The sound of a prison gate slamming into place was the last thing I heard as the library door clicked shut behind me.
I sat rigidly in the study chair and gazed at Zhou Mingyu across the small table. His face was as unreadable as ever: composed, solemn, and slightly menacing. The type of look that gave you the impression that you had already failed a test that you hadn't even taken yet.
"There's no need for this," I muttered, adjusting my seat. I'm a self-sufficient learner. There's no need for you to waste time on me.
He clicked his pen purposefully to uncap it. "Even keeping your notebook free of drool stains is impossible."
My throat tightened. "That was an isolated incident!"
He turned away from me and turned to a blank page. Clean, accurate strokes of his handwriting swept across it. Under his pen, equations formed as though they had been waiting for him the entire time.
He said, "Sit up," without raising his eyes. "If you intend to learn, you will learn correctly."
Automatically, like a soldier following a drill sergeant, my back straightened. Feeling ashamed of how easily I obeyed his orders, I glared at him.
You don't have to be like my teacher, you know," I whispered. Rather than being master and disciple, we are meant to be study partners.
At last, Zhou Mingyu raised his eyes. His dark eyes fixed me with unwavering focus.
"Are you willing to fail?"
I squirmed. "Oh, no."
"Then stop talking and listen carefully."
My cheeks became heated. Instead of snapping something sarcastic, I forced myself to lean forward and squint at the formulas he had written. They appeared as though they spoke a different language.
"Oh... What precisely am I observing?
With his pen, he tapped the page. "Linear algebra." You've already fallen behind by three chapters.
I dragged my hands down my face and moaned. Can't we begin with something more straightforward? As in addition? I'm very good at adding. The sum of two plus two is my speciality.
Though I swear the corner of his mouth twitched, his face remained unchanged—only a little.
"No," he shot back.
And so my torment started.
"It's incorrect."
"It's still incorrect."
"Make another attempt."
My brain felt like it had been squeezed out like a dish towel an hour into the session. Zhou Mingyu possessed the patience of a saint, or maybe the brutality of a despot, though I couldn't tell. Every time I made a mistake, he pointed it out with surgical precision without getting upset or raising his voice.
Then he slid the notebook back toward me and said, "You're skipping steps again." "Impetuous."
"I don't act carelessly!" I objected. "I am... strategically effective."
"That's just another way of saying that something is lazy."
I let out a groan and fell dramatically onto the table. "What made me consent to this? Yes, exactly. I didn't. You forced me.
He calmly reminded them, writing down another equation, "because you owe me."
From beneath my arms, I took a quick look at him. "You know, when someone owes them a favour, regular people ask for coffee or snacks. Not... months of tormenting academics.
"I don't require coffee," he declared.
Wow. So modest. So innocent. I narrowed my eyes and sat up. "You just like to see me suffer, don't you?"
For the first time, he appeared genuinely surprised. His pen froze. Something that could not be read crossed his face as his eyes shifted to mine.
Then, so softly that I nearly missed it, he said:
"Perhaps."
I was stunned.
"Hold on, was that a joke? Did the legendary Zhou Mingyu really say something amusing?
"I wasn't kidding,"
"You really were, my god!" I smiled as I leaned forward. The history department needs to be called immediately because I've seen a miracle!
He looked at me as if he were freezing lava. "Pay attention."
However, I managed to catch it.
His lips made the slightest, most minor twitch before he turned back to the page.
Time slipped through my fingers as the study session went on and on. I scrawled notes, crossed them out, and then scrawled some more, my handwriting turning into a jumble of jumbled lines.
Zhou Mingyu, meanwhile, had a notebook that appeared to be a well-organised textbook. As someone who was supposed to be distant and aloof, his explanations were incisive, succinct, and shockingly noticeable.
I was actually beginning to understand, despite my reluctance to admit it.
I practically jumped out of my chair when I was able to solve an equation without his assistance.
"I succeeded! Take a look! Like a child flashing a gold star, I pushed the notebook in his direction. "I really did get the answer correct!"
Zhou Mingyu looked at the page and then nodded slightly. "That's right."
Waiting for more, I froze. Bravo. Congratulations. A grin.
Instead, "Took you long enough," he said.
My jaw dropped. "Incredible. It's impossible to please you.
"You think I'll give you kudos for doing the bare minimum?" He raised an eyebrow in question.
"Yes!" I cried out. Positive reinforcement functions in this way! Do you not know what psychology is? I'll perform better if you compliment me.
His dark, contemplative eyes lingered on me for a moment. Then he said, very quietly:
"...Well done.
My brain shorted out because the words were so gentle and unexpected. I just blinked quickly while staring at him.
"What?"
"Good job," he said again, unconcerned. "Avoid making me repeat it."
Before I could stop myself, I started laughing. "Oh my god. You mean it. In fact, you gave me praise. I might cry.
"Avoid it."
I leaned back in my chair and smiled. Be careful, Mingyu Zhou. You may be perceived as human if you continue to be kind.
His eyes darted back to me, unreadable. The air between us felt a little different for a moment. Lighter. Warmer.
Then he closed his notebook and turned away.
"That's sufficient for today."
After a while, I staggered out of the study room, my brain fried but oddly buzzing. It surprised me that the tutoring session wasn't as bad as I had anticipated.
Tired? In agreement. Disgraceful? Of course. However, it's also fun.
Additionally, Zhou Mingyu—
In an attempt to dispel the vision of him bending over the notebook, his hair falling into his eyes, and his steady, low voice explaining each step, I shook my head.
It's dangerous territory, sorry.
"Lin Chen."
The sound of his voice made me jump. With his bag slung over one shoulder, he stood behind me, his face as composed as ever.
Tomorrow at the same time, he said.
I stared in wonder. "What? This happens every day?"
"Yes."
"I didn't consent to—"
"You owe me."
I dragged a hand down my face and moaned. "I'm beginning to wish I hadn't been born."
He didn't answer. Just walked down the hallway, brushing past me. As he went by, students whispered as usual, turning to stare.
And for the second time that day, I found myself looking at his back while feeling something I couldn't name tighten my chest.
I was lying awake in bed that night, gazing up at the ceiling.
I ought to have been terrified of tomorrow. I felt like my brain was two sizes too small because of the incessant formulas and frequent corrections.
Instead, though, his voice was the only thing that came to mind when he said:
"Good job."
And I knew I was in trouble.