Wang Yizhou flipped them one by one, frowning deeply, stroking his chin gravely.
He Siheng saw through his fake profundity: “Spit it out.”
Wang Yizhou was concise: “You’ll have a rotten peach blossom in the next three months.”
He Siheng was about to call bullshit when he caught someone entering the classroom in his peripheral vision.
The tall, slender guy with broad shoulders and narrow waist carried a stack of homework books, walking unhurriedly to the podium.
A petite girl from Class One followed behind him—the English class rep—full of gratitude and shyness toward him.
Though He Siheng hated to admit it, Tan Jing was objectively handsome, flawless.
Even a casual glance in peripheral vision could draw one’s attention.
Wang Yizhou spotted Tan Jing too and called out: “Jing Bro, want a reading?”
Tan Jing paused, glanced over, set down the English homework, replied “You’re welcome” to the girl’s thanks, and walked over unhurriedly.
He scanned the tarot spread on the desk and met He Siheng’s eyes: “What’s this for?”
Wang Yizhou eagerly answered: “I read He Siheng’s romance, and he mmmph—”
Song Lin covered his mouth before he finished.
But Song Lin only had two hands—one choking Wang Yizhou’s throat, one on his mouth—no time for the other.
He Siheng crossed his arms, annoyed: “He said I’d have a rotten peach blossom in three months.”
He didn’t notice the complaining tone in his voice.
Tan Jing’s brow arched. He pulled out a chair and sat beside him: “Read mine too.”
Song Lin felt guilty under his half-smile and released Wang Yizhou, letting his bro fend for himself.
Wang Yizhou was still upset about the muffling: “Why cover my mouth? It’s not like I made up the result—the cards said it.”
He Siheng sneered: “Fine, let’s see what the cards say about Jing Bro’s romance.”
A few minutes later.
Wang Yizhou’s face was even graver as he interpreted, hesitating: “Jing Bro…”
“It’s fine,” Tan Jing said flatly. “Just say it; I’m just listening.”
Wang Yizhou hesitated but spoke: “Your love path will have some bumps.”
As soon as he said it, He Siheng burst out laughing, not hiding his schadenfreude: “Better than my rotten peach blossom.”
Tan Jing smiled too: “What kind of bumps?”
Wang Yizhou: “You’ll need to make a big effort for the other person to notice your feelings.”
He then found it odd himself: “But Jing Bro, you don’t like anyone, right? The cards might be off.”
He Siheng was speechless: “Accurate for my rotten peach blossom, not for him? Biased fortune teller.”
Wang Yizhou was about to defend himself when Song Lin grabbed his collar and yanked him up: “Told you you’re a half-baked amateur. Pack up—class is starting!”
His Jing Bro’s smile was giving him chills; better not stick around or he’d lose his life.
Wang Yizhou wanted to say more, but the bell rang. He packed up and returned to his class.
He Siheng and Tan Jing went back to their seats.
After the salute and greeting, He Siheng remembered his main task—he still hadn’t tested hand-holding with Wang Yizhou. On second thought, forget it; Wang Yizhou had divined a rotten peach blossom for him—clearly incompatible, would skew the judgment.
He glanced sideways at Tan Jing, who looked pensive. He Siheng lowered his voice: “You really believe Wang Yizhou’s nonsense?”
Tan Jing glanced at him: “He’s pretty accurate.”
He Siheng spat: “I don’t have any rotten peach blossom.”
“Even if you do, it’s fine.” Tan Jing smiled breezily, as if it were nothing: “I’ll block it for you.”
He Siheng froze.
He hadn’t expected Tan Jing to be so generous—not minding his gloating and even offering to help.
He Siheng sincerely gave him a thumbs up: “Good bro.”
“…”
Tan Jing’s smile faded, and he pushed the thumb back down.
The chorus practice for the performance gala was in full swing, and He Siheng’s hand had finally healed enough to play the violin.
Music classrooms were limited, so classes took turns. Class One’s slot was Wednesday evening self-study.
He Siheng didn’t need to practice chorus. After dinner, he headed straight to the music club to warm up.
He ate fast and went ahead with a bottle of mineral water, not waiting for Tan Jing, straight to the activity room.
