The setting sun stretched Su Liwan’s slender figure long and lonely as she stood quietly on the teaching building’s rooftop.

She watched her classmates walking in small groups on the playground, a faint smile tugging at her lips. But in a moment no one else could see, that smile faded away. She studied her excessively delicate face in the mirror dozens of times each day—not out of vanity, but from a deep, gnawing unease. She always felt an invisible force chasing her from behind, forcing her to exhaust every bit of beauty, to drain every flicker of light from her body.

She never knew she was the reincarnation of a fox spirit from the Fox Star. She only knew that, since childhood, she had craved attention, praise, and all kinds of affection far more than others—desperately wanting to be cherished and held gently in someone’s palm.

Inside the classroom, Qin Ruhai was grading homework at his desk. The red pen scratched across the paper in soft, rustling sounds. Suddenly, he paused, lifted his eyes, and looked out the window. The familiar figure had appeared on the rooftop again.

He frowned slightly, but felt no real worry. This was far from the first time she had stood there, gazing into the distance. He always paid attention to his students’ little habits, yet with Su Liwan, he found himself noticing her far more than the others.

Perhaps it was her eyes. Within them lay a complicated emotion—like a deep, burning flame, yet also like a candle flame that might flicker out at any moment, fragile yet scorching.

“Mr. Qin, aren’t you leaving yet?” a colleague asked, packing up supplies.

“I’ll be right there.” Qin Ruhai smiled faintly, but his gaze drifted uncontrollably back to the window. The figure on the rooftop was gone. He lowered his head and continued grading the last homework book—Su Liwan’s.

Her handwriting was gentle and elegant, her answers clear and nearly flawless. He wrote an “Excellent” at the end. After a moment of hesitation, he added: “Excellent problem-solving logic. Keep it up.”

He knew he was showing her special attention, and he knew this “special care” carried hidden risks. Yet he kept reassuring himself that she was simply talented and hardworking, worthy of his guidance. Even he only half believed his own words.

By the time Su Liwan walked out of the teaching building, a small crowd had gathered at the school gate. She had no intention of joining in, but a sharp roar of a motorcycle made her turn her head instinctively.

A heavy black motorcycle stopped steadily at the gate. On it sat a man in a leather jacket, his hair neatly styled, a cigarette between his lips. He whistled toward the crowd.

“Beautiful, want a ride?”

The girls around blushed and hurried past with their heads down. Su Liwan also lowered her eyes and walked forward, but her heart suddenly raced—not from teenage shyness, but from the thrill of being noticed, of being singled out by someone so bold. It ran through her spine like electricity, making her shiver.

She quickened her pace, but as she stepped out of the gate, she could not help glancing back. The man was smiling at her, showing neat white teeth.

“I’m Zhou Hu. Don’t forget me!”

Su Liwan turned away quickly, walking even faster. Her ears turned pink, yet the corner of her mouth lifted uncontrollably.

The next day, Zhou Hu appeared at the school gate again. This time, he held a bouquet of bright red roses. The style was a little tacky, but among the sea of school uniforms, it blazed like fire, impossible to miss.

“Su Liwan!” he called her name loudly, as if afraid the whole school would not hear.

Su Liwan froze. The students around her whooped and teased. She should have turned away. She should have refused coldly. But her feet felt heavy, rooted to the ground. She watched him push through the crowd and force the roses into her arms.

“Give me face. Let’s have dinner together.”

“I don’t even know you,” she pushed the flowers back, her voice soft and lacking any real strength.

“We met yesterday, didn’t we?” Zhou Hu grinned even wider. “I’ve been around this area for years, and I’ve never seen a girl as stunning as you. Just one meal. For me.”

The stares around her pricked like fine needles—envy, contempt, schadenfreude. Su Liwan bit her lower lip. Those eyes embarrassed her, yet they also stirred a strange excitement inside her. She hated being watched, but feared being ignored even more.

“I…I need to go home.”

