Survival Guide After Accidentally Kissing a Demon - Chapter 369

Extra — IF: Cassius (1)

An offer of admission crossed the ocean from London and arrived in Beili’s hands.

She had just finished working overtime and returned to her rented apartment, and the letter came as an enormous surprise.

If she remembered correctly, this was a top fashion design college. Places were scarce, the acceptance rate was extremely low, and the tuition was extraordinarily expensive.

It was no exaggeration to say that the college was suitable only for the elite children of the upper classes.

Beili had submitted her application three years ago. She had assumed it had vanished without a trace.

When she mailed in her portfolio, she had only wanted to try her luck and had held no hope at all. Even if some incredible stroke of luck got her accepted, the exorbitant tuition would still have forced her to turn the offer down.

But the offer letter said that every expense related to her studies, including her living costs, had already been covered by a kind benefactor.

Even the money for her flight at the start of term had been placed in the envelope with the letter.

Beili took out a black card and several large-denomination pound notes. She stared at them in stunned disbelief for a long while before finally realizing that a pie truly had fallen from the sky!

And it had landed squarely on her head!

The phone in her pocket chimed.

Beili took it out and saw that her boss had assigned yet another task in the work chat. She was expected to work from home and rush it out that very night because it was needed first thing tomorrow morning.

Beili paused. Tapping the screen, she typed a line in the group chat.

‘Fuck off. I quit.’

After sending the message, Beili’s finger remained suspended over the screen. Neither her heartbeat nor the corners of her lips would stop rising.

The work chat fell dead silent for several seconds.

Then a private voice call from her boss immediately popped up, ringing insistently. He had clearly been enraged.

Whenever she saw that profile picture appear in the past, her heart would leap into her throat, and she would instinctively draw a deep breath before she dared answer.

Now, however, she felt an unprecedented lightness race from the soles of her feet to the top of her head.

She even found her boss’s profile picture a little cute.

Beili unhurriedly declined the call.

Then, with great speed, she added her boss’s WeChat account and phone number to her blocklist, along with the work chat that bombarded her with countless tasks every day.

The world fell quiet in an instant.

Beili threw herself onto the bed and hugged her pillow in excitement. She felt as though she were floating on a cloud, suspended somewhere between dream and reality. None of it seemed real.

But who would cross an ocean to quietly sponsor an ordinary girl with no background like her?

Who would even think to include her living expenses and airfare?

Just then, her phone chimed again.

Beili’s eyelid twitched. She instinctively assumed her boss had found another number to call and berate her from.

She snatched up her phone, only to find an email from an unfamiliar address.

The email was concise. It was written in English, its wording elegant and restrained.

> Dear Miss Beili,
>
> Please accept my sincerest congratulations. All arrangements for your enrolment have been made. Kindly report to the college on the date specified in your offer letter. Should you have any questions, you may contact me through this email address.
>
> I wish you every happiness.
>
> Yours faithfully,
>
> C

Beili read the email over and over. She also examined the envelope containing the offer and the money from inside to outside with painstaking care.

Other than the college’s official information and the brief statement about the sponsorship, there were no further clues.

Forget it.

No matter who had done this or why, she had to seize this chance to change her fate!

Beili tossed her phone onto the bed, got up, and walked into the cramped kitchen. She opened the refrigerator that remained old and yellowed no matter how carefully she wiped it down, took out a can of ice-cold cola, and began a simple, inexpensive celebration.

“To my unknown benefactor.”

“To London.”

“To dumb luck.”

Holding the cola, she raised the can to the empty air, then tipped her head back and took a long drink.

The cold sweetness rushed down her throat, making her sigh despite herself.

It felt as though all the exhaustion and grievances of the past several years left her along with that breath.

The countless nights she had stayed up late. The countless proposals that had been rejected. The numbness of squeezing into the underground during the morning rush. The balance in her bank account that was only ever barely enough.

And her ordinary, almost tragic childhood as an orphan.

From this moment onward, however, everything would be different.

Beili threw herself furiously into studying English for a month.

Her English was terrible.

Fortunately, technology was advanced now. There was no shortage of translation software, and even glasses that translated speech in real time, to help her overcome the difficulty of communicating.

As soon as the term began, Beili flew to London with her luggage.

She took the college shuttle and moved into the student accommodation.

When she finished checking in, received her key, and opened the door to her suite, Beili’s eyes lit up all over again.

There was a bedroom, a living room, a bathroom, and even an open kitchen.

The walls were cream, the furniture was natural wood, and the enormous windows overlooked the unfamiliar streets and buildings of London, with their Gothic spires and modern buildings with glass curtain walls.

It was many times more spacious and refined than the apartment she had rented before.

After briefly settling in, Beili opened her laptop and clicked on the email address she had already saved as ‘C.’ She hesitated, but still composed a short email in English.

> Hello,
>
> I have arrived in London and moved into the college accommodation. Everything is going well. Thank you very much.
>
> Beili

After checking it over repeatedly, she clicked Send.

