Winter Time Rendering

Chapter 161: Chapter 68: A Thing or Two About Tongtong and Mianmian (2)

How could it be such a coincidence?

For a moment, Zhang Shutong’s scalp prickled with dread.

He looked over at Gu Qiuyan, but the girl had already hurried away without a word.

There was none of the outrage or questioning he’d expected—just a thermos left on the ground.

Zhang Shutong sighed and pulled his head back.

"Did someone hear us?" Li Yipeng asked, on high alert. He hadn’t yet grasped the situation and was about to look outside.

"It’s nothing." Zhang Shutong stopped him and added a few quick words. "...We’ll talk about the rest during the long break. I’ll come find you. I’m heading out."

"Oh, okay..."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left the stairwell. A few steps later, Zhang Shutong bent down and picked up the thermos.

It was a delicate little red thermos, now with a small dent marring its metal base.

One small tug, and everything unravels.

Zhang Shutong once again grasped the profound truth of that saying.

He’d failed to save someone and had implicated himself instead... He was at a loss for words. All he knew was that he had to clear up this misunderstanding at once. Otherwise, how could he catch the culprit while being branded as the "killer" himself? Even he found the idea absurd.

Although, whether Gu Qiuyan would believe him was another matter entirely.

Of course, even if she didn’t believe his side of the story, Zhang Shutong had other options: the recording of Li Yipeng on his phone, a character reference from Song, the conversation with the owner of the Lake Fish Restaurant... Piecing together the evidence, he could construct several conclusive chains of logic to at least clear his name.

Zhang Shutong excelled at solving problems with logic. As he walked toward his classroom, he began to map out Gu Qiuyan’s possible reactions.

Disbelief, skepticism, and acceptance.

Her reaction would broadly fall into one of those three categories. The first was unlikely. The second was acceptable, as long as it didn’t hinder his future actions.

Next was the matter of Gu Qiuyan’s whereabouts.

The classroom—that would be a headache. The bell was about to ring, meaning he might have to resort to passing notes to resolve this.

The office was the ideal location. With Song there as a witness, he could explain everything in a matter of sentences.

That about covered it.

The only variable was that he had never told Gu Qiuyan about these arrangements he’d made concerning her beforehand. He usually offered a simple explanation after the dust had already settled.

With the building block incident, he hadn’t felt an explanation was necessary.

But by the time of the arson case, after Song told him about the girl’s family situation in the car, their thinking had aligned to some extent. The main reason for hiding things was to avoid causing her more worry.

For Zhang Shutong, however, the main reason was that her knowing or not knowing had very little impact. In that case, it was better to just keep his mouth shut so everyone could be a little happier.

But that approach wouldn’t work now.

Zhang Shutong suddenly found himself missing the old Gu Qiuyan. That time he had dragged her all over town for a day... thinking back on it, his actions must have seemed quite suspicious, but he hadn’t said a word, and she had never asked.

She wouldn’t have wasted her energy on such a foolish misunderstanding back then.

But, as he’d already realized, that approach wouldn’t work now.

So many things in this timeline always managed to catch him off guard at the most inopportune moments. He’d thought things would be easier after rewinding, but instead, he was met with double the headache.

But when faced with a choice between letting her believe he was "the mastermind retaliating against Gu Qiuyan" and proactively telling her part of the truth, Zhang Shutong would choose the latter without a moment’s hesitation.

He always chose the most efficient path.

By the time his thoughts subsided, he had reached Class One. Zhang Shutong glanced in through the back door—her seat was empty.

He went to the office next, but she wasn’t there either.

’Then where on earth could she have gone?’

The answer came to Zhang Shutong almost by reflex—

The library.

But as the thought occurred to him, he looked out the window. Snowflakes were swirling outside. ’Seriously? She just went out in this weather? But isn’t she supposed to avoid getting a chill today?’

A moment later, however, his doubt turned to certainty. He really could see a small figure on the athletic field, having even forgotten to wear her scarf.

"What’s going on?" Qingyi suddenly popped up behind him.

"Can you get me excused from this class? Something’s come up."

"Did you upset Gu Qiuyan again?"

Zhang Shutong didn’t have time to ask how he knew.

"It was a complete accident."

He tossed out the words and hurried down the stairs.

He flew down the stairs. By the time he reached the lobby of the academic building, still inside, the temperature had already dropped sharply.

He subconsciously pulled his jacket tighter. The moment he stepped outside, a frigid gust of wind assaulted his face.

Zhang Shutong wiped the snowflakes from his brow and quickened his pace.

The air was so cold he had to breathe shallowly, otherwise he felt a suffocating lack of oxygen. It was cold enough to make him want to shove his hands in his pockets, and only then did he realize he was still clutching the red thermos. Zhang Shutong was exasperated. If he had known, he would have tossed it to Qingyi. Now he couldn’t even warm his hands in his pockets because the thermos was too bulky to fit.

But by the time he realized it, it was too late.

It was like the situation with Gu Qiuyan: if he’d known she would overhear, he definitely would have taken Li Yipeng up to the rooftop. But who could have predicted she’d come to get water at that exact moment? He knew regret was the most useless emotion, but as he plunged headfirst into the swirling wind and snow, he still felt a prickle of annoyance.

Zhang Shutong broke into a run. His long legs quickly closed the distance, following a trail of footprints ahead. The tracks led all the way to the library entrance, and he followed them inside, not even bothering to wipe the snow from his hair. He was panting, puffs of white breath billowing from his mouth before vanishing into the air.

This library was clearly a donation from the young heiress’s family. Although it wasn’t large, every bookshelf was crafted from dark, solid wood, and each table held a meticulously cared-for potted plant. The lush leaves of a devil’s ivy cascaded down, seeming to conjure a small pocket of springtime within the vast, cold snowstorm.

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