“I’ll take you.” Zhou Hu patted the back seat of his motorcycle, his tone firm. “I’ll get you home safe.”

Su Liwan looked at him, then at the black motorcycle. Its body glinted coldly in the sunset, wild and unruly—just like him. She hesitated for only three seconds before bending down and sitting behind him.

The moment the heavy motorcycle roared out of the gate, Su Liwan’s heart beat so fast it felt like it would burst from her chest. She had no idea she was not sitting on an ordinary motorcycle, but on a one-way train heading straight for the abyss.

Qin Ruhai stood by the office window, watching the motorcycle disappear around the corner. The red pen in his hand clattered to the floor, but he did not even notice, did not bend to pick it up.

The young girl was sitting behind a hoodlum, her hair messy in the wind, yet her face held a wild, carefree smile—a smile he had never seen on her before.

He turned around, picked up his phone, and tried to message her. He typed words one by one, then deleted them all. After several attempts, he finally sent only one line:

“Be careful on your way home. Remember to hand in your math homework on time tomorrow.”

The message sank like a stone into the sea. No reply came.

Su Liwan leaned against Zhou Hu’s back. The wind howled so loudly she could barely open her eyes. Zhou Hu rode recklessly, weaving through traffic. Every acceleration made her grip his clothes tightly. He noticed and chuckled, speeding up even more.

They stopped at a street food stall. Zhou Hu ordered a full table of dishes and opened several bottles of beer. Su Liwan politely said she did not drink, but he pressed a glass into her hand anyway.

“First drink—let’s be friends.”

She drank it anyway. The alcohol burned her throat, but the faint dizziness that followed felt strangely intoxicating. Diners around stared at the elegant schoolgirl drinking beside a street thug. Those odd looks made her uncomfortable, but Zhou Hu did not care at all, laughing loudly as if no one else existed. That utter recklessness gradually fascinated her.

“What do you plan to do in the future?” Zhou Hu asked.

“Go to college. A good one,” Su Liwan replied softly.

“What’s the point of college?” Zhou Hu snorted in disdain. “After graduation, you’ll just work for someone else, earning a tiny salary every month. With your looks, marry someone rich, and you’ll live comfortably for life.”

Su Liwan fell silent. Those words planted a seed in the softest, dampest corner of her heart, one that would soon take root and grow.

Zhou Hu filled her glass again, his voice tempting.

“Stay with me. I’ll never let you suffer.”

Su Liwan stared at the golden liquid swirling in the cup. Images flashed through her mind: her father leaving early and returning late, exhausted every day; her mother eyeing a coat she could never bear to buy; the dress she had longed for but never dared ask for.

She lifted the glass and drank it all in one gulp.

That night, Zhou Hu dropped Su Liwan off at her neighborhood gate. She quietly opened the door, thinking she had gotten away with it—when the living room light flickered on. Her father sat on the sofa, his face dark with anger.

“Where have you been?”

“A classmate’s birthday. We celebrated,” Su Liwan lied without blinking.

“Why do you smell like alcohol?”

“Just a little.”

Her father stood up, about to speak, but her mother stopped him. Mother gave her a gentle look and said softly, “Go wash up. You have school tomorrow.”

Su Liwan fled to the bathroom in relief. Staring at her slightly flushed face in the mirror, her eyes shone brightly, her lips still stained faintly with alcohol. She slowly smiled at her reflection—bright, beautiful, yet strangely distant.

She did not notice that, in the mirror, the outline of a fox faintly appeared behind her figure.

Her phone vibrated. She dried her hands and checked it: a message from Qin Ruhai, reminding her about the homework she had never replied to.

Her finger hovered over the screen. She typed a few words, then deleted them all. In the end, she only sent one simple character:

“Mm.”

She knew the reply was cold, but she could not show even a trace of warmth. She had already sensed it keenly—the way Qin Ruhai looked at her was the same indescribable feeling she held for Zhou Hu.

And using that kind of feeling was always what she did best.

