lead role she’d secured in a script she’d fought for was suddenly handed to some industry newcomer, courtesy of a mysterious investor.
When she called to demand answers, the person who picked up was the investor.
But Zhao Qinghan didn’t realize that—too busy unleashing a verbal onslaught without letting them get a word in.
"Zhao Qinghan, was it? I’ll have a word with your father when I have time."
She froze.
"Who the hell are you to threaten me?"
Zhao Qinghan was this close to screaming.
"I’m the investor. Do you even have acting chops?"
With that, the line went dead.
Zhao Qinghan stood there, stunned, before hurling her phone to the ground.
That man’s tone was infuriating. Who did he think he was? She was a general of the empire! The fact that she’d stooped to acting in this world was already humiliating enough—now she had to put up with this nonsense?
Fuming, she stormed out wearing a mask, only to be ambushed by a group of male stalkers moments later.
"You—!"
Her face darkened with fury.
Without hesitation, she beat them to a pulp—leaving them with multiple fractures. Unbeknownst to her, a sleek black limousine idled nearby, its occupant observing the scene.
"President Xiao, that girl’s got a vicious streak. Those men didn’t even get a chance to speak," the driver remarked.
"Call the police," Xiao Moyun replied, his tone indifferent, his expression unreadable.
"Right away, sir. By the way, you came to this city to find your fiancée, didn’t you? Still no leads?" The driver sighed.
"Even if I find her, there’s no guarantee she’ll be interested." Xiao Moyun’s lips twitched faintly, his eyes betraying nothing.
An arranged marriage was just that—an arrangement.
"Yeah… Madam mentioned she remarried," the driver said gloomily.
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