The September night wind in the north was cold and solemn.

In the western district, the lights were dim, and only two or three pedestrians passed by occasionally.

Tao Zhi leaned against the traffic light pole at the crossroads, watching the boy squatting by the roadside not far away as he lit a cigarette.

He fished a lighter out of his pocket; the tiny flame cupped in his palm dyed the darkness of the night with a faint layer of warm red light.

He did it with practiced ease.

Tao Zhi took out her phone and dialed the most recent missed call.

After two seconds, the boy a hundred meters away lowered his head, glanced at his screen, and picked up: “Hello—”

“Have you arrived?” Tao Zhi asked.

The boy still had a cigarette between his lips, his voice muffled and dragging lazily, “Yeah, been waiting for you forever. You’re the only one I’d wait for.”

“You know, when you were little, going to kindergarten, you’d act all vain, wanted your hair in braids, and made me wait,” he reminisced suddenly through the curling smoke. “Then when we started school, you’d oversleep, and I still had to wait.”

“Even when you were born, I had to damn well wait for you to get pulled out. If I hadn’t been so tough, I’d have suffocated to death right there.”

Finally, the boy concluded with a look of deep sorrow, “Tao Zhi, you’re the woman I’ve waited for all my life.”

“……”

Tao Zhi rolled her eyes, walked over, and smacked him on the back of the head. “Are you done?”

Ji Fan yelped, holding his cigarette in one hand and the phone in the other as he turned around.

The woman he had “waited all his life” for was standing right behind him now, eyelids drooping, gazing at him expressionlessly.

Ji Fan tilted his head back; half the cigarette ash fell off.

“Hehe,” he gave two foolish laughs. “You’re here?”

Tao Zhi hung up the phone and crouched down beside him.

Ji Fan shifted his body slightly to the side, trying to inconspicuously hide the hand holding the cigarette behind his back—forgetting that the person he was hiding from was standing behind him.

Tao Zhi lowered her head, just in time to see that hand with the cigarette stretch right past her eyes, flaunting itself blatantly in front of her.

Then—pat—another bit of ash fell off.

Tao Zhi: “……”

She called his name, “Ji Fan.”

“Ah.” Ji Fan flinched, a little panicked.

“Do you know what illness our second great-uncle ended up with?” Tao Zhi said. “Lung cancer.”

“……”

Ji Fan hurriedly drew his hand back, crushed the cigarette butt against the tile, tossed it into the trash can nearby, and obediently came back to stand before her, ready for a scolding.

Tao Zhi glanced at him. “Didn’t you say you quit?”

“…It’s not that easy.” Ji Fan scratched his head. “Alright, alright, I’ll quit. Don’t yell at me.”

“If yelling worked, you’d already be top of your class.” Tao Zhi rolled her eyes, her tone filled with undisguised disgust. “I heard you only got nine points on your final math exam? Is that what a ‘school tyrant’ from your elite school looks like?”

Ji Fan shot back, “How much did you get?”

“Twenty,” Tao Zhi said.

“……”

Ji Fan looked at her, at a loss for words. He couldn’t figure out how someone who scored twenty points could act so justified in looking down on him. “All the school tyrants in our Affiliated School score nine.”

Tao Zhi said, “Then the school tyrants in our Experimental School have to score twenty. When you transfer over, remember to think of a way to make up that eleven-point gap.”

Back in middle school, Ji Fan had moved away with Ji Jin. He had cried and made a fuss back then, unwilling to go. Now, after a few years, he had friends he couldn’t bear to part with and a familiar environment over there, yet he was being sent back again.

He didn’t want to come back—Tao Zhi knew that—but this wasn’t something he could decide.

Children had no say in such matters; whether they wanted to or not had no bearing on the adults’ decisions. If they told you to go east, you couldn’t take half a step west.

For a while, neither of them spoke. They just squatted by the roadside, staring blankly at the sparse flow of cars in the night. After a long silence, Ji Fan sighed.

“When are you going back?” Tao Zhi asked first.

“In a while,” Ji Fan said. “Seems like there’s still some paperwork left.”

Tao Zhi rested her head on one hand, fingertips touching her lips, studying the boy’s face that vaguely resembled hers by a couple of points. Out of rare compassion, she comforted him: “Look on the bright side, soon you’ll be at the same school as me.”

Ji Fan’s mood had just begun to settle, but after hearing that, he sank back into despair. “Hearing you say that makes me even less willing to go.”

“……”

Tao Zhi’s teeth itched; she ground them, holding back the urge to hit him. After a moment’s thought, she added, “At our school, we don’t even have to do homework sometimes. If the teacher’s in a good mood, they don’t check it.”

Ji Fan turned his head, giving her a puzzled look. “What homework? You still do homework?”

“……”

Tao Zhi felt her dignity as a delinquent girl being trampled to dust under his doubtful gaze.

