Chapter 64: My Father Invited You to Dinner (Thanks to the Leader of the Orange-Black Scoundrel Alliance)

Lin Mengqiu carried the takeout meal from the cafeteria back to the teachers’ dormitory.

This dormitory belonged to Lin Ming. Back when Lin Mengqiu hadn’t yet started high school, Lin Ming would often use it for midday rests during work. Later, when she entered high school and the daily commute between home and school became troublesome, Lin Ming vacated the room for her to live in.

Compared to the student dorms, the teachers’ dorm was much more comfortable. It was a large studio with a balcony and a private bathroom. The school provided an air conditioner and a water heater. They’d bought the washing machine and fridge themselves—the fridge was a small one, but apart from storing some fruit, Lin Mengqiu rarely used it.

A TV hung on the wall, much smaller than the one at home. Other than when her father occasionally watched it while staying here, Lin Mengqiu hadn’t turned it on since moving in; a fine layer of dust coated the screen.

The dorm had internet access. Her father had bought her a high-end laptop and a good printer, and her phone was also a top model. A private space like this, free from parental and school supervision, equipped with computer, phone, and internet—this was the dream sanctuary for ninety-nine percent of students, a place to hole up and game until day and night blurred together.

But Lin Ming was never worried; he knew all too well how disciplined his daughter was.

And indeed, that was the truth. When Lin Mengqiu returned to the dorm, aside from bathing and resting, she spent most of her time reading and doing exercises. Occasionally, she’d use the computer to search for information or print documents. She never brought her phone to class, leaving it in the dorm just for communication; only during meals would she set it beside her, watching a few short videos as she ate.

She ate quickly—often, the videos weren’t even halfway through before the meal was gone. Whenever she set down her chopsticks, she’d finish the current video, immediately lock her phone, and never let herself slip into the next one.

She had few contacts on QQ and WeChat and rarely chatted in groups. Sometimes she’d lurk and read what others were saying, but never joined the conversation.

Entering the room, she closed the door, turned on the air conditioner, placed the meal on the table, and changed into her indoor slippers.

Perhaps the slippers were a bit large, making her feet look especially small. Her toes peeked out from the front, like tender shoots emerging shyly from between leaves—nails trimmed neatly, tinted with a faint pink. The skin at her heels was smooth and delicate, occasionally flushed with a trace of red from the slippers’ friction, reminiscent of the pale hues lingering on early spring branches.

When she walked, the back of the slipper would dip half an inch with each step, revealing a slender, fair arch.

Step, step, step.

She went to the bathroom, washed her hands, her face, and her feet. Only then did she walk to the bed, retrieve her phone from under the pillow, sit at the dining table, and open the meal box to eat.

Perhaps recalling someone’s instructions, she unconsciously slowed her eating today.

Chewing slowly and carefully…

When you chew thoroughly, you can taste the natural sweetness of the rice.

Lin Mengqiu knew this came from the starch in the rice chemically reacting with the enzymes in saliva, breaking down into maltose.

That annoying Daoist probably didn’t know this—

At the thought, she felt a hint of pride, as if she’d evened the score a little, especially after Chen Shi’an had lectured her all morning on obscure medical principles.

As she ate, she opened WeChat.

There was one unread message—from her father.

She opened it, paused for a moment, then replied with a simple “Oh.”

After responding to her father, she opened the search bar and entered the phone number she’d accidentally memorized.

Click, search.

A user appeared on her screen: profile picture—a sunrise on a mountaintop; nickname—Chen Shi’an.

She couldn’t help but smirk, a little speechless and a little amused. Such a middle-aged style profile picture and a real-name account—he stood out like a sore thumb among the class’s sea of cartoon and animal avatars. Are you really eighteen?

Lin Mengqiu tapped to send a friend request.

After waiting a while with no response, she closed WeChat and opened Douyin.

She’d liked, favorited, and even secretly commented on that “Ba Duan Jin” exercise video. Her comment was just three system pig-face emojis anyway. With so many comments under the video and no one knowing her Douyin username, a little mischief was fun.

Only an idiot would use their real name online like Chen Shi’an!

The video was over ten minutes long. She watched it again as she ate. Judging from the way things were going, the school’s radio calisthenics would probably be replaced by Ba Duan Jin soon. This was just some early revision.