She turned off her phone and lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The day’s events replayed in her head, her thoughts a mess. Zhou Hu’s smile, Qin Ruhai’s message, her classmates’ stares, her parents’ questioning—all the voices tangled together, leaving her exhausted yet strangely excited.

She slowly closed her eyes. A pure white fox suddenly appeared in her mind, standing on the edge of a cliff. Behind it was an endless abyss; before it, empty void. It turned to look at her, golden eyes filled with emotions she could not understand.

Su Liwan jolted awake. Her back was soaked in cold sweat.

Outside the window, a full moon hung high, casting pale light. A night bird flew across the sky, letting out a shrill cry.

The wheel of fate had begun to turn, quietly, unnoticed.

And she had no idea that this single turn would lead her straight into an abyss of eternal ruin.

That night, Qin Ruhai also could not sleep. He sat in his study, the math homework spread open before him, stopping at the last page—Su Liwan’s. He had finished grading all the other students’ work, yet this one book he flipped through again and again.

Beneath the red “Excellent,” his handwritten comment had long dried. He stretched out his finger and gently traced the line, his touch cold.

He thought of what he had seen that afternoon: the young girl sitting behind a hoodlum’s motorcycle, her hair flying, revealing her slender neck, her smile bright and wild—a smile she had never shown him.

Qin Ruhai slowly closed the book and shut his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“She is your student,” he whispered to himself. “You are her teacher. You cannot cross the line.”

The words were as light as bubbles, more like a lie he told himself.

He placed the homework deep inside his desk drawer, stood up, and poured a glass of cold water. The icy liquid burned down his throat, stinging his stomach. He leaned against the kitchen wall, staring at the ceiling. The lamp hummed softly, like an ancient, fateful spell.

His phone vibrated again. He picked it up and saw Su Liwan’s single reply:

“Mm.”

Nothing more.

Qin Ruhai stared at the characters on the screen for a long time, then flipped the phone face-down, as if that could suppress the emotions churning inside him.

But he knew better than anyone.

Once certain feelings take root, they can never be restrained.

Just as he was already sure that, from this day onward, everything had quietly strayed from its original path.

And that young girl, sitting behind a motorcycle, smiling wildly and freely—she would eventually become the disaster he could never run from, never escape, in his entire life.

The white fox’s figure suddenly vanished in the dream.

Su Liwan jolted awake from her sleep, her back soaked in cold sweat. She raised a hand to wipe the dampness from her forehead, her gaze falling on the lit phone screen — Zhou Hu had sent a message: “I’ll pick you up after school tomorrow. I’ll take you somewhere nice.”

She stared at the line for a long time. Her fingertip hovered over the input box, deleting and rewriting several times, before she finally replied with only one word: “Okay.” Just like the “Mm” she sent to Qin Ruhai the night before, same length, yet utterly different in meaning.

The “Mm” to her teacher was distant, cold, a deliberate distance kept.

The “Okay” to Zhou Hu was consent, surrender, a willing closeness.

Su Liwan rolled onto her side, burying her face in the soft pillow. She hated to admit it, but the recklessness and straightforwardness in that delinquent had her utterly hooked. He spent money without a second thought — over eight hundred yuan on a street food dinner the night before, not even a frown. The way he looked at her was full of unbridled possession and desire. That naked gaze made her both terrified and strangely thrilled.

And Qin Ruhai? His eyes toward her were always gentle and restrained, careful, as if holding a fragile treasure, afraid it might shatter with the slightest force.

She wanted gentleness, but deep down, she craved to be utterly possessed.

The next morning, Su Liwan was late.

She rushed into the teaching building just as the bell rang for class. Her schoolbag strap slipped off her shoulder repeatedly, and her long hair was too messy to tidy. At the stairwell corner, she nearly crashed into someone.

“Careful.”

A warm hand steadied her shoulders firmly, with just the right amount of force, then quickly pulled away.

Su Liwan looked up and met Qin Ruhai’s gentle gaze.

