Why Don't You Scold Me?

Eastsea Academy, faculty dormitory.

Lu Menge sat in a rattan chair by the window, holding a thermos cup in one hand and scooping powdered milk into it with a small silver spoon in the other. The Little White Tiger lay on the windowsill, its tail dangling and swaying lazily. Every so often, it lifted its head to glance outside, making sure no sparrows had invaded its territory.

"Stop looking. There aren't any birds today." Lu Menge didn't even raise her head.

The Little White Tiger let out a howl and rested its head on its paws again.

Lu Menge stirred the milk in her cup, her gaze resting on the crown of the ginkgo tree outside the window. She looked as though she were enjoying the scenery, but she was really just thinking. Wu Changkong had been acting strangely lately.

She shifted her waist, and the rattan chair let out a soft creak. When had it started, exactly? Probably after that movie. No, perhaps even earlier. The first time she noticed the change was one afternoon when she went to visit Wu Changkong in his office—she dropped by at least three times a week, practically as a regular routine. When she entered, he had been reviewing documents. She said, "I'm so bored, Changkong. Keep me company," and waited for his standard reply: "Teacher Lu, it's working hours."

But he hadn't replied.

He had merely looked up at her once, then continued reviewing the documents.

Lu Menge hadn't thought much of it at the time. She assumed he was simply too busy. But similar incidents followed one after another. Last week, she spotted him from afar in the hallway and waved as she shouted, "Teacher Wu is so handsome!" Her voice was loud enough for the entire floor to hear. Normally, Wu Changkong would stop, turn around, and say with that glacier-like face, "Teacher Lu, please mind your behavior." Then she would answer, "I'm only telling the truth," completing their whole routine of flirting—no, completing a whole set of friendly interactions between colleagues.

But last week, Wu Changkong had merely paused for a beat before walking away.

He had actually just walked away.

Lu Menge had stood in the hallway then, her raised hand taking a long while to fall. Ye Ying, who had passed by nearby, gave her a glance full of concern that said, "Sister Lu, what's wrong?" Lu Menge smiled and said it was nothing, but a massive question mark surfaced in her heart.

He wasn't scolding her anymore.

That discovery left Lu Menge more unsettled than she had ever been before. She had lived for so long—what great storms hadn't she seen? She had seen wars in the God Realm, the rise and fall of dragonkind, and the reshaping of the laws of heaven and earth. But Wu Changkong not scolding her? That, she had never seen.

"Do you think he's sick?" Lu Menge muttered to her thermos cup.

The Little White Tiger's ears twitched, but it ignored her.

Lu Menge took a sip of milk, set the cup on the windowsill, and began seriously reviewing the situation. Wu Changkong's attitude toward her could roughly be divided into three stages since they had met. First stage: cold as ice. Normal. He was cold to everyone. Second stage: passive endurance. Also normal. She bothered him every day, and he had no choice but to endure it. Third stage—his current stage—proactive concern.

That was very abnormal.

Lu Menge recalled all sorts of details from the past half month. Once, she had been leading exercises on the field and shouted herself hoarse. When she returned to her office, she found a box of throat lozenges on the corner of her desk. There was no signature, no note, but only one person in all of Eastsea Academy carried that particular brand around—the reason she knew was because she had once swiped one from his drawer.

Another time, she had argued with Director Long over class scheduling during a faculty meeting. Of course, she had argued with a smile, smiling sweetly the entire time, but she had choked Director Long speechless. After the meeting, Wu Changkong stopped her in the hallway. She thought he was finally going to scold her, so she stopped eagerly, hands in her pockets, waiting for a lecture.

Instead, he said, "Tang Wulin's forging progress has been quite good lately. You can worry a little less."

What did Tang Wulin's forging progress have to do with her? She wasn't a forging instructor, and she had never complained to him about worrying. Which eye had he used to see her worrying? He obviously wanted to show concern for her, but was too embarrassed to say it directly, so he took a detour bigger than the Star Dou Great Forest.

Lu Menge hadn't exposed him then. She had merely said with a grin, "Got it, Teacher Wu," and left. But as she walked away, she could feel his gaze clinging to her back, hot and unwilling to admit itself.

The most ridiculous incident had been last Friday. The academy organized faculty health checkups—the usual height, weight, eyesight, and so on. Lu Menge came out of the examination room and ran into Wu Changkong in the hallway. He looked at her and asked in an even tone, "How were the results?"

