So Annoying, Xiao He Really Is

He Zhuoming pulled too tightly, and Lin Qingyun was forced to lean close to her by his collar, pressing his face against the slats of the wardrobe door—like a dog yanked by the neck.

He Zhuoming peered out nervously for a long while, hearing the faint click of high heels growing nearer, then the sound of the living room's combination lock opening.

She suddenly noticed the ice cream bucket still sitting in front of the fridge—if her mom came in, she'd spot it immediately. Acting on instinct, He Zhuoming yanked open the wardrobe door, dashed out, grabbed the ice cream bucket, slid back in with a thud, and shut the wardrobe door behind her.

The whole sequence took only two or three seconds.

The sound of the closing door echoed against her pounding heart. She panted heavily, trying to appear nonchalant as she set the ice cream bucket between herself and Lin Qingyun. "Go ahead, eat. No need to thank me."

Lin Qingyun tugged at his collar, a faint lingering sense of suffocation around his neck.

He Zhuoming had really pulled too hard just now. It was lucky this was a dream, and that he wasn't human.

If he were human, Xiao He would have strangled him.

Lin Qingyun picked up the ice cream bucket and took a bite, saying, "Xiao He, lucky for you, your friend is me..."

He Zhuoming quickly raised a finger to her lips, shushing him. "Shh, shh—don't talk. What if my mom hears? Oh, I want some too!"

Her attention immediately shifted from the wardrobe slats. She crawled on her knees toward Lin Qingyun and fished the wooden spoon out of the bucket.

But because she ate too much ice cream at once, He Zhuoming got a brain freeze, and her face scrunched up.

Lin Qingyun saw and chuckled. "Why that face?"

He Zhuoming shrugged and shuddered. "Ate too much at once, gave me a headache..."

She wrinkled her face and looked up at Lin Qingyun. Inside the wardrobe it was dim, filled with the scent of laundry detergent, stuffy and warm. Lin Qingyun's smiling face was bathed in that dim, warm fragrance, his head tilting back against the wardrobe wall as he laughed.

His eyes curved, long lashes nearly covering his lower lids, completely hiding his pupils.

He Zhuoming suddenly forgot about her headache, biting the wooden spoon and staring at Lin Qingyun in a daze.

Lin Qingyun reached out to snap his fingers before her eyes to bring her back, but then remembered He Zhuoming had just told him to be quiet—so his outstretched hand paused midair, and he simply made a grabbing motion at the air in front of her.

Lin Qingyun: "What are you spacing out for? The ice cream's going to melt."

Indeed, the ice cream was melting—it was too hot in the wardrobe, and the sweet, creamy smell of plum ice cream grew stronger.

He Zhuoming's heart leaped, and she hurriedly snapped back to attention, sticking the wooden spoon back into the bucket.

As she ate, she asked in a muffled voice, "Don't you find it stuffy and hot in here?"

Lin Qingyun: "It's fine. Actually, why do we have to hide? What would your mom do if she saw me?"

Without thinking, He Zhuoming blurted out, "Of course she'd—"

But then she stopped short.

Biting the spoon, she stared blankly at Lin Qingyun. He was looking back at her, smiling with his eyes, dimples clearly visible, waiting for her answer.

He Zhuoming suddenly felt something was off: Lin Qingyun was right, why were they hiding?

Even if her mom saw him, what did it matter? She'd brought friends home before, and as long as they weren't bad kids, her parents had no objections.

Lin Qingyun certainly wasn't a bad kid—he was a kind, good person, almost too kind.

She fell silent, and her face turned redder and redder. She remembered what she'd said when she refused to hold Lin Qingyun's hand: "What if they misunderstand and think I'm dating early?"

Friends don't need to be hidden; only secret lovers need to be hidden, because He Zhuoming's family didn't allow dating in high school.

Lin Qingyun suddenly leaned closer to He Zhuoming, moving slowly. The long earrings hanging by his ears swayed, and the light they reflected flickered across her nose and cheeks.

He didn't speak, and He Zhuoming noticed how good-looking he was.

As he drew closer, she noticed that although he was smiling, his eyes weren't fully closed. In the crescent-shaped gap shadowed by his thick lashes, there were pupils dark as ink.

Lin Qingyun stared at her, his voice low as he pressed, "Why are you quiet? Of course she'd do what?"

Thump, thump.

Heartbeats.

Sizzle, sizzle.

Ice cream melting.

Rustle, rustle.

Long beads clinking.

He Zhuoming suddenly felt a suffocating breathlessness, instinctively inhaling sharply. The breath caught in her chest. Her eyes went wide, and a fine sweat broke out on her nose.

Her face was too red, her nervousness too obvious for Lin Qingyun to miss.

