Everyone's been reborn, so who would bother finding a wife on their own?

Chapter 112 Miss Dynamite and Mr. Good Temper

When Xiao Yunqing returned from the restroom, her expression was off.

It wasn't the kind of paleness that comes from not sleeping well; it was the kind of paleness that comes from within, a bloodless pallor.

His lips were pale, pursed, and his brows were slightly furrowed.

She walked to her seat, sat down, and moved more slowly than usual.

Pull out a chair, sit down, then lean on the table with your face resting on your arm and your ponytail hanging down over the edge of the table.

Song Huan glanced at her but didn't say anything.

He reached out and took the water glass from her table, unscrewed the lid, glanced at it, and saw that it was cold.

He stood up and walked to the back of the classroom. The water dispenser was in the corner, its red light on, and the water was hot.

He poured out the cold water from the cup, filled it halfway with hot water, screwed the lid on, and put it back on her desk.

The bell for the long break has rung.

The school bell rang, the English teacher walked in, opened the textbook, and began to explain grammar.

Xiao Yunqing remained lying down without moving.

After about ten minutes, she slowly raised her head. Her hair was a little messy from being pressed down, and her face was still pale.

She reached for the water glass, but paused for a moment when her fingers touched the side of the glass.

The cup was warm.

She unscrewed the cap, took a sip, and found the water to be just the right temperature—not too hot.

She turned to look at Song Huan.

He was writing with his head down, the pen scratching on the paper, not looking at her.

"Thank you." The voice was soft and slightly hoarse.

Song Huan didn't even look up. "If you're really feeling unwell, you can tell your homeroom teacher. There's no need to force yourself during your period."

Xiao Yunqing was stunned for a moment.

A faint blush slowly rose on her pale face, from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.

How did you know I was coming today?

Song Huan finally raised her head and glanced at her.

His gaze was calm, as if he were looking at a problem he had solved many times.

"Have you forgotten? I was the one who took care of you when you first came here."

Xiao Yunqing's face turned even redder.

She lowered her head, rubbed her fingers on the water glass, and then rubbed them again.

Her voice was barely audible, like a mosquito's buzz, "You've written it all down?"

Song Huan put down her pen and leaned back in her chair. "Of course."

He looked at her, and when he saw the happy expression on her face, the corner of his mouth curled up slightly. "After all, I don't want to light a bomb during those days."

Xiao Yunqing's expression changed instantly, and she reached out to slap him, but before the slap landed, her stomach hurt first.

Her hand froze in mid-air, then she pulled it back, clutching her lower abdomen, and glared at him.

Song Huan quickly raised her hands, "I was wrong, I was wrong."

She snorted, ignored him, and turned her face back to stare at the blackboard.

The English teacher was explaining relative clauses and relative pronouns, but she didn't hear a single word.

Xiao Yunqing barely listened to anything in this English class.

When the bell rang, the English teacher had just finished explaining the last example problem, closed the textbook, and left.

The noise in the classroom gradually increased. Some people stood up and stretched, some went to get water, and some huddled together to talk.

Xiao Yunqing remained lying on the table without moving.

Her hand was pressed against her lower abdomen, her brows were furrowed, her lips were pursed, and sweat began to bead on her forehead.

It wasn't hot sweat; it was fine, cold, and stuck to the skin.

She reached into her schoolbag and felt around; she found her pencil case, her textbooks, a pack of tissues, and then she felt around again, but nothing.

I checked again, but still nothing.

My heart skipped a beat.

It's all used up.

She had two discs left when she checked them yesterday, but she left in a hurry this morning and forgot to pack new ones.

She zipped up her backpack, her fingers gripping the zipper pull tightly.

Her stomach hurt again, like something was twisting inside. She took a breath and bit her lip to keep quiet.

Song Huan saw it from the side.

He saw her reach into her bag the moment she did, and after rummaging through it for so long, she found nothing. He turned his head, lowering his voice, "Finished?"

Xiao Yunqing didn't speak, but nodded very quietly, as if afraid of being seen.

Song Huan stood up. "I'll go borrow one for you."

She reached out and grabbed his sleeve, not with much force, but with a tight grip.

"Never mind, I'll just bear with it, school's almost over." She spoke softly, head down, not looking at him.

[I don't want him to borrow it; I'd be so embarrassed if everyone found out.]

Zhao Qihang leaned over from the back seat, "Borrow what? Do I have any?"

Song Huan glanced at him and said, "None of your business."

Zhao Qihang became obedient, shrank back, buried his head in his textbook, and decided never to be a good person again.

Song Huan gently removed her hand from her sleeve.

"Wait."

He walked out of the classroom, his steps slow but steady.

People were coming and going in the corridor as he walked toward his office.

Wang Qing was grading homework at her desk when she heard a knock on the door and looked up.

Song Huan stood at the door but didn't go in.

"Teacher Wang, can I borrow something?"

Wang Qing looked at him. "Borrow what?"

Song Huan quickly went inside.

He whispered three words to Wang Qing.

The sound wasn't loud, but it was very clear.

Wang Qing paused for a moment, then opened the drawer, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it over.

Song Huan caught it and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Thank you, Teacher Wang." He turned and left.

Wang Qing sat at her desk, looked at the door, shook her head, and smiled.

Girls had borrowed this before, but he was the first boy to ask.

Wang Qing knew, of course, who he was borrowing it for: the class monitor who was supposed to take the lead and manage discipline, but who was always the happiest person.

When Song Huan walked back to the classroom, Xiao Yunqing was still lying on the table, the sweat on her forehead hadn't dried, and the stray hairs at her temples were stuck to the side of her face.

He sat down, took the piece out of his pocket, and handed it to him from under the table.

Xiao Yunqing was stunned for a moment, then took it and glanced down at it.

"I didn't borrow it from anyone in the class," Song Huan said casually. "I borrowed it from the homeroom teacher, and she understood."

Xiao Yunqing gripped the piece tightly, her fingers tightening.

She looked up and glanced at him.

Her eyes were a little red, not the kind of redness you get when you're about to cry, but something else.

She didn't say anything, stood up, pushed the chair back, and walked towards the classroom door.

I walked a little faster than before, but very steadily.

When she came back, her complexion was much better; it was still fair, but not as ashen as before. She sat down and pulled out a chair.

Song Huan picked up her water glass and shook it.

He handed the cup over.

"Put some hot water on your stomach after you've just boiled it."

Xiao Yunqing took the cup; it was very hot, so she used her sleeve to cushion it and placed it on her lower abdomen.

The heat seeped in through the clothes, warming me from my stomach all the way to my fingertips.

She squinted, leaned back in her chair, and let out a long breath.

Seeing her expression, Song Huan finally breathed a sigh of relief.

He took her notebook of incorrect answers, the blue one, and opened it to the place where she had written the last mistake.

The pen tip touched the paper, making a soft, scratching sound as it wrote line by line.

There's a light breeze outside the window, enough to lift the curtains a little.

In the classroom, some people were talking, some were laughing, and some were chasing each other.

Xiao Yunqing leaned back in her chair, holding the water glass, and looked at the profile of the person next to her who was writing with his head down.

He wrote very carefully, his brows slightly furrowed, his pen moving quickly, pausing occasionally to think before continuing.

She looked for a while, then looked away and closed her eyes.

The cup was still warm. It slowly moved up from my stomach to my heart and stopped.

"Thanks."

"What are you thanking me for? Taking care of you is the least I can do."

"Oh……"

"Um."

Xiao Yunqing looked at his gentle profile and thought for a moment.

If I were to use a story to tell his story, the book title would probably be...

Miss Dynamite and Mr. Good Temper