Volume One, Chapter 14: The Scoundrel Found Her

Fu Chun’er stood at the entrance of the Tianzi class, feeling suddenly weary at heart.

Ten years had passed, and she had long forgotten that Master Xu had once taught in the Tianzi class. Perhaps he hadn’t stayed long, and since they had little interaction, her impression of him was faint.

Master Xu turned back, noticing that Fu Chun’er hadn’t kept up, and beckoned her to hurry along.

Fu Chun’er sighed and followed Master Xu through the front gate.

Somebody had forgotten to close the window, and a gust of wind blew in, lifting the hem of her wide robe, the edge brushing against the table near the door.

Yin Lingxiao, who had been resting his head on the table, suddenly opened his eyes.

—He smelled that frost-like fragrance once again.

Fu Chun’er stood beside Master Xu, forcing herself to focus intently on the lesson. Only by completing this task could she obtain the authority to revise characters and thereby rewrite her destiny.

“Xiao Lian, isn’t that your sister?”

“What’s she doing here in our Tianzi class?”

“Obviously, she’s here to see Young Master Yin!”

Fu Xiaolian looked at Fu Chun’er, who was listening attentively, and sneered: “Putting on airs.”

There were countless admirers of Yin Lingxiao in the academy; every day, students found various excuses to catch a glimpse of him. The Tianzi class was well accustomed to this. Even Fu Chun’er, who had pretended to be so aloof before, could not resist coming.

No one noticed that at this moment, Yin Lingxiao straightened up, his dark pupils trembling slightly as he fixed his gaze unwaveringly on the person ahead.

Fu Chun’er’s mind was in turmoil. Finally, Master Xu finished explaining, and she clutching the exercise book, thanked him before immediately turning to leave.

As she walked, she asked the system in her mind, “I’ve learned this question. Has the script and revision been sent down?”

[Sorry, host. The task is only considered complete if the answer is written in the exercise book.]

Fu Chun’er quickened her pace. “Fine, I’ll write it as soon as I get back.”

The students of the Tianzi class scornfully examined her retreating figure, convinced they had seen through her little scheme. She just wanted to attract Yin Lingxiao’s attention, didn’t she?

However, they all believed that Fu Chun’er would, like the previous clowns, be directly ignored by Yin Lingxiao.

Yet, no one expected that Yin Lingxiao suddenly stood up, swiftly opened the door, and chased after her.

In the corridor, a clear, youthful voice rang out: “Stop right there!”

Fu Chun’er’s steps faltered, then she quickened her pace.

But the young man caught up within a few strides and grabbed her sleeve.

Her expression instantly changed. How dare that scoundrel touch her!?!

She turned angrily, staring at him incredulously, then forcefully yanked her sleeve away.

Perhaps her gaze was too candid, for Yin Lingxiao suddenly smiled. “No offense meant. I just wanted to ask—why do you smell so fragrant?”

Fu Chun’er fell silent.

That scoundrel.

“No offense?” Who’s a good man who would come up to a girl and ask why she smells nice?

Yin Lingxiao rubbed his nose awkwardly. “I mean, did you use rouge or perfume? You smell really nice.”

Unlike the calculating, resolute ruler he would become, Yin Lingxiao of this year still bore a hint of youthful innocence in his eyes. Even the sharp aura about him was restrained now, shyly hidden, making him appear especially harmless.

Still, Fu Chun’er could recognize his familiar voice, overlapping with the cold, unhinged man he would grow into.

He liked to hold someone tightly while doing that thing, burying his head in her neck to deeply inhale her scent.

“Perfume?” The man’s voice was hoarse. “So fragrant…”

She didn’t want to respond, but he would keep asking through his actions.

She hadn’t used perfume or rouge—she couldn’t even detect any fragrance on herself, and suspected the man was just using it as an excuse to approach her.

In both her past and present lives, he had asked her the same question.

Fu Chun’er suddenly realized the “male lead’s law” seemed to constantly drive the predetermined fate. Even with the revision system, she could not completely avoid Yin Lingxiao.

Since that was the case, why not let the male lead hate her outright, cutting off the ill fate at its root?

She knew what kind of person he liked.

Yin Lingxiao was unruly, dressed in fine clothes astride a fierce horse, loving freedom above all else. In her previous life, Fu Chun’er had come from the wilderness, naturally lively and bright, perfectly matching his nature. He was tired of the countless identical noble daughters in the capital and found her unique.

Then this time, she would be the unlikable, dull noble lady.

—Graceful in manner, polite in speech, but secretly plotting to destroy him.

Fu Chun’er quickly slipped into character. She shyly lifted her head and looked at Yin Lingxiao with a puzzled expression. “Young master, my face is damaged; I can’t use rouge, nor have I ever worn perfume…”

Yin Lingxiao knew this was abrupt. As he pondered how to apologize, he suddenly caught sight of her clear, bottomless eyes, like a suspended galaxy reflected in a tranquil lake, shimmering with delicate light.

The girl’s face was veiled, clad in wide but tightly wrapped clothing, resembling a wooden maiden freshly emerged from deep chambers. Yet on closer observation, one would notice her faint but resolute aversion, like a virtuous lady’s instinctive resistance to a roguish man.

Yin Lingxiao himself was uninterested in such people, yet for some reason, when he touched those eyes, his heart felt as if pricked by a needle—aching and bittersweet.

“Have we… met before?” Yin Lingxiao asked.

Fu Chun’er suppressed the urge to kill.

Ask, ask, ask nonstop—not only have we met, but you even know about the bright mole on my waist. Satisfied?

But she showed no sign on her face, frowning as if seriously recalling, then timidly shook her head and whispered, “...No, we haven’t.”

Yin Lingxiao’s deep gaze lingered on her, thinking: forget it.

If he kept asking, the girl might cry.

The girl’s departing figure was delicate, her steps hurried but steady. If she had a cloth streamer on her head, it wouldn’t sway even a bit—her temperament was equally wooden and dull, seemingly no different from other noble daughters.

Yet for some unknown reason, Yin Lingxiao did not turn away. He watched her quietly until she vanished around a corner, then withdrew his gaze.

Unbeknownst to him, the wooden maiden’s eyes now blazed fiercely, gripping the script in her hand as she already devised a hundred ways to kill him.