Chapter 9: The Desire to Peek

“Club?”

Lin Zhiyi paused for a beat.

“Sure.”

Cheng Xiran had actually invited him to join her club—utterly unexpected, but also a stroke of luck; he wouldn’t have to wrangle with Old Ma anymore.

For him, any club would do; he’d already made clear he was just in it for the credits, and if she still extended the invite, it meant her group’s activities wouldn’t eat up much time.

Cheng Xiran’s expression didn’t shift, but at his firm yes, her eyes blinked twice in quick succession, a gentle curve softening their corners.

“Then… see you tomorrow?”

Her ending note danced lightly.

“See you.”

The girl waved at Lin Zhiyi, her high ponytail tracing an arc in the air as she turned.

Cheng Xiran headed off in the opposite direction from him.

Rounding a corner, her steps didn’t falter, heels clicking rhythmically on the pavement; another turn, and she paused under a tree’s shadow, pulling out her phone to tap at the screen.

Less than two minutes later, a black Maybach pulled up before her—clearly waiting nearby all along.

She opened the rear door, slid in, and the car purred to life the moment she settled.

The vehicle sped through the streets.

The girl gazed out the window.

On the gray glass, mottled tree shadows flitted across her expressionless face.

The window bore one-way tint, like an invisible veil.

She could clearly see the flowing streetscape outside, the hazy outlines of pedestrians, while the world beyond caught not a glimpse of her within.

Her fingertip absently pressed against the cool glass; watching the scenery whip past, she suddenly felt an illusion—as if she were cocooned in safety, quietly observing the world, her presence unknown to all.

Cheng Xiran liked this sensation.

Just as she liked quietly observing Lin Zhiyi.

The driver stole glances at the back seat via the rearview, curiosity bubbling inside: why had Miss Cheng made him circle so far from school to pick her up today? It wasn’t even en route.

But he didn’t dare ask, simply driving on obediently.

After a stretch, the driver happened to catch Miss Cheng’s expression in the mirror.

The girl, always blank-faced at home, now bore the faintest smile—her stunning features paired with it, breathtaking in their beauty.

Yet she seemed unaware, the curve at her lips blooming quietly on its own.

The next morning.

After class, Lin Zhiyi was bent over, tidying his notes, when his peripheral caught a figure at his desk.

He looked up, meeting those ink-dark eyes.

“Lin Zhiyi.”

She called his name.

“What’s up, class monitor?”

She jiggled the pink phone in her hand.

“Can I add your WeChat? I’ll send you the club application form.”

“Of course.”

Lin Zhiyi fished out his phone.

Cheng Xiran’s fingertips danced lightly on her screen, bringing up a friend code.

Friends added, Lin Zhiyi noted her handle: [Le Néant]—French, he figured, though he had no clue what it meant.

“A Pear?”

Cheng Xiran read his username.

“It’s your name backward, right?”

Lin Zhiyi was impressed.

“You spotted it right away? Sharp.”

That was exactly his naming logic—something tossed together on a whim—but he’d never expected her to catch it so fast; what keen associative thinking.

Once again, he realized beauty was just one of Cheng Xiran’s many virtues.

Her lips quirked; she sent a link.

Lin Zhiyi clicked: the school’s academic portal.

Under her guidance, he navigated to the clubs section, filling it out in short order—basically just submitting basics.

Once the green checkmark circled on his screen, it hit him: he knew zilch about this club.

“What’s it called? What do you do?”

He asked offhand.

“Chat Club.”

She flashed a playful smile.

“As the name says—it’s where me and my friends chat idly.”

A club that sounded absurd; if something like that passed muster, it could only be thanks to some heiress pulling special strings.

Lin Zhiyi stared at her blankly.

Cheng Xiran seemed to find his face amusing; her smile deepened, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

“How many members?”

“Three.”

She replied breezily.

“Including you.”

So just two others besides me.

Definitely unconventional.

He pressed on:

“It’s fine adding me to a club like that?”

—Am I considered your friend?

“Why not?”

Cheng Xiran arched a brow.

“Can’t I be your friend?”

If Ninghai High’s boys overheard that, he’d probably be pinned to the wall by envious glares come morning.

Likewise, under that gaze from Cheng Xiran, no human could muster a refusal.

Lin Zhiyi then noticed: they were the class’s center of attention.

Nearly everyone stared—likely floored that Cheng Xiran had approached a guy for his WeChat, and was chatting so animatedly.

“Of course… you can.”

Satisfied, the girl turned to leave, her smile unmasked and bright.

It was the first time she’d laughed so freely in public; the usually quiet and aloof girl now beamed with unbridled joy—adorably impossible to look away from.

The little guys around weren’t surprised to gawk.

Especially the watermelon-headed kid beside him, mouth agape.

Once Cheng Xiran was gone, he finally dared sidle up; Lin Zhiyi figured he was prying about her, and sure enough, his opener was all stutter.

“How’d you… how… bring your phone to school?”

?

Never mind—go play.

“Zhiyi…”

A soft call echoed in the dark.

…Who’re you?

He felt so drowsy, not keen on responding.

“…Can you hear me?”

In the endless black veil, a girl’s voice arose—distant as the horizon, yet close as his ear.

“Can you hear…? …Zhiyi… I’m… #… Star…”

What are you? …Know-it-all star? Wild ape?

“Watch out… Cheng…”

Click—recording cut off.

“Lin Zhiyi.”

A cool voice sounded at his ear.

Someone shook him, rousing him.

He opened his eyes to Cheng Xiran standing there, the pure girl smiling down at him, gently reminding:

“It’s lunchtime already—if you don’t hurry to the cafeteria, seats’ll be gone.”

“Oh oh, thanks, class monitor.”

He mumbled assent, rising to head out.

His forehead throbbed faintly; he rubbed his temple, trying to shake off the haze.

Fragments of that dream girl’s voice lingered in his mind.

“Watch out Cheng?”

He murmured, puzzled—what did it mean?

Watch out for Naruhodo Phoenix Wright? ‘Cause he’d slam the table yelling “One catty of pears”?

Watch out for the lunch lady? Her intermittent hand tremors only flared up when serving rice?

Watch out for the prime minister? After all, Cao Cao loved married women, favored NTR—public enemy number one for pure-love warriors?

Couldn’t puzzle it out.

Whatever—why dwell.

Dream babble was just that: the ravings of a fool.