Her eyes turned icy as she threw the blanket back over him. "So, Young Master Chen remembers me—and what happened in the snow that day. I thought the chaos of the past month would have erased such trivial details from your memory."
Even if he remembered, when he opened his eyes, he called her "classmate" so casually.
Even in this situation where she held the upper hand, he could mention "you like me" with chilling indifference—as if it were merely a fact, a condition. He cared little about how her feelings came to be; only their utility mattered to him.
"You like me? I'm flattered," he said calmly. "But illusions like these are common during our school days. If anything I did led to a misunderstanding, I apologize."
"Misunderstanding?" Yaxi's voice was colder than ever. "No, there's no misunderstanding. Seeing you like this has made me realize that liking you before was indeed an illusion. Without your status and wealth, you're nothing. What's there to admire?"
She continued, "You're in a difficult position, but I've thought of two options for you. Whichever you choose, I'll still be your savior, and you'll owe me. So either way, I win.
First, you can stay here as long as you want. I'll take you to the elderly man in the neighborhood who treats injuries. I won't tell anyone else about you.
Second, I'll inform Lu Ziyang and Xu Xiaoyi. I've heard Lu Ziyang's parents treated you better than your own. With their protection, you can return to school and see Xu Xiaoyi more often."
Chen Ling frowned slightly before answering quickly, "I'll choose the first option."
"You didn't even try to find a third option. Are you really so ashamed that you don't dare face your old friends?" Yaxi asked.
Chen Ling met her gaze. "Even if I'm ashamed, I shouldn't burden them."
"Then why burden me?" Yaxi shot back. Though she expected him to reject the first option, she didn't understand why he answered so decisively.
"Their kindness, I can never repay. Yours, I'm willing to. By choosing the first option, I owe only you." After saying this, Chen Ling glanced around the room. The furniture was worn, the wardrobe door cracked open, revealing clothes that belonged to a middle-aged person.
"Yaxi, your mother hasn't returned yet," Chen Ling stated matter-of-factly. "How do you want me to repay you?"
As he spoke, his expression remained calm, his once expressive eyes now devoid of emotion.
He had always possessed a naturally aloof demeanor, but it was those expressive eyes that once lent him an air of gentleness.
Now, however, his words carried the weight of death itself—flat, detached, devoid of any pretense.
He simply said: "Your mother hasn't come back yet."
So his memory was sharp. He remembered her humiliation at the airport a year ago. Yet afterward, he chose to ignore her, passing by in the office without a glance, calling her "classmate" whenever he needed Lu Ziyang. Each encounter seemed like the first time.
She had worshipped him, hoping each day that he would shine his light upon her and call her name.
And now, because she mocked him as a pariah, he reminded her that their situations weren't so different?
All the persuasion, even the threats she had prepared, were rendered useless. She had spent the entire night nervous, anticipating:
When he woke up and saw her, would he be surprised—or disappointed? Would her schemes fail? How would she respond if he reacted strongly? Would he hate her because of Xu Xiaoyi?
But the moment he opened his eyes, her blood seemed to reverse flow, her heart pounding violently, leaving her weak. Now, with one sentence, he shattered her preparations, and her heart settled—not into peace, but into a harsh reality devoid of hope.
Yaxi gazed at him, unwilling to look away, and said slowly, "I'm bored. I need entertainment."
"Three years. I want you for three years. Serve me."
Before he could react, she leaned forward abruptly.
Their lips brushed briefly—like the fleeting touch of a dragonfly skimming water or the flutter of butterfly wings.
It was so quick that Chen Ling barely registered the sensation of her lips, only the ticklish brush of her lashes against his cheek.
"Alright," he said.