The smile on his face froze, and his eyes unconsciously widened—because suddenly he tasted something.

The taste of plum ice cream.

Cool, sweet, and sticky—an emotion strong enough to break past his threshold, flowing unreservedly toward him.

He Zhuoming's emotion.

For a moment, Lin Qingyun stiffened in place, afraid to move, afraid to keep teasing her. That vague emotion in his chest suddenly turned into heat, surging from his heart to his limbs.

The heat was beyond explanation—was it the season in the dream, or the stale air in this cramped space? He felt restless, his face burning as if splashed with hot oil, both painful and stinging.

It wasn't just his body; even his hands felt wrong—his palms itched fiercely, as if something was crawling in the spaces between his bones.

He started to retreat, his lashes drooping, his eyes closing to avoid meeting hers, saying, "Just teasing you, why so nervous..."

At that very moment, He Zhuoming also closed her eyes and lunged forward, pressing a kiss to Lin Qingyun's cheek.

Both had their eyes closed. In that instant, he pulled back, she advanced, so He Zhuoming's lips only brushed the space near the young man's, never actually connecting with his.

But neither noticed.

He Zhuoming was too nervous, eyes squeezed shut so tightly that her brow furrowed, her mind spinning. All she could hear was her own heartbeat, so loud it made her dizzy, as if she were about to fall asleep—or perhaps get heatstroke.

She had no idea she'd missed.

He had no idea he'd been kissed.

Lin Qingyun closed his eyes, only feeling He Zhuoming suddenly lean close for a brief moment.

A slight breeze with warmth brushed his cheek, and his breaths and swallows carried the scent of plum ice cream.

Xiao He was right; plum ice cream really was delicious.

*

Tang Shuyu suddenly stood up—he stood too fast, knocking over the incense burner, the lid flipping open and scattering ash everywhere.

He staggered, almost stumbling, and walked out of the room with a look of near-panic.

His heart pounded so hard he felt dizzy, and he gripped his palms, stumbling back to his room.

It was a cool, deep night, but Tang Shuyu still felt a sticky summer-evening heat on his skin. Especially his palms, where his fingers had been gripping, rolling with a strange, ticklish sensation, as if he hadn't left Xiao He's dream—maybe the ice cream had gotten on his hands.

His jaw tight, he slowly spread his palm and stared.

But it wasn't an illusion—something really was growing in his palm, tiny round bumps swelling.

Under Tang Shuyu's gaze, the bumps grew larger and larger; the tickling turned into a faint pain as skin tore. Then his palm split open, and several tender green sprouts pushed out.

Seeing those sprouts, Tang Shuyu calmed down instead.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, immediately thinking of the wooden puppet he'd crushed. Tang Shuyu pried open his fingers, looking coldly at the things growing even in his bones.

"Ha! What the hell... it's just residual influence."

He let out a derisive laugh, pulling the sprouts from his bones like weeds, muttering viciously, "I never should have made you... no, it's not your fault either."

"It's my mistake. I shouldn't have just slapped you together to save time. At least I should have given you a brain, so you wouldn't have done something stupid."

Tang Shuyu had crafted many puppets; usually his whims and actions influenced them, but this was the first time a puppet had influenced him.

He didn't think that strange feeling in the dream came from himself. It was just the foolish puppet's one-sided affection for Xiao He, a leftover trace. Just because he hadn't been influenced before didn't mean he couldn't be now. And since the wooden puppet had no brain, falling for Xiao He was only natural.

Xiao He really was quite cute.

...In those last few seconds, did Xiao He suddenly lean close to me? What did she lean in for? To talk? To do something else?

Tang Shuyu's thoughts immediately wandered, his brow furrowed in confusion, and his hand pulling at the sprouts became careless.

Tugging off a sprout, he muttered to himself, "Maybe she wanted to tell me the reason for hiding."

Tugging off another, he muttered, "Or maybe she felt teased and wanted to hit me."

As he pulled, the bones of his palm became clean—Tang Shuyu stared at his hand with a gloomy face, grumbling irritably, "What was she coming over for anyway?"

So annoying.

All the puppet's fault.

*

He Zhuoming got up early, practiced her swordsmanship absentmindedly, then returned to her room to wash up, feeling downcast all morning.

It was already the fourth day, and there was still no clue about going home. Maybe Wen County wasn't the place of her transmigration?

According to novel tropes, a transmigrated character usually gets a chance to go home after finishing the original plot, or after winning over some important character—but usually those plots come with a system or something.

Why don't I have anything?

He Zhuoming couldn't figure out how to get back, and the more she thought, the angrier she got. She bit fiercely into a steamed dumpling, resolving that the first thing she'd do after going home was to give up reading that damn novel!

