You Are the End of My Unhappiness

On He Lewei’s first day as a transfer student, he takes over every trending topic on No. 2 High School’s forum. #GorgeousNewGuyAndHeartthrob# #PossiblyFromAWealthyFamily# #NewSniperOnTheBasketballCourt# His response? “Annoying. Don’t bother me.” Then someone catches him driving a Ferrari to school with one hand, while Yun Zhile, the always-top-ranked student, sits steadfastly in the passenger seat. The forum explodes again: “Holy crap?! Are they living together?!” That night, He Lewei lazily reposts the hot thread and replies himself: “Correction: we’re living together legally (engaged version).” The whole school is stunned. No one knows that this so-called “living together” is a trap laid by both sets of parents: one house, two bedrooms, and a marriage agreement already drawn up. Faced with her parents’ instruction to “get along,” and the arrogant, handsome “fiance” standing before her, Yun Zhile decides to set clear boundaries: split the common areas, take turns cleaning, and keep their distance. He Lewei raises an eyebrow. “Fine.” He plays ball while she studies; he races cars while she reads. They live under the same roof, yet seem like parallel lines. That is, until the interschool league final. He Lewei sinks a buzzer-beater and races toward the stands amid deafening cheers, just to grab her wrist. Yun Zhile raises her phone in front of everyone. Its glowing screen lights up her flushed face. “A birthday present.” He Lewei looks down and sees photos of two household registration booklets displayed side by side on the screen. He smiles, leans close to her ear under everyone’s watchful gaze, and speaks between heated breaths: “I signed for this gift early.”