He wore a light blue shirt today, sleeves casually rolled up to his forearms, revealing neat, well-defined lines. His hair was neatly combed, his eyes behind the lenses warm as jade, a faint smile on his lips that invited closeness yet dared not rudeness.

“P-Professor Qin… good morning.” Su Liwan lowered her head in a fluster, her voice flustered.

“Why are you in such a hurry again?” Qin Ruhai asked softly, no blame in his tone, only a touch of helplessness. “The stairs are crowded. What if you fell?”

“I… slept in. I didn’t want to be late for class.” She mumbled defensively.

“Set an alarm next time. Don’t keep cutting it so close.” He stepped aside to let her pass. “Hurry to class. It’s about to start.”

Su Liwan walked past him with her head down. In that brief brush, a faint scent lingered around her nose — not heavy perfume, but the clean smell of sunlight on laundry.

Her heartbeat skipped a beat, for no reason at all.

Qin Ruhai stood there, watching the girl’s back as she ran up the stairs. Her school uniform skirt swayed lightly with her steps, loose hair falling by her neck, not even a moment to fix it. He almost called out to tell her to be careful, but swallowed the words hard.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t show her even the slightest extra concern.

Yet the hand that had held her remained in its previous position, his palm still seeming to hold the warmth of her shoulder. He slowly curled his fingers into a fist, stuffed it into his pocket, and turned toward the office.

You are the teacher. She is the student.

Any care for her must stop at the proper limit.

Su Liwan had just settled into her seat when the class bell rang on time. Her deskmate Lin Xiao leaned over, nudging her gently with an elbow.

“Late again? What were you up to last night?”

“Nothing. I just overslept.” Su Liwan replied casually, reaching into her bag for her textbook.

After searching for a while, she realized with a start that she had left her math textbook at home. Distracted by Zhou Hu’s message the night before, the book had fallen out of her bag without her noticing.

“Oh no…” she whispered.

“What’s wrong?” Lin Xiao peeked over. “You forgot your textbook? First period is math!”

“I left it at home.” Su Liwan’s face paled.

First period was math.

Qin Ruhai walked into the classroom, and the whole room fell silent. He never needed to shout or scold; standing quietly at the podium was enough to make everyone focus.

“Turn to page forty-two. Today we’ll talk about the monotonicity of functions.”

Su Liwan lowered her head, pretending to flip through a book, but her desk was empty, not even a scrap of scratch paper.

Qin Ruhai explained for a moment from the podium, his gaze sweeping the class, pausing briefly at her seat. He saw the girl with her head down, her ears red, nothing on her desk.

He did not call her out, did not scold her, did not even linger longer. He only turned back to write on the blackboard, his pace slowing unconsciously, as if thinking quietly to himself.

“For this example problem today, I’ll ask a student to come up and demonstrate.”

The classroom fell completely silent. Everyone lowered their heads, avoiding eye contact. Su Liwan also buried her face tightly, silently praying she wouldn’t be picked.

“Su Liwan.”

Her entire body stiffened.

“Come up.” Qin Ruhai’s voice remained calm, holding out a piece of chalk to her.

Su Liwan walked up to the podium stiffly. The moment her fingertips took the chalk, they brushed lightly against Qin Ruhai’s. The touch was as gentle as a breeze, yet it sent a sudden warmth through her fingers.

She looked up at him, but he was looking down at his lesson plan, his expression unchanged.

The problem was not difficult — it was the homework she hadn’t finished the night before. Su Liwan thought for a moment and began writing, but halfway through she suddenly froze, chalk hovering over the blackboard, unable to fall.

All eyes in the class were fixed on her.

Her ears grew hotter, fine beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

“Here.” A hand reached from behind, gently covering hers, guiding her to complete the steps on the blackboard.

Qin Ruhai’s deep, gentle voice fell above her head, without a trace of improper thought: “The key to this problem is to first determine the axis of symmetry, then judge the function values at the interval endpoints. Understand?”

“…Yes.” Her voice was barely audible.

