Wuhao Li didn't even blink.
Instead, he slouched into the chair behind him, dragging it with a lazy scrape before letting himself fall into it like gravity had a personal grudge. His eyes, cool and unreadable, met hers without hesitation.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice dipped in the kind of laziness that made Shen Yiren's blood boil.
"Don't play dumb," she hissed, stepping closer. "You know how much I can't stand her. So why? Why would you, of all people, choose her as your portrait subject?"
Wuhao let out a yawn, slow and exaggerated, then turned his head toward the cabinet, pretending to ponder the question like it was some kind of riddle. "Ah," he said finally, "you mean Hua Rong."
He shrugged carelessly. "But… I don't remember you hating her."
Her breath hitched. "What?"
He looked back at her, half-amused. "Come on, Yiren. Just admit it. You never hated her. You hated the way she acted. Always perfect, always polite. But not once have you said she was cruel or malicious. Just... fake. Pretending."
Shen Yiren's mouth opened, then closed.
Wuhao leaned forward, his voice calmer now, more grounded. "And you only call someone fake if you've caught a glimpse of something real underneath."
The words landed with a weight she didn't want to acknowledge.
"At first, I didn't get it," he continued, voice softer, almost as if talking to himself. "But then I started noticing it. The way she forgets. Just for a second. Drops the whole sweet-girl act and lets her real self slip through. And it's not ugly. It's not wrong. It's just... her."
Shen Yiren stared at him, unsure if she wanted to scream or walk away.
"So what?" she said instead. "That doesn't mean you can choose her."
Wuhao tilted his head, watching her. "You're right. It doesn't."
Then he looked past her, his gaze distant.
"But that day, when I saw her laughing—just like that, completely unfiltered—it reminded me of you. The way you used to be. That sharp, honest kind of light."
Her heart skipped.
"And now?" he said quietly. "I don't know what happened, Yiren, but somewhere along the way, you lost that spark. But she—she hasn't. Not yet."
Then, even softer, "And I don't want her to."
His words settled into the quiet like dust.
And for a long second, Shen Yiren stood still, her grey eyes unreadable, just like his
Wuhao Li stood up without a word, his chair scraping softly against the floor.
"Yiren," he said, his voice firm but not unkind, "you're my sister. That's the only reason I don't hate you."
He stepped past her, his shoulder brushing lightly against hers—but then he paused, just behind her.
"But that doesn't mean I've forgotten what you did," he added, quieter now, his voice edged with disappointment. "I didn't like that you were the one who started those baseless rumors about her."
Shen Yiren's temper flared. She spun around, grey eyes sharp with fury.
"Those weren't baseless!" she snapped. "I saw it with my own eyes—her beating someone down. So brutally."
Wuhao froze mid-step.
His head turned slowly, and when his eyes met hers, they weren't warm anymore. They were cold. Unforgiving.
"Brutally?" he repeated, voice low, almost dangerous. "Was it more brutal than mine?"
For a heartbeat, silence.
Shen Yiren's lips parted, but no words came out. She didn't need to answer.
Because she knew the truth. She'd seen it before—what he was capable of when truly provoked.
Wuhao let out a breath that sounded more like a sigh than a scoff. Then he looked away, as if the conversation had already exhausted him.
"She's not perfect, Yiren," he said finally, walking away. And with that, he left her standing in the stillness of the studio, her pulse loud in her ears, the silence louder still.
.....
"NOW I HATE HIM!" Hua Rong declared, slamming her glass of cheap wine on the rickety table like it was a royal decree.
They were huddled at a roadside food stall under flickering neon lights, a greasy lantern swaying above them like it, too, had witnessed one heartbreak too many. The air smelled of grilled meat, spice, and drama.
"I accept it—I was the one avoiding him, yes! But that doesn't mean he should just stop trying and run off to that girl!" she pointed in no particular direction, her voice slurring dangerously.
Across the table, Bai Qinyue and Feng Xue shared a look. The 'she's gone' kind of look.
"Okay, fine!" Xue reached forward and swiftly snatched the glass from her hands before the poor thing could suffer another slam. "No more wine. You still have to go back to school, and you can't exactly stumble in smelling like a walking heartbreak."
"But I'm sad," Hua Rong whined, collapsing dramatically across the table with a thud that rattled the chopsticks.
"Then go tell him!" Bai Qinyue offered, not unkindly, nudging her shoulder.
"I can't! I'm a perfect student, remember?" she said, waving her arms for emphasis, nearly knocking over the soy sauce. "I can't be involved in those... those kinds of things!"
"Stop pretending," Xue said, her voice suddenly quieter. "It hurts. Don't pretend—at least not in front of us."
Hua Rong blinked up at her.
"I love the way you are right now," Xue continued. "Miserable. Messy. Full of flaws. It's real. It's you."
Her words hung in the air like a balm and a blade both.
Because Xue knew. She'd seen the cracks in Hua Rong's mask before—the moments when her sweetness slipped, and her real self peeked through. Loud. Childish. Emotional. Not the calm, collected image the school expected. The one she forced herself to live up to every day.
She remembered Shen Yiren's voice sneering under the sun that afternoon.
"Do you think you really know her?"
Shen Yiren had crouched beside the bench with a smirk. "You call yourself her best friend... but you don't even know who she really is."
"What are you even talking about?" Xue had snapped back.
But Yiren had just shrugged, tossing her hair. "You've seen it too, haven't you? She's not some sweet, innocent angel. She's just pretending. Underneath it all, she's reckless and loud and impulsive—she's not who you think she is." And with that, Yiren walked away like she'd dropped a final judgment.
Those words haunted Xue now. Not because they were cruel. But because they weren't wrong.
She'd seen it, hadn't she? Hua Rong breaking down behind closed doors, then brushing it off with a laugh. She shrugged away her pain. Dismissing her feelings like they were stains on a spotless image.
Back in the moment, Xue reached out again.
"Hua Rong," she said gently, "I'm your friend... right?"
"Obviously!" Hua Rong hiccuped, grabbing her hand.
"Then please, just this once—listen to me."
Her voice cracked, trembled. And Hua Rong looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time that evening.
"Don't let him go," Xue whispered. "I know you care about him. So forget about the rules, forget about all the stupid pressure. Be yourself. Say what you want. Want what you want."
For a moment, the world went still. Hua Rong could see how serious she was—how her usual calm friend had teary eyes and a trembling lower lip.
"I just..." Xue breathed, "I want my friend to live fully. Not under anyone's expectations. Not under pressure. I want you to grab the things you want with both hands."
The night air wrapped around them, warm and thick. Hua Rong stared at her, heart pounding, unsure if it was the wine or the truth that hit harder.
And for once, she didn't pretend.