There were few indulgences Lu Qingyan allowed herself these days. A cup of overpriced coffee after school was one of them.
The café wasn't particularly large or fancy, but it was popular—mostly for its floor-to-ceiling windows and the way the late afternoon sunlight filtered in, making everyone inside look like extras in a coming-of-age film. The air smelled faintly of roasted beans and vanilla syrup, and the tables near the front door were always empty this time of day, perfect for quiet study.
Lu Qingyan had her usual spot staked out, a table tucked near the entrance with a small potted cactus that always seemed a little too lively for its own good.
She pulled out her language textbook and began softly reciting a passage under her breath. Her voice was low, barely above a whisper, but it gave her a strange sense of comfort.
Since transmigrating, she'd realized she preferred the hum of the city over silence.
Silence was a dangerous thing—it left too much room for memories to crawl in. Too much room for that awful moment—the sound of the heart monitor flatlining, the weight of her brother's hand going cold in hers—to start playing on loop.
No, silence was suffocating.
The city's noise? That was her breathing room.
Somewhere between the third and fourth paragraph of her recitation, Lu Qingyan paused.
A soft murmur drifted past her ear—words that didn't belong to her textbook.
At first, she thought her mind was playing tricks on her.
It wouldn't be the first time. But then, a name floated through the air like a slap to the face.
"Yubin—"
Her breath hitched. Wait. That name sounded very familiar.
She tilted her head, peeking from behind the café's decorative partition of potted plants.
There they were: two figures sitting in front of her table.
The woman was beautiful in that carefully curated way—wavy hair, high heels, a crisp designer trench coat with an air of 'I've read parenting books I never followed.' Her tone, however, was not elegant at all.
"Yubin, when I came to your school, I asked the teacher about your situation. Your teacher said you're doing very well." she said in a falsely cheerful voice. "I know you don't like your mother, but you can't ruin our relationship because of your willfulness."
"Mom will buy whatever you want, Mom will make it up okay."
Lu Qingyan's lips twitched. That level of emotional manipulation deserved an award.
Then she looked at the boy.
He sat still, tall and unmoving, like a jagged sculpture carved out of spite and expensive education.
Lu Qingyan blinked.
White school uniform. Dark blue trim. Buzz cut—but longer, more rebellious. Broad shoulders. Fox-like eyes under heavy brows. Cold and razor-sharp like a knife that hadn't just been unsheathed, but wanted to be used.
Unlike Wang Jingyuan, who had that dangerous allure like a troublemaking protagonist from a forbidden romance manhua, this boy looked like the rival character who sat in the last row and had never smiled in his life.
Lu Qingyan's heart dropped into her stomach.
He looked like a sculpture—but one sculpted out of high-functioning trauma.
But rather than saying Wang Jingyuan was naturally cold, she could more or less tell that it was because he simply didn't care. But this boy looked cold at a glance with his foxy like eyes.
Cold. Handsome. Terrifying.
It was Lu Qingyan's first time seeing the boy, but he was oddly familiar.
Lu Qingyan slowly sank back behind the planter wall like a guilty hamster. Her back pressed to the cool wood. She held her breath.
God, she didn't mean to eavesdrop!
But also… they were talking pretty loudly! Was it really her fault?
From head to toe, the youth's entire body emitted a sense of loathing and his
expression was incomparably gloomy.
The woman said a lot and then Lu Qingyan heard a sneer.
Lu Qingyan could even imagine the youth's eyebrows raised slightly at this moment, arrogant and cruel.
"I've said it before," The boy's voice was low, but it reverberated through her bones, "I don't want to see you again."
Cold. So cold.
Lu Qingyan shivered, even though she was still inside the café and surrounded by sunlight.
The woman frowned. "Yubin, why are you like this? Mommy had her own difficulties back then, you know that. Can't you understand me? It's been so long, and you're still so prejudiced against your own mother—"
"Leave," he said again, with a kind of finality that made even the air go still.
The tone was one of complete hostility.
Then there were sounds of high heels hastily rushing away. The woman left without a word.
The cafe returned to its original tranquility.
It was as if the farce just now was all an illusion.
Lu Qingyan who was eavesdropping discreetly hugged her language textbook as she looked down.
She carefully peeked over the partition again—only to freeze like a deer caught under full headlights.
Cheng Yubin was still there.
And he was looking directly at her.
Their eyes met.
He hadn't left.
He was sitting now, elbow resting casually on the back of the chair, looking every bit like a young noble exiled from a modern dynasty. His dark eyes were unreadable, lips slightly parted as if caught mid-thought.
From afar, it was a scene full of ambiguity, as if he was mesmerized by the young girl's beauty, as if he fell in love at first sight.
It was a very cinematic moment. One might even say romantic.
Except it was absolutely terrifying.
Lu Qingyan clutched her textbook to her chest like a shield.
From this angle, it probably looked like he had been watching her all along.
She wanted to scream. Or melt. Or rewind the past five minutes.
She forced her mouth into a stiff smile. "H–hello…"
At this time, Lu Qingyan silently typed out a word in her heart:
"F*ck—"
Her fingers tightened around her textbook.
Cheng Yubin.
Oh no.
Oh no.
Her brain short-circuited as realization kicked in.
That Cheng Yubin.
The male lead from "A Thorn in the Crown". The genius with the emotional range of a used paperclip. The walking iceberg who would silently take a beating for a friend but ghost them right after.
Cool, the vicious female cannon fodder secretly listened to the male lead's private conversation on the cafe and was caught red-handed. This probably couldn't be washed white.