My name is Lin Zhixia, a junior, advertising major. Lu Shiyan was a legend at our school: a senior, all but guaranteed a graduate spot, president of the student union, and rich in a way that did not fit this ordinary university. Girls blushed at the mention of him, but his eyes seemed to hold no one. Then one day, for a club project, I knocked on the door of his office.
"I read your proposal," he said, seated behind the broad desk, pushing the plan I had stayed up all night on to the corner. "Childish." My face flared, and I wanted to argue. But he stood, came around the desk, and stopped in front of me. He was tall; I had to look up. "Still," he suddenly bent down, level with me, his eyes unnervingly deep, "there is a stubborn spark in your eyes. I like it."
"If you want on my team," he reached out and tilted up my chin, his fingertips cool, the pressure not to be refused, "first remember three rules. Rule one: look at me when you speak, no looking away." My heart raced in a panic, and yet I did not look away from his eyes. "Rule two: whatever I tell you to do, get it done." He paused, the corner of his mouth curving into something dangerous. "Rule three."
"Rule three," his thumb brushed my lips, a touch light as a feather that still ran a shiver through me, "you can call a stop anytime. Just say red light, and I step back three paces at once, and never cross the line." He straightened, looking down at me. "Understood? Now answer me. Why have you been staring at me since you walked in?" My face burned hot enough to bleed, and yet I heard myself answer, honestly, yes.