When he arrived, he heard tinkling piano sounds from inside.
The familiar prelude—it was Class One’s choral piece. He Siheng had originally thought Tan Jing was already there, but after hearing a few missed beats, he dismissed the idea.
He knocked on the door.
The piano stopped, and a familiar clear female voice came from inside: “The door’s not locked. Come in.”
He Siheng pushed the door open and saw Zhang Xunyue sitting straight at the piano, looking over with hopeful eyes.
When she saw it was him, those almond eyes dimmed instantly.
He Siheng didn’t miss the flash of disappointment in her eyes and didn’t point it out. He walked over to her: “Your class is singing this one too?”
Zhang Xunyue scratched her cheek a bit embarrassedly: “No, I was just… playing around.”
Before He Siheng could say anything, Zhang Xunyue deflated and confessed on her own: “Okay, fine. Actually, I was trying to create a chance encounter with Tan Jing. I heard he’d come here to practice piano, so these past few days, I’ve been crash-learning this piece just to have an excuse to talk to him.”
“Why go to all that trouble? If you want to chat, just come straight to our class.” He Siheng leaned casually against the piano: “Take my seat. Chat as long as you want.”
Zhang Xunyue laughed at his laid-back attitude, then sighed lightly: “If only it were that easy.”
He Siheng looked at her for a moment, then suddenly asked: “You like him that much?”
Zhang Xunyue nodded.
He Siheng: “Not considering hanging yourself on a different tree?”
Zhang Xunyue asked with a laugh: “Are you nominating yourself again?”
He Siheng also laughed: “It’s not impossible?”
He paused, then leaned in slightly to meet her gaze at eye level: “Try looking into my eyes.”
Zhang Xunyue tilted her head in confusion but did as he said, looking into his eyes.
He had classic peach-blossom eyes, with slightly upturned corners and translucent amber irises that were crystal clear. No matter how roguish he acted on a normal day, it couldn’t hide that pure, clean youthful vibe.
The boy in front of her was undeniably handsome—pretty was an understatement. Even Zhang Xunyue, who had been pursued by many people, felt her cheeks flush under the gaze of those affectionate eyes.
But then she heard him suddenly ask: “So? Do you feel an urge to kiss me?”
“…Huh?”
He Siheng’s bombshell statement shattered Zhang Xunyue’s momentary daze. She looked at him like he was crazy: “You’re handsome and all, but saying I want to kiss you just from looking at you a couple times? You’re way too…”
“Too narcissistic?” He Siheng finished for her.
Zhang Xunyue nodded vigorously.
He Siheng thought she had a point, so that night when he felt like Tan Jing wanted to kiss him, it must have been his imagination after all.
As He Siheng mulled this over, Zhang Xunyue suddenly spoke up out of the blue: “Who did you make eye contact with that led to you getting forcibly kissed?”
“…Huh?”
Apparently, dropping bombshells was contagious.
He Siheng nearly dropped his jaw at her guess and waved his hands frantically: “No, no, my first—”
Halfway through, he realized his first kiss was apparently already gone.
He Siheng abruptly changed his tune: “How could I possibly get forcibly kissed by someone? If anyone’s doing the forcing, it’s me kissing others.”
“…” Zhang Xunyue’s expression turned indescribable: “That’s a bit perverted.”
He Siheng paused, replayed his own words in his head, and echoed her with equal awkwardness: “Yeah, kinda is.”
The two stared at each other in awkward silence, then burst out laughing at the same time.
Halfway through the laughter, Zhang Xunyue suddenly reined it in. After a fleeting moment of unease, her expression turned gentle and warm as she gazed softly toward the door: “Tan Jing, you’re here.”
He Siheng turned to follow her line of sight.
The sky outside had already darkened. The tall, upright boy stood at the door, his thin lips pressed together, his eyes emotionless as he looked over. His already aloof facial features seemed even more coldly detached at that moment.
Their gazes suddenly met, and He Siheng’s heart skipped a beat at the look in his eyes.
Damn, what’s with this caught-in-the-act vibe?*
![My Husband is a Drama King [Book Transmigration]](https://i1.wp.com/dobynovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/09/transmi.jpeg?resize=151,215 "My Husband is a Drama King [Book Transmigration]")
