Chapter Twenty-One: Tutoring You

Wen Yichen spoke as he reached for a pen from the holder, opened his workbook, and, while glancing at the questions, lazily spun the pen between his fingers.

Jiang Muwen, imitating Wen Yichen, took out her own workbook as well—she couldn’t let such a good opportunity to do homework alongside the top student slip by.

Time ticked by, and soon the pace between the two began to diverge. While Jiang Muwen had only managed to solve a handful of small problems, Wen Yichen had already completed an entire major question.

Jiang Muwen glanced quietly at Wen Yichen’s paper, then fell into deep thought.

Sometimes, the distance between her and Wen Yichen really was just a matter of a brain—a clever brain.

She had lost count of how many times she’d wondered if what sat atop her neck wasn’t a head, but a ball.

Perhaps she stared too intently, for Wen Yichen, sensing her gaze, turned his head and caught sight of Jiang Muwen fixated blankly on his homework.

“Have you seen enough?”

His gentle question brought Jiang Muwen abruptly back to reality. She hurriedly averted her eyes, flustered as she stared at her own work.

“Which one don’t you understand?” Wen Yichen’s voice sounded softly in her ear.

It was such a familiar question that it made Jiang Muwen’s heart ache a little—no one understood her better than Wen Yichen.

Seeing him take the initiative, Jiang Muwen seized the chance: “Since you’re so keen on helping me, why don’t we do what we did in our third year of middle school, and you—”

“No.” Before she could finish, Wen Yichen refused her outright.

The refusal was so abrupt that Jiang Muwen’s eyes grew dim. “I hadn’t finished…”

“Even if you didn’t finish, I know what you want to say.” Wen Yichen’s voice was cold.

He knew without needing her to say it—Jiang Muwen wanted him to tutor her.

But for Wen Yichen, that was impossible—now and forever. He had no intention of wasting the prime of his youth tutoring someone else.

Confronted with Wen Yichen’s firm stance, Jiang Muwen’s attitude softened. She tugged gently at his sleeve, pleading, “Wen Yichen, please help me. Can you really bear to watch your childhood friend fall behind just because she can’t do her homework?”

But Wen Yichen was unmoved by Jiang Muwen’s entreaty. With a calm expression, he picked up his pen and continued his work.

He was resolute—he had no intention of tutoring her any further.

High school subjects were much harder than those in middle school, and for a boy as short-tempered as he was, helping Jiang Muwen with her homework was already the limit of his patience. Tutoring her beyond that—no matter his capability, his patience simply couldn’t stretch that far.

The air fell silent. Seeing that pleading wouldn’t work, Jiang Muwen decided to change tactics. “Wen Yichen, do you know everyone’s been gossiping about our relationship lately?”

She probed, a mischievous grin she couldn’t suppress spreading across her face.

As soon as she said it, Wen Yichen’s pen froze on the page, the pause leaving a small blot of ink where the tip rested.

“They still don’t know that the two of us…”

Jiang Muwen was about to tease him further, but before she could finish, Wen Yichen interrupted: “Every Friday night at seven, come to my place. I’ll tutor you.”

Now, Wen Yichen seemed like a child caught red-handed, and, reluctantly, he dragged his chair closer to hers. “Alright, which question don’t you understand?”

Jiang Muwen smiled sheepishly. “Can we start with this one?”

Wen Yichen glanced at where her finger pointed—question one?

“Haven’t you already solved it?” He looked at the correct answer in the blank, puzzled as to why she wanted him to explain it again.

Jiang Muwen was too embarrassed to admit she’d copied the answer.

“I don’t fully understand it…” she fumbled for an excuse.

He gave her a long look—knowing her as he did, if she truly understood every question, she wouldn’t be in this situation. Yet, instead of exposing her, he pulled out a blank sheet of paper and began patiently explaining.

In a way, this was ideal. Locked in the bedroom by Wen Yixin, unable to share a bed, they might as well finish their homework.

But that was only Wen Yichen’s pleasant fantasy. For someone who always went to bed at ten, he began to grow sleepy as midnight approached. Even his tone softened as he explained things to Jiang Muwen.

At one in the morning, the desk lamp was the only light in the room, its gentle glow outlining their quiet figures—like a painting.

“If you can solve this one, try question twenty—it’s the same type,” Wen Yichen whispered at her ear.

Jiang Muwen obediently murmured her assent.

A few minutes later, she put down her pen and asked uncertainly, “Wen Yichen…is this right?”

But this time, Wen Yichen didn’t lean closer to check her work line by line, nor did he bluntly declare, “That’s wrong.” All that greeted Jiang Muwen was silence.

Amid the quiet, she thought she detected a steady breathing.

Turning toward the sound, she was surprised to find Wen Yichen sprawled over the desk, eyes closed, his long lashes resting gently on his cheeks.

She didn’t know why, but she felt herself drawn irresistibly toward him. The soft lamplight brushed his face, and she could see the fine down on his skin, could almost feel the rhythm of his breath.

Emotion and reason waged war again inside her—emotion urging her to steal a kiss, reason struggling to hold her back.

At last, after hundreds of rounds, emotion triumphed.

She leaned in, inch by inch, almost close enough to kiss—only to discover there was…a mosquito on his face?

With the thought, “Such a lovely face shouldn’t be spoiled,” she reflexively raised her hand.

Slap.

The sound was soft, but it was enough—Wen Yichen was truly awakened, no, slapped awake.

In all his years, Wen Yichen had never been woken by a slap—especially not a slap to the face.

He raised his head, his eyes half-dazed, half-annoyed. “Jiang Muwen, what are you doing?!”