63

The deputy director of the National Science Academy descended on the lab, flanked by heavily armed soldiers and a convoy of tightly sealed armored vans. All X-matter data was locked down, destined for retesting at the research institute. Academician Wang Liangeng was summoned to join them, while every student in the lab—including Lei Zhengyang—signed a top-level confidentiality agreement. If the X-matter's existence leaked, they'd be the first under scrutiny. Zhengyang scrawled his name without a care; he'd proposed the concept, so no investigation could touch him.

After two frantic hours, the vans rolled out, and the lab was unsealed. For Tsinghua students, this was old hat—breakthroughs with national value always triggered such fanfare to prevent leaks. Zhengyang glanced at his watch: noon, lunchtime. Stretching lazily, he strolled out, ready to head home for his mom's cooking. But Ye Qingcheng darted after him, her mind buzzing with questions. She knew better than to get too close to this guy, yet curiosity burned too fiercely to resist.

"Zhengyang, I promised you lunch," she said, avoiding his gaze. "There's a great spot nearby—northern and southern flavors, should suit your taste." Her voice was stiff, her eyes averted. Something about his sly grin and roguish stare always sparked her temper.

Zhengyang waved her off. "Nah, I'm a good kid. Mom's home-cooked meals are more my speed."

Good kid? Qingcheng's head snapped up, her glare venomous. "Good kid? If you're good, the world's out of bad ones. Up all night, huh? How many girls did you chase this time? Drop the act—your fake purity won't fool me. Think I'll see you differently?"

Zhengyang stifled a laugh, half-annoyed, half-amused. Reject her lunch invite, and she goes for the jugular? His love life was none of her business, and he wasn't trying to woo her. He was pure as driven snow, thank you very much. "Fine, I'll grace you with my presence. But I'm picking the dishes."

Qingcheng bit back a retort, feeling utterly wronged. She'd never met a man like this—making her treat him and dictating the menu without a thought for her preferences. Was he playacting this cocky charm to catch her eye? Hmph, she thought, I'm not falling for it. This is just to grill him, nothing more. Next time he begs for a meal, he's getting nothing—not even if he begs me!

As they walked, campus students, fresh from class, gawked. Qingcheng, the icy lotus of Tsinghua's peaks, was walking with a guy? Dating? Eyes bulged with shock and envy. Qingcheng rarely spoke to men, let alone strolled with one. Zhengyang strutted, head high, basking in the stares, his swagger crab-like and insufferable. Qingcheng couldn't take it. "Hey, can you walk like a normal person? People are watching. You look ridiculous."

Zhengyang grinned. "Qingcheng, you're a campus superstar, right? Those guys glaring daggers at me? Makes me feel like a king. No envy, no talent. I'm a genius, and genius needs flaunting. Gotta strut my stuff!"

Qingcheng was speechless, edging away to signal to onlookers: I don't know this guy. We're strangers. At the upscale hotel restaurant near campus, she hurried inside, mortified to be seen with him. If her family caught wind, they'd bombard her with questions. She wanted a private room, but none were free, so they settled at a quiet table by a window. Zhengyang scanned the place, unimpressed. "This joint's lame. Zero date vibes. Bringing a girlfriend here? Hard pass."

Qingcheng's patience frayed. "Lei Zhengyang, this isn't a date. I'm your senior sister, treating you to lunch. Normal stuff. Don't get ideas."

He eyed her attempt to distance herself, smirking. "Relax, ice queen. You're not my type—too cold. Hugging you'd need a parka. Don't flatter yourself."

Qingcheng's hand twitched, itching to storm off, but she clamped down on her anger. Just this once, she vowed, bear it. Zhengyang, ignoring her darkening scowl, grabbed the menu and bellowed, "Waiter! What's with this service? I've been sitting forever—nobody's coming! Think I can't pay? Get over here, I'm ordering!"

Qingcheng, mid-sip, choked, spraying water. As heads turned, she hid behind the menu, mortified. Gods, why not strike this guy with lightning? She wanted to bolt, questions be damned, but standing now would draw more eyes. A waiter approached, unfazed by Zhengyang's rudeness, serving with professional calm.

"Gimme this, this, oh, and this. Three of those. Spicy chicken cubes, yeah. Got any decent booze? What, just Wuliangye? No XO, no brandy? Fine, bring a Maotai. What, none? Go buy some! Think I'm broke?" Zhengyang's demands left the waiter dizzy, rushing off with the order—and to hunt down Maotai. Poor guy.

Qingcheng stared, finally grasping the essence of a true playboy. Zhengyang was a masterclass in spoiled arrogance. Resigned to her bad luck, she vowed never again. With dishes and drinks ordered, she could finally dig in. "Lei Zhengyang, let's be straight. Where'd you get those X-matter equations? Don't say you wrote them—I won't buy it, and neither will you."

She knew the antimatter experiment's success was a coup. If mass-produced for specialized uses, it'd be a national triumph—and a massive boost for the Lei family. While the state frowned on growing clan power, contributions like this earned rare privileges. Zhengyang grinned, unfazed. "Sorry to disappoint, but I cooked those equations up myself. Took years of grinding to crack them. Teacher's a beast, though—nailed the rest in half a month. Credit's not just mine, so no worries."

Qingcheng's eyes narrowed, skeptical but moving on. "Fine. Next question: why'd you apprentice under Wang? Was it because of me? If so, save it—I'll never like you. You're worse now, all fake with that smarmy grin. I can't stand it."

Zhengyang rolled his eyes. His smile? Pure, radiant sunshine, and she called it fake? He wasn't smiling for her anyway. "Qingcheng, think you're some city-toppling goddess just 'cause of your name? Look in a mirror. Okay, you're not bad—great hips, perky, tempting to grab—oh, just a figure of speech, don't freak. Point is, you're not my dish, so I'm not biting."

His string of "greats" nearly sent Qingcheng's nose out of joint. Good thing he swerved, or her water glass might've flown. "Look, my real food's here!" he chirped as waiters brought steaming dishes. Chopsticks in hand, he dove in, acting like Qingcheng herself was less appetizing than his order.

Qingcheng fumed, utterly deflated.