Chapter 1:

An ex-boyfriend should be treated as if he's dead.

You bury him with dignity, he buries you gracefully; we each let the other's grave grow wild with eight-meter weeds.

But one night he got drunk, and I took him home.

Only to be disastrously counterattacked!

In the dark room, all I could hear was the creaking of the bed.

Not long after, the sound stopped abruptly.

Mason Grant buried his head in my neck, sounding utterly defeated, "Sis, I really can't do this...."

1

In the last summer vacation of college, I wanted to drive to Verdene.

The itinerary was ready, and there was a car at home; everything was in place except for a driver's license.

To pass in one go, I asked my dad to find a reliable driving school for me.

Moreover, I even paid extra to open the VIP channel for one-on-one coaching.

Before leaving, I was full of determination; a driver's license was a must-have!

But when I saw Mason Grant at the driving school, my whole spirit instantly deflated.

Hearing the receptionist introduce, "This is Coach Grant, who will be teaching you."

A song lyric floated through my mind, "Rose petals falling down one by one."

Utterly deflated.

Who would have thought the driving school my dad randomly found would be owned by my ex-boyfriend's uncle!

As it happens, the boss had a drinking party with his buddies yesterday, got drunk, and didn't return home, so he's busy coaxing his wife now and has no time to teach me.

As it happens, his nephew, with two years of driving experience, had just returned from abroad, so this task was handed to him.

Me: ? You're too grand, you're chasing your wife, and I'm the one feeling awkward?

Absolutely preposterous!

With my talent, I was bound to get scolded while learning to drive. Being scolded by the coach is fine, but not by my ex-boyfriend.

I intended to change coaches, but since it was one-on-one tutoring, other coaches didn't have the time, and besides, they felt it wasn't worth it, so the boss had Mason Grant help out.

The receptionist explained, "Don't be fooled by Coach Grant's youth; his driving experience is more than enough to teach you..."

I wasn't worried about that...

Just about to speak, Mason Grant suddenly appeared from who knows where.

Hearing that I wanted to change, an angry voice descended from above, "You're picky now?"

Startled by him, I calmed down, pretended not to hear, and smiled as I asked the receptionist, "Then can I not learn now?"

Mason Grant, unwilling to be ignored, squeezed between us and answered first, "Sure, why not."

Just as I was about to sigh with relief, he slowly added, "But there's no refund."

"Why? I paid for your uncle's classes. Isn't it a mismatch if I can't get a refund?"

"No, you can't."

The tone was self-righteous.

Mason Grant continued, "As far as I know, you transferred the money via WeChat, right? You didn't specify the instructor, did you?"

Me: "..."

It was true.

Since it was introduced by an acquaintance, I didn't go through the proper procedures, only a verbal agreement.

Mason Grant's lips curled up as he bent down to lock eyes with me, "So how can it be considered a mismatch?"

That look on his face, as if staring at a pig walking into a trap.

I felt offended.

But for the sake of money, I had to stay, and an hour later, began my journey of being scolded...

No, I should say my yin-yang laced driving lessons.

2

My theory wasn't bad, it was just my mindset; once I got in the car, I became nervous, stiffened up, and didn't dare to act rashly.

Mason Grant opened the car door, sat cross-legged in the passenger seat, glanced sideways at me, and said flatly, "If you're being kidnapped, blink. I'll call the police for you."

I dared not be angry or speak out.

Reversing into the garage, I crossed the line three times in a row.

On the fourth attempt, Mason Grant was already used to it, didn't even look back, just said, "If your family can afford it, buy a parking lot."

I retorted to myself: If I could afford that, I'd be here putting up with this pain!

The family car is manual; my dad bought it to experience the feel of a race car, but now it's become my stepping stone to social embarrassment.

When changing gears, I habitually glance down to make sure I can shift.

Mason Grant coldly reminded, "Looking during the exam means failing."

Scared, I quickly turned my head back.

On the second lap, I kept my eyes straight ahead, attempting a blind shift, my right hand just reaching to the side, ready to shift gear.

Suddenly, something didn't feel right.

Glancing sideways, I was stupefied.

Aaaaaah, why is my hand on Mason Grant's thigh!?

More importantly, I had just slid my hand back like shifting gears, and it was now stuck at the base of his thigh.

My palm burned as I instantly pulled it away, my face turning a shade of crimson, trying to explain, "I didn't do it on purpose."

