Ever since the Qiao family's downfall, today was the first day Qiao Wei had felt even a little at ease.
That uptight bookworm—whether during class or after, apart from bathroom breaks—was always doing practice problems. Not only that, she made her do them too.
At this rate, Qiao Wei suspected the entire pile of exercise books would be finished by tomorrow.
Now it was after school. Students shouldered their backpacks and began filing out of the classroom.
Qiao Wei glanced at A Xin, who was still bent over her desk writing, and asked cautiously,
"School's over. Aren't you leaving?"
"Almost done."
A Xin turned her head slightly and gave a faint smile. With her thick black bangs and large glasses covering half her face, the expression was so subtle Qiao Wei almost missed it.
Qiao Wei nearly choked on air. "You're… not leaving until you finish your homework?"
"Is that a problem?"
"No… no problem." She shook her head.
Bookworm logic. I can't understand this world, she thought helplessly.
Watching the classroom gradually empty made her chest tighten again.
The good mood she'd had earlier disappeared.
She didn't want to go home.
Since the scandal, her mother's scolding and her father's drunken rants had filled the house.
Everyone—relatives, neighbors—blamed her for everything.
If she hadn't provoked Lin Xiao'ai, the Qiao family wouldn't have fallen, they said.
Her eyes dimmed.
"Let's go."
A Xin slid her workbook into the desk drawer, packed her bag, and then—without a word—helped Qiao Wei pack hers too.
The small, thoughtful gesture made Qiao Wei's nose sting.
It had been a long time since anyone had shown her such simple kindness.
Not her parents, not her classmates, not even her teachers.
"I'll walk you home."
"What?"
Qiao Wei looked up in surprise. The bookworm's expression was calm—serious, even—but there was no trace of mockery.
"You don't have to," she said awkwardly. "I can ride my bike."
Once upon a time she'd had a chauffeur. Now, it was just her and her bicycle.
But A Xin simply lifted the bag onto Qiao Wei's back and took her hand, leading her toward the door.
Qiao Wei froze, caught between surprise and confusion.
The sudden warmth made her heart ache.
She didn't want to pull away.
"Yun Xin," she whispered, "why are you suddenly being so nice to me?"
Her voice trembled. "Don't you think I deserve all this—like everyone else says?"
A Xin turned her head, the faintest smile curling her lips.
"You're only asking now? Isn't it a bit late? If I had bad intentions, you'd have been sold off already."
"You—!"
Qiao Wei glared at her, half angry, half flustered.
This bookworm… she's decent, but her mouth could kill someone.
"I'm just asking. Nobody's nice for no reason. You must have a motive."
Of course, she couldn't imagine what that motive could be.
She had no money, no status—nothing left worth scheming for.
She'd been used before. Everyone who'd once approached her had wanted something.
And when the Qiao family fell, they'd all disappeared.
She'd rather believe Yun Xin had a hidden agenda than believe someone could simply be kind.
Being cared for was dangerous—it made her hope again. And she couldn't bear another betrayal.
Seeing the fear and hesitation flicker in Qiao Wei's eyes, A Xin hesitated briefly before saying,
"You're right. I do have a purpose."
Qiao Wei blinked, a brief pang of disappointment flashing through her before relief set in.
A motive meant boundaries—meant safety.
"Oh… What is it then? What do you want me to do?"
A Xin's lips curved faintly beneath her glasses.
"I can't stand Lin Xiao'ai. Helping you is the same as striking back at her."
A believable reason.
No one trusted unearned kindness, but a shared enemy? That built trust fast.
Qiao Wei's eyes widened. "You don't like Lin Xiao'ai? Even a bookworm can hate people?"
She leaned closer, looping her arm through A Xin's. "Why though? Don't tell me… you like Ji Jiang too?"
Her eyes lit up with mock scandal. "You must, right? He's the school heartthrob—good looks, rich family, the whole package. Most girls in school adore him. But now that he's with Lin Xiao'ai, no one dares touch her. She's under his protection."
