“I Knew All Along”

Chi Nanli coughed twice, nearly choking on his drink. “Wait, hold on—so all of you have girlfriends except me? You’re literally just shoving this in my face.”

Jiang Shangyu was laughing so hard he was shaking. “Serves you right for not even knowing how to chase a girl. Look at Bro Ci—he’s got a girlfriend, and you’re still single. Either stay a forever bachelor or accept the marriage candidate your family sets up for you.”

Chi Nanli clicked his tongue, grabbed a peanut from the table, and tossed it at Jiang Shangyu, hitting him square on the shoulder. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m perfectly happy being single—no one to boss me around.”

Then he tilted his head toward Wen Zhaoci with a sly grin. “But Bro Ci, you’d better step up and make sure you bring your girl along. I want to see what kind of woman can actually melt this ice block of yours.”

Wen Zhaoci didn’t banter back. His fingers unconsciously brushed against the phone in his pocket.

Zhao Muze waved his hand. “Chi Nanli, want me to share my love guide with you? Guaranteed to help you land the girl of your dreams.”

Chi Nanli quickly waved him off, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Forget it. You couldn’t even figure out your own love guide when you were chasing girls—I’m not touching that.”

Zhao Muze: “Hey, don’t believe me? That’s exactly how I got my current girlfriend. I’ll send it to you—it’s a Douyin account that posts dating advice every day.”

Wen Zhaoci: “Just share it directly in the group chat.”

Gu Yanshi: ??? He’s already got the girl—why does Wen Zhaoci still need dating advice?

Jiang Shangyu: ??? What the hell? Dating advice? That stuff’s all toxic鸡汤. He bit back a laugh.

Chi Nanli: “Wait… Bro Ci, you’re already in a relationship. Do you really need this?”

Wen Zhaoci neither denied it nor confirmed it. He just looked calmly at his friends’ expressions, his gaze practically saying: Yes, I do!

The group continued drinking and joking around, the atmosphere in the private room lively and warm until late into the night.

When Wen Zhaoci stepped outside, the night breeze completely cleared his head. He pulled out his phone and opened his chat with Sang Jiuning. The pinned conversation still showed messages from days ago—nothing new at the bottom. His fingertip hovered over the input box, typing and deleting over and over.

He gave up.

Since the school had a curfew, he had the driver take him straight to his high-rise apartment near campus.

He usually lived in the dorms and only came here occasionally. The housekeeper came daily to clean, and the fridge was restocked with fresh ingredients every day.

He sat down on the sofa, reopened his phone, and set that photo of him and Sang Jiuning—the one where he was patting her head—as his wallpaper. Then he opened the school forum, wondering if that photo of him kissing her forehead had been posted too. But after scrolling through, he found that every single post about him had vanished completely.

Who had deleted all those posts?

He immediately opened his laptop and hacked straight into the school forum’s backend.

Lines of code scrolled rapidly across the screen. Within half a minute, he’d found the operation logs—every single post had been deleted by the original poster’s own account.

Wen Zhaoci’s fingers paused on the trackpad. After a two-second pause, he let out a low chuckle.

He typed a few quick commands on the keyboard and pulled up the poster’s account information. The avatar was still the default gray icon.

He stared at the account details for a few seconds—there was a phone number.

His fingertip tapped lightly twice on the trackpad, and he exited the backend, closing the laptop.

He leaned back into the sofa, picked up his phone, and glanced at the time—3:15 AM. He dialed the number directly.

…

So it was Fu Yanchen from the Fu family who’d had them removed.

Wen Zhaoci’s eyes narrowed slightly.

First Weng Zhicheng wasn’t enough—now there was a Fu Yanchen.

Irritated, he opened that Douyin account Zhao Muze had mentioned—”A Love That Never Ends”—and started watching from the very first video…

Saturday morning at 8 AM, Sang Jiuning was still sleeping in.

Her roommates had already gotten up.

Tang Tongtong yawned—she’d been playing Honor of Kings until late last night. “Sang Jiuning, didn’t you say yesterday that we’d get up early and head to the library? What’s wrong with you? It’s already time—why aren’t you up yet? If you don’t get moving, all the good seats will be taken.”

Sang Jiuning mumbled something from under her covers, turned over, and tried to sneak in two more minutes of sleep. But her phone buzzed under her pillow.

Still half-asleep, she fumbled for the phone. The name on the screen jolted her awake. Her finger hovered over the answer button for two seconds before she reluctantly picked up, her voice still rough with sleep: “Hello?”

The voice on the other end was low, carrying through the receiver with a morning huskiness: “It’s me. Wen Zhaoci.”

Sang Jiuning shot upright in bed, startling Tang Tongtong. She clutched the phone, pressed her lips together, and lowered her voice: “What is it?”

“Come downstairs.”

Wen Zhaoci’s voice was low, cool, and devoid of warmth. The early morning made it even deeper, carrying an almost imperceptible pressure.

Sang Jiuning frowned instinctively, shrinking back, gripping the blanket tighter as she tried to maintain her cold, distant attitude, falling back on their agreement: “Didn’t we agree? Once a week. We’ve already seen each other this week.”

She deliberately kept her tone distant, secretly relieved: Keep giving him the cold shoulder, slowly bring up the breakup—once he agrees, it’s done.

There was a two-second silence on Wen Zhaoci’s end, broken only by the rustle of wind through leaves. His tone was calm but carried an unyielding stubbornness: “I’m taking you to breakfast. That shrimp wonton place. I’m downstairs.”

Sang Jiuning panicked, her voice growing more anxious: “Wen Zhaoci, you can’t do this. We agreed to take it slow—”

“You added the wrong WeChat and thought I was Weng Zhicheng. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

The words came out of Wen Zhaoci’s mouth lightly, like a bomb—soft, yet hitting Sang Jiuning with pinpoint precision.

Her mind went completely blank.

All her bravado, all her cold treatment, all the carefully constructed camouflage for slipping away—shattered in an instant.

Is he going to lure me down there and throw me into the mountains to feed the wolves?

She stammered for a long moment before managing to squeeze out: “You… when did you find out?”

Wen Zhaoci’s tone remained calm, even carrying a faint, detached coolness: “Come down, and I’ll tell you.”

Sang Jiuning: “Let’s break up.”

Whether I go down or not, I’m dead either way. Since it’s all out in the open, I might as well just say it.

“I’ll give you five minutes. I’m waiting downstairs.”

His tone was utterly flat, as if he were commenting on the weather—completely unreadable.

It’s over, it’s over. I’m done for.

The storm was hiding beneath that calm surface.

Since he insisted she come down, she’d break up with him face to face.

Sang Jiuning threw on a loose, thin hoodie over her sleep dress (the kind with built-in cups), her hair a complete mess, and headed downstairs. Clutching the star necklace, she stopped three steps away from Wen Zhaoci, deliberately keeping a safe distance—and didn’t dare look up at him the entire time.