Chapter 1: Encountering Him

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In the blistering midsummer heat, the cicadas in the trees screeched like electric drills, loud enough to ache in the skull. Even louder than the insects was the hysterical complaint from the girls’ bathroom.
“It’s just spilled from the paint box—my whole skirt is covered!”

“It’s clearly obvious, I’m wearing a white skirt! And of all things it’s red oil paint all over it. I can’t possibly go out like this.”

“No way, there’s no time to go home and change. The art sharing session starts any minute.”

She hung up, agitated, dabbed a tissue with water, and scrubbed at the stained skirt.

As Lin Yiwei passed by, she glanced at the girl’s skirt. A wet patch of red paint spread across a large area of fabric. Though the color had been diluted and lightened by water, it was still a mortifying sight.

Lin Yiwei withdrew her gaze, washed her hands calmly, then stood by the dryer near the wall, lifting her fingers into the warm air.

The facilities at Fayge University were as luxurious as a five-star hotel: faint sandalwood incense hung in the air, and there were scarcely any water marks at all on the porcelain basins.

The girl twisted her body, trying to clean the stain on the side of the dress, and from time to time checked the Cartier diamond watch on her wrist, growing more anxious.

Lin Yiwei turned and said, “We can swap dresses.”

Chi Xiyu stopped rinsing her fingers and looked at her.

The girl’s foxlike eyes were clear and detached; she had no makeup, and her face held that lazy, washed-out look.
Chi Xiyu didn’t have time to study Lin Yiwei’s face closely, but her eyes traveled over her delicate figure.

The Chanel-style academy skirt would look wonderfully slim and refined on her. Their builds were similar enough—Chi Xiyu ought to fit.

“Are you willing to swap?” Chi Xiyu asked, sounding uncertain.

“The art sharing begins in a moment. I can lend you mine in an emergency.”

There was truly no time left. Without politeness, the two girls swapped dresses in the stall.

Chi Xiyu slipped into Lin Yiwei’s Chanel-style school uniform skirt perfectly, while Lin Yiwei pulled on her own battered, soggy white gown—wet and miserable.

Lin Yiwei had no choice.
It was a rare chance. She had to take it.

As they prepared to leave, Chi Xiyu lifted one brow in proud amusement and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Lin Yiwei.”

“You’re at the art academy?”

“Yes. I’m a freshman this year.”

“I’m Chi Xiyu, also a freshman.”

Most girls, upon hearing the name Chi Xiyu, would answer with trembling politeness, all anxious and awkward. In the social circles of Fayge University and all of Blue Harbor City, there were few who did not want to curry favor with her.

Lin Yiwei only smiled politely.

“You helped me out in a big way today. I’ll repay your kindness,” Chi Xiyu said. She scooped up her clutch glittering with clusters of pink diamonds and strode out.

Lin Yiwei’s smile deepened, the light turning somehow harder.

The shameful paint marks on her white dress would not disappear. She scrubbed and scrubbed until her fingers stung, until she finally worked the color out.

As she stepped out of the restroom, she heard boys’ laughter behind her and instinctively shielded her backside with her schoolbag. A wet skirt was an invitation to every kind of vulgar thought—especially for boys whose minds held little more than base desire.

She quickened her pace and entered the presentation hall.

Fortunately, everyone’s attention was fixed on Chi Xiyu at the front; no one was looking at Lin Yiwei in the last row, nor at her wet skirt.

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Lin Yiwei looked up at the painting on stage, “Secret,” a springtime oil portrait of a young girl.

Her pulse jumped.

In the painting, the girl stood by a window, staring beyond the horizon’s last light, while a cross-shaped pendant glimmered faintly at her throat.

This “Secret” had been painted by Lin Xie, Lin Yiwei’s brother, who had left home years ago and cut off all contact with her.
Now it was signed under another name: Chi Xiyu.

At that moment Chi Xiyu sat center stage, elegant and radiant like a muse herself, explaining the creative journey behind her “making” of “Secret.”

“I think each person has their own secret.”

Her Chanel-style academy skirt traced her graceful lines, and plum lipstick made her pale skin glow.

“The girl in this painting has her own secret, too. She stands by the window, gazing at the distant landscape—perhaps she longs for the one in her heart.”

A teacher in the audience let out a soft laugh.

“Secret” had recently won a gold prize at the International Art Festival.

Yet how she interpreted the painting...that was hard to put into any sensible words.

The classmates did not seem to notice anything off. They merely looked at Chi Xiyu on stage with admiration.

Among this year’s freshmen at the Fayge Academy of Arts, she was by far the brightest: winner of countless awards at home and abroad, the cherished jewel of the wealthy Chi clan, with a brilliant future ahead.

The side doors of the hall opened. A few boys swaggered in, laughing and chatting, loud and careless, utterly ignoring the live-streamed art session.

