He was a disabled military officer who doted on his research work in the Northwest.

Sun Xiulan stood there, looking at the draft paper on the table, her chest heaving several times.

She raised her head, her gaze fixed intently on Shen Tang—the eighteen-year-old girl sitting on a student chair, her legs casually curled up, her posture relaxed, her expression indifferent. To anyone, it would seem as if she were having a casual chat with her, revealing nothing of the meticulousness and ruthlessness of the person who orchestrated this scheme.

A sense of fear suddenly welled up in her heart.

This child is only eighteen... what kind of person will he become when he grows up?

"Okay." Sun Xiulan took a deep breath, suppressing her racing thoughts. "I'll write the replacement application today, and go through the process tomorrow. The new supplementary questions will be as you suggested. That thing—I won't ask, you can bring it tomorrow."

"That's settled then." Shen Tang stood up, folded the draft paper, and handed it to Sun Xiulan.

She paused at the door, turned back, and said:

"Teacher Sun, you've acted as if nothing's amiss these past few days. Don't let Ma Decai notice anything unusual."

Sun Xiulan nodded.

That afternoon, Sun Xiulan formally submitted an application to the Academic Affairs Office to replace the bonus questions in the math exam, citing the reason that "the bonus questions were not sufficiently differentiating and needed to be replaced with more difficult questions to select outstanding students."

The application form follows the standard teaching and research process—signature of the teaching and research group leader, approval of the academic affairs office, and stamp of the principal's seal. All three steps are completed in one day.

According to regulations, any changes to the exam paper content must be notified to all members of the question-setting team for record-keeping.

Before school ended that afternoon, the academic affairs office distributed the notification slips to each of the test setters—including Ma Decai.

"The math exam's bonus questions have been replaced... The new questions have been sealed and archived..."

His brows furrowed.

The questions have changed?

He just went through the math test yesterday and wrote down all the answers—and now you're telling him the bonus questions have been changed?

Ma Decai clutched the notification in his hand, his knuckles turning white.

Although the bonus question was only one question, it was worth fifteen points—for top students, those fifteen points could be the difference between being in the top three and top ten in the whole school. He had previously looked at the answer key, which contained the complete solution to the bonus question, and he originally planned to have a few top students in Class 1 memorize it before the exam.

It's changed now.

The old answer is invalid.

Ma Decai stood in front of his desk, his expression shifting between anger and uncertainty.

If it was just the earlier questions that were missed, and fifteen points were lost on the bonus questions—the total score of the top students in that class might not even surpass Shen Tang's. That woman scored 499 points in the last mock exam.

Therefore, he had to look at the new exam paper again.

……

That evening. Military hospital.

As is customary, Shen Tang gave Mu Qinghan a massage.

She paused for a moment when she pushed open the ward door.

Mu Qinghan did not sit in her wheelchair to read or lie in bed to rest as usual.

He was standing.

Holding onto the iron railing at the foot of the bed, legs slightly apart, upper body straight—wearing a white vest, military trousers loosely tied around the waist. The vest's fabric was thin, outlining the lines of his shoulders and back.

He was doing the standing exercises assigned by Dr. Chen—holding onto the railing with both hands, he slowly bent and straightened his knees. With each bend, the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and back would tense up, their outlines faintly visible beneath his vest.

The muscle atrophy caused by prolonged bed rest has largely recovered after several months of rehabilitation training and Lingquan dietary therapy. I am no longer the sickly thin person I was when I was first injured—my shoulders have straightened out, my arms have regained strength, my waistline is taut, and the muscles in my chest and back are smooth and firm.

He heard the door open and turned his head to look.

"You're here?" The tone was indifferent, as if it were just a casual question.

But he didn't stop. In fact—he straightened his back a little more.

Shen Tang stood at the door, her gaze involuntarily sweeping over him.

In her past life, when she was frustrated with her experiments, she would also watch short videos to recharge. Occasionally, she would come across fitness bloggers and some suggestive content—she swears it was all random stuff…

All those photos of clothes being torn off and chest muscles being exposed, or suits being changed into, no matter how fancy they are or how many filters they've turned up to the maximum, none of them look as good as this one.

If this guy had the physique to be a male model in modern times, his signing fee would start at six figures.

Cough cough cough, Shen Tang cursed himself in his heart.

These are soldiers, soldiers who defend their country. They are the people's own army.

How could a model compare?!

She was simply...objectively...from a medical perspective...evaluating his muscle recovery.

Yes. That's right.

Purely medical observation.

"Aren't you cold?" Shen Tang walked over, grabbed the blanket from the bed, and slapped it over his shoulders with a "thud," her movements as swift and efficient as if she were wrapping a patient in a warm blanket.

Mu Qinghan: "..."

He stood there, a blanket inexplicably draped over his shoulders, his once straight back now bent awkwardly under the weight of the blanket.

He glanced at Shen Tang slightly to the side—she had already turned her back to pack up the massage oil, and the tips of her ears were red.

Mu Qinghan pulled the blanket off her shoulder and threw it back onto the bed, then cleared her throat.

"My muscles are sore after training today—" He sat back on the edge of the bed, subtly steer the conversation in another direction, "Could you massage this area for me?"

He pointed to the outside of his right calf.

Shen Tang turned around, looked at the spot he pointed to, and then looked at his face.

His expression was calm, his gaze was composed, as if he genuinely just had muscle soreness and needed a massage.

"Alright." She pulled up a chair and sat down on the edge of the bed, poured some medicated oil into her palm, rubbed it to warm it, and began pressing the acupoints on his calves.

Mu Qinghan leaned against the headboard, her eyes half-closed, enjoying the sensation of her fingers applying pressure.

"I left you something today—" He gestured towards the bedside table. On it sat an enamel lunchbox. "The cafeteria got a new batch of canned beef, and Xiao Li grabbed two."

Shen Tang, her hands still busy, glanced at the lunchbox and asked, "Have you eaten?"

"have eaten."

"Okay."

The two were silent for a moment. Shen Tang focused on pressing the acupoints, while Mu Qinghan kept her eyes half-closed. The only sounds in the ward were the soft rustling of her hands against her skin and the wind outside the window.

At that moment, the door was pushed open.

Dr. Chen walked in carrying the medical record folder—and when he looked up, he saw the scene by the bed: Mu Qinghan was leaning against the headboard, looking relaxed and content; Shen Tang was sitting on the side of the bed, massaging his legs with her head down. The two of them had an indescribable tacit understanding and a hint of... intimacy?

Dr. Chen paused, said nothing, but slowly a smile spread across his face.

Shen Tang felt a strong gaze behind her and turned around—

Doctor Chen stood at the door, his expression like he was suppressing a laugh, like an aunt who had been a matchmaker for ten years and finally saw the couple he had brought together get married.

"Dr. Chen, you—"

"It's nothing, it's nothing!" Doctor Chen quickly waved his hand, his smile remaining unchanged despite his words. "You guys continue! I'll come back later!"

"No need to wait!" Shen Tang jumped up, her movements as swift as a spring. "I'm done—right here, he can just rub it a couple of times himself—I happen to need to talk to you!"

She put the medicated oil on the bedside table and walked straight to the door.

Mu Qinghan: "..."

He lay on the bed, watching Shen Tang's almost hasty retreat, then glanced at Dr. Chen, who was still secretly smiling at the door, and expressionlessly pulled the blanket up to cover his legs.

He wasn't quite sure why she had suddenly run away.

Were they frightened by Dr. Chen? Or—

Don't like this?

Mu Qinghan lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling for five minutes, and the more she thought about it, the more she felt something was wrong.

...Was I too hasty? Should I have avoided wearing a tank top...?