"Oops," I slipped up, saying, "I did it on purpose."

Mason Grant was stunned for a few seconds, then reacted and widened his eyes, saying in an incredibly aggrieved tone, "Weren't you the one who said I was inadequate before? What are you doing now! Wanting to go back to your ex?"

"Or do you really think I'm not capable?!"

By the end, he was practically shouting.

I closed my eyes, hunched my shoulders, and retreated backward.

I just knew Mason Grant hadn't let that go.

3

It's widely known that a man's height and capabilities in that area are his Achilles' heel, and geniuses are no exception.

I had the misfortune of offending this twice, both times with no good outcome.

The first time was when we just started dating.

Mason Grant, revered as a distant high peak, was effortless in math competitions but a total novice in romance, ignorant about matters between men and women.

Our first kiss was initiated by me. He had his eyes wide open the whole time and was completely still.

I teased, "Aren't guys supposed to be naturals at this? How come it's blocked with you guys?"

After I spoke, his face turned beet red, and he quickly made an excuse, "I... I wasn't being serious! How about we try again tomorrow!"

Haha, is this something you can schedule?

I was amused by him and didn't take it to heart.

Then, close to eleven that night, I got a call from Mason Grant, asking me to come downstairs to get something.

Once I left the dormitory, he pulled me towards a small grove, and the familiar air pressed toward me.

Mason Grant placed one hand on my waist, the other holding my face, and his fiery kiss landed on my.... lips.

The kiss left me swaying, like I was about to fall into a bottomless sea, unable to catch my breath until someone pulled me back, floating in the air.

That feeling was quite unforgettable.

Later, I learned the reason for his qualitative leap was because of Baidu!

While checking materials on Mason Grant's computer, I found a search history entry: How to kiss so a girl can't resist?

Mason Grant, when caught, refused to admit it, blaming his roommate Ethan Cole.

I didn't believe it and got chased by him all day explaining.

A kindhearted schoolmate captured the scene and uploaded it to the school forum.

The title was "Shocking! The high and aloof flower, after being dragged off its pedestal, did such a thing."

Ugh.

What high and aloof male god, just a proud little puppy.

The other time was the breakup.

But this time, I was innocent.

Almost a year into our relationship, Mason Grant often participated in various competitions, and the time together was sparse, so I thought of breaking up.

But I only mentioned it a couple of times to my roommate, who then gossiped about the reason.

I half-heartedly said, "Just incompatible personalities."

Little did I know before I could even bring it up to Mason Grant, it was spread around by my roommate, becoming more and more exaggerated.

From breaking up due to personality incompatibility to sexual incompatibility...

When Mason Grant returned from a competition, he didn't even have time to put his luggage back in the dorm, directly crossing two campuses to find me in a large lecture.

Seeing him panting with a somber face, my heart sank, and I was extremely scared.

Terrified he'd get so upset he'd want to prove right then and there that he indeed wasn't incapable.

But when Mason Grant caught his breath, he only asked one question: "Do you really want to break up?"

Once the arrow is shot, there's no turning back; I gritted my teeth and answered loudly, "Yes!"

As soon as I said that, a loud "bang" sounded from the trash can beside me, and Mason Grant walked away without looking back.

The school forum was also in turmoil, exclaiming that in our lifetime, we could see the high and aloof flower get this angry.

Some people, with mocking undertones, said, "What's the use of good looks, if you're inadequate in the key areas, you're just wasting resources."

Probably not wanting to be continually talked about, the next day, Mason Grant applied to go abroad as an exchange student, and it's been exactly a year now.

Now he's finally back and runs into me, his ex-girlfriend, forced to recall this embarrassing history.

I can totally understand why he's not in a good mood.

But I really wasn't intentionally taking advantage.

It's all my dad's fault for buying a stick-shift car with an ABC installed.

4

After Mason Grant finished yelling, the scaredy-cat in the car was quiet as a chicken.

Just as I hesitated about whether to argue again, Mason Grant spoke coldly, "Tell me, why did you spread those rumors about me back then."

We dated for a year but never reached that stage, so the rumor about not being capable was completely baseless.

"That thing, it was indeed a misunderstanding."

I explained, "At the time, I was talking about being incompatible in personality..."

