Hua Rong had been wandering around the academy for what felt like hours, aimlessly watching students light up with joy as their friends and families came to visit. She passed by groups laughing in the garden, a boy getting tackled by his younger sister, and even someone giving their mother a dramatic tour of the cafeteria as if it were a five-star restaurant.
But no one had come for her.
Not that it mattered, of course.
"Xue didn't come... but it's fine," she muttered to herself, arms folded tightly. "She said she's busy."
It was a lie she repeated enough times to almost believe it.
At one point, Lin Zeyan's mother showed up. The woman was lovely, gracious and refined—and even took the time to smile warmly at Hua Rong and ask how she was doing.
It was sweet. Too sweet. Almost suspiciously sweet.
And maybe it was that slow boil of boredom, or the quiet itch under her skin, but something pushed her feet toward the studio building. She didn't know why she was going. She told herself it was just a whim.
But as soon as she turned the corner and looked through the tall glass windows—she saw them.
Tang Moyu and Xu Lingwei.
This time, Tang Moyu had both her arms around his back. She was hugging him. Not a polite hug. A full, almost possessive kind of hug.
Xu Lingwei didn't hug her back—his arms just hung awkwardly—but still.
Why?
Why was Tang Moyu with him again?
Why did she look so at ease, like she belonged there?
She clenched her jaw. Her right-hand fingers dug sharply into her left arm, so hard her skin went pale under the pressure. She spun around and walked off, eyes locked to the ground like the floor might swallow her embarrassment whole.
She was feeling frustrated for feeling this way. She didn't even like him… did she?
She was halfway back to her dorm room when she saw someone leaning against a column near the hallway's end. It was Xu Wenhan, standing there like a brooding statue from a romantic teen drama.
She walked over, stopping beside him. "Didn't someone come to meet you?"
At first, he didn't respond. But then he muttered, "My younger brother did. He's gone now."
"Oh," Hua Rong said. "So… are you waiting for someone?"
"Yeah," he said flatly.
She glanced around. "Who?"
He sighed. "Tang Moyu."
That name hit her like a slap made of lemon juice and salt. "She's inside," Hua Rong said, nodding toward the studio. "With Xu Lingwei."
"Oh. She's again with him," he said, brushing a hand through his dark, messy hair, clearly unimpressed.
"Yeah," Hua Rong said, trying to keep her voice casual. "After all, she loves him."
He shot her a sideways glance. "How do you know?"
"Don't look at me like that," she said, rolling her eyes with dramatic flair. "She told me herself that she loves him and plans to marry him in the future."
Xu Wenhan frowned. "Marry? What are you even talking about?"
"Oh gosh, how would I know? I didn't schedule their wedding," Hua Rong snapped, throwing her hands in the air. "She literally said, and I quote, 'It doesn't matter now, but someday we'll definitely get married.' So either she's delusional or she's really into long-term planning."
Xu Wenhan rubbed his forehead. "She's being delusional again."
"What's so delusional about that?" Hua Rong asked, arching a brow. "They're childhood friends, their parents know each other, she's pretty and sweet and clearly obsessed with him. Seems logical."
"But Xu Lingwei doesn't love her," Xu Wenhan said simply. "And he'll never marry her."
Hua Rong's expression twisted into something between skepticism and surprise. "You say that like it's a fact. Why are you so sure?"
He turned to walk away but paused when she grabbed his sleeve. "Why?" she pressed. "Why are you so sure?"
Xu Wenhan looked back at her, his eyes calm but certain. "Because I know him."
And then he gently slipped his arm free and walked off, leaving Hua Rong standing there… slightly stunned.
She stood in silence for a moment, then blinked once, twice, and realized—
For some reason, those words made her happy.
She wasn't entirely sure why.
But they did
Just as Hua Rong turned around the corner, debating whether to go back to her room or just wander some more, she heard hurried footsteps coming her way.
"Hua Rong!" Lin Zeyan called, slightly panting as he jogged up to her. "Your friends are here."
She blinked. "What?"
"At the entrance," he said, catching his breath. "I think it's Xue and Bai Qinyue."
For a moment, she just stood there. Then her expression softened, the corners of her lips lifting slightly as warmth spread through her chest. Without a word, she turned and walked toward the main entrance, her pace naturally picking up.
There they were.
Xue stood casually with one hand in her pocket, wearing a loose, dark t-shirt over high-waisted jeans and a small crossbody bag slung over her shoulder. Her short hair was slightly messy, as usual, like she'd gotten off a scooter and hadn't checked a mirror. Bai Qinyue was a calm contrast—she wore a pastel blue blouse tucked into a beige skirt, her long hair tied back in a tidy ponytail. Her hands were clasped politely in front of her, and her eyes lit up when she saw Hua Rong.
"You guys actually came," Hua Rong said, her voice lighter than it had been all day.
"Of course we did," Xue grinned, nudging her shoulder. "I finished my work early today. Thought I'd give my tired brain a break."
Bai Qinyue smiled. "And there's not much point sitting inside when there's only an hour left for visits. We'd get kicked out before the conversation even starts."
"Wanna go grab a coffee or something?" Xue asked, already turning slightly like she knew the answer.
Hua Rong looked between them, then nodded. "Sure."
They started walking together, the chatter already beginning. Hua Rong didn't say much, but she didn't need to. Just having them here, just the sound of familiar voices beside her—it was enough to ease the strange weight she'd been carrying all day.
....
Shen Yiren sat alone in the art studio, sunlight filtering through the tall windows, casting warm stripes across the wooden floor. The faint scent of paint and pencil shavings lingered in the air. She was waiting for her brother. But time passed, and he still hadn't arrived.
Growing restless, she walked over to the row of tall compartments where students kept their supplies. Her brother's was half-open—his locker, that slim vertical cabinet where canvases and brushes were usually crammed without care. Something about it made her pause.
Inside, several canvases sat leaning against the back wall, mostly covered by a white cloth. She hesitated, then lifted the fabric gently.
Her breath hitched.
Beneath the cloth were rough sketches. Unfinished. Charcoal lines, faint and unsure in places, more defined in others. Not fully formed, but still... clear enough. She recognized those eyes instantly.
It was her sketch.
That face—those eyes—those expressions. All of it belonged to her. And the realization hit Yiren like a spark against dry paper. The burn started low, then rose fast. Her chest tightened, her hands clenched.
Why her? Why was he drawing that girl?
The door creaked open behind her.
Her brother walked in, rubbing his towel across his damp hair. His steps slowed when he saw her standing in front of his locker, the cloth still hanging from her hand.
He blinked. "Did you wait long?" he asked casually, eyes flicking from her face to the open canvas behind her.
She didn't move.
Instead, her voice came out sharp. "Why are you drawing her portrait, Wuhao Li?"