The first sensation was pain. A jackhammer drilling through Nan Xi's temples, synchronized with the nauseating sway of the world. Sunlight, vicious and unforgiving, sliced through the gap in her blackout curtains, landing directly on her face like a laser sight. She groaned, burying her head under a pillow that smelled faintly of… cedarwood?
Cedarwood and ozone.
Memory crashed over her like icy wastewater. The gala. The rooftop. The fall. Him. Silk tie clenched in her fist. Warm skin under her fingertips. The viper's ruby eye. And those words—"Hubby… you came for me?"—echoing in the cavernous silence of her humiliation.
She bolted upright. Big mistake. The room spun violently. Her discarded evening gown, a puddle of expensive black silk on the floor, mocked her. Her phone, face down on the nightstand, buzzed with the frantic energy of a trapped hornet. Not a few notifications. Dozens. Hundreds.
Ignoring the throbbing in her skull, she snatched it up. The screen lit up, blindingly bright, revealing a nightmare.
#NYUProfessorKissesStudent – Trending #1.
#DroneFootageScandal – Trending #3.
#WhoIsTheViperHottie – Trending #7.
Her blood turned to slush. With trembling fingers, she tapped the top link. A video auto-played, shot from a high, unstable angle. Drone footage. The timestamp glowed in the corner: 10:47 PM. Last night.
The image was grainy but devastatingly clear. The NYU rooftop. Her, sprawled on her back in that ridiculous, vulnerable pose, the strap of her gown slipping off one shoulder. Him, Xu Lin, braced over her, his dark hoodie contrasting starkly with the pale expanse of his throat where she'd touched the tattoo. The angle captured everything: the moment her hand fisted in his tie, the pull, the fall, the terrifying intimacy of their position.
The drone zoomed in. Nan Xi watched her own drunken, tear-streaked face turn towards the camera, lips slightly parted. Then, the audio kicked in, slightly distorted by wind and distance, but unmistakable. Her voice, raw and desperate: "Hubby… you came for me?"
The video ended. Comments exploded below, a relentless scroll of judgment and prurient fascination.
"OMG did Ice Queen Nan just MELT??"
"That 'student' is FINE though. Professor has taste 👀"
"Is that a SNAKE tattoo? Bad boy alert!"
"This is gross. Power imbalance much? #FireProfessorNan"
"LOL look at his ears! Dude's blushing like a virgin!"
"More like #ProfessorPreys #MeToo"
"Anyone got the freshman's Insta? Asking for a friend…"
Nan Xi stared, numb. The icy persona she'd meticulously built over years, the shield of academic brilliance and detached professionalism, lay shattered in a million digital pieces. Reduced to a drunken, desperate cliché clinging to a student. The humiliation was a physical burn, hotter than any hangover. And beneath it, colder and sharper, was fear. That tattoo. The viper. It wasn't just a drunken hallucination. It was real. And it connected him to a past she'd buried deep.
Her phone rang, shattering the suffocating silence. Chancellor Evans. The name flashed like a police siren. She let it go to voicemail. It rang again immediately. And again.
She finally swiped answer, bracing herself for the icy fury. "Chancellor." Her voice, thankfully, was steady. Flat. The Ice Queen, reassembling herself shard by shard.
"Nan." Evans' voice was tight, stripped of its usual oily charm. "My office. Now. Don't speak to anyone. Don't look at anyone. Come through the service entrance." He paused, the silence heavy with unspoken threats. "Bring your… student if you can find him. Though God knows where he's hiding."
The line went dead. Nan Xi squeezed her eyes shut. *Hiding.* Was Xu Lin hiding? Or was he orchestrating? The viper tattoo pulsed in her memory. Was this a setup? A way to discredit her right before the critical vote on her blockchain research funding? Her mind, sharp even through the fog of hangover and humiliation, began calculating angles, motives, enemies.
She moved on autopilot. A scalding shower that did nothing to cleanse the feeling of exposure. Makeup applied with military precision to mask the pallor and shadows. A severe black pantsuit replacing the vulnerable silk. Armor.
The walk across campus was an exercise in navigating hostile territory. Whispers followed her like poison darts. Students froze mid-stride, phones hastily lowered but eyes wide with avid curiosity. Colleagues averted their gaze, suddenly fascinated by the architecture. The weight of their judgment was a tangible thing, pressing against her reconstructed composure. She kept her chin high, eyes fixed straight ahead, projecting an indifference she didn't feel. Inside, the jackhammer pounded harder.
The Chancellor's outer office was unnaturally quiet. His assistant, usually bustling, sat frozen at her desk, eyes glued to her screen, face pale. She didn't look up as Nan Xi passed. The heavy oak door to Evans' inner sanctum was ajar.
