After class ended, a crowd gathered almost immediately.
Students drifted over in twos and threes, then in clusters, curiosity pulling them toward the new transfer student as surely as gravity. Rumors were sweeter than homework; mystery was more tempting than textbooks. Before long, half the room seemed to be hovering nearby, pretending not to stare while staring anyway.
Mu Qingyue, however, had already leaned back against the wall and fallen asleep.
Her eyes were closed, lashes long and dark, trembling faintly like butterfly wings with each quiet breath. Outside the window, sunlight poured in—fine, broken gold—catching in her ink-black hair and scattering pale glimmers across the strands. It made her look as though she were lit from within, as though some delicate radiance clung to her skin.
When she slept, the sharpness in her vanished.
Her presence became eerily quiet, almost unreal—transparent in a way that did not belong to ordinary people. For a fleeting moment, it gave onlookers the illusion that she wasn't a rebellious human girl at all, but some careless spirit that had drifted down into the mortal world by accident.
Hollow. Ethereal.
Someone whispered with a mixture of awe and disbelief, "She dares to sleep in homeroom teacher's class… as expected of her."
Another muttered bitterly, "Last time I nodded off for ten seconds, I got dragged to the office and lectured for half an hour…"
Homeroom teacher Yu Shuxian was strict to the point of severity. Rumor had it her family background was not simple, which was precisely why she treated all students the same—whether they were rich or powerful or brilliant, she didn't flatter them, didn't fear them, didn't indulge them.
And a troublemaker like Mu Qingyue—someone whose poor grades could "drag down the class average"—was exactly the kind of student Yu Shuxian would despise.
Sure enough, the class monitor approached.
Qin Ziqiao.
The moment he appeared, the students unconsciously stepped aside to make way. The girls' hearts fluttered wildly at the sight of his handsome face. Some lowered their eyes shyly; others stared openly, unable to help themselves.
He stopped one desk away from Mu Qingyue and spoke in a low, controlled voice.
"Mu Qingyue. The homeroom teacher wants you in the office."
Mu Qingyue didn't move.
Her eyes remained closed, expression serene. Sunlight gilded the thick fringe of her lashes until they looked touched by gold.
"Wake up," Qin Ziqiao said, a faint impatience slipping into his tone.
He reached out.
He wanted to see the face beneath the mask.
Was it really still ugly, as everyone claimed?
His fingers were just about to touch the edge of her mask when—
Mu Qingyue's eyes snapped open.
In that instant, her pupils flashed like polished glass catching fire—sharp, cold, and terrifyingly bright. It was as if a sword had been drawn from its sheath, the blade aimed straight at the heart of whoever dared approach.
The air turned heavy.
Students around them felt a faint, chilling murderous aura ripple outward. They flinched, startled, and several took instinctive steps back, fear tightening their throats before they even understood why.
A heartbeat passed.
Then Mu Qingyue blinked slowly, drowsiness returning. The killing intent dissolved as quickly as it had appeared, melting back into languid calm. She stretched, shoulders rolling, as though she had merely been disturbed from a pleasant nap.
"Where's the office?" she asked, voice hoarse with sleep.
"I'll take you," Qin Ziqiao said.
He steadied himself, then turned away, though a trace of awkwardness lingered in his eyes—an embarrassing regret that his little attempt hadn't succeeded.
Mu Qingyue rose. "Let's go."
Her desk mate moved aside to let her pass and muttered kindly, "No matter what the homeroom teacher says, treat it like nonsense. Don't take it to heart."
Mu Qingyue tilted her head slightly, the corner of her eye lifting with faint amusement. "Anyone who could make me take something to heart hasn't been born yet."
The smile in her eyes struck Shu Zihang like a sudden blow.
His chest tightened. His mind went blank for a moment, as though the world had tilted. Around them, other students stared too—stunned, captivated, unable to tear their gaze from her as she walked away, her back straight and her steps lazy, leaving behind a trail of quiet, inexplicable pressure.
Qin Ziqiao escorted Mu Qingyue to the office.
He had wanted to linger—perhaps to hear what the teacher would say, perhaps to keep her within his line of sight. But the physics teacher stopped him and instructed him to bring the test papers for the next class back to his classroom.
So he had no choice but to leave the office.
On the way, he ran into Mu Xiaonan.
She wasn't in the same class as him.
"Brother Ziqiao," she called softly, quickening her pace to catch up, her voice gentle as always.
Mu Xiaonan was half a year younger than Qin Ziqiao and had always addressed him that way. Once, the title had sounded natural to him—pleasant, even.
Now, for some reason, it no longer felt quite as satisfying.
In fact, he found himself wondering—absurdly—what it would sound like if another girl said it instead.
Mu Xiaonan tilted her head with a worried expression, performing concern with graceful ease. "Did Qingyue upset the teacher again?" she asked. "She's still the same, isn't she—always causing trouble for everyone."
Qin Ziqiao's reply was unexpectedly calm. "Sleeping in class isn't that big of a deal."
With that, he stepped into his classroom.
Mu Xiaonan froze.
She stared at his retreating back, her gaze sharpening with thought. Her lips slowly pressed together, and a thread of resentment rose in her eyes—dark, quiet, poisonous.
Inside the office, Yu Shuxian tapped her desk with her knuckles and raised her eyelids with visible impatience.
"Mu Qingyue!" she barked.