Meng Yanxi was lowering his head, replying to WeChat messages, and said there was no need anymore.

Jin Zhao froze. “What do you mean, no need?”

All six dresses ordered from the boutique counter had already been delivered to the Meng residence. Meng Yanxi told the household aunt to take a black-and-white box from the very top shelf of his cloakroom and hand it to the driver, telling the driver to deliver it to the school together.

After sending the message, Meng Yanxi stuffed his phone into the desk cubby and lifted his head to look at Jin Zhao.

After two seconds of silence, he asked in return, “Not mad at me anymore?”

Jin Zhao: “……”

For something this awkward, Jin Zhao of course stubbornly refused to admit it. “When was I ever mad at you?”

“Weren’t you?” The boy smiled faintly without quite smiling, picked up the pen by his hand and started twirling it. “The way you looked that day, you clearly wanted to beat me up.”

Jin Zhao: “……You saw it wrong.”

Meng Yanxi looked quite confident. “Probably not. I’ve seen it too many times, hardly ever get it wrong.”

Jin Zhao: “Seen what too many times?”

Meng Yanxi: “I often see that expression you had that day on other people’s faces.”

Jin Zhao: “……”

People often wanting to beat him up—was that really something to be proud of?

Jin Zhao suddenly realized that aside from being silly and a hooligan, Meng Yanxi also had quite a thick skin.

So how had she ever thought he was some aloof, untouchable flower on a high peak? She must have been blind.

To coordinate with the evening gala, the final class of the afternoon for first- and second-year students was scheduled as self-study. Students with programs gradually went to the grand auditorium to rehearse, do makeup, and change clothes.

Because the homeroom teachers of each class had mobilized too late, aside from the programs that had initially signed up voluntarily, many were just there to make up the numbers. Mainly because the rehearsal time afterward was indeed extremely tight. For example, the mass choir that Class Three submitted—according to Wang Jiajia, including the run-through just now, they had rehearsed a total of only two times. They didn’t even have performance outfits and would be going onstage in school uniforms, truly embodying the spirit of “participation matters.”

By comparison, Class A’s side was brimming with sincerity. They had a total of three programs: Meng Yanxi’s sword dance Lanting Preface, Luo Heng and Si Tian’s xiangsheng Life Is Getting Better Too, and Jin Zhao’s seven-person group dance Luo Shen.

Meng Yanxi, Luo Heng, and Si Tian were all wearing their own clothes, but the group dance required unified costumes. Chen Shu said the funds would be taken from the class fee. The girls’ measurements had been registered in advance, yet the costumes weren’t delivered to the backstage of the auditorium until after the final dismissal bell in the afternoon rang.

By then, they had already finished simple makeup. The girls searched around but couldn’t find their dresses. They were afraid the skirts wouldn’t arrive before they went onstage, and also afraid that if the dresses arrived at the last minute and didn’t fit, it would affect their performance. They were so anxious they were running in circles.

“Who’s in charge of the costumes anyway? Why haven’t they been delivered yet?”

“No idea. It was originally Zhao Yu, but now Zhao Yu’s hospitalized.”

“Sister Shu, maybe?”

“No, Sister Shu went out for a meeting this afternoon and hasn’t been at school at all. She won’t be back until tonight!”

“Then we’re done for…”

As they were talking, two staff members walked in one after the other, each holding three large paper boxes stacked in their arms.

Black-and-white color scheme, tied with ribbons—the packaging was far too exquisite. The girls only glanced at them from afar before immediately withdrawing their gazes and continuing to rummage in a corner among piles of clothes stuffed in transparent plastic bags, trying to find their performance costumes. They didn’t even notice Meng Yanxi following behind the staff members, carrying a paper box as well.

It wasn’t until Meng Yanxi led the staff members to them and began handing out dresses according to each person’s reported measurements that everyone reacted—those paper boxes actually contained their performance costumes.

Had Taobao packaging become this elaborate now?

Then they noticed the expensive logo on the boxes. How could this be some Taobao wholesale item? A brand they usually only saw in fashion magazines, with counters only in top-tier malls, was now being held in the girls’ arms.

They were still just ordinary high school students. Even if some girls came from well-off families, it wasn’t to the point of wearing luxury brands of this level for a regular campus arts festival. Everyone was a little stunned.

“Did they make a mistake?”

“Who in our class was in charge of the costumes again?”

“That’s right, I was,” Meng Yanxi said, placing the paper box in his hands into Jin Zhao’s arms.

“This one is yours.” His pitch-black peach blossom eyes looked at Jin Zhao.

Jin Zhao’s fingertips unexpectedly brushed against the fine ridged texture of the hard paper box. She looked at him in surprise.

Meng Yanxi gestured to her. “Open it and take a look. If it doesn’t fit, it still needs alterations.”

“Still needs alterations”—like a curse—immediately snapped the stunned girls back to their senses. No one had time to ask more questions. They hurriedly untied the ribbons around the boxes.

