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Afraid her eyes were deceiving her, Le Ya looked carefully and confirmed it was indeed a wound.

The wound wasn’t small—it stretched from the brow to the right cheek. Though not deep, faint traces of blood had already seeped through, especially since it was on his face.

Le Ya found it shocking.

A wound this big—had it been her, she would have rushed to the infirmary immediately to get it checked, just in case of infection.

Her attention was fully diverted now. She reminded him, “You’re injured.”

Chen Yang turned his face slightly. “It’s nothing.”

Le Ya asked, “Aren’t you going to the infirmary to get it treated?”

Chen Yang shifted his gaze from the steps and back to her face. Her concern was unmistakable.

He suddenly thought that maybe this wound wasn’t entirely useless.

Chen Yang leaned casually against the wall. “I can’t get up.”

Under the stairwell lights, his facial contours were strikingly clear. The shadow along the side of his nose made him look like a masterpiece carved by the Creator—flawless.

Le Ya doubted him. “Did you fall and hurt yourself?”

She immediately imagined Chen Yang tripping on the stairs, injuring both his face and leg, leaving him unable to get up.

Chen Yang glanced at himself, unfazed by exaggerating the situation. “Ah, yes. I need cuddles and kisses to get up.”

Upon hearing this, Le Ya was utterly stunned.

Her expression was as if she’d seen something terrifying—ready to bare her teeth and hiss like an angry cat.

Chen Yang couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

Le Ya realized what she’d heard and blushed furiously. “You’re such a pervert.”

She couldn’t think of other words to describe him. This one kept coming to mind, so she used it.

Insulting himself, Chen Yang showed no reaction, only a flicker of darkness in his eyes. “Go on.”

Le Ya ran out of words and didn’t know what else to say. She changed the subject. “If you really fell and got hurt, you should go to the infirmary.”

Chen Yang didn’t respond to her suggestion.

Seeing her question ignored, Le Ya fidgeted with her fingers nervously and then quickly ran downstairs, disappearing around the corner in the blink of an eye.

Chen Yang hadn’t expected Le Ya to run off so fast.

Was her earlier concern just for show?

Not even a minute passed before hurried footsteps approached again. Le Ya reappeared on the stairs, holding the lesson plan. “Wait for me a moment.”

Chen Yang watched as she ran back upstairs, feeling a bit puzzled.

He touched his wound. It had stung about ten minutes ago, but now he felt nothing. Compared to past injuries, this one was child’s play.

Chen Yang was used to getting hurt.

When he was younger, wounds could cut deep. He would feel pain, he would try to avoid it—he learned to seek benefits and avoid harm.

Even a fool knows how to grow.

…

Le Ya returned to the classroom, handed the lesson plan to Teacher Zhou, and quietly excused herself, claiming she had a stomachache.

Teacher Zhou didn’t suspect anything and agreed, saying, “If you’re really uncomfortable, go to the infirmary. Don’t push yourself too hard—it’s not good for your health.”

Le Ya obediently replied and returned to her seat. She pulled out the band-aids Aunt Zhang had left behind earlier—fortunately, there were still two left.

Xie Qingyu from the back row asked, “Are you hurt somewhere?”

To her, Le Ya had only gone out for a short while—how could she possibly get injured?

Le Ya shook her head and whispered, “I’ll tell you later when I come back.”

Hearing this, Xie Qingyu didn’t press further but still reminded her, “Be careful and don’t get hurt.”

Le Ya nodded, clutching the band-aids in her palm, and exited through the back door. The cold wind outside cleared her mind.

There were still ten minutes until class ended.

When Le Ya returned to the second-floor staircase, she assumed Chen Yang would still be there—but she saw no one. Clutching the band-aids, she felt at a loss.

After staring at the empty staircase for a long time, she prepared to leave in disappointment. But just as she turned around, she saw Chen Yang standing behind her.

Le Ya was startled. “What are you doing here?”

Chen Yang’s expression remained neutral. “You’re back.”

His tone was flat. After speaking, he returned to his original spot, sat down, and even patted the space beside him, gesturing for her to sit.

