Beneath a sky steeped in honeyed sunlight, the campus lake lay like a shard of polished jade, its surface rippling with liquid gold as a breeze, soft as a lover's sigh, whispered through the willows. Lin Yunhe stood motionless, his starched white shirt crisp against the verdant backdrop, each fold ironed with the precision of a man who measured life in millimeters.
His quivering fingers cradled a bouquet of roses—crimson petals curved like lips mid-sigh, their edges gilded by the sun, dewdrops clinging like unshed tears. With every inhalation, the scent of jasmine from nearby bushes tangled with the metallic tang of his cologne, a heady blend that mirrored the storm inside him.
"Lingxi," he began, his voice a violin's first trill at dawn, "you've been the axis of my world since that day in the library. Your laughter is the cadence I scribble into my lab notes, your silhouette the shadow that follows me into cadaver labs." He paused, throat bobbing as if swallowing constellations. "I don't just want to be your friend. I want to be the man who memorizes every freckle on your wrist, who learns your coffee order by heart, who—"
His words fractured abruptly, lost in the sudden rush of a dragonfly's wings skimming the water. But it was too late. Across the lake, Muyang stood rooted beneath a ginkgo tree, its golden leaves raining down like confetti for a parade of one. The roses' fragrance reached him first—cloying, suffocating—before the reality of the scene registered: Lin Yunhe's hand outstretched, Jiang Lingxi's parted lips, the universe holding its breath.
Muyang's jaunty stride froze mid-air as if ensnared by an invisible force. His heart constricted beneath an icy grip, each beat a dull throb that radiated through his veins like liquid nitrogen. The golden-hour lawn stretched before him, bathed in honeyed light, yet the perfumed breeze carried no sweetness—only the metallic tang of betrayal.
Lin Yunhe approached Jiang Lingxi, his starched collar standing rigid as a soldier's spine, his fingers knotting the hem of his shirt into anxious fists. When he spoke, his voice trembled like a scalpel blade balanced on the edge of a microscope slide.
But Jiang Lingxi's reply was a soft rejection, her words falling like cherry blossoms onto still water. "Yunhe, your feelings honor me deeply," she said, her gaze steady despite the flush high on her cheekbones. "But my heart already belongs to someone else—a man who is both my dawn and my dusk. He's the sunlight thawing winter frost in my soul, the stars guiding a lost traveler home." She paused, her smile bittersweet. "You deserve someone who can mirror your brilliance without shadows. May your happiness be as precise and beautiful as your art."
Muyang's ears pricked as if tugged by invisible threads, every syllable of Lin Yunhe's confession piercing his chest like scalpel points. Acidic jealousy surged upward, corroding his throat as he spun on his heel, fleeing toward their shared home. Each stride pounded the pavement like a metronome marking heartbreak, his shadow stretching grotesquely long under the setting sun.
Inside the bathroom, he twisted the faucet until an icy cascade erupted. Cupping frigid water, he splashed his burning face—anything to drown the image of Jiang Lingxi's laughter tangling with another man's. But the scene replayed in his mind's eye: her tilted head, the way her hair caught light when she smiled, the way Lin Yunhe's hand hovered near her elbow as if already claiming ownership.
The door creaked open gently as Lingxi stepped into the room with a light, springy gait. A faint smile played on her lips, her eyes sparkling with vivacity – until she crossed the threshold and abruptly sensed the charged atmosphere. Her gaze instinctively swept the room, landing immediately on Mu Yang standing alone in the bathroom.
The man who usually wore a rakish grin now stared at her like a caged predator, water droplets tracing sinuous paths down his pectorals, leaving broad damp patches on his white shirt that clung to the sculpted contours of his abdomen. His posture was rigid, his expression etched with an unfamiliar gravity.
A startled thump echoed in Lingxi's chest as confusion welled up, slowing her steps involuntarily. Approaching him, she tilted her head with concern, her voice softening: "Mu Yang, what are you doing here alone?" Her fingers unconsciously brushed the fluttering pulse at her neck – a discovery that stole her breath, for she'd never seen him so unraveled.
Mu Yang lifted his head slowly, his normally bright eyes clouded with stormy intensity. His Adam's apple bobbed as he struggled with some internal conflict before finally rasping: "I saw Lin Yunhe confess to you. Is... there something you want to tell me?" Lingxi froze mid-movement, her lips curving into a knowing smirk as her eyes danced with mischief. "Don't tell me you're jealous?" she teased, locking eyes with him.