She clicked her tongue. "Never thought I'd see the day—even the bookworm's fallen for him."
A Xin didn't bother explaining. It didn't matter.
What mattered was getting Qiao Wei to focus on her own life again—to help her stand tall, live well, be happy.
Why that mattered to her, A Xin couldn't say. She just… wanted to.
"Hey, bookworm! I nailed it, didn't I?" Qiao Wei teased.
"Well, fine. Since we have a common enemy, I'll accept your kindness. So tell me—what's the plan? How do we bring down Lin Xiao'ai?"
Her eyes glinted mischievously. "We could kidnap her after school, rough her up a bit? Take some… compromising photos? Maybe just slap her a few times. Ugh, her little innocent face drives me crazy. I really want to mess with her."
A Xin immediately caught her by the wrist.
"Qiao Wei, that's not acceptable. This is a lawful society. Violence isn't justice—it's just another crime.
Even if you got revenge, you'd ruin your own future. End up in detention, maybe prison. Is that worth it?"
Qiao Wei faltered. The image of being dragged off by police flashed in her mind.
She might not even survive a scandal like that. The old Qiao family power was gone—no one could cover for her now.
"Fine," she muttered, looking down. "No violence then."
"Spreading rumors, maybe?" she said after a moment, eyes brightening again. "If we start small, no one will know. Plenty of people hate her anyway—just one spark and they'll tear her apart online."
A Xin sighed inwardly. This girl's brain is a crime generator.
"With the Ji family's influence, they'd shut it down fast—and find out who started it. You know exactly what that means, don't you?"
Qiao Wei's face turned pale.
Right. She knew. The Ji family could crush anyone with a phone call.
Her shoulders slumped. "Then what do I do? Every time I see her cry, people rush to comfort her like she's some saint. Everyone thinks I'm the bully. If I actually bullied her, fine—but I didn't! I said two words and suddenly I'm the villain!"
"I think," A Xin said calmly, "you should study hard, improve your grades, and earn enough to pay next semester's tuition. That's the real battle. If you can't, you'll have to transfer—or worse, drop out. Can you imagine the entire school watching you pack up and leave?"
Qiao Wei's face drained of color.
Her mother had already said it—if they couldn't afford the tuition, she'd be moved to a cheaper public school.
Her father had been even crueller: told her to quit altogether and get a job, to "make up for her mistakes."
The thought alone made her want to cry.
But she blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.
"Yun Xin, what do I do?" she whispered. "I don't want to transfer. I don't want to quit school. I'm only sixteen—I…"
A Xin squeezed her hand gently, pulling out a tissue to wipe her tears.
"Enough crying. You're talented—you can earn it."
"Talented?" Qiao Wei repeated, stunned. Me?
"You can play piano, right? Coincidentally, the kid I tutor wants a piano teacher. They also mentioned hiring an English tutor. You're good at both."
Qiao Wei stared at her in disbelief. "You really think I can?"
"Why not? You won't know until you try."
So A Xin brought her along that very afternoon.
The child she tutored was seven, struggling with math. A Xin taught him arithmetic; his parents were looking for someone to handle the arts and English.
When they arrived, A Xin calmly introduced Qiao Wei's skills.
Nervous but determined, Qiao Wei sat down at the grand piano, straightened her back, and began to play.
Every note was clear and bright—her fingers trembling at first, then steadying as the melody carried her away.
When she finished, the parents applauded, delighted.
Then they asked her to speak some English.
Her accent was clean, her pronunciation confident. By the time she finished, they were beaming like they'd found a hidden gem.
They hired her on the spot—with generous pay.
As they left the house, Qiao Wei was drenched in cold sweat, her legs weak.
She clung to A Xin's arm and let out two muffled sobs.
"He said I played beautifully," she whispered.
"He said my English was… really good."
For the first time in a long while, someone had looked at her—not with pity or scorn—but with approval.
And it felt wonderful.