Hua Lingyue was stunned by the question, her eyes widening as she stared at Qi Chen. Qi Chen was looking right back at her.
The two of them stared at each other for a while before Hua Lingyue finally recalled the time she had excitedly told her supervisor about her suggestion.
The supervisor had worn that ambiguous half-smiling, half-mocking expression, and had said that meaningful sentence—[Go ahead and try.]
So, the supervisor had known all along.
After drawing a few pentagrams, Xie Qiaoqiao grew tired of passing the time that way. She raised her head and absentmindedly gazed at the stretching branches outside the window.
Hua Lingyue was still stubbornly trying to get Qi Chen to think again—was there really no such Red Talisman Script?
Qi Chen answered honestly, “There are some Red Talisman Scripts that can be used for listening in, but their effect is far worse than a Listening Device, and they’re also affected by the environment and the people’s aura around them.”
“The most important thing is, it’s too conspicuous.” He pulled out a blank piece of Talisman Paper to show Hua Lingyue, saying, “A piece of Talisman Paper this big stuck to your body—only a blind person wouldn’t notice.”
The Talisman Paper was a little larger than Qi Chen’s palm, and it was bright yellow. Hua Lingyue didn’t dare to imagine how obvious it would look if you stuck that thing onto someone’s suit jacket.
The Listening Talisman Plan had failed, so Hua Lingyue had no choice but to announce the end of the meeting for now. In reality, the main purpose of the meeting wasn’t her Listening Talisman Plan anyway—what really mattered was the earlier update about ‘Ruan Shiting.’
As soon as Hua Lingyue declared the meeting over, Xie Qiaoqiao stood up, stuffed both her folder and jewelry box into her backpack, and was the first to leave the conference room.
Qi Chen turned his head, his eyes following her back for a few seconds before slowly retracting his gaze and lowering his head to tidy up his things on the desk.
Hua Lingyue cupped her face in her hands and grinned, “Xiao Qi, you know our society encourages free love, right? If you don’t take the initiative, your girlfriend won’t just pop up by herself, you know!”
Qi Chen looked up, his face expressionless as he met her gaze—four eyes met, but Hua Lingyue just kept smiling.
Adults who’ve been in relationships tend to be more perceptive about these things, so even if Qi Chen didn’t say it, Hua Lingyue could sense the subtle atmosphere between him and Xie Qiaoqiao whenever they were together.
That kind of emotion, muddled and unclear due to youth and inexperience, was like the sour scent of an unripe green plum, seeping through leaves and branches to fill the air.
After a moment of silence, Qi Chen suddenly spoke. “The Pinduoduo link I sent you yesterday—you didn’t help me with the cut, did you?”
“Uh… sorry, I forgot. I’ll help you right now!”
Good-natured as ever, the adult pulled out her phone and, right in front of Qi Chen, clicked on the link. Page after page of redirects popped up, but the topic from earlier refused to be redirected away as easily as those screens.
While clicking away on her phone, Hua Lingyue continued, “You’ve got to be more proactive, speak more directly—if two blocks of wood get together, nothing will ever happen.”
She genuinely wanted to see Qi Chen and Xie Qiaoqiao date.
There wasn’t any other reason—just two teenagers, close in age, coworkers, both terrible at math, and besides, Qi Chen was pretty good-looking.
People reach an age where they start to enjoy watching beautiful young boys and girls fall in love—this was a common quirk.
Once the last screen finished loading, Hua Lingyue looked up to say something, but Qi Chen had already packed up his bag and was standing.
He stood there, his pupils looking down at Hua Lingyue from under his long eyelashes.
“How do you know I never confessed?”
Hua Lingyue’s finger paused on her phone screen: “…?!”
The first time Qi Chen met Xie Qiaoqiao, he was fifteen.
His master had passed away, and the disciples from the Daoist Temple had scattered into the mundane world—Qi Chen was too young, so he was assigned to a shishu who already worked at the Special Folklore Research Department.
Shishu said that just recently, their office had rescued several people who’d been kept by a troublesome demon since childhood. They were holding a basic education class to help these people better integrate into society.
Qi Chen, too, had been completely isolated from society in the Daoist Temple.