Le Ya was about to shake her head in refusal when she saw Chen Yang suddenly narrow his eyes and reach out to pull her over.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly sat down.

Chen Yang lazily remarked, “That’s better.”

Remembering her purpose, Le Ya said, “I brought band-aids. If you’re not going to the infirmary, put one on.”

She extended her hand, holding the tiny band-aid in her palm.

Chen Yang glanced at it, leaned closer to her, and whispered, “I can’t see the wound. Can you help me put it on?”

He was so close that his breath brushed against her face.

She had never been this intimate with a boy before. Feeling flustered, she moved back slightly to regain her composure.

Le Ya began slowing her breathing, then stopped altogether.

Chen Yang noticed she had stopped breathing. Not long after, her face turned red. He thought to himself: her physical condition was truly poor.

He reached out and pinched her nose, reminding her, “If you stop breathing, do you want to end up in the hospital from suffocation?”

Le Ya snapped back to reality and took a deep breath.

Her dazed expression made Chen Yang want to laugh. His chest vibrated with a low, pleasant sound in the quiet stairwell.

Le Ya flushed with anger. If he hadn’t suddenly gotten so close, there was no way she would have forgotten to breathe.

Chen Yang stopped laughing and pointed to his wound.

His earlier words were clear, and Le Ya remembered them. She hesitated but reasoned that without a mirror, he really couldn’t see the wound.

After hesitating for a few seconds, she finally said, “Alright.”

Chen Yang leaned closer.

Only when he was near did Le Ya clearly see the scratch—it looked like it had been scraped, smooth and deliberate. She wondered what could have caused it. Any deeper, and it would have scarred his face.

She carefully tore open the band-aid and placed it over the wound, covering the scratch. She gently pressed it down with her pinky finger.

Suddenly, Chen Yang said, “Ah, it hurts.”

Le Ya gasped, withdrew her hand, and worriedly said, “I… I’m sorry. It’s my first time helping someone apply a band-aid…”

Chen Yang turned his face toward her, their eyes meeting. His gaze was intense, as if peering into her soul.

Slowly, he spoke three words: “I lied.”

Le Ya froze, then pushed him lightly.

Chen Yang let her push him, knowing she couldn’t move him anyway. He reached out to touch the band-aid on his face—it still held warmth from being clutched in her hand for so long.

Le Ya stared at his profile and advised, “Don’t let it get wet. Change it every day. I have one more.”

She slipped the last remaining band-aid into his hand.

Chen Yang brought it up to examine, pinching it between his fingers. Suddenly, he asked, “Do you really not believe I’m Chen Yang?”

Le Ya hadn’t expected him to bring this up so abruptly. She blinked and said, “I believe you.”

Chen Yang stared at her. “Your expression says otherwise.”

Le Ya rarely lied, and she didn’t know how to hide it when she did. Being called out made her feel awkward.

She said, “Isn’t it you who knows best whether you’re yourself or not?”

Chen Yang replied, “So I am.”

These days, even his own name didn’t belong to him anymore. Next time, would someone point at his body and claim it wasn’t him?

The more he acted this way, the less Le Ya believed him.

Chen Yang could guess her thoughts just by looking at her expression—it was all too obvious, devoid of any guile.

His eyes flickered slightly. “If you don’t believe, then don’t. Think whatever you want.”

One day she would know. For now, ignorance wasn’t necessarily bad—it would make the truth even more interesting when it came.

Le Ya interpreted his words as an admission and followed up with a question: “Since you’re in the same class as him, do you know what he’s usually like?”

It felt strange for Chen Yang to discuss himself using the third person. “I don’t know much, but his hearing is very good.”

Le Ya was confused. “Huh?”

Chen Yang’s gaze shifted to her ear. His tongue curled slightly—he wanted to lick it so badly.

He composed himself, withdrew his gaze, and said meaningfully, “So… when you speak, he definitely hears you.”

Le Ya’s ears heated under his intense stare.

Feeling shy, she covered her ear and hearing aid, questioning him, “Did you do that on purpose?”