His chest was almost pressed against her back, warm breath brushing the top of her head. Su Liwan’s mind went completely blank.

Qin Ruhai let go, stepped back to the podium: “Finish the rest.”

She nodded numbly, hastily completing the remaining steps. When she returned to her seat, her legs felt slightly weak, her heart racing almost out of control.

She did not see that, the moment she turned around, Qin Ruhai hid the hand that had touched her behind his back, clenching it tightly, his knuckles turning slightly pale.

After class, Su Liwan lay on her desk, unwilling to move. Lin Xiao immediately leaned over to gossip quietly.

“Wow, Professor Qin personally taught you how to do the problem!”

“He just… happened to be explaining that part.” Su Liwan whispered.

“Yeah, right. Last time I asked him a question, he just wrote the idea and told me to figure it out myself.” Lin Xiao winked. “Professor Qin definitely treats you differently.”

Su Liwan fell silent. She knew Qin Ruhai was special to her, but refused to dig into what lay behind that difference.

The phone vibrated suddenly. It was a message from Zhou Hu: “I’ll pick you up this afternoon. We’ll go to the mall. Pick whatever you want.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Su Liwan’s lips as she read the message. Zhou Hu’s favor was straightforward and rough, yet it made her feel utterly secure — she knew exactly what this man wanted, and exactly what she could give.

She replied: “Okay.”

Then locked her phone and set it aside.

The sun shone brightly outside the window, but in her heart, half was warmth, half was panic.

The last class in the afternoon was self-study. The classroom was so quiet that only the rustle of pens across paper could be heard. Su Liwan could not sit still, glancing out the window every now and then.

Lin Xiao poked her with a pen. “Why are you so distracted today? Something up?”

“Nothing much,” Su Liwan forced a smile. “I have something to do later, so I want to leave early.”

“Alright, I’ll cover for you if the teacher asks.”

As soon as the school bell rang, Su Liwan packed her things almost immediately and hurried toward the school gate. Just as she reached the stairwell, a voice called out to her.

“Su Liwan.”

She turned around. Qin Ruhai stood at the end of the hallway, holding a math workbook.

“Professor Qin?” she sounded surprised. “Haven’t you left yet?”

“I’ve been waiting for you a while.” Qin Ruhai walked slowly closer and held the book out to her. “Take this workbook home and go through it. The problems inside are great for final review. If there’s anything you don’t understand, you can come to my office and ask me.”

Su Liwan took the book and flipped through a few pages casually. It was brand new, yet there were several pencil annotations inside, neat and delicate handwriting—exactly Qin Ruhai’s.

“Is this your own book?” she asked softly.

“Mm, I use it often when preparing lessons, and marked some common mistakes.” Qin Ruhai smiled faintly. “It should be useful for you.”

Su Liwan held the book to her chest, a complicated feeling surging inside her. This was not some discarded old item, but something he had carefully studied and personally annotated—a thoughtful gesture hidden beneath his restraint.

“Thank you, Professor Qin. I’ll read it carefully.” Her voice was softer than usual.

Qin Ruhai nodded, his gaze lingering on her face for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but it finally turned into a reminder. “It’s not safe outside lately. Go home early after school, don’t stay out too long.”

“I understand, thank you.”

Qin Ruhai turned and left. After a few steps, he suddenly stopped, not looking back, and added one more line. “That book… read it well.”

Su Liwan stood in the hallway, watching his figure disappear around the stair corner. The setting sun streamed through the window frames, dyeing the hallway warm gold. She looked down and opened the first page. A line of small pencil writing caught her eye:

“Mathematics is beautiful, but don’t let it be your everything.”

She stared at the words for a long time before closing the book, holding it tightly, and hurrying toward the school gate.

At the gate, Zhou Hu’s motorcycle was already waiting. Today he rode a more imposing heavy bike, its body darker and more flamboyant, with a helmet tied to the back seat. When he saw her coming out, Zhou Hu took off his sunglasses and tilted his chin toward her.

