Chapter 13

Take thirteen bites.
He Mingye’s expression stayed flat. “No.”
“Really not?” Chen Zijian didn’t buy it. “I saw it. That photo you hid on your phone.”
Chen Zijian truly valued He Mingye’s talent. When He Mingye went to the tryouts, Chen Zijian even went in person to watch.
But on the day of the competition, not only was He Mingye late—his face was bruised, his lip was split, and there were scrapes of varying severity on his neck and arms.
He arrived late and showed up at the venue looking like that. Naturally, it caused no small amount of controversy.
In the end, the organizers grudgingly allowed him to compete.
But the result wasn’t ideal.
His final score was even worse than what he usually put up at the shooting range during training.
Chen Zijian found it a pity.
Because he knew that wasn’t He Mingye’s true level.
So after the match, Chen Zijian blocked him in the lounge and demanded, voice sharp and harsh:
“You’re just leaving like that?”
“You’re not going to give me a reasonable explanation?”
“Why were you late for so long—and why did you show up in this state?”
“Do you have any idea how important today’s tryouts are?”
Back then, the boy was tall with long legs. Even standing in front of Chen Zijian, he didn’t look intimidated in the slightest.
He was arrogant by nature, outrageously cocky—something his privileged background had bred into him.
There was a sharp, cutting pride in him that kids his age didn’t have.
He wore a strap over his shoulder, a huge black long bag slung behind him. It didn’t crush his presence at all; it only made him look leaner, his frame clean and upright.
He looked coldly at the man blocking his way. Those long, narrow phoenix eyes held no obvious emotion.
“I said I’d try,” he said. “I didn’t promise you I would definitely come.”
That wasn’t wrong.
From the very beginning, it had been Chen Zijian pushing his own wishful thinking. He Mingye’s ambitions had never been here.
He hadn’t shown much interest at first. If Chen Zijian hadn’t kept persuading him again and again, He Mingye wouldn’t have relented so easily.
Chen Zijian frowned. “So you’re just going to accept losing like this?”
“You lost so casually—are you really okay with that?”
“Do you deserve all the hard training you’ve put in these days?”
He Mingye stayed silent.
That was what gave Chen Zijian the biggest headache.
The boy’s temperament was like a rock in a latrine: hard and foul.
Chen Zijian only meant to provoke him a little.
He Mingye, however, had no patience for being lectured. Using his height advantage, he stepped forward without mercy—shoulders bumping as he forced a path through.
Chen Zijian frowned and grabbed him.
In the struggle, the phone slipped and smashed to the ground.
Even as the screen cracked, it was still lit.
With only a quick glance, it was obvious the lock screen was a photo—probably a group shot.
But the phone’s owner had a bias.
He’d left far more blank space for the person beside him.
A girl in a sailor-style uniform and pleated skirt lowered her head with a shy smile, brows curved, smile blooming like a summer flower—bright, sweet, and dazzling.
After the phone broke, He Mingye turned back and looked at Chen Zijian.
It was as if he were answering the question from before.
His voice was cold.
“Losing is losing. What’s there to talk about?”
“Why would I feel unwilling over something I didn’t even care about in the first place?”
To this day, Chen Zijian still remembered He Mingye’s eyes then—calm as water, not a ripple in sight.
The boy bent to pick up the phone.
It looked like a casual motion, yet it carried a feeling completely at odds with his usual, untouchable arrogance.
His long fingertip brushed over the shattered screen, as if he were stroking the girl’s sweet smile.
The broken fringe of hair fell over his brow bone.
Then, suddenly, he lifted his eyes. He hooked his lip in mockery, the coldness in his gaze even heavier.
“Becoming a professional shooter—that’s your one-sided dream, not mine.”
“To me, what matters more… I know better than you.”
“…”
…
Thinking about it now, Chen Zijian couldn’t help but laugh and curse. “Brat.”
“No respect. You dared talk back to anyone. I really thought you were fearless—so capable.”
“But looking at it now…” Chen Zijian teased, “you’re just a paper tiger. One poke and you tear.”
“Look at you—after all these years, you still don’t even have the courage to poke through that window paper.”
He Mingye only shot him a bland look and still didn’t refute.
So what if he pierced it?
She didn’t like him at all.
…
“Tao-tao, why didn’t you come in for your follow-up this afternoon?”
Zhou Chaoli’s gentle voice came through the phone.
Ying Tao froze, then asked hesitantly, “Follow-up… is it today?”
“Mm.” Zhou Chaoli reminded her, “That’s what you booked—today’s follow-up. The duty nurse for afternoon clinic should’ve called you too.”
Ying Tao had only gone to the hospital twice so far for root canal treatment.
The cavity had been ground into a big hole. They’d scheduled three visits—two treatments, and the third one for the filling.
As for the extraction, she’d have to wait until the inflammation went down, then make a separate appointment.
Ying Tao scrolled through her call log.
Sure enough, there were two missed calls—blocked.
All because He Little Dog had been making trouble and driving her crazy. She’d gotten so mad she’d mixed up the date.
She apologized. “I’m sorry, Little Uncle. I might’ve remembered wrong. I thought the filling was tomorrow afternoon.”
“It’s fine,” Zhou Chaoli said. “It’s also my fault—I forgot to remind you this morning.”
This morning he’d driven her to school.