The instant the lids were lifted, the fabric wrapped in silk lining crashed into view.

Gasps rose one after another around them.

“Wow!”

“Holy—!”

“My god! This is way too beautiful!”

Jin Zhao also drew in a soft breath.

Inside the box, a silk long dress lay quietly like a frozen flame. It was a true red that seemed almost to flow, a color like crimson jade tempered by fire, as if evening clouds had been crushed and soaked into the satin. With just one glance, it made you believe that truly top-grade fabric could be recognized with the naked eye.

The girls couldn’t wait and rushed to the changing rooms to put on their dance dresses.

All seven dresses came from the same brand and the same series, yet there were differences. The six accompanying dancers wore counter pieces, while Jin Zhao’s was a runway piece. The counter pieces balanced wearability for everyday use, retaining only the fabric of the runway version. The tailoring was relatively simplified, the skirt bodies no longer had feathers, and the most striking feature was the flowing sheen that shimmered as it draped, radiant and dazzling.

Jin Zhao’s, however, was the designer’s proud creation, painstakingly stitching molten-gold sunsets and fragmented cloud-feathers into the long dress, stitch by stitch.

Backstage in the auditorium, the door to the changing room was pulled open from the inside. Meng Yanxi, leaning against the makeup table, was listening to Luo Heng speak. At the faintest movement from the changing room, he immediately turned to look.

Warm yellow side lighting from the stage wrapped around a streak of flowing flame first, and then Jin Zhao stepped out, lifting the hem of her skirt.

The sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl was like a gardenia bud about to bloom—pure and clean, untainted by dust. In a silk long dress red like jade tempered by fire, below the waist, fluffy white feathers and crimson-tipped plumes were arranged irregularly. As she moved, it was as if wind swept feathers onto the skirt, snow-white star-waves surfacing within the flames.

That night, the stage lights were brilliant and dazzling, the spotlight scorching like the sun, yet in Meng Yanxi’s eyes, there was only her.

All the light became her backdrop; she herself was like a part of fire and light.

By then, Meng Yanxi’s sword dance had already ended. He didn’t return backstage. He sat in the audience; after Si Tian and Luo Heng’s xiangsheng came her Luo Shen.

The curtain fell, then slowly rose again. The stage had transformed into a water stage, a pure white background, like the banks of the Luo River in winter.

The girl in the silk, feather-adorned red dress leapt lightly on her toes, like a true goddess.

Meng Yanxi heard the gasps around him—

“So beautiful! It really looks like the Goddess of the Luo River!”

“Yeah, graceful as a startled swan, supple as a roaming dragon!”

“No, no—her dancing is indeed quite good, but it’s not the best. How should I put it? The most beautiful thing about her is that clean, compassionate aura she carries herself—almost divine. It’s so captivating.”

“Don’t say it—don’t say it… I’m a girl, and I’m about to fall in love with her!”

“Hey, what’s her name?”

“No idea, it’s Class A’s program. Let’s ask later…”

“Jin Zhao.” Meng Yanxi, seated in the front row, suddenly spoke.

The few students in the rows behind froze.

Meng Yanxi’s presence was so strong that the moment he sat down, everyone naturally noticed him, but everyone knew his aloof personality—no one dared to talk to him. That he would speak up on his own was something no one had expected.

Sensing the sudden silence behind him, he even turned back slightly, looked at them, and repeated, “Jin Zhao. Jin as in today’s jin, Zhao as in the blazing sacred fire.”

The students behind him didn’t know which class they were from—perhaps juniors or seniors—and, a beat slow, said flusteredly, “Ah, okay, okay, thank you, Meng-god!”

Meng Yanxi turned back and continued watching Jin Zhao onstage.

Beside him, Lu Jingyue glanced at the unfamiliar students behind them, then at Meng Yanxi, and smiled meaningfully.

Leaning in slightly, Lu Jingyue teased, “Meng-god really went all out—spent money, put in effort, even threw himself onto the stage to dance—just to exchange it all for one line at the end: ‘Jin Zhao. Jin as in today’s jin, Zhao as in the blazing sacred fire.’”

Meng Yanxi looked at the girl at center stage, as if he hadn’t heard.

A dance like a startled swan—like a dream spanning a thousand years. When it ended, applause surged like a tide, with boys’ and girls’ awed cries ringing out without end.

Meng Yanxi sat quietly within that roar, watching the girl onstage, like fire, like light, smiling as she bowed in thanks.

He always remembered what Jin Zhao had said that day to that little hooligan—I won’t cling to fleeting, illusory companionship, comfort, or affirmation, even if I’m in dire straits, isolated and without help. Because I know for myself how wonderful I am, how precious I am. Even if no one else can see it, it doesn’t matter—I know it myself.

No one could see it?

How could they not?

Wasn’t it right here, in plain sight?

From that day on, even if she were in dire straits, she would never again be isolated and without help.