Evans stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, back turned, silhouetted against the skyline. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. Nan Xi stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her with unnerving finality.
Before Evans could turn, another presence registered. He sat in the shadowed corner of a deep leather sofa, partially obscured by a potted fern. Dark jeans. A simple grey henley replacing the hoodie. Xu Lin.
He wasn't hiding. He looked… unnervingly calm. One ankle rested casually on his opposite knee. He held a glass of water, untouched. His gaze, when it met hers, wasn't fearful, or embarrassed, or even angry. It was watchful. Assessing. Like a predator observing prey entering a trap. The only betrayal of the viral storm was the faint, persistent flush still high on the tips of his ears – the detail the internet had instantly dubbed 'sculpted stone meets blushing virgin'. The absurd contrast made him seem even more dangerous.
Evans whirled around. His face was flushed, not with alcohol this time, but with barely contained fury. He slammed a tablet down on his immaculate desk. The paused drone footage glowed on the screen – a freeze-frame of Nan Xi's desperate face inches from Xu Lin's.
"Explain. This." Evans bit out each word. "How does the Chair of Economics, hours before presenting the most significant research proposal of her career, end up on the ground," he jabbed a finger at the screen, "addressing a freshman student as 'Hubby' in footage broadcast to half the damn internet?"
Nan Xi didn't flinch. "I was intoxicated, Chancellor. Deeply and regrettably so. The rooftop encounter was accidental. My words… a product of severe disorientation and personal distress. They were not directed meaningfully at Mr. Xu." Her voice was clipped, professional. She carefully avoided looking at Xu Lin. "The drone footage is a gross invasion of privacy, likely illegal. The university should be pursuing legal action against the operator."
"Privacy?" Evans let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Privacy is a luxury you incinerated on that rooftop, Professor! Legal action? While the board is screaming for your head? While alumni donors are flooding my inbox with disgust?" He leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. "You were seen aggressively pulling him down. The optics are catastrophic. It looks like predatory conduct. At best, it's conduct unbecoming of a tenured professor of this institution!"
A flicker of movement from the sofa. Xu Lin shifted. He placed the glass of water down on a coaster with deliberate quietness. Both Evans and Nan Xi turned to him.
"Mr. Xu," Evans snapped, his tone shifting to a strained attempt at paternal concern. "This must be incredibly distressing for you. Please understand, the university takes allegations of this nature extremely seriously. We are here to support you." He gestured vaguely. "If you felt pressured, coerced in any way… you must tell us. Now."
The silence stretched. Nan Xi held her breath. This was it. His moment to destroy her. To confirm the narrative. To claim victimhood. The viper's eye seemed to gleam in her mind's eye.
Xu Lin looked from Evans to Nan Xi. His dark eyes lingered on her face, taking in the rigid control, the subtle tension in her jaw. A beat. Two. Then, a small, almost imperceptible curve touched the corner of his lips. It wasn't a smile. It was… acknowledgment. Calculation.
He leaned back against the sofa cushions, his gaze settling calmly on the furious Chancellor.
"Distressing, Chancellor?" His voice was low, smooth, utterly devoid of panic. "It was unexpected, certainly. An unfortunate collision." He paused, letting the word hang – collision, not assault. "Professor Nan was clearly unwell. Disoriented. As for her words…" He finally looked directly at Nan Xi. His eyes held hers, a challenge, a question, and something else – a spark of dark amusement. "…they were spoken in evident confusion. I took no meaning from them."
He turned back to Evans, his expression blandly polite. "I don't believe any university policies were intentionally violated. Just… bad luck and worse timing. Perhaps focusing on finding the drone operator would be more productive than assigning blame?" He raised an eyebrow, the picture of reasonable, slightly inconvenienced innocence. Only the lingering flush on his ears betrayed the chaos of the viral video.
Evans gaped, momentarily thrown off script. Nan Xi stared, stunned. He hadn't thrown her to the wolves. He'd thrown Evans a lifeline wrapped in ambiguity. Why?
Before Evans could formulate a response, Xu Lin stood. He was taller than Nan Xi remembered. His presence seemed to fill the shadowed corner. "If that's all, Chancellor? I have a lecture." He nodded curtly, his gaze sweeping past Nan Xi without lingering, and walked out of the office, leaving behind a vacuum of stunned silence and the unsettling echo of his calm deflection. The Ice Queen and the furious Chancellor were left alone, staring at the closed door, the viral video still glowing accusingly on the desk, and the chilling realization that the freshman with the viper tattoo was playing a game neither of them fully understood.