The moment he heard this question, a wave of embarrassment surged from the soles of Song Honglang’s feet straight to his head, anger welling up in his chest.

A roar threatened to escape his throat but was swallowed back. After a few seconds, he spat out each word deliberately: “Song, Hong, Lang.”

“……”

A brief silence came from the other end of the phone.

Song Honglang’s heart suddenly leapt into his throat.

Beep beep beep—

The sound of a busy signal.

Song Honglang’s heart sank, his mind suddenly blank.

“What happened? Why do you look so awful?” Xu Ting asked, leaning against the pool table.

Song Honglang threw the cue stick in his hand, and it clattered heavily to the ground, echoing loudly.

For a moment, the entire club fell silent.

Expressionless, Song Honglang walked to the window and redialed the number.

“The number you are dialing is currently busy—”

He hung up.

“The number you are dialing—”

He hung up again.

Ordinarily quick-tempered, Song Honglang now exhibited an extraordinary level of patience, mechanically dialing and hanging up, numb and robotic.

The familiar group of friends exchanged uneasy glances, not daring to interrupt, even as Xu Ting frowned.

Finally, on the twentieth attempt, the call connected.

Immediately, Zhang Zhixing’s angry shout came through: “What is wrong with you?!”

The balloon of rage in Song Honglang’s chest popped with her sharp jab. “Zhang Zhixing, what the hell is your problem?!”

“What do you mean, my problem?!” She took a sharp breath, her voice sharp yet tinged with sobs. “Can you just leave me alone? Stop bothering me!”

In the late autumn chill, Song Honglang felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over him. His voice trembled. “What do you mean?”

“I… it hurts so much, it hurts so much…”

Her voice turned into muffled sobbing, as if she couldn’t catch her breath.

Song Honglang’s heart clenched. “Zhang Zhixing, what’s wrong? Zhang Zhixing—”

“Just leave me alone. Beep beep beep—“

Another busy signal.

Song Honglang’s gaze darkened as he slumped into a seat, tossing his phone aside.

She said it hurt.

She told him not to bother her anymore.

But he didn’t even know what had happened.

Feeling stifled, Song Honglang took several deep breaths, a rare and unsettling sense of helplessness washing over him.

After a long while, Xu Ting asked, “Zhang Zhixing? What happened with you two?”

“I don’t know,” Song Honglang muttered, clenching his fists, exuding a rare defeated air. “Yesterday, she told me to leave her alone, and today, she took leave.”

Only after speaking did he realize how dejected his tone sounded. He leaned back on the sofa and forced a smile. “Maybe it’s because of the bet. I overdid it, and getting yelled at like that caught me off guard.”

Xu Ting smirked. “I think it shook you up. You were yelling and shouting just now.”

“Yeah, because I’ll look bad if I lose the bet.” Song Honglang closed his eyes, pretending to be relaxed. “She really doesn’t know how to play along. What a bookworm.”

“So the girl you bet on chasing is Zhang Zhixing, huh?” A blonde-haired guy chewing gum spoke up. “That explains a lot.”

“Explains what?” Xu Ting glanced at Zhang Rui.

Zhang Rui replied, “No wonder she’s being targeted.”

“Targeted?”

Song Honglang’s eyes snapped open, his brows knitting. “What do you mean?”

Zhang Rui replied without hesitation, “My girlfriend was part of that ribbon-cutting ceremony with her. She said Zhang Zhixing’s shoes had nails in them. I thought, how could such a good student get targeted? Turns out, you got involved and caused jealousy.”

Nails in her shoes?

Recalling her pained cries on the phone, Song Honglang’s expression darkened.

“Yeah, speaking of that, yesterday’s incident even made the news. I’ll show you my girlfriend.”

Zhang Rui pulled out his phone to show off but was interrupted by Song Honglang’s voice.

“Hand it over.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re interested in my girlfriend.”

Grumbling, Zhang Rui passed the phone over.

Song Honglang carefully scanned the news photos. One image of the venue’s interior caught his attention, and he zoomed in repeatedly.

Finally, in a corner of the photo, he spotted Zhang Zhixing wearing a qipao and high heels—a ceremonial hostess uniform.

He paused for a few seconds, gripping the phone tightly, his expression growing colder.

Initially, he thought of thoroughly investigating who was responsible, but now it seemed unnecessary.

The school had a specialized etiquette club. Hostesses for events big and small were selected from this club. The president of the etiquette club this year was none other than Zhao Yiqian.

Zhang Zhixing’s foot was intentionally injured, and she was then made a hostess, forced to wear high heels for hours. Could that be a coincidence?

Zhao Yiqian.

Song Honglang lowered his gaze before suddenly looking up at Xu Ting. “Didn’t you say Zhao Yiqian was coming to cheer me on? When?”

Xu Ting checked the time. “Should be around now.”

Just as he finished speaking, the door swung open.

Zhao Yiqian was still in her school uniform, her black hair slightly disheveled, and her pure face brimming with a cheerful smile. “As soon as class ended, I rushed over by taxi. I’m not late, am I?!”

“Oh, wow, the beauty has arrived,” Zhang Rui whistled.

Song Honglang stared straight at Zhao Yiqian, a faint smile on his lips. “Not late at all, just in time.”

His dark eyes sparkled like broken light, dazzlingly beautiful.