Thanks to the video’s length, for once, she finished her lunch slowly. When the video ended, so did her meal.

She tidied up, then took out her workbook and started on her exercises.

It was now twelve thirty. She could study for another half hour, nap for twenty minutes at one, and then return to class.

While doing her exercises, she kept her phone beside her, occasionally tapping the screen to check for WeChat notifications, but there was still no friend acceptance.

She couldn’t help but fuss inwardly—

What are you and Wen Zhixia eating? How are you still not done? Or do you just not look at your phone during lunch?

She began to wonder if her friend request had even been sent. She opened “Contacts,” then “New Friends.”

The page was full of unverified friend requests from others, but the top one—the only one she’d sent—was marked “Waiting for verification,” standing out as an eyesore.

Why isn’t there a feature to withdraw friend requests?

She turned off her phone and continued with her exercises, deciding to ignore him…

…

Chen Shi’an and Wen Zhixia, though they ate slowly, were remarkably punctual. Every time they finished and returned to class, it was about twelve forty-five.

With the soy milk and milk given by Wen Zhixia and Lin Mengqiu, Chen Shi’an hadn’t drunk a drop of plain water all morning.

When both were finished, he finally went to fill his bottle.

As he prepared to meditate, he remembered Lin Mengqiu saying she’d add him on WeChat and invite him to the class group later, so he took out his phone.

Sure enough, there was a friend request.

The avatar was a minimalist illustration of a rabbit, just a few strokes outlining a bunny with its back turned; the nickname was simply “Ling.” No message in the verification box—just a straightforward request.

He had no idea when she’d sent it, but Chen Shi’an accepted. “Ling” became the third friend in his list.

Chen Shi’an: [Class monitor?]

The reply came quickly.

Ling: [Yes.]

Chen Shi’an: [Panda face, devilish grin]

Staring at her phone, Lin Mengqiu fell into a brief silence at the sight of the emoji.

What the heck! You’re sending panda emojis too?

Can’t you use something that matches your middle-aged avatar and nickname, like [smile], [grin], [handshake], or [fist salute]?

With a touch of long-nurtured grievance, Lin Mengqiu tapped his profile picture twice out of spite.

[“Ling” patted me]

A system notification suddenly popped up in the middle of their chat screen, and Chen Shi’an was momentarily puzzled.

Chen Shi’an: “Class monitor, why are you patting me?”

[“Ling” patted me]

Chen Shi’an: “?”

[“Ling” patted me]

Chen Shi’an: “How do you do that?”

[“Ling” patted me]

Seeing Chen Shi’an fumble with his phone like a befuddled elder, Lin Mengqiu was even more entertained. She refused to tell him how it worked and didn’t even type a reply.

She didn’t know if the annoying Daoist had gone to search it online or what, but just as she was tapping his avatar with gusto, a system notification appeared on her screen:

[“Chen Shi’an” patted me]

Even across the screen, it was as if she could hear his “Oh—I see,” a tone that would earn him a two-point deduction. She was about to keep patting him, but her finger paused.

Chen Shi’an: [Class monitor, weren’t you going to add me to the group?]

Ling: [Later.]

Chen Shi’an: [Aren’t you going to sleep?]

Ling: [Later.]

Chen Shi’an: [Then I’ll go meditate.]

Just as Chen Shi’an was about to put away his phone and meditate, Lin Mengqiu sent another message:

Ling: [My dad invited you to dinner at our place tomorrow night.]

Chen Shi’an: [Tomorrow night?]

Ling: [If you’re not free, it’s fine. Don’t feel pressured. I’ll tell him. It’s nothing important, so if you can’t come, it’s okay.]

Chen Shi’an: [I’m free.]

Ling: […]

Chen Shi’an: [Class monitor, you don’t want me to come?]

Ling: [I didn’t say that.]

Chen Shi’an: [Oh.]

Ling: [smile]

(Thanks to the Orange-Black Scoundrel Group Leader for the alliance master! Generous boss! May you prosper! Thank you so much for your support~!)

(Extra update added, please vote for the monthly ticket~ Another chapter coming this afternoon, three updates today~)