Outside the office window, several boys were crouched like sneaky sparrows on a wire, elbows braced on the sill, faces pressed close as they craned for a better view. Their eyes darted with excitement, brows waggling in silent jokes.
They had come for entertainment.
They fully intended to return to class afterward and deliver a vivid retelling—how the notoriously arrogant transfer student, the one who acted as if rules were beneath her, had finally been dragged into the office and humiliated.
They were already composing the story in their heads.
Except—
What they saw next made their jaws drop.
Mu Qingyue, utterly unbothered, pulled over an office chair with one hand and sat down as comfortably as if she owned the place.
Then she crossed one leg over the other.
Casually. Naturally. Like a queen settling into her throne.
The boys nearly swallowed their tongues.
Holy—
This attitude… she really was that kind of person. Not just rebellious. Not just shameless. She was the type who treated authority as background noise.
And look—
Yu Shuxian's mouth was practically twisting with rage.
The rumors suddenly felt very real. The story about her making the math teacher sick? At this rate, it might even have been an understatement.
"I told you to sit?" Yu Shuxian snapped, voice sharp with fury. "Did I tell you to drag someone else's chair over and sit in it?!"
This was beyond improper.
It was a direct provocation.
Mu Qingyue looked as though she still carried a trace of sleepiness. She yawned, unhurried and careless. "If I'm not allowed to sit," she said lazily, "then you want me standing here the whole time. That's punishment. Corporal punishment, isn't it?"
Yu Shuxian's face stiffened.
For a moment, she was speechless.
Then she forced out, "How can you be so delicate? Standing for a while counts as corporal punishment now?"
But the words came out thin, lacking conviction—because every teacher in that building knew the truth.
Making a student stand for discipline was a form of corporal punishment.
Mu Qingyue smiled. Her catlike eyes curved slowly, soft and bright, as if she were politely amused rather than challenged. "All right," she said. "Say what you came to say. I'm listening."
"…!"
Yu Shuxian stared at her.
How was she supposed to lecture someone who looked less like a student being reprimanded and more like an honored guest idly entertaining herself? Mu Qingyue's posture didn't hold the slightest trace of guilt. She sat there with the relaxed air of someone indulging a trivial inconvenience.
No matter how many reprimands Yu Shuxian had prepared, they jammed in her throat like thorns. She couldn't get them out cleanly.
After a long, cold pause, she finally spoke, voice clipped and stern. "Don't say I never gave you a chance. If you fail even one subject on the next joint exam, you will transfer out of my class. I can't teach you."
Mu Qingyue had been away from school for two years.
And the next joint exam was only a few days away.
Yu Shuxian, as one of the exam setters, only needed to adjust the difficulty slightly—just slightly—and Mu Qingyue would be pushed out like trash. The thought soothed Yu Shuxian's temper. It gave her the satisfaction of control.
Mu Qingyue didn't look the least bit concerned. "Understood," she said lightly. "Anything else?"
"No!" Yu Shuxian barked—her anger flaring again at that infuriatingly casual attitude.
Mu Qingyue rose. Before leaving, she glanced at the boys outside the window—still frozen there with wide eyes and gaping mouths—then said nothing, simply strolling out of the office with lazy indifference.
During P.E., the gymnasium buzzed with lively energy.
Two classes mixed together on the volleyball court, boys and girls laughing as they served, jumped, missed, argued, and cheered. The air was bright with youth, filled with motion and noise, as though the world had nothing in it but sun and sweat and careless joy.
Except—
On a bench off to the side, one figure lay collapsed like a boneless cat.
Mu Qingyue's eyes were half-lidded with drowsiness. She held her phone in one hand, and her slender, pale fingertips flicked across the screen again and again with smooth impatience.
An auction listing filled the display.
"That one—yes, that one!" Xiaosu squealed, floating invisibly beside her. The chubby little spirit jabbed the screen with a pudgy finger. "Millennial Iceheart Lingzhi! We have to get it!"
Mu Qingyue narrowed her eyes. "The starting price isn't low," she said quietly. "And I'm short on cash right now."
Xiaosu puffed up, outraged. "Short on cash again?!" it complained. "You spend money too fast! Faster than a river runs!"
It had never seen someone burn through tens of millions in a single night with such ease. Even water took time to flow—Mu Qingyue seemed to make money vanish.
A shadow fell over the bench.
Mu Qingyue's thumb tapped the screen dark, and she lifted her gaze slowly.
"Tilt your head up, Qingyue," a gentle voice said. "Want some snacks?"
Mu Xiaonan stood before her with a few friends clustered behind her, all wearing bright expressions and the practiced interest of girls who had come not to share, but to observe.
Mu Xiaonan extended a bag of spicy potato chips toward Mu Qingyue as if offering kindness.
Mu Qingyue's eyes drifted away, bored. "Not hungry."
"Just have a little," Mu Xiaonan coaxed, her smile soft and sweet, her hand stubbornly remaining outstretched. "Try it. It's really good."
But her sweetness was only the wrapping.
Her true intention was sharp and ugly beneath it.
She wanted an excuse.
An excuse to make Mu Qingyue remove her mask.
Because she knew Mu Qingyue's face had been ruined. She knew about the long scar. She knew that to hide it, Mu Qingyue would have to smear on thick makeup—like before, like a grotesque mask—layering powder over damage that could not be erased.
No matter what, the instant Mu Qingyue's mask came off—
Everyone would be disillusioned.