“Of course I don’t,” she said. “Would I be so bored as to actually do homework? I’m too lazy to even copy.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

September 2nd, the first day of school.

Class 2–1 of the second year of high school.

The early morning breeze carried a faint chill, puffing at the curtains as it slipped inside. It was just past seven fifteen, and most of the seats in the classroom were already filled.

Tao Zhi sat in the second-to-last row by the wall. On her left was a stack of test papers, every blank filled densely with answers; on her right was another identical stack—completely blank.

The girl held a black pen in one hand, the cap between her teeth, copying answers at lightning speed.

Her dark eyes darted to the left; the pen in her right hand swept across the page in smooth strokes, almost without pause—fluid as a well-oiled engine, practiced and swift.

Once she finished one page, she flipped it over with a rustle and kicked at the leg of the chair in front of her.

Bang—a light sound. The boy sitting ahead scooted his chair forward a little, then quickly turned his head back nervously.

Tao Zhi was still scribbling furiously, head down, speaking vaguely through the pen cap in her mouth: “You used to be in Old Wang’s class, right?”

The boy nodded, then gave a small “ah.”

“When does he usually come around to collect homework?”

At Experimental No. 1 High, the second-year students were divided into science and liberal arts tracks—twelve science classes and seven liberal arts ones. The homerooms and subject teachers were also reassigned.

Tao Zhi had never taken Old Wang’s class before. She only knew he taught physics and had quite a temper; she used to hear him scolding students in the office even from the hallway.

A new semester meant a fresh start. At the very least, it had to begin with successfully handing in the summer homework.

Unlike Ji Fan, she was a motivated delinquent girl.

A very positive one.

Copy as much as she could; if she couldn’t finish copying—well, there was nothing to be done about that.

At least she had made an effort.

The score could be low, but the sincerity had to be there.

Anyway, Ji Fan wouldn’t know about it now.

With the mindset of finishing one subject is better than none, Tao Zhi had gotten up especially early to come to school and do her holiday homework. While she was rapidly filling in blanks, the boy in front of her spoke up:

“Mr. Wang usually comes right on time, but sometimes he gets here early to check on morning study. Homework’s collected before class.” He paused, then added, “And the first period today is physics.”

Tao Zhi’s pen stopped mid-stroke. She raised her head, frowned at him, and let out an “ah.”

Li Shuangjiang was a little surprised.

She was quite well-known at school—rich family, good looks, good at fighting. A legendary figure who could summon wind and rain and was, frankly, a bit fierce.

But right now, that legendary figure was sitting behind him, copying his Chinese paper, frowning and troubled by the same problem that plagued all high school students: “What should I do? There’s too much. I can’t finish copying.”

“Maybe I should copy physics first,” Tao Zhi said, sweeping the Chinese paper aside. “Show Old Wang some basic respect. Hey, front desk—lend me your physics paper?”

Before she even finished speaking, Li Shuangjiang had already pulled out his physics paper and handed it to her.

Tao Zhi took it, thanked him, and opened it to continue copying furiously.

She copied with total focus, utterly absorbed, as if she’d entered a state of enlightenment where the self ceased to exist.

She didn’t know how long she had been at it when faint noises began to stir in the classroom. The boy in front of her, her good brother who’d lent her the homework, kept coughing, but she paid no attention.

Right now, she was completely immersed in her own diligence.

As she copied, something began to feel… off.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was standing beside her.

Without stopping her pen, Tao Zhi lifted her head—and came face to face with a deeply lined face.

Her mind still held the last physics formula and answer she’d just seen on the paper in front of her. Her hand didn’t stop, her head didn’t lower; while meeting the wrinkled face’s gaze, she calmly finished writing the final question.

The man with the wrinkles looked to be in his forties. Tao Zhi had seen him a few times in the physics-chemistry-biology office. Her quick judgment: this was Old Wang.

Old Wang stood beside her with his hands behind his back. Who knew how long he’d been watching, his facial wrinkles trembled slightly. “Done copying?”

“Not yet,” Tao Zhi replied.

“How much left?”

“Just finished half of Chinese and four pages of physics,” Tao Zhi answered honestly.

The wrinkles on Old Wang’s face twitched again.

Tao Zhi couldn’t tell if he was angry or laughing. In the end, she conservatively guessed that he was angry enough to laugh.

Old Wang slammed his hand on the desk. “Take your homework and go to my office to finish it! You’re not going anywhere until it’s done—no classes, no meals!”

Tao Zhi was already used to this routine. She obediently pulled the rest of her subject papers from her bag, and slipped her phone into her sleeve while doing so.

Her former homeroom teacher had taught English, so she’d rarely gone to the physics-chemistry-biology office. She didn’t even know which desk belonged to Old Wang.

So she simply walked over to the window sill in the office, placed her papers there, and stood to write.

