"Marcus..." she whispered again, her breath caressing his earlobe with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine.
Too beautiful. This dream was impossibly beautiful. Marcus had surrendered completely to the moment, his arms pulling the slender figure against him with uncontrolled intensity, harboring a desperate wish to somehow merge her into his very bones, to make her part of his flesh and blood.
He lowered his head, his nose grazing against the fragrant silk of her hair. He inhaled deeply, drawing in that crisp, distinctive camellia scent, and exhaled a sigh of pure contentment:
"Elena..."
Yet even within the throes of this ultimate sensory indulgence, something strange suddenly registered within his right ear—a peculiar sensation of being touched, an itch so light it was almost imperceptible.
Elena's fingers, which had been lingering so tenderly along his earlobe, had somehow—with practiced precision and delicate dexterity—slipped into his ear canal. With a single, expertly executed movement, she hooked out the hidden white wireless earbud that had been clinging so snugly to his eardrum.
!!!
Marcus's heart seized. It was as if an invisible fist had grabbed hold of it and squeezed with terrible force, grinding it to a halt entirely. A tremendous buzzing erupted in his ears, drowning out the world, consuming all sound, all sense. Simultaneously, the number glowing in his consciousness—the one representing his "Positive Value"—began to flash and jump with frantic urgency, skyrocketing upward. Within seconds, it had surged by more than two hundred points.
What kind of extraordinary dream was this?! Not only was it sensually intoxicating, but it also brought such extraordinary "returns"! He was now substantially closer to the target of 888 points needed to exchange for the Black Jade Meridian-Restoring Oil and Scar Removal Ointment. This purchase could finally restore his meridians
The shock of such an enormous "reward" sent his adrenaline skyrocketing to dizzying heights. Instinctively, he tightened his embrace around Elena with surprising force, holding her with an intensity that spoke to his desperate wish to crush her, to absorb her into his own body, to make her truly part of him.
"Elena..." he murmured unconsciously, his consciousness seesawing wildly between the pinnacle of ecstasy and some deep, primitive alarm buried in his subconscious. He was balanced precariously on the edge of a cliff, teetering between rationality and intoxicated abandon.
Then, in the midst of this haze of confusion, this blurring of fantasy and reality, he suddenly became aware of something else—something that cut through the rich fragrance of camellias like a blade through silk. It was a scent cold and clinical, completely devoid of any sensuality, wholly at odds with everything around it.
He turned his head sharply—
And his eyes collided with an entirely different gaze. This gaze was sharp and clear, cold as winter ice, and it held something far more terrifying than passion: undisguised mockery and the unmistakable stance of absolute victory.
Elena was looking down at him from above, and there was still a trace of that seductive smile lingering at the corners of her mouth—the smile of the "dream lover" she had been performing moments before—but her eyes told a completely different story. They were like blades that had been tempered in a forge of absolute zero.
What filled him with even greater horror was what he saw between her parted, rosy lips: his white earbud, still warm with the heat of his own body, gently held between her perfect teeth.
Marcus's pupils contracted to pinpoints. The blood throughout his entire body seemed to crystallize, to freeze solid in his veins.
This was not a dream.
Having achieved her objective, Elena's last vestige of feigned tenderness evaporated entirely, as though it had never existed at all.
She rose with fluid, decisive grace, pulling herself free from his grip, and elegantly expelled the earbud from her lips, letting it fall to the floor as though it were nothing more than trash—something disgusting and disposable.
She crossed her arms in front of her body, regarding the man now sitting frozen on the bed with absolute composure. When she spoke, her voice had reverted to its characteristic coldness, and beneath that coldness ran an unmistakable current of icy mockery:
"Marcus."
The sound of her genuine, frigid voice jolted him like electricity. He lurched upright on the mattress with the reflexive speed of a cat whose tail had just been stepped on:
"I... Elena?"
"Don't ever attempt these vulgar, undignified tricks in front of me again," she said, her voice deceptively soft, yet each word fell like a chunk of ice, landing with impact.
"If you do, your fate will be identical to that of your little device—I'll dispose of it myself. Down the toilet."
The color drained from Marcus's face. Cold sweat erupted across his back, soaking through his silk pajamas. He struggled to suppress the tempestuous waves of panic crashing through his chest, forcing his lips into a smile that was uglier than any grimace of pain, attempting one final, desperate deflection:
"You... what are you talking about? What device? I don't understand what you mean..."
Elena's lips curved into an extremely faint arc—barely perceptible, yet chillingly precise. She clearly had no intention of wasting further words on him.