Before I could finish, Mason Grant interrupted, raising an eyebrow, "Only realized the incompatibility after a year of dating?"

"..."

Indeed, as expected of a genius, the logic is rigorous.

Under his gaze, I felt utterly uncomfortable, closed my eyes, and put it all on the line.

"Then just think of it as me being fed up, annoyed, not liking you anymore."

After speaking, I didn't dare look at his expression and immediately turned my head, closed my eyes, and played dead thoroughly.

Who knew, getting up early in the morning made me sleepy, and I accidentally fell asleep...

I wish it was all a dream.

But as soon as I opened my eyes, I was greeted by Mason Grant's angry face, mocking, "Are you here to learn to drive or to sleep?"

I sat up abruptly, instinctively touched my chin.

Thankfully, there was no drool.

Otherwise, I'd never live it down in this life.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

I muttered, a whole morning wasted for nothing.

Mason glanced at me with a look that said: Don't you have any self-awareness?

Oh, I have a bit of a nerve issue.

If I don't sleep well at night, I must sleep enough in the morning, or else I'll wake up with a temper, quite a big one.

Once, when we went to an ancient town, Mason wanted to watch the sunrise and woke me up at five o'clock.

At first, I patiently said twice, I didn't want to go, let's talk about it after I wake up.

That was actually a polite refusal.

But Mason kept bugging me, and I finally got up, watched the sunrise, and I got mad.

Along the way, I was stone-faced, skipped the rest of the trip, pulled out my phone to buy a return ticket, for one person.

Mason realized the seriousness of it, quickly bought a ticket for the same train, followed silently behind me, fetching the ticket, carrying the luggage.

After coaxing for a few days, promising never to force me up early again, the matter was settled.

At this point, knowing I was in the wrong, I cautiously asked, "Are we still practicing today?"

Mason glanced at his watch, nodded towards the tree.

"Park the car over there, practice after lunch."

"Mission will be accomplished," I saluted him like a soldier.

Maybe I was showing off too much.

The car hit the tree.

Before it hit the tree, I vaguely heard Mason calmly ask, "Have you ever risked your life for someone?"

I was puzzled, thinking he was being sarcastic again, and ignored him.

By the time I realized something was wrong, it was too late to hit the brakes.

Just heard a "bang," the airbag popped out, and I was knocked unconscious.

When I woke up, I was in the hospital, watching a nurse cleaning glass shards from Mason's arm, the flesh already turning pale.

Even with anesthetic, it looked painful, and I couldn't stop my tears from flowing.

One hand was being treated by the nurse, Mason propped his head with the other hand, smiled helplessly, "I'm the one injured, why are you crying?"

"Because it's you who's hurt, that's why I'm crying." I sobbed in reply.

That sudden honesty left him at a loss, stunned for a few seconds, he reached out to wipe my tears.

Who knew, I immediately said, "I'm afraid you'll scam me."

Mason's hand, frozen in mid-air, clenched into a fist, letting out a cold laugh.

"...That's actually a good idea!"

And just like that, I dug myself a pit.

Haven't passed the driving test yet, paid a lot of money.

Life is not easy, I sighed.

My savings went to instant noodles, no extra money for Mason to scam, I had no choice but to repay with labor.

Besides, it was thanks to him lunging over with all his might, steering the wheel sharply to the left, or I'd be the one needing stitches now.

Thinking of this, my heart softened.

But only for a few minutes.

Mason got five stitches, the doctor advised not to eat anything too spicy, no water contact, no lifting heavy objects, rest well, change bandages on time.

After that, he grinned at me, "Hannah Evans, Auntie, I'm counting on you."

My fist tightened: "..."

Your Auntie, your whole family are Aunties!

5

I'm older than Mason by just one year.

When we first started dating, I always tried every way to make him call me sister, isn't that the point of dating a younger guy?

But Mason stubbornly refused, I tried to trick him, while studying in the library, asked, "Dad's sister is called Auntie, so if I have a daughter, what do you call me?"

Such a kindergarten-level question, Mason surely knew, yet he innocently replied, "My dad is an only child."

Who cares if your dad is an only child!

Later, thanks to my period, I finally fulfilled this wish.

Mason saw me lying in bed in agony, begrudgingly called out, "Sister."

After calling, he shyly turned his head, explaining, "The internet says, diverting attention can relieve pain."

That bashful look was just too cute.

