Chapter 516: Helping in Times of Need, Doubling Your Favorability!
Shen Anyu looked at Yang Hong and Yang Qiuchan, who were still trying to apologize, and said with a smile, "It's nothing, just a small matter. It's just that this white shirt has oil stains on it, and it's uncomfortable to wear. Can it be dealt with? Otherwise, it will be quite uncomfortable to eat hotpot later."
Yang Hong immediately breathed a sigh of relief, a wave of gratitude washing over him. This young man was remarkably magnanimous. He first declared that all of Shen Anyu's expenses today would be on the house, a small gesture for a massive inconvenience. Then, he turned to his daughter, his voice a mixture of paternal command and gentle urgency. "Qiuchan, help this customer deal with the oil stains. Use my clothes for now, and then have the shirt dry-cleaned. Luckily, we have a dry-cleaning machine at home."
"Mm, sir, please follow me."
Yang Qiuchan spoke with a polite softness, her voice barely a whisper. She led the way, her posture graceful despite her evident unease, guiding Shen Anyu through a swinging door and into the narrow corridor behind the bustling dining area of Yang's Hotpot Restaurant. The air here was different—thick with the smell of cleaning supplies and old plumbing, a stark contrast to the fragrant steam outside. She brought him to the staff restroom, a small, utilitarian space tiled in white. She watched, her gaze fixed on the floor, as Shen Anyu lifted his white shirt over his head, and her small face, partially hidden by the surgical mask, flushed a deep crimson again. The sight of his lean, well-defined torso momentarily stole her breath. She quickly took the white shirt, now marred by a dark splash of hotpot soup, promising to have it cleaned, and then offered him a folded, clean shirt belonging to her father.
"No need, I don't like wearing clothes that others have used. It'll be fine in a moment," Shen Anyu said with a light chuckle, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space. His tone was casual, but the statement was absolute.
"Ah, alright then." Yang Qiuchan blushed even harder, her head bowed so low her chin nearly touched her chest. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, standing there bare-chested and completely at ease.
Within the small space, a heavy silence fell, broken only by the distant hum of the restaurant's ventilation. The air grew thick, charged with an unspoken tension that felt almost electric.
Shen Anyu's gaze, sharp and full of a predatory interest, sized up Yang Qiuchan, this supposedly ugliest Destined Heroine. His eyes weren't lecherous; they were analytical, like a master appraiser examining a priceless artifact hidden beneath a layer of grime. He could see past the simple mask and the self-effacing posture. 'If her burn scars were healed,' he thought, a flicker of appreciation in his eyes, 'she's actually an extremely delicate and beautiful woman. Truly top-notch.'
Her figure, even in the plain waitress uniform, was graceful and slender, with legs that were impossibly long and shapely. But it was her temperament that was most captivating—an ethereal, almost ghostly quality. It reminded him of something classic, something tragic and beautiful. Yes, she was somewhat similar to the most famous depiction of Nie Xiaoqian from that iconic version of 'A Chinese Ghost Story'—a sorrowful spirit of haunting beauty.
At this moment, as if his stare was a physical touch, Yang Qiuchan flinched. She tried to make herself smaller, pressing back against the cool tile wall. She angled her head, a desperate, instinctual movement to hide the side of her mask where the edge of the burn scar sometimes peeked through. She didn't know why, but being seen by him—by this specific man—made her skin crawl with a discomfort that was sharp and agonizing.
Ever since the fire, since the severe burns had stolen her face, she had become a creature of shadows and self-consciousness. The world was a gallery of judging eyes, and she was the broken exhibit.
"Is your name Qiuchan? Yang Qiuchan, right?"
The sudden sound of his voice sliced through the silence. It was warm, a smooth, gentle current that seemed to push back against the sterile cold of the room. Yang Qiuchan was startled, her body jerking slightly. Instinctively, her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his. She saw a handsome face filled with a disarming kindness, a genuine smile that held not a single trace of morbid curiosity or revulsion. It was a look she hadn't seen directed at her in a very, very long time.
"My name is Shen Anyu. It's a pleasure to meet you," Shen Anyu said, his smile widening slightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
The simple, polite introduction felt like a lifeline. "My name is Yang Qiuchan," she replied, her voice trembling just a little. She gently bit her lip, a nervous habit she couldn't control. "It's also a pleasure to meet you."
[Ding! Detected Destined Heroine Yang Qiuchan's favorability +10. Plundering +30,000 destiny points!]
A cold, triumphant smirk flashed in Shen Anyu's mind, utterly invisible on his warm, friendly face.
'It's true. Providing help in a time of need is far more memorable than adding flowers to embroidery. If Yang Qiuchan hadn't been disfigured, if she were still that untouchable campus belle, a common greeting like this would have been just another drop in an ocean of advances. Countless boys would have said the same words, and it wouldn't have sparked a single point of favorability.'
'But now… now she's been severely burned, disfigured. She is at the absolute lowest point of her life, consumed by self-loathing, her every nerve raw and sensitive. At a time like this, the smallest act of genuine kindness, the slightest warmth, can earn a mountain of goodwill.'
'Whether Wu Ming ran away with his tail between his legs or not, I certainly won't be polite. This Yang Qiuchan is mine for the taking.'
