At No. 1 High School, students were divided into two kinds.
Either they were academically elite—brilliant enough to rank within the city's top two hundred—or they were born into wealth so unquestionable that even mediocre grades could be forgiven as "temperament" and "breeding." The campus was full of quiet ambition and polished privilege, a place where excellence and status braided together into an unspoken hierarchy.
Mu Xiaonan stood at the very top of that hierarchy.
She was talented in everything she touched, graceful in public, and blessed with delicate beauty. In the eyes of countless students, she was a goddess—one of those people whose presence seemed to brighten hallways, whose smile became the subject of whispered admiration, whose name carried a soft shimmer of reverence.
Until—
The girl who had gradually faded from everyone's memory appeared once more.
Mu Qingyue wore the school uniform, but unlike the others, she didn't bother fastening it neatly. Her collar was loose, her top buttons undone, and the entire outfit looked as though it had been thrown on without care—reckless, casual, almost insolent. Yet somehow that very lack of restraint made her seem more striking, as if the rules that governed ordinary students simply did not apply to her.
The moment she stepped down from the car, she drew attention.
Heads turned.
Eyes followed.
Voices rose in quick, excited whispers.
"Senior Xiaonan is here!"
"Wait—why is she wearing a mask? Is she sick?"
"Idiot," someone hissed. "Senior Xiaonan is walking behind. The masked girl is Mu Qingyue!"
A younger student looked bewildered. "Senior… who is Mu Qingyue?"
A boy older than him scoffed softly, eager to display knowledge. "They say she's related to Senior Xiaonan. Back when she studied here, she wore heavy ghost makeup every day. Even the dean couldn't control her. A total troublemaker. Completely different from Senior Xiaonan…"
"But…" another student murmured, eyes lingering, "her aura is incredible."
In the eyes of the younger students, Mu Qingyue's presence crushed the scene the instant she appeared. She wore her crossbody bag slung lazily over one shoulder, posture relaxed to the point of indifference, yet the pressure she radiated was almost tangible—like a blade unsheathed in a crowd of harmless ornaments.
Even Mu Xiaonan, walking behind her, suddenly seemed less dazzling than usual—as though the light had shifted away from her.
A small, chubby figure floated into view beside Mu Qingyue's shoulder—white and round like a dumpling, with a child's face and bright, mischievous eyes.
"Hmph," it muttered in a smug little voice. "These little brats got stunned the moment your spiritual pressure hit. Kids are so easy."
It was Xiaosu—the book spirit.
Now, Mu Qingyue had cultivated her medical path to Spirit Physician, Seventh Tier. At this level, she could allow Xiaosu to manifest beyond the space and enter the real world.
Of course, only the owner of the space could see it.
Only Mu Qingyue.
Mu Qingyue cut her eyes sideways at the floating child. "Xiaosu," she said coolly, "you're not exactly qualified to call anyone a 'little brat.'"
"I've lived for thousands of years!" Xiaosu protested, puffing up indignantly. "How am I not qualified?"
It was just that it looked cute. That was not its fault.
Xiaosu bobbed in the air, then added earnestly, "If you keep cultivating, your spiritual pressure will only grow stronger. Once you reach the Immortal Physician stage, you won't even have to do anything. Just standing there, they'll feel like an immortal has descended."
It tried to coax Mu Qingyue into focusing on cultivation.
But Mu Qingyue's brows drew together slightly, her voice turning faintly impatient. "It's not that I don't want to cultivate," she said. "It's that the higher the realm, the more rare spiritual herbs you need. Without connections, it's extremely difficult to gather them all."
Cultivation required fate.
No matter how gifted one was, there were limits to what talent alone could accomplish.
As she spoke, she had already reached the classroom.
The homeroom teacher was a middle-aged woman named Yu Shuxian. Her expression was cool, and it was obvious she did not welcome this notorious transfer student returning to her class.
"Everyone, listen," Yu Shuxian said curtly. "This is your new classmate."
She introduced Mu Qingyue, who stood on the podium with half-lidded eyes and a posture that was anything but proper—careless, indifferent, almost bored.
The entire class stared.
Curiosity rolled through the room like a tide.
The rumors about Mu Qingyue were endless, exaggerated, vivid—passed from mouth to mouth until they became legend.
They said she once beat the street's school bully flat with one hand.
They said her grades were so catastrophically bad she nearly gave the math teacher an asthma attack.
They said—
They said she was very ugly.
Mu Qingyue took in the curious stares without a flicker of discomfort. She looked over the class once, lazily, as though scanning a menu she didn't care to order from. Then her gaze settled on an empty seat by the window beside a clean-cut, delicate-looking boy.
She pointed toward it, voice casual. "I'll sit there. Is that fine?"
Yu Shuxian's tone was flat. "Whatever."
The boy hurriedly shifted aside, making room for her to pass, as if afraid she might bite.
Across the room, Qin Ziqiao lowered his eyes and glanced at the empty seat beside him. A faint shadow of disappointment crossed his expression before he smoothed it away.
She…
Did she still not know?
That he was about to become her fiancé?
The delicate-looking boy by the window swallowed nervously and forced himself to speak, trying to be polite.
"Hi," he said quickly. "My name is Shu Zihang. I'm the vice class monitor. If you have any questions about school or studying, you can ask me."
Mu Qingyue flicked her gaze over him—one brief, cool glance.
Then she leaned back against the wall with casual ease. She lifted a hand. The sleeve of her uniform was a little long, covering most of her palm so that only pale fingertips peeked out. She waved them up and down in a slow, lazy motion, like a beckoning lucky cat in a shop window.
"Sure," she said lightly. "Sounds good."