Tao Zhi even held her breath.

The boy still carried the chill of late autumn from outside. His fingers were icy cold, but his palms were warm. The long fingers threaded through her hair, and that contradictory temperature and weight from him pressed lightly on the top of her head.

It felt comfortable, and a little ticklish.

She wanted to lift her hand to scratch, but was afraid that if she moved, Jiang Qihuai would stop patting her head.

Unable to control herself, she swayed her head slightly, her forehead nudging against his palm, rubbing it gently.

The girl’s soft strands of hair twined around his fingertips. The dark hair tangled with her pale skin, forming a stark contrast. Jiang Qihuai’s fingers bent slightly, then after a moment, he withdrew his hand.

The weight on top of her head lifted abruptly. It felt empty. Tao Zhi was a little unsatisfied, and looked at him regretfully, whispering, “You’re not going to pat me anymore?”

Jiang Qihuai hissed softly.

Tao Zhi immediately became obedient. “I was talking nonsense. I was wrong.”

Grandpa Jiang had his back to the two young people, his eyes on his book, his gaze steady on his nose and his nose steady on his mouth, trying his best to blend into the living room wall and pretend he didn’t exist.

Jiang Qihuai raised his head and glanced over.

Only then did Tao Zhi remember that Grandpa Jiang was still in the living room. She quickly put down the test paper in her hand with a “swish,” pulled her small stool back to the other side of the coffee table, and quietly continued working on her test.

The coffee table was a bit low, with no place to stretch her legs. She bent her knees, rested her chin on them, curling herself up like a little shrimp, pretending to be well-behaved as she wrote.

Jiang Qihuai took off his jacket and hung it to the side, tilting his head slightly. “Why not write inside?”

The tip of Tao Zhi’s pen slid over a question. She hummed, “You weren’t home. Without permission, one shouldn’t trespass into private territory—even little animals know that.”

Jiang Qihuai bent down, picked up her small backpack from the sofa, and walked toward the bedroom. “Go inside and write.”

Tao Zhi gathered her papers and trotted after him.

As she stood up, she turned back to glance at Grandpa Jiang.

The old man also turned his head toward her. Their eyes met, and Grandpa Jiang gave her a quick wink.

Tao Zhi rubbed her face, feeling a little awkward.

She couldn’t shake the guilty feeling that she had somehow taken advantage of the old man’s grandson right in front of him.

Jiang Qihuai’s room wasn’t much different from the last time she’d come. It was still tidy and simple, the quilt on the bed laid perfectly flat, reminding Tao Zhi of her own bed that could never be folded properly.

She didn’t like folding quilts and never let Aunt Zhang fold them either. Every morning she just piled them up into a small mound, the middle bulging like a little hill. At night, after showering, she would dive straight in and bury herself inside.

In the north, November already had heating. The bedroom was warm and dry. In the soft beams of the setting sun, one could see tiny specks of dust floating in the air.

Tao Zhi placed her test papers on the desk but didn’t sit down. Instead, she ran to the door and, with an air of mystery, beckoned Jiang Qihuai over. “Come here.”

Jiang Qihuai followed her out.

Tao Zhi entered the kitchen. Inside were two large bags. She opened one and took out two big boxes of strawberries, turning around proudly to show him. “I bought lots of strawberries.”

Jiang Qihuai glanced at the items on the counter. “You bought all these?”

“Can’t always come here to eat and drink for free,” Tao Zhi said, tearing off the plastic wrap from the strawberry box. As she walked to the sink, Jiang Qihuai had already turned on the tap and washed his hands. “Let me.”

He casually took the box from her hand. Tao Zhi didn’t insist, letting go and standing aside to watch.

He pulled a fruit plate from the cupboard, plucked the leaves from the strawberries one by one, tossing them in as he rinsed them. His motions were careful and practiced.

Leaning against the wall, Tao Zhi watched him and suddenly remembered—this was something she liked to eat. Because she liked it, she wanted to share it with him.

