Chapter 3: Qin Yichi's Indulgent Smile

Outside the dormitory building.

Qin Yichi reached out and took hold of her suitcase handle. His phoenix eyes were deep as a pool, the lines of his profile smooth and elegant. With a casual air, he said, “Let me help you carry this upstairs.”

Qiao Zhen was momentarily stunned, about to refuse.

But as though he’d already anticipated her response, Qin Yichi added offhandedly, “I’m just that kind of person—love to exercise, love moving things.”

Qiao Zhen paused, then followed behind him, her voice soft: “Oh, thank you.”

Loves to exercise…

Her eyelashes trembled lightly, the tips of her ears quietly turning pink.

Qin Yichi truly did possess remarkable athletic talent, training on his motorcycle every day, strong and full of stamina.

So much stamina that, on their wedding night in her previous life, he’d quite literally worn her out…

Qiao Zhen shook her head, patting her cheeks to clear her mind, trying hard to banish those alluring memories.

Qin Yichi glanced back lazily, one brow raised: “Dorm 609, right?”

“Yes, yes!” Qiao Zhen nodded like a pecking chick, though a trace of suspicion flickered in her eyes a moment later.

How did he even remember her dorm number so clearly?

Then again, he’d always had an exceptional memory—photographic, even. Super smart.

With one hand, Qin Yichi lifted her suitcase, carrying it with ease. The heavy 26-inch case seemed light as cotton in his grip.

He led the way, taking two or three steps at a time up the stairs, his all-black attire accentuating his tall, straight back, broad shoulders and narrow waist. And most notably—

His backside was really perky!

Qiao Zhen blinked, hastily dropping her gaze.

Since dreaming of marrying Qin Yichi in her past life, she simply couldn’t look at him directly anymore. Oh, someone help her!

At the door of Dorm 609.

Qin Yichi set the pink suitcase down gently, his gaze landing on Qiao Zhen.

The girl kept her head bowed, cheeks flawless and pale, eyes clear as autumn water—so pure she seemed untouched by the world, beautiful and soft-spoken.

Slowly, she rummaged in her backpack, pulling out a bottle of strawberry yogurt and, obediently, offered it to him.

“Thank you. Here, for you.”

Qin Yichi responded with a simple “Mm,” accepting the yogurt with a calm, indifferent expression, then turned and left.

But as soon as his back was to her, his eyes darkened with unfathomable emotion, Adam’s apple bobbing. A faint blush crept up his ears…

Back in her dorm, Qiao Zhen tidied her desk and began unpacking.

Half an hour later, a short-haired girl arrived, lugging a massive suitcase, panting and red-faced.

“Damn it, I’m exhausted—sixth floor! Would it kill the school to install an elevator for us fragile college students?!”

Sheng Lulu was cursing, half dead from the climb. She pushed her suitcase in, eyes widening in surprise.

“Whoa, Zhenzhen, why are you mopping the floor for me?!”

Qiao Zhen’s dorm housed four girls. She majored in music performance; Sheng Lulu was in graphic design. Both were freshmen. The other two were sophomores from different departments.

Qiao Zhen smiled gently. “I just thought I’d do it while I was at it.”

“Love you, love you~” Sheng Lulu’s heart melted. She wanted to hug Qiao Zhen and nibble her cheeks. “So, how’s it going with the president?”

At her words, Qiao Zhen’s eyes dropped, rimmed with red, and her face turned pale as she shook her head.

Ji Xian was the student council president—a sophomore in finance, top GPA, champion of every competition, and, most importantly, heir to a wealthy family.

From high school to university, he’d always been the golden child, the moon in the sky, unattainable.

Qiao Zhen had chased him for three years.

But in recent days, she’d begun having frequent dreams of her past life: Ji Xian’s years of cold indifference, each act like a sharp knife, stabbing her heart and leaving her with nothing but bitterness and grievance…

Seeing Qiao Zhen’s red eyes and reluctance to talk, Sheng Lulu didn’t press further. Instead, she reached out and gave Qiao Zhen’s hand a comforting squeeze.

