Chapter 70

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Thrown out of the classroom like yesterday’s trash, Ji Yun’s rage reached critical mass. She stormed through the campus like a human-shaped grenade, seconds away from detonation, muttering curses with every step.

That damn peacock.

She had the nerve to pretend she didn’t know her?

Oh, she was done playing nice. The moment she got the chance, she was plucking every last one of her feathers. And if she didn’t, she wasn’t a Ji.

Her heels clicked furiously against the pavement as she stomped down the path, her long strides practically slicing the air. Just then, something caught her eye.

Up ahead, a small crowd had gathered. A few parents were locked in a heated exchange with school security, voices rising. One particularly tall, broad-shouldered man stood out—he was gripping a bright red banner with large, hand-painted characters:

[Give Me Back My Son’s Life!]

Ji Yun slowed her pace and edged closer to listen.

The crowd was tense, emotions running high. Faces twisted in anger. Voices sharp and relentless.

“I want to speak to your principal!”

“My son came home from school last night and tried to take pills—don’t you dare tell me this has nothing to do with your school!”

Ji Yun let out a heavy sigh. These days, students were under so much pressure. Grades were important, sure—but they weren’t everything. What really mattered was a child’s mental and emotional well-being, and that often got overlooked.

She glanced down at the time on her phone, then stepped around the crowd and headed back toward the academic building.

This wasn’t the time to be sentimental.

She had feathers to pluck.

Ji Yun marched up to the third floor, and just as she reached the classroom door, the bell rang. Perfect timing. She planted herself right at the entrance, arms crossed, ready to ambush Yu Shuyan the moment she walked out.

Qiao Ziman emerged first, along with a few other parents.

“Ji Yun, are you okay?” Qiao Ziman asked, brows knitting with concern.

Ji Yun shot her a glare, grabbed her by the arm, and yanked her closer. “Qiao Qiao, what the hell? Were you trying to set me up for humiliation?”

Qiao Ziman tilted her head slightly, suppressing the smile tugging at her lips. “What are you talking about? I don’t follow.”

“You knew that peacock—”

Qiao Ziman quickly tugged her sleeve in warning. “This is still a school.”

Ji Yun lowered her voice but not her fury. “You knew she was Jiang Shu’s homeroom teacher, and you didn’t tell me! Qiao Qiao, who have you been learning from? Since when did you get so sneaky?”

Qiao Ziman, calm as ever, used Chi Yin’s classic deflection line to perfection. “It’s not that I didn’t tell you… You just didn’t ask.”

Ji Yun: “…”

Well. Fair point.

Qiao Ziman nodded toward the other end of the hallway, where Yu Shuyan was still surrounded by a group of concerned parents, clearly unable to break away.

“So?” Qiao Ziman said, eyes gleaming. “Surprised? That’s your beloved cold-and-chaste teacher type, right?”

Ji Yun: “…”

Okay… she wasn’t wrong.

Qiao Ziman gave her a firm pat on the shoulder, her tone suddenly serious. “And let’s not forget—you two have already, you know… done the deed. At the very least, there’s some chemistry there.”

Ji Yun finally snapped out of her daze, eyes going wide. “Qiao Qiao! Are you trying to set me up? Are you insane?!”

But Qiao Ziman was absolutely serious. When she’d first picked up on Ji Yun’s interest, she’d been worried—worried Ji Yun might get hurt. So she went straight to Chi Yin and asked one simple question: what kind of person is Yu Shuyan, really?

Chi Yin only gave her four words in reply.

“She’s a good person.”

And to Qiao Ziman, that meant something. A good person—by her definition—meant someone with sound values, someone trustworthy, someone who treated people right. She believed in Chi Yin’s judgment.

After all, if Yu Shuyan were truly awful, there’s no way the two of them could’ve become close.

But what about the rest? Her personal life… her capacity for love? Did that fall under “good person” too?

According to Chi Yin, Yu Shuyan had never been in a relationship. Not once.

And when it came to matters of the heart, she always kept her lips sealed. If she did get involved with someone, she was upfront about the rules from the very beginning—no illusions, no lies, no emotional games.

Could that be considered heartless? Cold? Maybe even… the behavior of a player?

From a friend’s perspective, Qiao Ziman couldn’t say. It wasn’t her place to judge. She didn’t really know Yu Shuyan, not in the way that mattered—but she did know Ji Yun.

And Ji Yun was not someone who casually slept around.

So whatever happened that night… it wasn’t meaningless.

Maybe it started with physical attraction. Maybe it looked like a one-night stand on the surface. But from Ji Yun’s perspective? It could’ve very well been love at first sight. She hadn’t said anything directly, but Qiao Ziman could see the signs. The clues were subtle—but there.

Like how Ji Yun, after that last night with Yu Shuyan, had abruptly left town and driven back to the neighboring city before dawn. How she’d thrown herself into work for days on end, skipping sleep, staying late at the office like she was trying to outrun her own thoughts—until she finally collapsed and ended up in the hospital.

What was all that for?

To forget her?

To forget a fleeting night she couldn’t quite categorize?

But if it was love… could she really just forget?

If she could, she wouldn’t keep bringing up that name, over and over, like she didn’t realize she was doing it. “The peacock.” Two words, carelessly tossed into conversation—but they carried weight. Unspoken longing. Lingering thoughts.