But as for Jiang Qihuai’s own preferences, she didn’t know a single thing.

What he liked, what he disliked, what foods he enjoyed—everything seemed blank. In this person’s life, there appeared to be nothing beyond studying and earning money.

Tao Zhi suddenly felt uncomfortable. Though they were about the same age, it seemed they lived completely different lives.

She didn’t need to do any chores. She never worried about food, clothing, or money, nor did she have to think about the burdens of life. Every day she lived under Tao Xiuping’s protection, yet still had so many moments that made her feel sad.

For Jiang Qihuai, such moments would only be more, not less.

Did he ever, when alone, feel that life was unbearably hard?

Tao Zhi’s mood grew a little heavy. Pressing her lips together, she looked at him. “Your Highness, do you have anything you like to eat?”

Jiang Qihuai placed a washed strawberry into the fruit plate. “No.”

Tao Zhi leaned her head forward. “Fruits then, not even that?”

“Mm.”

Tao Zhi licked her lips, hesitated for a moment, then gathered her courage to ask, “Peaches?”

Jiang Qihuai paused, lifting his head.

She blinked up at him, her face innocent. “You don’t like those either?”

The sound of running water filled the kitchen, and her voice was soft, carrying no particular intent.

Jiang Qihuai looked at her, the corners of his peach-blossom eyes narrowing slightly.

This little girl was like a clever, mischievous kitten—reaching out a paw to tentatively touch him, then quickly pulling back. After a moment of quiet, she would stretch out her paw again to scratch and tease him lightly, before once more flicking her tail and slipping away.

She was quite practiced at it.

So practiced it stirred a faint, inexplicable irritation in him.

Jiang Qihuai’s mood dropped another two degrees. Holding the plate of freshly washed strawberries, he turned around. “Hands out.”

Tao Zhi obediently stretched out her hands.

Jiang Qihuai set the fruit plate into her palms and walked out of the kitchen, his voice light as air. “I’m allergic to peaches.”

Tao Zhi: “…”

She divided the strawberries into two plates—one left in the living room for Grandpa Jiang, the other carried into the bedroom and placed on the desk.

When dinner time came, she continued working on the test she hadn’t finished earlier in the living room.

Not long after, Jiang Qihuai was driven out of the kitchen again by Grandpa Jiang. The old man seemed stubbornly intent on reclaiming his chance to show off.

When Jiang Qihuai entered the bedroom, he saw Tao Zhi tapping her nose with her pen, frowning deeply at a question.

He walked over, sat on the edge of the bed, and casually picked up the test paper she had shown him earlier—the one she had answered completely correctly.

Most of them were long-answer questions. Tao Zhi’s handwriting was very easy to recognize, and beside her problem-solving process, there would occasionally appear another line of smaller characters.

It was written with the same color pen, yet the handwriting was entirely different—neat and beautiful.

Jiang Qihuai paused for a moment.

Tao Zhi, unable to solve the problem in front of her, turned her head to look at him. Her gaze fell naturally onto the test paper, and she pointed to the small handwriting beside her answers, smiling happily. “This is another method my tutor wrote for me.”

Jiang Qihuai lifted his eyes. “You hired a tutor?”

Tao Zhi nodded, raising two fingers. “He’s a sophomore, also from the experimental school. I thought having a student was too young at first and wanted Dad to find me a teacher with more experience. But this senior explains things really clearly.”

Senior.

Jiang Qihuai nodded too, but said nothing more.

Tao Zhi didn’t notice anything off and kept doing her questions.

She got stuck on the previous one and wanted to ask Jiang Qihuai, but he had already pulled out an exercise book from the desk and lowered his head to start writing.

His pen moved swiftly across the page, smooth and quick. Tao Zhi didn’t want to disturb him or make him lose focus because of her question, so after thinking for a while, she decided to skip that problem and continued downward.

Jiang Qihuai waited silently all the way until Grandpa Jiang called them out for dinner. Tao Zhi still hadn’t spoken to him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at her test paper. The question she couldn’t solve earlier was left blank, but she had finished all the ones below it.