She knew all too well how Ji Xian kept Qiao Zhen hanging, and how his friends bullied and belittled her.

Just thinking about it made her furious—absolutely livid!

In her mind, Sheng Lulu cursed Ji Xian up and down: Damn, nothing worse than a pretentious jerk! So what if you’re good-looking? Cold fish!

That evening, Sheng Lulu pulled up the food delivery app, yawning as she lay on her bed. “Fried chicken and cola—my source of happiness! Zhenzhen, want some?”

She loved takeout, hating the thought of another climb up six flights of stairs—she’d die from exhaustion!

Qiao Zhen finished cleaning, looked up, and smiled. “It’s okay, I’ll go to the cafeteria later.”

There was a new promotion today—anyone who dined in the cafeteria could get a free serving of fruit-topped double-skin milk custard.

Free!

But as soon as she arrived, Qiao Zhen regretted it.

College students loved freebies, and the usually quiet cafeteria was now packed to the rafters.

The last serving of fruit custard was claimed by the person right in front of her.

Qiao Zhen stared longingly at the now-empty container, her lips pressed together and her lashes drooping, disappointment flickering in her eyes.

She ordered a bowl of mustard greens and shredded pork noodles, then carried her tray to find a seat.

Every table was full, except one in a corner, where six or seven boys sat with one vacant spot.

As she drew closer, she realized Qin Yichi was among them.

In the dim light, the man lounged carelessly against his chair, half his face in shadow, giving him a predatory air.

His gaze was fixed on her, as if he had noticed her the moment she entered. He crooked a finger, inviting her over.

Qiao Zhen obediently walked to the table with her tray.

Noticing her arrival, the boys paused mid-bite, heads snapping up.

The girl had a sweet, innocent face—fair skin, hair in a bun, a beige dress—she resembled a cherry blossom just about to bloom.

Her eyes curved into crescents, a playful dimple appearing at her lips, as bright and pure as a star in the night sky.

Like a fairy come to life!

Qin Yichi’s lips quirked into a smile, the messy fringe on his forehead lending him a wilder edge as he spoke first, “No one’s sitting here. Take a seat.”

His voice held a strange note of tenderness.

All the boys at the table were thunderstruck, petrified in disbelief.

What the hell? Did they hear that right?

Qin Yichi—the infamous ice king who shunned all women, notorious for his cold indifference—was now smiling so warmly at a girl? And speaking so gently?

Did he eat something weird today?!

Under their stunned gazes, Qiao Zhen quietly sat down across from Qin Yichi.

She couldn’t help but feel that he seemed to be in an unusually good mood.

But she didn’t dwell on it, instead bowing her head to eat her noodles quietly, doing her best to ignore the boys’ astonished expressions.

She ate in tiny bites, making barely a sound.

Suddenly, Qin Yichi spoke up, “Why didn’t you get any double-skin milk?”

Qiao Zhen glanced at the table—every boy had a serving in front of them.

Sure enough, everyone but her.

Her fingers paused as she chewed her noodles, her voice barely audible, “They ran out.”

Just her luck—the last one gone by the time it was her turn.

She bent her head, visibly deflated.

She’d never had much luck, after all.

Suddenly, a warm, strong hand slid a serving of double-skin milk custard in front of her.

Qiao Zhen looked up in surprise. “Hm?”

The cafeteria was noisy, but Qin Yichi’s lazy, magnetic voice cut through the din—a little wild, a little sultry, “Take mine. I don’t feel like eating it.”

Qiao Zhen stared at the dessert that had been pushed her way, a strange feeling blossoming in her heart. She murmured a soft “thank you.”

She lowered her head, busied herself with her soup, trying to hide her emotions.

The next moment, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a cool, distant figure.

Sensing something, Qiao Zhen looked up slightly.

Ji Xian stood not far away, dressed in a white shirt, his demeanor reserved and noble, eyes like finely cut crystal, his entire being pure and untouchable as the bright moon.

His gaze landed on Qiao Zhen—cold as frost, as if the very air around them had dropped to freezing.