Chen Yang blatantly lied. “No.”

Le Ya huffed, though she dared not make it too loud because of him—it was barely audible, just enough to vent her frustration.

Unfortunately, the stairwell was so quiet that even the sound of breathing could be heard, let alone a soft huff.

“So concerned about him?” Chen Yang smiled faintly and whispered, “Next time, you’ll see Chen Yang.”

Upon hearing this, Le Ya’s eyes instantly lit up, but she denied it verbally. “No, I’m not concerned about him.”

Every moment, she radiated youth, vitality, and energy.

And these were precisely what Chen Yang lacked.

Evening study hadn’t ended yet, and the entire teaching building was eerily quiet, especially the corridors. The motion-sensor lights had dimmed at some point.

But the light from the classroom doors and corridor lamps provided enough illumination—it wasn’t completely dark, and faces were still visible.

Chen Yang curved his lips upward. “Alright, you’re not concerned about him.”

This time, Le Ya didn’t reply. Instead, she stood up and said, “I need to return to class. You shouldn’t skip classes so often—it leaves a bad impression on the teachers.”

Poor grades were bad enough; skipping class made it worse.

“Hmm.” Chen Yang responded indifferently, supporting himself with his hands on the ground and tilting his head back to look at her. His figure was reflected in her large eyes.

How nice.

In the future, those eyes would only see him.

Chen Yang’s gaze deepened as a thought welled up from the depths of his heart: confine her to his side forever, never letting her go.

Unconsciously, his eyes changed.

Le Ya had been watching him closely. Instinctively, she took a step back, pressing against the railing of the stairs before realizing what she was doing.

“I’m going back to evening study.”

She hastily left the spot. Even when she reached the third floor, she could still see Chen Yang leaning casually against the stairs, staring at her.

Unblinking, his expression inscrutable.

…

Le Ya had just returned to the classroom when the bell rang, signaling the end of class.

“What did you do?” Xie Qingyu asked. “I didn’t see wrong—you were carrying band-aids, right? Where are you hurt?”

Le Ya replied, “I saw a classmate who was injured and gave them the band-aids.”

Xie Qingyu didn’t suspect anything and sighed in relief upon hearing it wasn’t her. “I thought it was you—I was so scared.”

Le Ya smiled. “I’m fine.”

“You go out for a moment and meet someone who’s injured,” Xie Qingyu complained, resting her chin on her hand. “I go out and don’t even see a shadow. I suspect it’s all planned—they’re just waiting for you.”

Le Ya denied it. “How could it be?”

Xie Qingyu muttered, “Impossible is impossible, I guess.”

Many classmates had left the classroom, leaving only a few girls inside. Zhou Xiaoqing took the opportunity to approach. “Le Ya, do you really not know the name of the boy who helped carry your books?”

Le Ya replied, “I don’t know.”

Zhou Xiaoqing begged, “Just tell me his name and which class he’s in. I’ll treat you to something, okay?”

Xie Qingyu grew impatient. “Can’t you ask yourself? You’ve got legs. If you want to pursue someone, why do you keep asking others?”

Zhou Xiaoqing glared at her. “If I could see him, would I bother asking?”

Le Ya disliked her attitude. Thinking about Chen Yang’s injury tonight, she inexplicably decided not to reveal anything. “I also don’t know which class he’s in.”

Unyielding, Zhou Xiaoqing stormed off in anger.

Xie Qingyu clapped happily. “Good job, Yueya! That’s exactly what you should do. If you told her, she’d keep bothering others.”

Le Ya said, “I…”

Xie Qingyu comforted her. “You didn’t do it on purpose—I know.”

It was the first time Le Ya had done something like this. Being glared at twice by Zhou Xiaoqing earlier had made her uneasy, and her heartbeat quickened.

She had intentionally omitted mentioning the class.

But, she genuinely didn’t know his name.

As for his identity, Le Ya even began doubting if she had mistaken him. However, his later words seemed to confirm that he wasn’t Chen Yang.

Now, she was completely confused.