"Everything was fine."

He nodded once and left.

Lu Menge stood in the hallway, watching that straight white figure disappear around the stairwell, when she suddenly realized something very serious—Wu Changkong, an iceberg who was indifferent to everyone else's private affairs, had specifically waited outside the examination room just to ask her, "How were the results?"

That had already gone beyond the bounds of "ordinary colleagues." And not by a small margin.

Lu Menge picked up her thermos again and took a large gulp of milk, trying to wash away the chaos in her mind with the sweetness of powdered milk. She wasn't used to this. She truly wasn't used to it. She was used to the Wu Changkong who would say coldly, "Teacher Lu, please mind your behavior." She was used to the Wu Changkong who would press down on the tip of his pen when she teased him too far. She was used to the Wu Changkong who could do nothing about her and could only express his protest through silence. That Wu Changkong gave her a sense of control. Just as, after living for so many years, she had a sense of control over the laws of heaven and earth, over all living beings, and over every arrogant soul that believed it had seen through everything in the world.

But now Wu Changkong was no longer following the script. Not only did he not scold her, he had started treating her well. And it was the kind of care he offered secretly, cautiously, terrified of being discovered. It made her uncomfortable. Not the painful kind of discomfort, but the kind where—she didn't know how to respond.

She had lived so long and seen every kind of person. Many feared her, many revered her, few used her, and even fewer were sincere toward her. But someone like Wu Changkong—she had never encountered one. He feared she would go hungry, feared she would be lonely, feared she would have no entertainment. He offered her the most ordinary daily things as though they were luxuries, while inventing an entire miserable childhood for her in his mind. And ever since the day they watched that movie, he had continued inventing it. She had already given up trying to correct him. Correcting a human who already believed false facts was a time-consuming and exhausting task.

"Awwoo." The Little White Tiger suddenly called out.

Lu Menge came back to herself and found that her fingers had unconsciously been tracing circles on the rattan armrest. She had drawn more than a dozen already, and the wicker was nearly polished smooth.

Lu Menge lowered her head and looked at the gleaming piece of wicker she had rubbed smooth. This unfamiliar feeling was not actually unpleasant. It was even a little addictive. Wu Changkong's understanding of her had been wrong from the very beginning. He thought she was weak, and she hadn't corrected him. He thought she was pitiful, and she hadn't corrected him. He thought she needed to be cared for, and not only had she not corrected him, she had even tacitly allowed him to buy her milk tea. In this relationship, all information was unequal. She possessed the whole truth, while all he possessed was an illusion.

But interestingly, she found a kind of happiness in that inequality that she had never experienced before.

Everyone in the past had either looked up at her or feared her. Di Tian knelt before her, Gu Yue remained wary of her, and Tang Wulin worshipped her in a muddled way. Only Wu Changkong looked at her with that expression of "this girl has had it hard," quietly placing throat lozenges on the corner of her desk and believing he was protecting someone who needed protection.

And she, Lu Menge—the being who had fought alongside the Dragon God on the battlefield of the God Realm, whose nine tails had swept down rows of deities, who was revered as the Sacred Beast White Tiger—was enjoying being cared for as a weakling by a human. If Di Tian ever found out, he would probably kneel on the ground and knock a hole into it with his forehead. Yet she did not want to explain. She had discovered that receiving Wu Changkong's special care was rather interesting.

A devastatingly handsome man, wearing that peerlessly cold face, was secretly learning how to be gentle—and the person he was caring for was her. Why should she correct him?

"Awwoo!" The Little White Tiger jumped down from the windowsill and scampered to the door on four stubby legs. Three knocks sounded, neither hurried nor slow, each with equal force. Whoever it was had clearly received strict knocking training.

"Who is it?" Lu Menge asked lazily, without moving.

"Me."

Wu Changkong's voice.

Lu Menge froze for a moment. It was already nearly ten o'clock. Visiting someone at this hour was not Wu Changkong's style—or rather, spending time with a female colleague at this hour was not Wu Changkong's style.

She looked down at herself. She wore a loose house dress with spaghetti straps, its hem only reaching mid-thigh. There was definitely no time to change. If she didn't change—well, it was fine. It wasn't as though she had never worn anything more outrageous. She casually grabbed the white coat by her bed and draped it over her shoulders before walking over to open the door.

Wu Changkong stood outside.