The other party might merely be the benefactor’s assistant, and Beili did not know whether she would receive a reply. But after thinking it over, she felt that she absolutely had to express her gratitude.

When the confirmation of a successful delivery appeared, Beili let out a slow breath.

She set the laptop aside, picked up her timetable and a map of the college, and went to the window to carefully compare the location of tomorrow’s classes with their classrooms.

It had begun to rain.

A red bus rolled slowly down the street below while pedestrians in trench coats hurried past.

A strange mixture of alienation and excitement enveloped her. Then the clear chime of an incoming email suddenly sounded from the computer, distinct in the quiet room.

So soon?

Beili froze, then hurried back to the laptop.

Sender: C

> I am pleased to hear that you have settled in. May your time here prove fruitful.

The email contained only a single line.

There were no pleasantries and no unnecessary words. It was even shorter than her email, yet the sentence remained elegant.

Beili blinked.

Her fingers tapped over the keyboard, typing the words, ‘May I ask if you are the benefactor?’ in the reply box. A moment later, she quickly deleted them.

As the recipient of someone else’s help, she should not ask too many questions.

It would be awful if she chose the wrong words and caused the other party to feel offended.

She should wait until she had good results to share before sending another email, Beili silently decided.

Once she had settled in, her studies began.

At first, the lecturers used so much specialist terminology that their lessons might as well have been in an alien language to Beili.

She had no choice but to record every class and keep the live translation running throughout, then return to her room after class and slowly work through her notes.

She interacted with her classmates even less. She had no time to attend any of the parties they held, large or small.

Only after her studies were on track and communication had become easier did she learn at a casual party that her classmates privately called her…

‘The aloof, discreet secret heiress.’

Beili was biting her straw and holding a half-finished glass of juice when Emily, a slightly tipsy blonde girl beside her, leaned over and mysteriously told her about the rumor. Beili nearly choked.

“An heiress? Me?”

Beili pointed to herself. She was wearing a simple dress of her own design and making, without a single designer accessory anywhere on her body.

The most valuable thing she owned was probably the phone in her pocket—and, come to think of it, even that was a secondhand Apple phone. What a miserable life!

“Oh, come on, Beili. Stop pretending!”

Emily draped an arm around her shoulders and grinned. “Everyone knows your room is the top suite! Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the London Eye and the River Thames, a kitchen with an oven, your own huge bathroom… You have to pay an enormous premium for that. A year in there costs even more than a year’s tuition!”

Beili opened her mouth, at a loss for how to explain.

Was she supposed to say that she had simply taken the key and moved in? That she had not known there were different grades of student accommodation, much less that hers required an additional payment?

The sponsorship agreement had only said that it covered her tuition and living expenses. It had not gone into anything as detailed as the class of her accommodation.

So the benefactor called ‘C’ had arranged everything for her—and had chosen the very best?

The students who could attend this college already came from elite upper-class families. One could only imagine the cost of accommodation expensive enough to astonish even them.

This kindness was almost too thoughtful and lavish.

Could someone truly like her designs this much?

A subtle sense that she was unworthy crept into Beili’s heart, leaving her uneasy.

She could only give Emily a strained smile. “Perhaps I was simply lucky enough to be assigned there. My family circumstances are very ordinary.”

Emily did not believe her. She merely gave Beili a look that said, *I understand. Wealthy people from the East prefer to keep a low profile,* then turned and melted back into the dancing crowd.

Beili glanced around at the relaxed atmosphere, set down her glass, and left the party early.

Back in the luxurious suite, she carefully surveyed the space once more.

Before, she had only thought it spacious and refined. Now she belatedly noticed certain details.

The designer-brand furniture. The high-end bathroom fixtures. The professional kitchen equipment. And beyond the window, a London skyline worthy of a postcard.

Beili could not help opening her laptop again and clicking on the email address marked ‘C.’

She had even more questions now. Why such expensive accommodation? What exactly did they want from her?

She drafted and redrafted the questions, then deleted them all in the end.

Instead, she dragged the fashion sketches from her coursework into an attachment and added a single line.

> Hello,
>
> These are the fashion designs I completed for my coursework this term. I hope you will like them.
>
> Beili

This time, C’s reply was somewhat slower than before.

One afternoon several days after the email and its attachment were successfully delivered, Beili was adjusting the waistline of a half-finished garment on a dress form in her suite when the crisp chime of an email finally sounded.

Beili stopped moving, set down the pin in her hand, and opened the email.

C’s reply was as concise and elegant as ever, but its contents took her completely by surprise.

> Dear Miss Beili,
>
> I have reviewed the attached designs. Your approach to combining silhouette and fabric is quite original. In particular, the deconstructivist experiment in the third design moves beyond the conservative style evident in your work three years ago and deserves encouragement. Your handling of detail still requires refinement, however. The shoulder line of the second design, for example, is somewhat stiff. I suggest referring to the treatment used in MQ’s Autumn/Winter 1998 collection. Reference images are attached.
>
> I look forward to seeing your next work.
>
> Best wishes,
>
> C

Beili stared blankly.