He could be sent to the class to make up for his missed compulsory education, and then take the college entrance exam afterward.
Shishu led him down a corridor, with wooden frame windows on one side and classroom windows on the other. The tiles on the floor were marked with shifting patterns of light and shadow.
Finally, they stopped in front of a door. Shishu pushed open the classroom door—and inside, it was a complete madhouse.
Someone was hanging from a ceiling fan, someone was crawling on the floor, and someone was squatting on a desk to use the bathroom.
The teacher ran from the front of the room to the back, and then from the back to the front, pressing each of these people—raised by demons and turned half-wild—back into their seats one by one.
Qi Chen unconsciously gripped shishu’s sleeve, peeking curiously from behind his arm. His gaze traveled past the chaos and landed on a girl sitting in the first row by the window.
She was nothing like those unruly ‘primitives’—she wore her gym uniform neatly, sat with perfect posture, her black short hair tied into two small tufts behind her ears, and her jawline was sharp and defined from being so thin.
In a room where everyone’s auras were in chaos and fluctuating due to their emotions, the girl’s aura was like a deep, still pool—cold, indifferent, unmoving.
They were the only two students in the class who were close in age, so it was natural for them to be assigned as desk mates. Qi Chen learned her name: Xie Qiaoqiao.
Her name had a repeating character, and sounded pretty cute, but it didn’t match her appearance or personality at all.
Qi Chen had tried greeting Xie Qiaoqiao at first, but she completely ignored him.
For a while, Qi Chen suspected she might be mute, until one day he heard her in the cafeteria, asking the auntie for extra rice in perfect Mandarin. That’s when he realized she could talk.
Xie Qiaoqiao just didn’t like talking to him, that’s all.
Later, after the basic education class ended, they were assigned to the same high school, and both chose the liberal arts track.
So they ended up in the same class again, continued to sit together, and occasionally went on missions together—if they needed a living capture, he’d be the one to go in, while Xie Qiaoqiao stayed back as insurance.
If the mission didn’t care about casualties, then it was Xie Qiaoqiao who took the lead, while he waited from afar with Hua Lingyue for her to finish the job.
Over time, Xie Qiaoqiao would sometimes acknowledge him, talk about things outside of work, or eat together at the school cafeteria.
Their relationship was still pretty ordinary, just progressing from strangers to colleagues or classmates who’d nod in passing.
But, strangely, Qi Chen didn’t feel disappointed or bitter, because he’d seen how Xie Qiaoqiao treated other people—with even colder disregard.
Then came the college entrance exam and filling out university applications.
Qi Chen still remembered that hot summer day—Hua Lingyue had bought popsicles for everyone, and the sunlight shining through the window was almost blinding.
He and Xie Qiaoqiao sat side by side at the computer desk.
He held the mouse, Xie Qiaoqiao flipped through the application reference book—while Hua Lingyue sprawled on the couch in the living room, watching a rerun of an old Republican-era romance drama.
Qi Chen asked, “How do you estimate your score?”
Xie Qiaoqiao was still looking at the reference book, not even raising her head: “Just fill in your own application, don’t ask such boring questions.”
The sound of mouse clicks filled the air, but Qi Chen doggedly kept trying, “Where do you want to apply?”
Xie Qiaoqiao: “Nanjing University.”
Qi Chen replied with an “Oh,” stopped filling out his application, and also began flipping through the reference book, looking for Nanjing University in the last few pages.
He compared the previous years’ admission scores to his own estimated results and realized he could probably get into Nanjing University too, though he wasn’t sure which major to pick.
So he asked Xie Qiaoqiao, “Which major are you applying for?”
Xie Qiaoqiao closed her reference book: “English. Are you done? If you’re done, move over, I need to fill in mine.”
Actually, Qi Chen hadn’t even started. But he felt a bit intimidated by Xie Qiaoqiao, so he clutched his reference book and obediently moved his chair, handing over the mouse and keyboard to her.
Xie Qiaoqiao focused on the computer screen, sunlight from the window tracing a golden outline around her, even highlighting the worn frayed edge of her school uniform sleeve.
The sunlight was hot, burning through Qi Chen’s skin, making his heart restless—he couldn’t even read the words on the reference book.