Zhao Yiqian felt her ears grow hot and returned a shy smile. “Good, as long as I’m not late. How’s your preparation going?”

“Not bad,” Song Honglang said, crossing one leg over the other in a casual posture. His tone was light. “You participated in the ribbon-cutting ceremony yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Zhao Yiqian nodded, lowering her head slightly. “I was one of the hosts for the performance yesterday.”

Song Honglang tilted his head toward her, his lips curling slightly. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re in charge of the ceremonial hostesses, right?”

“That’s right. Why do you ask?”

Zhao Yiqian’s heartbeat skipped, and a trace of panic flashed through her.

“I heard Zhang Zhixing got injured. Why did you still make her one of the ceremonial hostesses?”

Song Honglang was still smiling, his tone casual. “Being a hostess is such hard work.”

Zhao Yiqian’s eyes flickered, a mix of panic and jealousy stirring within her. Feigning surprise, she said, “What? Zhang Zhixing got injured?”

“Yeah, you didn’t know?” Song Honglang asked, his expression genuinely puzzled.

Zhao Yiqian shook her head, her eyes wide with innocence. “I didn’t know! If I had known, why would I have chosen her as a substitute?”

Song Honglang nodded as if understanding. “That makes sense. Why would you make an injured person a hostess, especially in high heels?”

“Exactly. If I had known her foot was injured, I never would’ve let her wear heels,” Zhao Yiqian quickly echoed.

Suddenly, she felt the surrounding air grow cold.

She looked up at Song Honglang.

His dark eyes were heavy, penetrating.

The chill made Zhao Yiqian’s lips go dry. She stammered, “Wh-what’s wrong?”

Song Honglang chuckled, the curve of his lips like a cold blade. He leaned in closer to Zhao Yiqian.

Her forced smile faltered. This version of Song Honglang made her uneasy.

After a long moment, he spoke. “I don’t recall mentioning that Zhang Zhixing’s injury was on her foot.”

In that instant, Zhao Yiqian felt the blood in her veins freeze, her whole body chilled to the core.

She stumbled backward, nearly falling off the couch, her face pale.

Swallowing hard, she stammered, “I-I guessed! You mentioned high heels, so I figured it must’ve been her foot!”

Song Honglang paused for a few seconds, then nodded in apparent agreement. “Makes sense.”

He smiled again, reverting to his usual laid-back demeanor, his hands tucked behind his head. “Xu Ting, open a bottle of wine.”

Xu Ting rubbed the billiard cue and said, “Zhang Rui, you open it.”

Zhang Rui glanced around, shaking his head. “Bunch of clowns.”

Zhao Yiqian’s heart was still racing. She fidgeted with her bag and forced a smile. “Honglang, when does your match start?”

“The match?” Song Honglang chuckled. “Not playing anymore. Something came up.”

“What came up…” Zhao Yiqian trailed off, glancing at her phone. Turning back, she said, “Excuse me, I have to take a call.”

She stood up and unlocked her phone, only to realize her hands were covered in sweat.

It took several seconds before she managed to unlock it.

“Hello? Yeah, what’s up? Mm-hmm, I get it…”

She spoke into the phone as she walked toward the door of the club. Gripping the handle, she pulled several times, but the door wouldn’t budge.

Turning around, she saw Song Honglang leaning against the sofa, arms crossed, one leg propped over the other, smiling as he watched her.

Beside him, Xu Ting, Zhang Rui, and the other boys in the room were also staring at her.

Click—

The sound made Zhao Yiqian’s legs go weak, and her phone slipped from her hand to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Song Honglang was still smiling, but his voice carried the chill of something dredged up from the depths of hell.

“The door… it won’t open. I-I need to get back to class.”

Zhao Yiqian forced a smile, her expression strained and pale.

Xu Ting shook his head. “Zhang Rui, why’d you lock the door?”

Zhang Rui let out a scoff but didn’t reply, thinking: As if you don’t know the code. Stop pretending.

“Oh, you should’ve said so earlier. I’ll have someone take you home,” Song Honglang said, gesturing. “Li Cheng, escort her.”

“Sure.” Li Cheng walked over.

Zhao Yiqian swallowed hard. “I—”

Before she could finish, Li Cheng grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back, pinning her to the ground. Her pale face was squashed against the floor, distorting her features.

Zhao Yiqian couldn’t even scream, only writhing helplessly like a fish out of water.

Song Honglang stood up, casually picking up a baseball bat nearby. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

It was quickly answered.

“Song Honglang, what are you up to now?!”

A faintly irritated, sweet voice came through the line, loud enough to hear without the speaker on.

Bending slightly, Song Honglang rubbed the end of the baseball bat against Zhao Yiqian’s cheek.

Looking down at the girl pinned to the ground, his tone was relaxed. “Where’s your house? I’ll send a car to pick you up.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Zhang Zhixing’s tone dragged on, tinged with curiosity.

Song Honglang’s expression finally softened into a real smile. Squatting down, he used the baseball bat to lift Zhao Yiqian’s chin, revealing her full face.

Click—

He took a photo and sent it.

From the other end of the call came the sound of a notification, followed by Zhang Zhixing’s startled gasp.

Zhao Yiqian’s struggling grew more frantic.

Song Honglang’s face remained impassive, though his tone carried a subtle hint of provocation.

“Don’t you want to come and see for yourself?”

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