When Will My Childhood Sweetheart Marry Me?-Chapter 91 - 0: Do I Fit This?

The down coat was long, reaching from top to bottom, leaving only Jiang Shuyao’s head exposed.

The lining of the clothes carried his scent, a light and gentle sophora fragrance, a stark contrast to someone’s foul temper.

Jiang Shuyao didn’t resist this time because she truly felt bitterly cold.

Pei Yan crouched down to zip up the down coat to the girl’s chin and said softly, "Start taking off that thing inside from tomorrow and dress properly for me."

What?

Jiang Shuyao was slow to react.

Seeing her silly look, Pei Yan reached out and roughed up her hair with a heavy hand.

"Don’t wear your school uniform anymore. It’s ugly and doesn’t keep you warm. Do you have to freeze to death to be considered a good student?"

The fuzzy hair felt quite nice.

He curved his lips into a mischievous smile, intending to tousle her hair a few more times, only for the girl to dodge by turning her head.

Jiang Shuyao, speechless, said to him, "Are you annoying or what? Get away from me."

The girl had just turned to leave but then looked back at him and asked in a sticky-sweet voice, "You came down specially to bring me clothes; why didn’t you wear more yourself?"

Pei Yan didn’t speak, just looked at her with a smile.

Standing beneath the streetlight in the night wind, he was wearing only a thin sweater, looking like a statue carved from ice.

She found that this bastard was particularly resistant to the cold; his body temperature seemed to be much higher than that of ordinary people.

Like a walking flesh-and-blood heater, something she couldn’t help but envy.

"If you can’t bear to see me freeze, then give me back my clothes," Pei Yan suggested.

Jiang Shuyao furrowed her brows, sensing there was more to come.

As expected, after a few seconds, the lazy bastard walked towards her and said, "Then I’ll hold you on our way back. That way, it’s perfect."

...

She took back her words.

Jiang Shuyao, expressionless, turned away and paid no more attention to the person wrapped in the ankle-length down coat, heading towards the intersection.

From a distance, without the streetlight’s illumination, the figure clad in a black coat soon disappeared into the night.

Outside the hot pot restaurant, a group of boys had been craning their necks, standing for quite some time.

Lu Chen’s face was somber, his thoughts unknown.

One of them, deep in thought, said, "If I didn’t see it wrong just now, that person was Pei Yan from Class 2, right? What’s his relationship with Jiang Shuyao? They seem quite familiar."

The boy spoke too euphemistically.

Taking off his clothes to put on her spoke volumes of their closeness, perhaps even intimating a more personal connection.

Jiang Shuyao and Pei Yan.

People from completely different worlds; it couldn’t be that kind of relationship, could it?

The group seemed particularly somber as if a beautiful flower had been carelessly stuck in cow dung.

Even if it wasn’t cow dung, it was a woodworm.

How could she match their Class 6 goddess?

Ah, such a pity.

As the boys sighed, Lu Chen interjected indifferently, "Don’t think too much. Jiang Shuyao and Pei Yan are relatives; it’s just a friendly relationship between their parents."

With that, he stepped off the stoop and headed towards the ride-sharing spot.

Ah.

The others exchanged glances behind him and shut their mouths in unison.

Returning to Yasong Residence, just as Pei Yan stepped out of the elevator, he said he was hungry.

His place was cold and unused, the implication clear— he wanted to scrounge a meal at her place.

Zhu Yun had mentioned it before, so now the part-time housekeeper always prepared an extra dinner portion.

As they switched shoes at the doorway, the housekeeper brought out the food to the table and upon catching a glimpse of Jiang Shuyao’s down coat, she couldn’t help but compliment, "Yaoyao looks quite nice in black clothes; it makes her skin look even whiter."

Auntie’s look was truly something.

Shuyao reluctantly forced a smile, thankful for the heating at home that meant no more cold, quickly unzipping and shedding the big, long down jacket.

After dinner, the two of them hurriedly moved camp.

The one good thing about her parents frequently working night shifts was the opportunity to do things on the sly.

To Shuyao, painting had become a secret she couldn’t share with her parents.

Now, besides herself, there was another person keeping this secret.

And that person was the shameless scoundrel sitting right in front of her.

For a whole fifteen minutes, she just sat quietly in front of the easel, watching a narcissist fuss over the big pile of clothes on the floor, picking and choosing, trying on and discarding each garment.

Shuyao was on the verge of losing it, rubbing the center of her brow, she spoke in a feeble voice, "The grey one you’re wearing is fine, I’m only painting the upper body, so don’t bother choosing pants."

This guy might just have some misconceptions about figure painting.

It’s not like we’re taking artistic photos, after all.

Pei Yan glanced down at his outfit and, still unsatisfied, said, "This won’t do, the color is too plain."

Then he suddenly turned to her, staring intently at the girl, his face thoughtful.

"Why are you looking at me?" Shuyao asked, perplexed.

No sooner had she spoken than she saw him stride over to the bay window and yank the curtains closed.

He then began to unbutton his shirt, one by one, first the shirt, then the T-shirt underneath.

Realizing what he intended to do, Shuyao hastily shouted for him to stop.

"Stop undressing! Do you actually want me to paint you or not?"

Pei Yan paused in the act of removing his T-shirt, frowned, and countered, "Isn’t the nude form considered the finest art piece in the eyes of you artists?"

He seemed to really believe that.

Must’ve watched too many TV dramas.

Shuyao, feeling like she was about to explode, pressed a hand to her forehead, "There are different genres and styles among painters, and besides, I’m hardly what you’d call an artist. Stop dilly-dallying and wasting my time, just go sit over there."

When the girl got fiery, she was both fierce and cute.

Pei Yan enjoyed teasing her a bit longer each time, not for any particular reason other than he loved to see her puffed up in anger, adorably so.

In the end, with the ’model’ insisting, Shuyao had to put down her paintbrush and went to his bedroom to choose a piece of clothing for him personally.

The boy liked black, and more than half of the clothes in his wardrobe were dark as night, the rest being gray and white.

She swept her gaze from left to right repeatedly, and after several rounds, she suddenly remembered a scene from several years ago.

One autumn year, Pei Yan stood beneath a ginkgo tree in the backyard of his home, wearing a khaki trench coat.

With the breeze coming in gusts, golden leaves gently fell, lightly landing on his shoulders and hair tips. The boy back then looked nothing like the cold and steely young man of today.

Shuyao only remembered that afterwards, she went upstairs to listen to her godmother play the piano for a while.

The piano’s melody was flowing and soft, just like its player, elegant and intellectual.

Back then, her godmother hadn’t divorced Uncle Pei yet; it was probably four or five years ago.

Her thoughts were deep, only to be interrupted by a hand appearing in her line of sight.

Pei Yan pulled off the sweater she had been staring at for a long time, "This one, stop looking, just come out and paint."

"Wait a minute,"

Shuyao called out to him.

With his light gaze upon her, she walked straight out of the bedroom, through the living room, and went out the front door.

A few seconds later, Pei Yan heard the sound of the door across from him opening and closing.

His eyebrows raised slightly, wondering what the girl was up to.

After a while, Shuyao returned with a black trench coat in her arms.

Her eyes sparkling, she handed it to him, "This was my dad’s years ago; you should fit into it."

Pei Yan squinted, "Do you really think my temperament is suited for wearing this?"