“Took you long enough. I’ve been waiting forever.”

“Sorry, I just ran into a teacher.” Su Liwan said quietly.

“A teacher? Which one?” Zhou Hu asked casually.

“My math teacher.”

Zhou Hu snorted. “Whatever teacher. Get on.” He tossed the helmet to her.

Su Liwan caught it, a sudden daze washing over her. Earlier in the hallway, Qin Ruhai had handed her a book, saying softly, “Take this.” Now Zhou Hu threw her a helmet, saying sharply, “Get on.” One was gentle as spring breeze, the other violent as summer thunder.

She put on the helmet and sat on the back seat.

“Hold on tight.” Zhou Hu reminded her.

“Mm.” She gently wrapped her arms around his waist.

Zhou Hu started the engine. The loud roar drew stares from passersby. He deliberately revved the throttle, letting the sound spread down the whole street. Su Liwan gripped the hem of his clothes tightly; the wind howled past, blowing her long hair loose.

“Scared?” Zhou Hu shouted, turning his head.

“A little…”

“Good. Stick with me, and there’ll be plenty more excitement ahead.”

The two arrived at the busiest shopping mall downtown. Zhou Hu led her straight into a women’s clothing store, pointed at a row of exquisitely made clothes on the wall, and said:

“Pick whatever you like. Take anything you want.”

Su Liwan looked at the price tags, and her heart raced. A dress cost over a thousand, a coat over two thousand—her father’s monthly salary couldn’t even buy two items here.

“This… it’s too expensive.” She whispered in protest.

“Expensive, nothing.” Zhou Hu waved it off, casually taking a coat and draping it over her. “You look good in anything. The more expensive, the better you look.”

Su Liwan stood in front of the mirror, looking at herself. The coat fit perfectly, soft and comfortable against her skin, as if tailor-made for her. She turned slightly, the hem fluttering gently—the girl in the mirror was as bright as a model in a magazine.

“Does it look good?” She looked at Zhou Hu.

Zhou Hu leaned against the doorframe, squinting at her with a cigarette between his lips. “Of course it does. The woman I, Zhou Hu, have my eye on—how could she not look good?”

Su Liwan smiled sweetly, spinning once more in front of the mirror. Then suddenly, as if remembering something, she took off the coat and hung it back.

“What’s wrong?” Zhou Hu frowned.

“It’s still too expensive. I can’t take it.” She insisted.

Zhou Hu stepped forward, pulled a thick stack of cash from his pocket, slapped it on the counter without counting. “Wrap it up.”

The clerk hurried to respond. “Right away, sir. I’ll pack it for you immediately.”

Su Liwan opened her mouth, but said nothing in the end. Watching the clerk carefully pack the coat and hand it to her, her heart was filled with mixed sweetness and bitterness.

Sweet because someone was lavishing her with things she had always longed for.

Bitter because she vaguely understood that the price of this gift might be more than she could ever afford.

By the time they walked out of the mall, it was already dark. Zhou Hu took her to a Western restaurant, complete with steak, red wine, and candlelight. Su Liwan was not used to using a knife and fork; after struggling for a long time, she still couldn’t cut off a piece of meat.

“You’re really clumsy at this.” Zhou Hu laughed, casually swapping his already cut steak with hers. “Here, eat this.”

“Thank you.” She whispered.

“Stick with me, and you’ll eat like this every day.” Zhou Hu said, swirling his wine glass.

Su Liwan took small bites of the steak, saying nothing.

“What, you don’t believe me?” Zhou Hu leaned closer, the smell of tobacco and alcohol washing over her. “When I, Zhou Hu, say something around here, it always counts.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you.” She put down her knife and fork, gently dabbing her lips. “I just… don’t know what exactly you want from me.”

Zhou Hu burst out laughing, drawing stares from nearby tables. When he finished, he stared deeply into Su Liwan’s eyes and spoke word by word:

“What do you think I want?”

Su Liwan did not answer, lowering her head and poking idly at the steak on her plate with a fork.

