Against the Algorithm

Chapter 21: Lines No Longer Imagined

Because this wasn't just a casual check-in. This wasn't about the hoodie she was still wearing, still curled into like it was the one familiar thing anchoring her to the floor beneath her. This was about something else entirely.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, his brow arching as he looked down at her, voice low, tone smooth but threaded with curiosity as he asked, "You hunting me down, Xiǎo Tùzǐ?"

She paused, inhaled a little too quickly, adjusted the sleeves of his hoodie again—nervous tells he had catalogued weeks ago—and then looked up at him with an expression so endearingly sincere, so absurdly innocent that it almost made him laugh, except her words had him freezing. "Do you want to hide with me in my apartment?"

Sicheng blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Let the question settle. Let the sheer audacity of it wrap itself around his ribs like a warm ribbon of amusement. His brow arched higher, slow and sharp, his lips twitching at the corners as he tilted his head slightly and asked, voice casual but with that unmistakable lilt of restrained curiosity, "Why?"

Yao fidgeted. Of course she did. Her fingers clutched the hem of her sleeves tighter, her shoulders tensing, her weight shifting from one foot to the other as she exhaled through her nose in a slow rush and finally muttered, her voice just barely above a whisper, "Because I may or may not have just called Aunt Lan."

For one long beat, silence.

Utter, perfect silence.

And then—

It hit.

The understanding.

The full gravity of what she had just confessed settled over him with the slow, deliberate realization that she really had, that she hadn't just joked, hadn't just bluffed—she had actually called his mother. And with that knowledge, his smirk finally broke through. His arms folded slowly over his chest, his weight shifting as he leaned slightly forward, his gaze darkening—not in anger, not in frustration, but in the kind of amusement that came from watching something unfold exactly the way it deserved to. But still, he asked—because he wanted to hear it, wanted to savor every word, wanted to make her say it.

"What exactly did you tell her?"

Yao's eyes widened, her face heating up all over again, but to her credit, she didn't back down, didn't stammer this time, didn't look away. She just exhaled sharply and blurted out, "I told her everything."

And Sicheng—calm, composed, already imagining the absolute destruction about to rain down on the team—ran a slow hand down his face, a quiet, helpless sound of restrained laughter slipping from his chest, low and dry. She really did it.

She actually summoned the dragon.

And now?

Now the fools were about to be taught a lesson they would never forget.

His smirk deepened, but his voice remained smooth, deliberate, unreadable as he asked, "And now you want to hide from the aftermath?"

Yao nodded quickly, her eyes still wide, her cheeks still bright, her voice serious despite the embarrassment written across every inch of her face. "Yes."

And Sicheng, no longer bothering to suppress the grin that threatened to take over, stepped aside with a slow, graceful ease, gesturing into the room with a lazy sweep of his hand. "Then get in, Xiǎo Tùzǐ," he murmured, voice rich with amusement, "Let's watch the fireworks from a safe distance." And as she stepped past him, her breath still a little too quick, her body still vibrating with nervous energy, he let the door close softly behind them, the sound almost poetic. Because while chaos brewed below and Madam Lu's judgment approached like a storm... They would be exactly where they needed to be. Far enough to be safe. Close enough to enjoy the show.