Shen Anyu's face remained a perfect mask of warmth and sincerity, transforming him into the quintessential "warm man." Of course, ordinary warm men were often ranked lower than dogs in the grand scheme of romance. But Young Master Shen was different. He was a "central air conditioner"—giving warmth to all, but with the calculated goal of saving all beings for his own benefit.
"Qiuchan, may I call you that?" Shen Anyu asked, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate register.
"Ah... you can." Yang Qiuchan's heart gave a violent lurch. Looking at the handsome, gentle man before her, she gently bit her lower lip again, a blush creeping up her neck as her pulse fluttered erratically. But the fleeting warmth was extinguished almost instantly by a wave of icy reality. She thought of her face, of the twisted flesh beneath the mask. Her spirits plummeted, and a familiar, bitter despair settled in her chest.
If only. If only the fire had never happened. If only she were still as beautiful as she once was, how wonderful that would be.
"Qiuchan, you don't need to feel so self-conscious," Shen Anyu continued, his perception razor-sharp. He saw the light in her eyes dim and knew exactly what she was thinking. "Actually, your voice is very pleasant. You have a great temperament, and your figure is also very good. Be more confident. You are already very outstanding."
Yang Qiuchan was a little surprised, her eyes widening. But the surprise quickly melted into a familiar bitterness that twisted her lips into a sad, faint smile. She took his words as nothing more than polite comfort, a kind lie meant to soothe a wounded animal. 'He's a very gentle and good boy,' she thought, a pang of regret stabbing her heart. 'But unfortunately, the me of today... isn't worthy of someone like him.'
Shen Anyu let his words hang in the air for a moment, watching her process them. Just as she was forcing that pained smile, he leaned in a fraction closer and continued, his voice low and magnetic, "Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are very beautiful?"
The question caught her completely off guard. Yang Qiuchan did indeed have a pair of exceptionally beautiful eyes. They were like pools of clear autumn water, sparkling and limpid, so expressive it was as if they could speak on their own.
Shen Anyu didn't just say the words; he demonstrated them. He looked directly into her eyes, his own gaze intense and unwavering. There was no perfunctory politeness, no hint of pity or manufactured comfort. There was only sincere, unadulterated appreciation and praise.
[Ding! Detected Destined Heroine Yang Qiuchan's favorability +10. Plundering +30,000 destiny points!]
A secret, guilty pleasure bloomed in Yang Qiuchan's chest. Her eyes… they were indeed very beautiful. Many people had praised them before, including Wu Ming. But all those previous compliments, delivered in bright classrooms or on sunlit campus paths, felt like hollow echoes compared to this. None of them had ever been as moving as Shen Anyu's praise at this very moment.
To hear it now, at her most disheartened and lowest point, from a boy this handsome, this gentle… it was different. When she was glorious, the popular campus belle surrounded by admirers, praise was background noise. She had taken it for granted, barely caring. But after the fire, after the disfigurement, the world had changed. Few people were cruel enough to insult her directly, but their eyes did the talking. The looks of disdain, of morbid curiosity, of sympathy, of pity, and worst of all, of schadenfreude—each one was a poisoned arrow piercing her sensitive and fragile heart.
But this… this was different.
Instinctively, Yang Qiuchan's hand rose to her cheek, her fingers gently caressing the rough, uneven texture of the burn scars through the thin fabric of the mask. The hideous reality of her injury crashed back into her. Her beautiful, autumn-water eyes couldn't help but redden, filming over with tears. Her voice choked, thick with unshed grief. "But now… everyone who looks at me, as long as I take off my mask… they treat me like a monster. An ugly freak."
The dam broke.
"Why… why did this have to happen to me…?" she whispered, the question a ragged tear in the silence.
At this point, Yang Qiuchan was sobbing uncontrollably, her delicate body trembling with the force of her anguish.
Shen Anyu saw his opening. He launched his attack. In a single, surprising move that stunned Yang Qiuchan into silence, he reached out and lifted her mask, peeling it away from her face to reveal the severely burned and hideous cheek beneath.
"Ah, don't look—!" A terrified shriek ripped from her throat. She moved with frantic speed, covering her ravaged face with both hands and squatting down, curling into a protective ball on the floor.
She was afraid. She was terrified that Shen Anyu, the one person who had shown her kindness, would now look upon her true face and his expression would curdle into disgust and contempt. Even sympathy, even pity, would feel like another blade twisting in the wound. She couldn't bear for this rare, fragile warmth to transform into another cold, sharp arrow.
Shen Anyu, however, moved with decisive grace. He placed both hands firmly on Yang Qiuchan's trembling shoulders, helping her to her feet. His eyes remained locked on hers, looking directly at her face, at the stark, brutal contrast between her perfect features and the mangled scar tissue. His expression did not change. It was still filled with sincerity and concern, utterly devoid of disdain, disgust, or even a flicker of pity.
Yang Qiuchan's gaze darted away wildly, unable to meet his. She couldn't bear to see the change.
And the next moment.
Amidst Yang Qiuchan's panic, shock, and utter disbelief, Shen Anyu leaned down and gently, reverently, kissed her eyes.
Yang Qiuchan froze, every muscle in her body locking.
A touch and then a separation. Shen Anyu's peach blossom eyes, which seemed to gaze deeply even at the air, looked intently at Yang Qiuchan, speaking in a flirtatious tone: "Sorry, your eyes are too beautiful, I couldn't help but kiss them. You won't blame me, will you?"
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