It was all that stupid novel's fault! Writing about cultivation and xianxia, so many fights and killings, people dying left and right... If she'd written more food fiction instead, it wouldn't have been so bad. Go ahead and write! Write your rivers of blood! One day you'll transmigrate into it as an extra, and you'll know what it's like!

Looking up, she saw the candle Lin Qingyun had left still burning. He Zhuoming gave the candle the middle finger. "You just burn all day! When the wick burns out, you'll cry! I won't help you then!"

After she cursed, the ghostly wailing in the room grew louder.

But He Zhuoming couldn't hear it and remained unaffected. After breakfast, she sat at the dressing table and began to comb her hair.

Now that she had her schoolbag back, she finally had hair ties, so she could stop using ribbons and hairpins. She couldn't do anything too complicated, but a simple low ponytail was within reach.

After combing her hair, He Zhuoming stared seriously at the bronze mirror, holding the comb—then after a moment, she stood up and pressed her face almost against it.

"What are you doing?"

The sudden voice startled He Zhuoming so much she jumped. She looked up to see Lin Qingyun standing in the corridor outside the window.

He Zhuoming patted her chest. "You scared me to death! How come you're standing there without a sound..."

Lin Qingyun said flatly, "I did make noise when I walked. You were too absorbed in looking at the mirror to notice."

He Zhuoming pressed her face back to the mirror, answering distractedly, "Was I?"

While she was speaking, her eyes were still fixed on the mirror. After she finished, she suddenly felt something was off, touched the top of her head, then looked up at Lin Qingyun in surprise. "You didn't tilt my head up?"

Lin Qingyun hadn't just not come over to grab her head and remind her to make eye contact while speaking—he was even standing a bit far from her, his expression somewhat odd.

If even He Zhuoming could tell it was odd, then it really was strange.

Lin Qingyun: "...How did you sleep last night?"

He Zhuoming: "Last night? I slept okay, except the candle you left wouldn't blow out, and it kept burning, which made it hard to fall asleep."

Lin Qingyun: "Oh... I'll take it away later. Did you—did you dream last night?"

"Dream?"

He Zhuoming thought for a moment, but couldn't help glancing down at the mirror in front of her: in the bronze mirror she saw her reflection, and she had two pimples on her forehead.

Staring at those two pimples, which were vertically aligned, she answered Lin Qingyun distractedly, "I think I did, but I don't remember much... In my dream, I was practicing swordsmanship or doing homework or something..."

As she spoke, she pressed her face closer to the mirror again, her brow furrowed in worry, her mind completely not on chatting with Lin Qingyun.

She never got pimples, except two days before her period, and they'd disappear by the second day. Could it be that her period was coming?

Ever since she'd transmigrated, one thing after another had happened, and without a calendar, He Zhuoming had almost forgotten she still had periods.

There were no pads in her schoolbag. How did ancient women handle it? And no ibuprofen either... I'm doomed, doomed.

Lin Qingyun's voice drifted faintly into her ears: "That's all you remember?"

He Zhuoming was too fed up at the moment to care about dreams. She touched a pimple on her forehead and found it hurt a lot, making her feel even more annoyed.

"That's all! What else would there be?"

She suddenly looked up, staring at Lin Qingyun—Lin Qingyun jumped back two steps, putting even more distance between them, and said with a blank expression, "Nothing... I was just asking. Just asking casually. Don't overthink it."

He Zhuoming rested her hands on the table, leaned out the window, glanced at the distance between them, and said, puzzled, "What's with you today? You're really weird."

Lin Qingyun avoided her gaze and said flatly, "Nothing."

He Zhuoming believed him—she sat back down, tipped her chair back onto two legs, rocking unsteadily, and said, "Ugh, it's almost the fifth day, and I still haven't found any clues about going home. When will I ever get back?"

Lin Qingyun lowered his eyes. "I need to return to the Pear Garden Divine Palace today. The palace has a library with tens of thousands of ancient books. I'll search there for clues."

He Zhuoming: "Pear Garden Divine Palace? What's that?"

Lin Qingyun explained: "The first temple built by the True Deity is called the Divine Palace. The Pear Garden Divine Palace is the temple of the Pear Garden Earth Immortal."

He Zhuoming hadn't grown up in this world, so even with the explanation, it was hard for her to grasp the significance of the Divine Palace. She automatically understood it as a temple with a higher chance of having prayers granted.

A sudden idea struck her, and she excitedly asked Lin Qingyun, "Qingyun, Qingyun! If I went to that Divine Palace and prayed to the Earth Immortal to go back to my hometown, do you think my wish would come true?"

Lin Qingyun didn't answer, just looked at her.

He Zhuoming, bewildered by his gaze, asked, "Did I say something wrong?"