So maybe, Qiao Ziman thought, it was time.

Instead of burying it, maybe Ji Yun needed another chance. A real one.

To meet the real Yu Shuyan—not the mysterious beauty veiled in makeup and moonlight, but the person beneath all of that. The version she only showed in daylight.

Qiao Ziman looked up, meeting Ji Yun’s eyes with quiet resolve. “If you like her, go for it. At least that way, you won’t have any regrets.”

“Of course, if you’re not into the idea,” Qiao Ziman added lightly, “then just pretend I was talking nonsense.”

From a distance, Jiang Shu came jogging over, looping her arms through theirs. “Sis, Second Cousin, let’s go eat—I’m starving!”

“Hey,” Ji Yun teased, raising an eyebrow, “you getting addicted to calling me Second Cousin now?”

But as her gaze flicked back toward the classroom and landed on Yu Shuyan still inside, her tone shifted. She casually slipped her arm free. “Actually, you two go ahead. I’ve got a little unfinished business to settle… with your dear Teacher Yu.”

Jiang Shu blinked, confused. “Teacher Yu? What’d she do to you? What kind of business?”

Qiao Ziman stepped in quickly, tugging Jiang Shu away by the arm. “Adult stuff. No need for kids to butt in.”

“Who’s a kid?!” Jiang Shu protested, glancing back again and again as she was dragged down the hallway. “What happened between Second Cousin and Teacher Yu? Ugh, I’m dying over here!”

Ji Yun lingered near the classroom door, waiting. A few minutes passed before Yu Shuyan finally emerged, surrounded by a small cluster of lingering parents.

Ji Yun clicked her tongue softly. Hmph. The peacock’s pretty popular, isn’t she?

Without hesitating, she strode forward and grabbed Yu Shuyan’s wrist in one swift move. “Excuse me, borrowing Teacher Yu for a moment.”

“Hey—what do you think you’re doing?” someone called out. “We weren’t finished asking questions!”

“I have more to say!”

Ji Yun ignored the complaints behind her without so much as a glance. She simply tightened her grip and dragged Yu Shuyan toward the stairwell.

“Let go,” Yu Shuyan snapped, frowning sharply, her tone cutting.

She tried to shake her hand free—but Ji Yun’s grip didn’t budge. Not an inch.

And so, with a flush of frustration in her cheeks and a storm building in her eyes, Yu Shuyan found herself being pulled down the corridor—helpless against Ji Yun’s stubborn momentum.

Students and parents in the hallway began to slow their steps, turning curious glances toward the two women. Whispers fluttered through the corridor like dry leaves on pavement.

Yu Shuyan stiffened in alarm. With a quick, sharp movement, she twisted Ji Yun’s arm—hard.

But the reaction didn’t have the effect she intended. If anything, it only fanned the fire.

Ji Yun’s eyes flashed. She glanced to her right—at the door marked Grade 11 Faculty Office. Empty. Perfect. Without hesitation, she shoved the door open and dragged Yu Shuyan inside, slamming it shut behind them. The click of the lock echoed like a countdown.

Ji Yun squared her shoulders, eyes locked on Yu Shuyan with fiery intensity.

“Was that fun for you?” she growled. “Pretending you didn’t know me… huh, Peacock?”

The space between them vanished in an instant. Warm breath ghosted over Yu Shuyan’s skin, laced with Ji Yun’s distinct scent—feminine, fiery, and dangerously familiar.

There was nowhere to run.

Her heart began to race.

Ji Yun took another step forward, closing the distance until Yu Shuyan’s back hit the door. Her gaze bore into her. “Say something.”

Yu Shuyan turned her head slightly, avoiding those burning eyes. Her voice came out low and strained. “Say what? We’re not even that close.”

Not close, huh? Ji Yun’s jaw tightened. Without warning, she grabbed Yu Shuyan by the chin and forced her to face her.

“Let me go. We’re at school—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Ji Yun kissed her. 

No warning. No hesitation. It was fierce, possessive, impossible to ignore—cutting off every word left in Yu Shuyan’s throat.

Yu Shuyan’s eyes widened, caught off guard, her body stiff at first… but then slowly, reluctantly, she gave in. Her resistance began to melt away, overtaken by heat and the ache of something unresolved.

Then she felt it—

Warm hands, soft but assertive, slipping beneath her neatly tucked blouse. Skimming the curve of her waist. Traveling upward, slowly, deliberately.

The spell shattered in an instant.

Yu Shuyan snapped back to herself and shoved Ji Yun away with all her strength. Breathless, flustered, she quickly looked down to straighten her now-disheveled blouse, fingers trembling.

“You’re out of your mind, Ji!” she hissed, fury blazing in her eyes. “What is wrong with you?! This is the second time!” Her voice rose, cracking with disbelief. “This is the second time you’ve kissed me without permission!”

Ji Yun didn’t flinch.

She simply stood there, watching her. A smile played at the corner of her lips—half amused, half maddeningly calm.

“Well, well,” she said softly. “The peacock shows her feathers again.”

Then, her smile deepened, laced with something almost tender. “But you haven’t forgotten me, have you?”

“So?” she asked, taking a single step closer. “What now?”