“I want you.” Zhou Hu’s bluntness was almost suffocating. “Your body, your everything from now on—they can only be mine.”

Su Liwan’s heart jolted violently. She lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. There was no tenderness, no restraint, only naked possession and plunder.

This feeling terrified her, yet also drew her in.

“I’ll take you home.” Zhou Hu stood up and draped his coat over her shoulders.

The motorcycle sped through the night. Su Liwan sat on the back holding the bag with her new clothes, the wind stinging her eyes slightly. She closed her eyes, two scenes overlapping in her mind—

One was Qin Ruhai standing in the warm golden hallway, handing her a book and saying softly, “Take this.”

The other was Zhou Hu leaning against the storefront, smoking, saying confidently, “The woman I have my eye on—how could she not look good?”

She opened her eyes, watching the neon lights blur past like a flowing river of color.

Su Liwan did not know what she really wanted. Perhaps she wanted everything—the gentle restraint of Qin Ruhai, the domineering possession of Zhou Hu; pure and clean affection, and tangible material security.

She did not know that this greed would eventually drag her into an abyss beyond redemption.

The motorcycle stopped at the entrance of her neighborhood. Su Liwan took off her helmet and handed it back, holding the paper bag as she prepared to get off.

“Wait.” Zhou Hu grabbed her wrist, pulled another thick stack of cash from his pocket, and stuffed it into her hand. “Take this. Go out with your classmates tomorrow, don’t be stingy.”

Su Liwan weighed the money in her hand—it was thick, at least two or three thousand yuan.

“I can’t take this much.” She pushed it back.

“Take it.” Zhou Hu held her hand firmly, his grip slightly painful. “If you’re with me, Zhou Hu, don’t act like this. There will be plenty more money for you to spend later.”

Su Liwan no longer refused. She tucked the money into her pocket, got off the bike, and walked into the neighborhood without looking back.

She did not see Zhou Hu on the motorcycle watching her back, his eyes holding not a trace of love, only the satisfaction and calculation of a prey falling into his trap.

When she got home, her father had not yet finished work, and her mother was busy in the kitchen. She hid the new clothes deep in her closet, pressed the money under the bottom of her drawer, then sat on her bed, tightly hugging the math workbook Qin Ruhai had given her.

She opened the first page again. The small line was still clear: “Mathematics is beautiful, but don’t let it be your everything.”

What exactly did that mean?

Was he telling her not to only focus on studying, or hinting that she should not pour all her heart into one thing?

Su Liwan could not figure it out, so she repeated it over and over until she memorized it by heart.

Her phone vibrated twice at the same time. Two messages arrived one after another—

Zhou Hu: “See you tomorrow, baby.”

Qin Ruhai: “Remember to finish your math homework. I’ll check it tomorrow.”

She stared at the two messages. One called her baby affectionately, the other calmly reminded her to do homework. One was scorching fire, the other calm water; one was a bottomless abyss, the other a faint salvation.

She replied to Zhou Hu first: “See you tomorrow.”

Then to Qin Ruhai: “Understood, Professor Qin.”

After sending the messages, she threw her phone aside and lay back on the bed. A thin crack on the ceiling stretched from the lamp base to the corner, like an invisible thread quietly tying together fates destined to entangle.

She closed her eyes, and the white fox appeared in her dream again.

This time, the white fox stood before a door. The door was wide open, revealing endless darkness inside. It looked back at her, golden eyes filled with tears.

Su Liwan jolted awake, her heart pounding violently.

A full moon hung high outside the window, its clear light filling the room. Wind rustled through the treetops, like a heavy sigh from ancient times.

She did not know that the fox’s tears were her own tears to come.

She did not know that the boundless darkness behind the door was the cycle she was about to step into.

She did not know that the slightly trembling hand with which the gentle, restrained man handed her the book was not just a teacher’s concern, but a man’s heartache, suppressed with all his strength.

At that moment, the threads of fate had tightly bound the three of them together.