She had imagined what sort of reply C might send.

Perhaps a polite ‘Received, thank you,’ or a more official ‘I will forward this to the benefactor.’ She had never expected such specific, incisive professional criticism.

The other party had not only looked at her work, but examined it with extraordinary care.

When she opened the attachment, she found images accompanied by detailed explanations.

This C was definitely no ordinary assistant or administrator.

Beili was certain of it.

C, the person sponsoring her, not only possessed immense financial resources, but also had professional knowledge and a discerning eye in the field of fashion design.

Who were they?

The names of fashion titans, retired masters, and famous designers she had heard about in class flashed through her mind one after another.

Yet none of them seemed possible.

Why would anyone from such circles sponsor her?

After beginning her studies, Beili had become painfully aware of how amateur her fashion design skills were and how limited her perspective had been.

After staring at C’s reply for a long time, Beili closed the laptop, took a deep breath, and returned her attention to the garment on the dress form.

The college divided its year into three terms: autumn, spring, and summer.

Time flew. In the blink of an eye, the autumn term ended, followed by a holiday of nearly twenty days.

Today was Christmas Day.

A glittering Christmas tree stood in the ground-floor lobby of the accommodation building.

The cafeteria had already closed.

The college was almost empty. Local students had gone home to reunite with their families, and most international students had gone traveling together.

This was Beili’s first Christmas in a foreign country.

She had no family, and she did not want to spend the sponsorship money on the black card, so she could only remain in her suite for the holiday.

There were few pedestrians on the streets, and many shops had closed early. She walked for a long time before finding a fast-food restaurant, where she bought a pizza to take away before heading back.

Large snowflakes began to drift from the sky, swirling beneath the streetlights before falling soundlessly.

When she returned to her suite, a large box sat outside the door.

The box was made from rigid dark-blue card and tied with a silver-white silk ribbon in an elegant bow.

There was no information about the sender, only a simple white card tucked beneath the ribbon.

Beili had a powerful premonition.

She untied the beautiful bow, picked up the card, and was astonished to find a message written in elegant Chinese characters.

> May you shine forever like a star at Christmas. Happy holidays.

She eagerly carried the box into her room and lifted the lid.

Inside was a set of tools.

They were top-of-the-line precision tools for professional tailoring, gleaming with a cold metallic sheen.

French curves, a rotary cutter, fine pins, a thimble, thread snips, fabric shears, and a needle threader…

They looked like works of art, each nestled securely in a luxurious velvet lining.

The set appeared to have been custom-made. Every piece bore a tiny silver emblem engraved with an ornate letter ‘C.’

Beili’s breath caught. She reached out and ran her fingers over the cold, flawless professional tools, the likes of which she had never before imagined owning.

Then she rushed to her laptop, opened it, and sent C an email.

> Merry Christmas. I received your gift, and I love it! If you are willing, please reply with your gender, height, and measurements. I would like to use these tools to make you a garment in return. If that would be inconvenient, please disregard the suggestion. Thank you for your gift. I will treasure it and put it to good use.
>
> Beili

Only after sending the email did Beili’s heartbeat belatedly begin to accelerate.

She stared rigidly at the screen, her fingers turning slightly cold.

A moment of impulse and gratitude had driven her to send the email. Now that she had calmed down, her request seemed rather abrupt.

It might even have crossed a line.

The other party was an anonymous benefactor, a mysterious presence hidden behind the initial ‘C.’

She did not even know whether they were young or old, married or unmarried. Yet she had asked for private information like their body measurements and offered to make them clothing.

It was much too rash.

Beili pressed a hand to her forehead in frustration, her gaze falling on the box of top-tier tools behind her.

The silver emblems gleamed coldly beneath the light.

The gift had simply been too thoughtful. It had struck her preferences with such precision that her head had grown hot.

But with that kind of wealth, what clothing could the other party possibly lack? Perhaps they wore only bespoke pieces from master designers…

Beili could almost imagine the slight frown that might appear when they read her email, along with an expression suggesting that they found her naïve and ridiculous.

Perhaps there would be no reply, Beili thought.

Such generous kindness might not seek any form of repayment.

Especially not an awkward attempt like hers.

After waiting for a while, Beili sighed and decided to stop dwelling on it. She would heat up the cold pizza first.

She had only taken a few steps when the crisp chime of an incoming email sounded behind her.

Beili felt a jolt inside her head. She immediately turned around and opened her inbox.

The email was as concise as ever. There were no pleasantries; it went straight to the point.

Sender: C

Re: Merry Christmas

> I am pleased that you like it.
>
> Gender: Male.
>
> Height: 189 cm.
>
> Shoulder width: 50 cm.
>
> Chest: 104 cm.
>
> Waist: 75 cm.
>
> Hips: 96 cm.
>
> Sleeve length: 65 cm.
>
> Trouser length: 115 cm.
>
> I look forward to your work.
>
> Best wishes,
>
> C