Chapter 21: The Box Hiding a Treasure

With the glasses removed, free from the constraints of the black frames, the contours of Lu Guifan’s eyes were strikingly clear. Jiang Ruotang adjusted the lighting, snapping several photos for him.

Knowing Lu Guifan couldn’t see his gaze clearly, Jiang Ruotang could unabashedly study his eyes.

They were exactly the same as they would be ten years later—deep-set, with soft, gentle corners.

“Done?” Lu Guifan asked.

“Done.” Jiang Ruotang nodded.

Lu Guifan put his glasses back on, habitually pushing them up. He took Jiang Ruotang’s phone, comparing the photos to the painting, his focus mirroring how he’d analyze data ten years from now.

“I didn’t get it wrong, did I? My observation skills are top-notch,” Jiang Ruotang said, his tone unconsciously smug.

After two years of being around Lu Guifan with the entire school, only Jiang Ruotang knew what he truly looked like.

Lu Guifan was quiet, which made Jiang Ruotang nervous again.

Maybe he was too bold. Perhaps Lu Guifan liked his current look and didn’t want anyone knowing what was under those black-framed glasses.

“While the eyes are indeed similar, the facial features feel broader. Is this artistic enhancement?”

“It’s a bit of artistic license. This is how I imagine you ten years from now. Haha.”

“If you win an award in that competition, will it give you extra points for the art exam?”

“Probably not… but if I don’t get into the Capital Academy of Fine Arts, maybe I can find a good teacher at another school.”

“Where’s the authorization form? I’ll sign it,” Lu Guifan said calmly.

What? Just like that?

“Awesome! You’re the best, Class Monitor!” Jiang Ruotang couldn’t help but throw an arm around his shoulders, pulling out the form Teacher Liang had printed.

Lu Guifan, expressionless, shifted slightly and flipped to the last page to sign.

“You’re not going to read it?”

“Is my face that special? Does it need that much caution?” Lu Guifan countered.

“Of course it’s special—super, super handsome!”

As soon as he said it, Jiang Ruotang’s stomach let out a loud gurgle.

“My handsomeness aside, your stomach sounds super, super hungry.”

Lu Guifan got up, walked to the fridge, and grabbed a triangular rice ball and a chicken leg meal, both with yellow discount stickers. “Want one?”

Then he paused, realizing something.

Jiang Ruotang came from a well-off family. He didn’t need to buy near-expired food, and his family would prepare fresh, tasty late-night snacks.

Just as he was about to put them back, Jiang Ruotang leaned over the counter, stretching his neck. “The rice ball has black pepper beef filling, right? Can you heat it up?”

Lu Guifan checked the label—sure enough, black pepper beef.

“I can find one with a better date,” he said, crouching to search the fridge.

“No need, this one’s fine. It’s 30% off.”

“You don’t have to spare my feelings by changing your choices,” Lu Guifan said.

“Huh? But I always wait until after 8 p.m. to buy discounted fresh-baked bread and fried chicken wings at the supermarket.”

Lu Guifan looked into Jiang Ruotang’s eyes. He wasn’t lying—Jiang Ruotang even knew what items went on sale after 8 p.m.

He heated the rice ball in the oven for thirty seconds and handed it to Jiang Ruotang.

“How much? Need to scan it?”

“Yeah.” Lu Guifan nodded, scanning the code.

The rice ball was steaming hot. Jiang Ruotang sat beside Lu Guifan, unwrapping it. The steam fogged up Lu Guifan’s glasses.

He took them off, intending to wipe them, but couldn’t find any tissue. His employee uniform was too stiff, so he held the glasses by the temple, gently shaking them to let the fog clear.

“Give them to me.” Jiang Ruotang took the glasses, lowering his head to carefully wipe them on the hem of his shirt.

Since he’d gone to the art studio, he’d changed out of his school uniform into a soft, washable cotton T-shirt.

Through the fabric, Jiang Ruotang’s fingers brushed the lenses. He asked, puzzled, “Class Monitor, there are lighter lenses out there now. Why not switch? These are prone to scratches and could shatter if dropped.”

Lu Guifan said softly, “I got these glasses in ninth grade with my grandpa. After he passed, my prescription hasn’t changed, so I kept them. I’m used to them. New ones might make me dizzy.”

“Fair enough.”

Jiang Ruotang turned, carefully placing the glasses back on Lu Guifan’s face.

In that moment, Lu Guifan’s blurry world sharpened, and right before him were Jiang Ruotang’s focused eyes, the dimple at his lips, and his bright smile.

