Chapter 43: The Battlefield of Love, Ji Xian’s Composure Shattered

The next moment, a crisp notification sounded—Qiao Zhen’s message arrived on his phone.

After scanning the message, Qin Yichi quickly put away his diary, grabbed an overcoat at random, draped it over his shoulders, and rushed out of the dormitory.

Niu Yifeng was left bewildered in the gust Qin Yichi stirred, nearly jabbing his upper lip with a potato chip. “Wait… bro, where are you rushing off to?!”

The rain outside grew heavier, blurring the world beyond the window. Even through the glass, the downpour’s relentless roar was clear—heavy and insistent.

Having sent her message to Qin Yichi, Qiao Zhen felt her mood lift, just a little. After hearing Ji Xian say, “My patience is limited,” she was left perplexed, almost wishing she could pry open his mind and ask,

Are you alright?

Sitting quietly, Qiao Zhen rubbed her eyes. Some things, it seemed, needed to be spoken plainly—lest they remain tangled beyond repair.

The bell for the end of the fourth period rang. Qiao Zhen paired with a girl she didn’t know, exchanged WeChat info, and filled out her student number, class, and name on the form.

Students trickled out toward the cafeteria and dorms, leaving the classroom suddenly deserted—even Yu Wenjian and his friends had been chased out by Ji Xian.

Only two remained.

Qiao Zhen slowly packed her bag. Unexpectedly, a shadow loomed over her.

Looking up, she saw Ji Xian standing before her.

He towered above her, his expression cold and distant, his gaze fixed on her as if awaiting a reasonable explanation.

Qiao Zhen zipped her backpack. “Is there something you need?”

Ji Xian’s jaw was sharply defined, his lashes seeming dusted with frost, his displeasure evident.

He stared her down, his voice clear and merciless, each word deliberate: “Yesterday, you celebrated another man’s birthday.”

A statement, not a question.

Qiao Zhen had planned to speak with him. Calmly, she lifted her chin. “So what? Does it concern you?”

She suddenly recalled the time in the corridor when Ji Xian and his friends cornered her, demanding to know why she’d abruptly blocked them.

With nowhere to escape, she tried to slip away, but Ji Xian had gripped her wrist tightly, leaving faint red marks.

Then, Ji Xian had remained unmoved, his gaze on her as though she were his possession.

But what right did he have to question her?

At her words, Ji Xian’s expression grew colder, his eyes instantly glazed with icy frost.

He reacted as if he’d heard a joke, his tone righteous and heavy: “Doesn’t concern me?”

Qiao Zhen drew a deep breath and nodded decisively. “That’s right.”

“Ji Xian, I don’t like you anymore.”

She stated it plainly, her eyes calm, as if freed from the depths of the sea.

Years of obsession—letting go wasn’t as hard as she’d imagined.

Day after day, year after year, she’d pursued him with passion. How could Ji Xian not know she liked him?

He’d always enjoyed being chased by her. He’d decisively reject others, but never her.

Because of this special treatment, she’d once been fervent, but memories from her previous life washed over her like a basin of icy water, chilling her to the core.

She was truly done.

As her words faded, Ji Xian froze, his breath catching, struggling to process what he’d just heard—almost doubting his own ears.

No longer liked him?

A strange, unnameable feeling surged in his chest, flooding and roiling, as if something blocked his breath.

He’d never felt this before.

After a few seconds, Ji Xian composed himself, regaining his usual calm.

Impossible.

If she didn’t like him, why would she painstakingly knit a scarf for him and give it to him on his birthday?

His eyes were shadowed and cold, his tone confident: “You’re lying.”

She’d once said she liked him, and would always like him.

She must be lying.

But Qiao Zhen didn’t look like she was.

She raised her clear eyes, meeting his gaze openly, her tone earnest:

“I’m not lying. I hope from now on you and your friends stay away from me. Don’t bother me anymore.”

She paused, then added, “I really dislike it.”

Dislike?

Ji Xian pressed his thin lips together, his face growing colder and more strained.

Those words pierced his heart like a blade, drawing countless drops of blood.

It was as if a bullet had shattered a vase, fragments scattered everywhere.

The air around Ji Xian turned frigid, storms brewing in his eyes as he stepped closer to her.

Suddenly, a bright gleam appeared in Qiao Zhen’s eyes—lively and sparkling, her whole demeanor revived. She dashed toward the classroom door, footsteps light:

“You’re finally here!”

Ji Xian stiffly turned his head.

Qin Yichi stood at the doorway, exuding a powerful presence, staring at Ji Xian with a sharp, dangerous gaze.

But when he looked at Qiao Zhen, his eyes softened. “Let’s go.”

The sight deeply stung Ji Xian.

Turmoil surged in his mind, waves crashing, a low pressure enveloping him.

After a long silence, Ji Xian let out a cold laugh, his tone steady to the extreme, softly calling her name: “Qiao Zhen.”

He rarely spoke her name aloud. Yet whenever he did, whenever he beckoned, sometimes with only a glance, Qiao Zhen would appear at his side, her eyes filled with stars of expectation.

It seemed she would never disappear.

But now, Qiao Zhen quickened her pace, pressing close to Qin Yichi, hiding behind him.

Like a small creature finding shelter from predators.

Ji Xian’s cold, restrained expression cracked in that instant, his steps heavy as if weighed with cold lead.

He stared, stunned, at the scene before him, something hollowing out his heart, shaking his lifelong beliefs.

Qin Yichi felt the girl edging closer, his body tensing, a torrent of heat surging within him.

He swallowed, took Qiao Zhen’s hand, and walked away.

Watching their retreating figures, Ji Xian realized he’d never experienced such volatile emotions.

With several dull thuds, his knuckles rapped the desk, squeezing out cold words through clenched teeth, towering above:

“Qiao Zhen, if you dare leave with him, never come back.”