And now, after breaking up, he has elevated my status.

I really should be thankful.

But taking care of meals, drinks, and cleaning, how does that not make me an Auntie?

—Housekeeping Auntie.

Mason Grant insists that before practicing driving each day, I report to his house and bring him breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

He specifically demands meals from the shop near the school, and after eating, we head to the driving school together.

He calls it convenient, but it's a half-hour taxi ride from the school dormitory to Mason's rented apartment. Convenient in what way?

It's revenge! This is definitely revenge!

If I had enough money other than for traveling, I'd throw it in Mason's face and shout, "Extort me all you want!"

Unfortunately, I can't.

I crawled out of bed in the dormitory and rushed out to buy food, hastily making my way to Mason's home.

As soon as I entered, I saw him sprawled on the sofa like a master, swiping his phone with one hand. Hearing the sound, he glanced up and complained, "You're late."

Only five minutes late!

Feeling irritable, I retorted, "There was traffic on the road; what could I do?"

Mason locked the phone screen, tossed it in his pocket, and walked towards me, relentless, "Couldn't you leave earlier?"

As he spoke, he tried to take what I was holding.

I let out an "Eh" sound, stepped back, and said, "I can do it, don't get hurt again."

Mason's lips curled into a smirk, and he snorted, "At least you care about me."

Me: "?"

I'm just being exploited, over and over.

Due to his injury needing rest, we didn't need to practice driving these few days. I initially planned to quickly tidy up his place and head back to school.

Instead, Mason insisted I sit down and eat with him.

We bought claypot rice from the nearby shop we used to frequent; I'm tired of it.

But seeing Mason eat it heartily, I couldn't resist asking, "Is it really so good? You've eaten it so many times, aren't you tired of it?"

Mason paused, looked up at me, "I'm not someone who likes new and hates old."

Clearly, it was a dig at me, yet from his tone, I sensed a hint of grievance.

Especially as he spoke, he lowered his head to scoop up rice, his eyes drooping, fringe falling forward, resembling a neglected little puppy.

Then, suddenly, he got angry, pushed the bowl forward, and huffed, "Not eating anymore."

"I want to wash my hair; help me."

Mason stood up, glared at me, and headed straight for the bathroom.

Now he's angry again.

I sighed helplessly.

Boys are really hard to understand.

I kindly suggested he could go to the barbershop, and I'd pay.

I have enough for this.

Mason directly countered, "How is that extorting you?"

Such righteous indignation.

I endured it!

I fiddled in the bathroom for a long time, finally assembling chairs into a long makeshift bed and placing a basin in front.

Afraid the seat was too hard, I thoughtfully cushioned it with a blanket to ensure the comfort was as good as at a barbershop, and then called Mason over.

Mason's mouth twitched, looking displeased, "You really think my home is a barbershop?"

"Why not?" I asked with anticipation.

"No, you can't!" he shouted.

In the end, we opted for the simplest method: one sitting, one standing.

Mason walked in with a dark expression, dragging a chair, his back against the wall, sitting down without leaving space for me.

The bathroom wasn't big; I was forced to face him, the posture indescribably ambiguous.

Mason's head was just at my neck level, his warm breath hitting me, feeling strangely ticklish.

It felt like the room had heating on; it was a bit stifling.

My hands were on Mason's head, but my gaze couldn't help but fall on his face.

After a year of not seeing him, Mason's features had become much sharper, and when he was silent, he seemed more mature.

Yet I always felt there was a greater sense of loneliness in him than before.

Mason was slow to warm up to strangers, having only me and Ethan Cole as friends.

He went abroad as an exchange student; who knows if he made any new friends?

Perhaps my gaze was too intense, Mason suddenly looked up, our eyes meeting unexpectedly.

His bright eyes looked at me; he smiled and asked, "Nice to look at?"

I was startled, nodded dazedly.

The next moment, his charming smile vanished as he snarled, "Then scratch somewhere else for the good-looking person!"

"You're about to scratch me bald!"

Me: "..."

Thank you, mood killer.

The following process quickly wrapped up. I scratched a few times here and there, rinsed with clean water, and didn't even bother drying his hair before immersing myself in cleaning.

Mason seemed unclear on what had upset me; seeing my foul mood, he walked over and snatched the broom.

Pretending to casually say, "I'll give you a chance, join me in an activity, then you can go home."