It was still early; there weren’t many people in the office. Only a female teacher sat in the corner, and at the desk by the window sat a boy, head lowered, writing something.

The desks were placed facing each other, with two computers between Tao Zhi and the boy. The monitor screens blocked most of the view, so she couldn’t see what he was writing.

But it didn’t matter whether she could see or not—Tao Zhi had seen this scene far too many times. Half of her “good brothers” had bonded over doing make-up homework and writing self-reflection letters in teachers’ offices. With just one glance, she could tell: this guy was walking the same road as her.

Tao Zhi understood instantly.

Another one who hadn’t done his homework.

She dutifully spread out her physics paper on the windowsill, pretending to look it over seriously—then realized she couldn’t solve a single question.

So she simply pulled out her phone, snapped a photo of the paper, and started searching for answers.

After finishing four or five questions, the female teacher finally picked up two books and left.

Tao Zhi turned her head for a look; her fellow comrade was still writing.

His head was lowered, his face hidden by the computer monitor, showing only short black hair and the hand holding the pen.

A nice-looking hand—long fingers, slender bones across the back.

Tao Zhi was a hand enthusiast, and her impression of him immediately improved.

She inched forward two steps, leaned on the desk edge, and bent down slightly over the monitor, calling softly, “Hey, good brother.”

The boy’s pen didn’t stop moving, nor did he respond.

He seemed quite absorbed in his work.

Tao Zhi propped her elbow on the desk and leaned in further, half her head poking up above the monitor so that only her eyes were visible. “You didn’t do your homework either, huh?”

The boy’s pen paused. He raised his head.

Tao Zhi saw his face clearly, blinked, and instinctively let out a whistle.

The crisp sound rang out loud and clear in the empty office.

His eyes were even prettier than his hands—deep-set, the outer corners narrow and slightly lifted, the lines of his features restrained, and his irises faintly light under the sunlight, cool and clear to the point of being almost inhuman.

Like a glass princess.

The glass princess’s expression was calm and indifferent; he didn’t speak.

Tao Zhi snapped back to her senses, not the least embarrassed, and remembered the main point.

Since he didn’t respond, Tao Zhi took his silence as agreement and said directly, “I didn’t do mine either. How many subjects do you have left? I finished half of physics earlier, you can copy it later. I still have Chinese, English, chemistry, and biology left.”

The glass princess arched an eyebrow, the tip of his pen tapping lightly against the desk. His pair of beautiful, slightly upturned peach-blossom eyes followed the motion. “You’ll let me copy later?”

The ending tone lifted faintly, the sound like a thin, cold thread of ice slicing through the early autumn sunlight.

Tao Zhi felt another whistle coming on.

It was as if this guy hit every single one of her aesthetic weak spots.

Of course—someone who hadn’t done his homework!

A kindred spirit!

Tao Zhi felt the joy of finding a comrade-in-arms. “Yeah!”

“……”

Tao Zhi lifted her head a little, resting her chin on top of the computer monitor. “Math and chem-bio—each of us looks up one subject, then we swap and copy. Deal?”

Glass Princess: “Sure.”

Tao Zhi brightened. “Then I’ll take chemistry.”

“I’ll take biology.”

He put down his pen and leaned back in his chair, watching the girl—who looked like a prairie dog poking her head up—counting on her fingers as she instructed him: “Move faster, okay? If we hurry, we can finish math and science before lunch break.”

While the prairie dog was talking, her gaze drifted down toward the desk to see what he had been writing. She’d only just glanced vaguely when—creak—the office door opened.

Before she could react, still leaning over the desk in mid-conversation, Old Wang walked in and rapped her on the head with a rolled-up book.

Whack. Whac-A-Mole.

“Brought you here to do homework and you’re chatting instead? You can talk anywhere, huh?” Old Wang tossed the book onto the desk, then lifted his head to look at Jiang Qihuai across from her. “You done filling that out?”

Jiang Qihuai handed over the paper he had just been working on.

Old Wang took it, looked it over, and nodded. “Good. I’ll review it later and help you turn it in.” He looked up again, his usually furrowed brow relaxing slightly. “I used to work with Teacher Liu from the Affiliated School, he mentioned you. Last semester’s city mock exam for the three schools, you got full marks in math, right?”

“……”

Tao Zhi turned her head, staring at him blankly.

Jiang Qihuai gave her a brief, indifferent glance. “Mm.”

“Didn’t lose many points in science either,” Old Wang went on. “Top student from the Affiliated transferring to our Experimental—Teacher Liu said I lucked out, didn’t even want to let you go. Alright, the forms are done, nothing else for now. Go back to class, take your time getting used to things—it’s the first day.”

Jiang Qihuai responded softly, pushed back his chair, and walked out of the office—brushing past the frozen prairie dog.

Tao Zhi: “……”

Tao Zhi: “??”

Tao Zhi: “???”