He had been sitting right next to her the entire time, yet this little ungrateful thing—now that she had her senior tutor—didn’t ask him a single question anymore.

Not a single one.

She must think his level wasn’t as good as that senior’s.

The corners of Jiang Qihuai’s lips drooped. He put down his pen, closed the exercise book, and stood up to leave the room.

For the entire dinner, he didn’t say another word.

Even Tao Zhi, whose nerves weren’t particularly sensitive, could tell something was off.

Grandpa Jiang glanced at his silent grandson, then looked at Tao Zhi and mouthed silently: Did you two quarrel?

Tao Zhi shook her head, clutching her chopsticks, completely unsure what had gone wrong.

When he first saw her that day, he’d clearly been happy—he even patted her head and told her she was amazing.

Tao Zhi grew restless. She thought boys were really hard to understand.

If it were any other time, she would’ve just asked directly. But with Grandpa Jiang sitting there, she didn’t dare say much.

The few of them ate quietly. Only Tao Zhi occasionally chatted and laughed with Grandpa Jiang. Jiang Qihuai remained silent the whole time.

By the time dinner ended, Tao Zhi’s mood had also dimmed. She didn’t stay long—after helping Grandpa Jiang clean up the dishes, she packed up her things and prepared to leave.

Jiang Qihuai walked her downstairs.

The stairwell was quiet. Tao Zhi kept her head down, walking quickly all the way down. When she pushed open the security door, the cold wind rushed in, slipping through her coat and chilling her all over.

Tao Zhi was starting to get a little sulky too.

This person’s temperament was really annoying.

She had absolutely no idea what she’d done to make him upset again.

After they walked out of the apartment building and reached the mouth of the alley, the more she thought about it, the more frustrated she became. Finally, she couldn’t hold it in.

Her steps stopped abruptly. She spun around, frowning in irritation as she glared at him. “What did I do to make you mad again?”

Jiang Qihuai, following behind her, almost couldn’t stop in time—he leaned back slightly so he wouldn’t bump into her.

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you standing there with that cold face, throwing a tantrum?” Tao Zhi said in exasperation. “You didn’t talk during dinner, and now you’re walking me down without saying a word either. Why is your personality so annoying?”

Jiang Qihuai didn’t answer.

The alley fell silent. A cat curled up by the wall lifted its head warily to look at them from time to time.

After a long pause, Jiang Qihuai suddenly said, without beginning or end, “When I explain problems, you can’t understand them?”

The words caught in Tao Zhi’s throat. She stared up at him blankly, not quite catching on. “Huh? I can understand.”

Jiang Qihuai pressed his lips together. “If you can, why didn’t you ask?”

She froze for two seconds—then suddenly understood.

The top student felt overshadowed.

The top student’s pride had been wounded.

This person always looked so cold and detached, yet somehow managed to act childish about the strangest things.

“But you were doing your own work at the time,” Tao Zhi said aggrievedly. “And you weren’t even looking at me. You saw that I couldn’t solve it, and you didn’t take the initiative to explain either.”

The girl looked up at him, pitiful and frustrated. Jiang Qihuai met her eyes for a moment. “Your senior tutor can.”

“That’s not the same,” Tao Zhi pouted.

“What’s different.”

“Everything’s different,” she frowned. “A tutor is just a tutor. How can you and he be the same?”

Their voices rose slightly. The cat crouched by the wall seemed startled, letting out a sharp “meow” before darting into the deeper shadows of the alley.

The old streetlight flickered and buzzed, its dim light stretching their shadows long across the ground.

Jiang Qihuai lowered his eyes. The girl’s head was bowed too, her soft hair falling over her shoulders, a tiny swirl at the crown.

“Tao Zhi,” he suddenly called.

Tao Zhi looked up, her cheeks still puffed in displeasure.

Jiang Qihuai gazed at her calmly.

“Do you like me?”