"This time," she said, pausing deliberately, "given certain... performances I've observed, I'm willing to overlook this transgression."
She glanced pointedly at his ears, which still bore a faint blush of color from the blood rushing to his face, then shifted her tone entirely:
" "Get up quickly, clean up, I'm going to be late for school." "
With that, she turned away from him without another glance. She took command of her wheelchair with practiced ease and departed, leaving the room with an elegance and decisiveness that seemed to underscore the absolute finality of her judgment. Marcus remained frozen in place long after she'd gone, his body shaking, drenched in perspiration, his heart pounding so violently he thought it might break through his ribs.
After all of that—after everything he'd experienced—it turned out that Elena's sudden, passionate embrace had never been motivated by affection or system rewards or dream-fulfillment at all. It had been a calculated operation to locate and extract the listening device he'd planted without her knowledge.
She had used her own body as bait. She had used his desire against him. She had weaponized the very thing he'd been convinced would bring him reward. What a ruthlessly brilliant person she was.
But then... he touched his hand to his chest, feeling the continued rapid hammering of his heart beneath his palm. And he became aware of something else: the undeniable fact that his Positive Value had genuinely, substantially increased by more than two hundred points.
The points were real. The increase was tangible.
So perhaps... it hadn't been such a loss after all?
The tree-lined path that cut through Qingchuan Academy's campus had become as familiar to Marcus as his own heartbeat. By now, he'd grown entirely accustomed to the gazes that followed him wherever he went—some curious, some probing, others complicated by jealousy or admiration or something he couldn't quite identify. He'd learned to walk these paths with his eyes forward, focusing solely on the wheelchair before him.
He pushed Elena's wheelchair with steady, practiced movements toward the main teaching building. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves overhead, creating a dappled pattern of light and shadow that shifted across them with each step.
They hadn't traveled far before Summer Chen came rushing toward them, her uniform skirt hugging her figure, her entire being radiating youthful energy and vitality. She jogged up to them and offered Marcus a polite greeting, then shifted naturally to the other side of Elena's wheelchair, falling into step beside her with the ease of long familiarity.
"Elena, have you heard what happened yesterday?" Summer's voice dropped low, and her eyes still held traces of shock that hadn't fully settled. "It was absolutely terrifying. Even now, just thinking about it makes my spine crawl."
Elena kept her gaze forward, her expression perfectly neutral. "Yes. I'm aware."
"But," Summer continued, her tone shifting to something that carried an undercurrent of satisfaction, "Veronica—she's always been arrogant, always throwing her weight around, always doing terrible things. I suppose you could say this is simply what she deserved. Karma, manifesting."
As she spoke, she unconsciously rubbed at her own wrist, the gesture suggesting that unpleasant memories still resided there, still ached in certain ways. "This arm of mine still hurts on rainy days, you know. Probably will for the rest of my life."
Elena's lips curved into an extremely subtle arc, barely visible, yet unmistakably cold. When she spoke, her voice was soft but carried with it a sense of absolute finality, of pronouncing judgment:
"The saying is appropriate: those who sow wickedness will reap destruction."
Summer nodded vigorously in agreement, her entire body language conveying her wholehearted acceptance of this philosophy:
"Now girls throughout the school are absolutely panicked. Everyone's terrified they'll be next. Elena, when you didn't show up for class yesterday, I was so worried about you. I kept thinking that maybe you'd also..."
"I'm fine," Elena interrupted gently, pressing her lips together briefly. Then her voice shifted, becoming almost casual as she asked: "How is Adrian doing? Teacher Qi, I mean. Is he... managing?"
Summer released a small sigh:
"Teacher Qi been absolutely swamped with work lately. Since he's our homeroom teacher and the class has been through such a major incident, all the pressure from the school administration and all the worried parents has landed squarely on his shoulders. It's been brutal."
And as though summoned by the mere mention of his name, Adrian Qi appeared around the approaching corner, his appearance impeccably fresh despite his reported exhaustion.
He wore a crisp white dress shirt paired with light-colored jeans, and frameless glasses perched across the bridge of his nose gave him an air of refined intellectualism. His features were broad and open, his demeanor gentle and composed, and his face displayed exactly the right calibration of concern without appearing burdened by the trivialities of administrative work. Rather, he seemed somehow energized, refreshed—almost revitalized.
"Elena's arrived," Adrian said, quickening his pace to greet them. His textbooks were tucked under one arm. His gaze fell first upon Elena, and when he smiled at her, it was warm and refined and entirely proper.