The loudspeakers at the University of Architecture blared, announcing the end of the day's final session. Amidst the rushing crowds, Shen Zhe appeared like a being apart—cold, aloof, and perfect to a cruel degree. An aura of "do not approach" radiated from him, causing the masses to instinctively part ways, carving out a reverent space around the golden boy of the Architecture Department.
"Shen Zhe! Wait... wait for me!"
A soft voice, trembling like a petal in the wind, called out. Shen Zhe didn't stop, but his elegant brows twitched slightly—a sign of patience wearing thin.
Lin Yan caught up, planting herself firmly in his path. Today, she wore a pristine white dress, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders. She clutched a lunch box wrapped in floral fabric as if it were her only treasure in the world. In the eyes of every male student on campus, she was the untouchable "Muse" of purity; but to Shen Zhe, she was nothing more than a persistent, shameless debt.
"What is it?" Shen Zhe halted, his eyes flicking down to the Patek Philippe on his wrist. His voice lacked any warmth, sharp and biting like metal striking thin ice.
Lin Yan forced a smile, her eyes shimmering with a pitiful hope. "Today is my birthday... I don't need a gift, I just... I made a few dishes you like. Could you just spare ten minutes for me?"
Around them, whispers began to spread like mushrooms after rain:
"Lin Yan again? How can the Campus Belle be so thick-skinned?"
"Following him for three years without so much as a glance—she's truly lost her mind to love."
Shen Zhe looked at the lunch box, then stared directly into her small face. He didn't take it. Instead, he casually dropped a sentence that turned the hallway into a freezer:
"Lin Yan, your persistence doesn't touch me; it only makes me nauseous. Where do you get the confidence to think I'd eat this trash? Or do you think if you just put on that 'half-dead' face, I'll grant you some charity?"
"I didn't mean that... I just wanted..."
"Enough."
With a decisive sweep of his hand, Shen Zhe brushed her aside. The force wasn't extreme, but it was enough to send Lin Yan staggering. A dry clack echoed. The lunch box hit the marble floor, the lid flying open. The sweet and sour ribs—dishes she had spent four hours in the kitchen perfecting—scattered everywhere.
The dark red sauce splattered onto Shen Zhe's polished leather shoes. He stared at the stain, his eyes flashing with utter disgust, as if he had just stepped into a pile of filth.
"Look at that. You've caused me trouble again."
He stepped over the mess without a second thought, his sole crushing the very rib she had poured her heart into. He walked away, leaving the jeers of the crowd behind him. Lin Yan stood frozen, her white dress a lonely contrast against the wreckage of her feelings.
Slowly, she crouched down and began picking the pieces of food back into the box. Her shoulders shook violently. Everyone assumed she was sobbing in humiliation.
But the moment her long hair veiled her face from the world's view, a smile bloomed on Lin Yan's lips.
There wasn't a single tear. Her eyes were bone-dry, deep as an abyss, and flashing with the predatory glint of a hunter. She picked up the rib crushed by his shoe and murmured in a terrifyingly tender tone:
"You're right, Shen Zhe. Pity is the cheapest thing in the world. So, I won't be using it to have you anymore."
She pulled out her phone, her slender fingers gliding swiftly across the screen. A message was sent into the darkness:
[Tonight, the alley behind Moon Bar. Break his legs only. Don't touch his face. Funds transferred.]
Lin Yan stood up, nonchalantly brushing the dust off her dress. She took out a tissue and meticulously wiped every crease of her fingers. Watching Shen Zhe's retreating figure, her smile grew more radiant—a beauty that was chilling to the bone.
"Happy Birthday, Lin Yan."