“What’s fair about it?” Lu Guifan knew he might just be going along with him, but he asked anyway.

“This way, I’m the only one who knows what you really look like.” Jiang Ruotang grinned again.

These glasses were like a box hiding a treasure.

“Oh,” Lu Guifan replied softly.

Jiang Ruotang lowered his head, earnestly eating the rice ball, looking obedient.

After a while, Xiao Gao called, asking how much longer Jiang Ruotang would be.

“You can go. You don’t need to stay with me,” Lu Guifan said.

“Alright, see you tomorrow, Class Monitor!”

Jiang Ruotang left, leaving Lu Guifan alone at the counter.

He instinctively touched his glasses’ frame, where the warmth of another’s fingers seemed to linger.

The next morning, Jiang Ruotang woke up in agony. His arms, glutes, and legs ached from playing badminton.

He suspected he hadn’t played badminton but had spent the night hauling bricks.

As he hobbled down the stairs like a rusty robot, he startled Sister Juan.

“Ruotang… are you okay? Should I have Xiao Gao take you to the hospital?”

Jiang Ruotang waved it off. “It’s nothing… just lack of exercise…”

“Lack of exercise?” Sister Juan was stunned.

Jiang Ruotang gave a wry smile. “Does it look like I got run over by a truck all night?”

Sister Juan nodded. “Yeah…”

That description held a certain significance in some novels.

He, Jiang Ruotang, reborn once, hadn’t even had a boyfriend yet felt like he’d lived a novel’s trope.

With great effort, he reached the bottom step.

Xiao Gao drove, glancing at Jiang Ruotang, who was groaning about aches here and there, finding it hilarious.

Jiang Ruotang looked out the window, suddenly shouting, “Stop!” Xiao Gao slowed and pulled over, thinking he’d driven poorly and made Jiang Ruotang carsick.

But Jiang Ruotang pointed at a shop being renovated. “This FAIRY milk tea shop—how long has it been open, and how many branches are in Sheng City?”

Xiao Gao paused. “It started last year, I think? Unlike regular instant milk tea, it uses premium milk and high-grade tea, so it’s pricier—almost double the cost of school gate milk teas. Most high schoolers don’t buy it since it’s expensive, so they’re usually in commercial areas, not near schools.”

But Jiang Ruotang had treated Jian Sha and Lu Guifan to FAIRY because he cared about taste and quality.

“It hasn’t gone public yet?” Jiang Ruotang pointed at the shop.

“Not yet,” Xiao Gao shook his head, thinking Jiang Ruotang’s young master whims were acting up, maybe wanting to open a milk tea shop with his allowance. Who’d have thought he’d ask about going public? Since when did this kid care about that?

“It’s fine, keep driving.”

Jiang Ruotang lowered his head, searching for FAIRY’s info on his phone.

Currently, FAIRY was just an up-and-coming drink brand. No one could imagine that milk tea, seen as unhealthy by parents, would become a lifestyle in a few years.

FAIRY led the industry, sparking a drink revolution with its focus on health and diverse flavors. Its rapid product iterations left a deep mark on a generation and became the top domestic drink brand, rivaling international chains.

Not public yet? Jiang Ruotang searched his memories—it should be this year, his senior year, right?

He looked online and confirmed: it was set to go public next week. But financial analysts weren’t optimistic, giving it a mediocre rating. The market favored booming real estate over a drink brand.

Good thing he was eighteen. He needed to open a third-party custody account at the bank before next week.

When the car stopped at the school gate, Jiang Ruotang struggled out. Xiao Gao watched, concerned. “Need me to help you up?”

“No way!” Jiang Ruotang waved grandly. If novel characters survived being run over by trucks, what was a little badminton?

But when he reached the school building, his head throbbed.

Class 1, Grade 3 was on the third floor!

Clinging to the stair railing, Jiang Ruotang inched upward.

As long as Lu Guifan doesn’t see me, everyone else is irrelevant!

“Hey… Jiang Ruotang, what’s wrong?”

He turned to see Cai Ji, the curly-haired kid.

Cai Ji had little presence in class. At the start of the term, Teacher Wang moved him to the back to give his seat to Bai Yingchuan, but Cai Ji didn’t complain—a guy who’d be “blessed as the East Sea” if suffering brought fortune.

“Cai Cai… I played badminton yesterday and can’t move today. Can you help me?” Jiang Ruotang flashed a standard eight-tooth smile.