But she’d been rushing to class. The moment the car stopped, she shoved open the door and sprinted for the art building. They hadn’t even gotten a chance to talk.
Zhou Chaoli asked, “You’re free tomorrow afternoon, then?”
Ying Tao thought about it. “No classes in the afternoon. I should be free.”
“Good,” Zhou Chaoli chuckled. “I’ll book you a slot for tomorrow afternoon.”
“I’m on shift at the hospital tomorrow too. You can come straight to me.”
Ying Tao struggled for a moment and suggested cautiously, “You don’t have to… I can just book a follow-up myself.”
“Little Uncle, you’re busy. It’s a small issue. I can handle it.”
Zhou Chaoli paused.
After a long while, he smiled softly. “Tao-tao… avoiding the doctor only makes problems more complicated.”
“Or…” His voice dipped. “Is it because you don’t want to see me?”
“…”
Zhou Chaoli fell silent for a moment, then said, “If that’s the case, I can book you with another doctor.”
“You don’t have to worry about it being awkward if you see me.”
Ying Tao rubbed the bridge of her nose.
The spot the zipper had scraped was probably broken skin. Her fingertip brushed it and it still hurt a little.
She frowned, conflicted.
To say seeing Zhou Chaoli wasn’t awkward at all—that was impossible.
Anyone who’d been rejected would feel bad, let alone having to pretend nothing happened and meet again.
Her failed confession back then had hit her hard.
And later, Zhou Chaoli avoided her so thoroughly he didn’t even return to Jingbei for New Year for several years.
To say she hadn’t been hurt—that would be a lie.
But…
Zhou Chaoli wasn’t wrong either.
He simply didn’t like her.
And to keep her from having unnecessary hope, he’d rather stay away, unable to come home, drifting alone outside for years.
That was already miserable enough.
She really didn’t need to drag the past mess back out and make both families stiff and tense.
Ying Tao spoke in a low voice, muffled. “No. I just thought I should handle my own problems.”
“Otherwise my dad will scold me every day for being all hands-out, no brains—an ‘incompetent, harmful social parasite.’”
“Tao-tao.” Zhou Chaoli paused for a long time, as if sighing. “Don’t take what Uncle He says to heart.”
“Come on,” Ying Tao said bluntly. “Do I look that stupid?”
“Besides, it’s not like my dad hasn’t cursed me before. This level is nothing. Just a sprinkle.”
Ying Zhaohui didn’t only pick on her—he treated everyone like that, nitpicking at everything.
Only after remarrying Aunt Tang did he restrain himself a little.
“Tao-tao…” Zhou Chaoli sounded like he wanted to say more.
But then a woman’s voice came from his side—probably a nurse calling him.
“Doctor Zhou, Emergency just sent over a patient—fell off an e-bike and hit his chin on the curb. His jaw is fractured. Emergency transferred him over. Director Yang asked you to come take a look too.”
“I’ll be right there,” Zhou Chaoli said.
He paused, then remembered. “Tao-tao, I—”
Ying Tao answered quickly, serious for once. “Little Uncle, go. That sounds really serious.”
“Okay.”
Zhou Chaoli hung up.
Ying Tao leaned against the wall with her phone in hand for a while, then let out a tired sigh.
After she sorted out her mood, she turned—
And suddenly slammed into the tall figure standing not far away beside a monstera plant.
Ying Tao jumped. Heart still pounding, she patted her chest. “Why are you standing there without a sound?”
The hallway’s wall lights were dim.
Half his face was hidden in shadow, balanced on the edge between light and dark. Those eyes looked even deeper, and the way he watched her carried a murky, unreadable darkness.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Ying Tao squinted. “Oh. I get it. You were eavesdropping on my call, weren’t you?”
She had no idea when He Mingye had come over.
There was still some distance, but who could guarantee he hadn’t heard her?
And the way he stood there in silence, staring at her… it made her scalp prickle.
Ying Tao shivered. He Mingye casually looked away, voice as lazy as ever.
“Do you own this place?”
“?”
Ying Tao was baffled. But in the next second, he curled his lips and gave a careless scoff.
“Don’t tell me where I can stand.”
“Wow, you—” Ying Tao stared, stunned. It was unbelievable. She looked him up and down like she’d discovered a bizarre new species.
Then she warned him with a stern, earnest face—patient and long-suffering, like an owner training a dog to pee in the right spot.
“Do you know it’s extremely rude to eavesdrop on other people’s phone calls?”
Eavesdrop if you wanted, fine.
But of all times, he just had to catch her calling Zhou Chaoli.
With his petty, revengeful personality—if he ever grabbed her by this handle, wouldn’t he order her around to death later?
How humiliating.
He Mingye’s face was blank. “So?”
“So—” Ying Tao spoke righteously. “You should apologize.”
“Say it. ‘Sorry, Princess. I shouldn’t have eavesdropped on your phone call.’”
“‘From now on, I, He Mingye, will reform myself and strive to be a morally exemplary puppy.’”
He Mingye lifted his eyes and looked at her calmly.
His dark pupils reflected her slightly cramped, uneasy posture with harsh clarity.
He watched for a long moment before letting out a low, ambiguous huff—then, like copying homework, he repeated it back in the same pattern.
“Oh,” he said coldly, curling his lip. “Sorry.”
“I’m missing the five elements of virtue.”