He was still dressed in his signature white outfit, standing straight with a cool, detached expression. But he held a bag in his right hand. It was a transparent plastic bag containing two white disposable food containers. Lu Menge's sharp fox eyes immediately caught the steam rising from their edges.

"The cafeteria has late-night snacks tonight," he said in a tone as flat as if he were reporting the weather. "I took an extra portion."

Leaning against the doorframe, Lu Menge slipped both hands into the pockets of her white coat and did not take it immediately. She raised her head and looked at Wu Changkong's face. The hallway lights illuminated his features clearly—brow bone, nose bridge, jawline, every line cold and sharply defined. Yet the bag of late-night food hung limply from his fingers at odds with everything else, like a tender ornament forcibly attached to him.

An extra portion. Lu Menge chewed over those three words in her mind. She knew Wu Changkong's appetite well—they had eaten together many times, and every time he ordered exactly enough, never wasting food. There were only two possibilities for taking an extra portion: either his appetite had suddenly doubled, or he had specifically gone to the cafeteria and gotten a portion for her. In the dead of night.

Her fingers hooked around the bag handles as she accepted it from Wu Changkong. Her fingertips brushed the back of his hand. He withdrew it after lingering for only an instant.

"Thanks." Lu Menge gave the bag a little swing. "Want to come in and sit for a while?"

"...No. Get some rest early."

Lu Menge watched the white figure disappear at the end of the hallway. She stepped back, closed the door, leaned against it, and lifted the plastic bag to examine it under the light. One serving of rice, one dish, still steaming. She was not actually hungry. She did not need to eat.

She placed the food containers on the table, lifted the lid, and poked a piece of braised pork with her chopsticks before stuffing it into her mouth. It tasted pretty good. The cafeteria cook had probably added sugar.

"Heh."

Chewing the braised pork, Lu Menge let out an inscrutable hum at the air. She had not told him she was not hungry. She had not asked why he had brought her a late-night snack. Nor had she exposed the fact that the snack most likely had not been "an extra portion." In any case, he would never admit it.

Drawn over by the smell of meat, the Little White Tiger approached, only for her to gently nudge it aside with the tip of her foot. Why didn't she ask? She bit down on her chopsticks as an image appeared in her mind—she walked up to Wu Changkong, planted both hands on his desk, leaned down, and stared straight at him as she said: Teacher Wu, have you been giving me special attention lately?

Then what would Wu Changkong do? His glacier face would crack. Not because of her words, but because his secret had been exposed. He would be at a loss—he would probably first shift his eyes to the window, then to the ceiling, then to the desktop. In silence, he would look everywhere he possibly could before struggling to speak. And what he said would most likely be—Teacher Lu, you're overthinking it. Colleagues should help each other.

If that happened, he would stop bringing her late-night snacks.

Once he believed his disguise had failed, he would close off that path. Lu Menge picked up the last piece of braised pork with her chopsticks and slowly chewed it. She did not want him to close it off. She had already grown used to finding his plain water glass full no matter when she looked, grown used to him shielding her from Director Long's tedious administrative demands, and grown used to occasionally being watched off in the hallway. So what if that care was false? When she enjoyed it, it became real.

"This is so interesting." Lu Menge set her chopsticks on the empty food container, sank deeply into the rattan chair, and looked up at the ceiling.

After living for so many years, there was finally a human who, in the clumsiest way possible, treated her as someone worth caring for. Not the Sacred Beast White Tiger, not an ancient existence, not Nine Infants who made Di Tian tremble—just an ordinary woman who needed concern.

She found it amusing, even a little addictive. A devastatingly handsome man wore an iceberg face every day while secretly bringing her things, asking about her schedule, and pretending to pass by outside the health checkup room. Few people across the entire continent had ever received such treatment. She accepted it with perfect justification.

The only thing she was unsure about now was whether Wu Changkong truly cared about her, or whether he was merely moved by the story he had invented for himself. She hoped it was the former. But forget it. She did not want to think about it anymore. She stood, stretched lazily, tossed the food containers into the trash, then scooped up the Little White Tiger. Walking to the wardrobe, she began choosing clothes for tomorrow.

Autumn had arrived, and the weather had turned cool. Those low-cut, off-the-shoulder summer outfits could be put away for now. What should she wear tomorrow? She tilted her head and thought about it. Forget it. She would wear whatever she grabbed.

Anyway, Teacher Wu would not mind—he had every pair of high heels she had ever worn memorized in his heart.