They made their way to the last row and sat down without ceremony.
One even tossed a basketball offhandedly; it struck the wall with a heavy clanging sound.

Murmurs rippled through the hall. Someone frowned and gave a furious look, but it was the kind of anger with no permission to speak.

Fayge University drew many sons of Blue Harbor City’s top families. They had influence and power; any setting felt like their own.

A tall boy whistled at Chi Xiyu.

Chi Xiyu recognized him: Deng Xiao, the second son of the Deng real-estate family, who had been pursuing her for a long time. She rolled her eyes and ignored him.

At last a teacher could stand no more, rose, and called for silence.

But the second-generation heirs did not submit. They only laughed louder, more disorderly.

Just when it seemed the sharing could no longer continue, a lean, clean-limbed figure entered the hall.
He wore a white shirt, leaning lazily against the backrest of a chair, idly playing with a lighter between his long fingers. Moon-silver rimless glasses gave him the look of a polished rogue.

No one failed to recognize him.

He was Xie Bo, young master of the Xie family, the wealthiest man in Blue Harbor City.

Deng Xiao had been unruly at first, shouting and caring for nothing. But once Xie Bo arrived, one hard glance from him froze Deng Xiao on the spot like a silenced cat; he sat down, obedient and stiff.

Xie Bo took a seat among his friends, smiling as he greeted the boys nearby. A few of them made knowing jokes about him and Chi Xiyu.

He did not seem to mind. He clicked his lighter open and shut...
Brash and unruly, yet somehow handsome.

Seeing him, Chi Xiyu on stage flushed. Even her voice grew gentler.

She made a show of saying that “Secret” had won the International Art Festival gold medal, then thanked her parents, thanked the friends who supported her, and also... someone very special to her.

Her eyes slid toward Xie Bo almost imperceptibly.

Xie Bo smiled at her briefly, then politely cold, he turned away.

By turning his head just so, he noticed the slight, unremarkable shadow near the side entrance.

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The floor-to-ceiling window’s pure white sheer curtains billowed in thick, puffing waves of air.
Lin Yiwei stood beside an empty corridor window, her hand gripping the cross necklace at her chest, nearly unable to breathe.

Her brother had left home years ago and severed all ties. Where had he gone?
Why was his painting signed with Chi Xiyu’s name?

In the middle of these thoughts, she heard footsteps behind her.

The white curtains were lifted by the wind into flying folds. Through them, Lin Yiwei saw the sharp, arched brow of a boy.

Xie Bo.

Startled, Lin Yiwei turned to run, but he suddenly caught her wrist and pulled hard. She was pulled against his chest.

His fingers were long, with every knuckle clearly defined, elegant and graceful. On his wrist was a tattoo:
a thin black snake, tongue extended, coiling in an S-shape.

“I thought I’d mistaken, but it is really you.”

“Let me go.” Her voice dropped, frightened. “I don’t know you.”

“Don’t know me?” He leaned close to her ear, breathing warm and wet. “Not even a month, and you’ve already forgotten me?”

“...”

“That time, I didn’t know you were Xie Bo.”

“Now you know?”

“Once I did, I deleted your number. I’m sorry, but I truly did not want to bother you.”

He gave a small laugh.

Footsteps drew near. Xie Bo drew her into the white curtains.

Students passed back and forth, and it was obvious from the drape that two people were closeted there, though no one could tell who it was. No one bothered to look closely.

On a college campus, lovers are everywhere; nothing unusual.

But Lin Yiwei felt as if her life had split in two. If anyone at the Fayge Academy of Arts learned she and Xie Bo had ever been close in such a way, everything she had carefully planned would collapse.

Xie Bo leaned close and murmured by her ear in a low, husky tone, “Tonight, I’m coming to see you.”

“I can’t tonight. It’s my period.”

“Nothing but lies.”

“I’m telling the truth. I only just soiled my skirt and went to the restroom to clean it.”

Xie Bo’s hand reached behind her, brushing against the thin fabric. Lin Yiwei felt his embrace and pulled her own arms tighter.

“Xie Bo, that night was my fault for provoking you. But this—this has to be mutual, both sides willing...”

At her words, Xie Bo finally loosened his grip after a moment. A faint, cool smile tugged at his mouth; he smoothed back the dishevelled collar of her dress and looked her over.

She was very small, so slight she seemed all bone and line. Beside him, with his broad shoulders and narrow waist, the contrast was severe.

Her face, with its lazy, soft beauty and almost world-weary air, had only one startling thing: a vivid vermilion mole in the center of her brow, adding an undefinable, almost dangerous allure to her innocence.

Xie Bo had no desire to force her—there was no need.

As he left, he took off the racing jacket from his own body and tossed it to her.