Early Monday morning, the campus was quiet. Occasionally, a few early arrivals stood in front of the convenience stall waiting for someone, while the boarders ate breakfast and strolled unhurriedly toward the teaching building.

Tao Zhi sat by the school gate with a bottle of water in hand, her head tilted lazily as she yawned and pulled out her phone to check the time.

Thirty seconds left.

Twenty seconds.

Tao Zhi turned her head toward the gate.

Song Jiang came charging in like he had a motor strapped to his back, sprinting wildly through the gate. When he leapt past the iron gate, his posture was just like a sprinter finishing a hundred-meter dash. “Scared the hell out of me!”

The students entering beside him jumped in shock, taking two steps back.

Tao Zhi looked at him blankly. “You’re late.”

“I overslept,” Song Jiang panted, trying to defend himself. “And I’m not late, okay? I made it right on the dot.”

This ancestor’s most hated thing in the world—was waiting for others.

But ironically, she loved making others wait for her.

“Fine then,” Tao Zhi reluctantly accepted it and tossed him the breakfast bag beside her. “What did you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Song Jiang tore open the bag and took a bite of a bun, speaking with his mouth full. “You wouldn’t hang out these past few days, so I came to check in on you. You’re reciting your self-criticism today, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you write it?”

Tao Zhi fished out a piece of milk candy from her pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth. “No.”

Song Jiang froze mid-chew. “?”

Tao Zhi stopped walking too. “?”

“Wait, bro,” Song Jiang swallowed hard. “You’re not even writing self-criticisms anymore?”

Tao Zhi sighed. “Classmate Timely Rain.”

Song Jiang eyed her warily. “What are you up to again?”

“These past few years, how many times do you think we’ve written self-criticisms?”

Song Jiang thought seriously and answered with precision, “At least eight, if not ten.”

“Exactly,” Tao Zhi said wearily. “After writing so many, if you still can’t recite one off the cuff, wouldn’t that make you an idiot? It’s the same old thing every time—different words, same soup. I’ve memorized them by heart.”

Song Jiang, who had obediently written and painfully recited one just last week for getting into a fight: “…”

The two of them chatted as they walked into the teaching building. Tao Zhi’s classroom was upstairs; she habitually entered through the back door. As she pushed it open, she saw Jiang Qihuai’s back.

Tao Zhi was a little surprised—the princess had actually arrived early today, not cutting it close with the morning-study bell.

Inside the classroom, some students were eating breakfast, some chatting, some making up homework. Jiang Qihuai remained unaffected, head lowered, his pen swiftly gliding across the test paper.

He was always like this when solving problems—his whole being exuded an aura of “You useless bunch, don’t come near me.” Even Li Shuangjiang, the most talkative guy in class, wouldn’t dare to say a word to him.

Tao Zhi bit the candy in her mouth, quietly walked over to stand behind him, leaned down slightly, and craned her neck to peek at the paper on his desk—soundless and still.

Jiang Qihuai sensed the person approaching almost instantly.

He turned his head sharply.

Tao Zhi didn’t have time to react—her head was still hovering above his shoulder. When her eyes met those light brown pupils, she froze.

Those clear eyes were nothing like his usual indifferent, detached ones. His gaze was sharp and cold, filled with vigilance and an almost tangible chill of hostility.

Tao Zhi wanted to move away, but for some reason, in that instant, her whole body felt frozen in place.

Only a few centimeters separated the tips of their noses. The curve of his eyelashes was right before her eyes, and she could even feel the warmth of his breath.

Along with it came the faintly sweet scent on her—shampoo, body wash, laundry detergent, and who knew what else all mixed together.

The two of them stared at each other for a few seconds before Tao Zhi suddenly said, “I’m about to go cross-eyed.”

The sweetness mixed with a trace of milky fragrance spread across Jiang Qihuai’s nose.

“Then can you move away,” he said expressionlessly.

The tense, dangerous aura from just a second ago vanished completely. His face returned to that same annoying look of “Who are you,” “Not my problem,” “Stay away from me.”

Tao Zhi didn’t move. Tilting her head slightly as she looked at him, she drawled, “Didn’t notice before—Your Highness, you actually have really nice skin. How do you maintain it?”

“……”

Jiang Qihuai’s eyelid twitched.

He was about to lose his temper—about to, about to, about to.

Sensing the timing, Tao Zhi decided to stop pushing her luck. Straightening up cheerfully, she bounced on her feet twice; the irritation that had been pent up for days seemed to dissolve in that instant.

“Haven’t done your homework?” She pointed at the physics paper on his desk. “That one—wasn’t it assigned on Friday?”

The Attached Middle School’s study god · Class One’s model student · Textbook-level exam destroyer · Jiang Qihuai hadn’t done his homework.

Tao Zhi thought the novelty of that could rival Song Jiang ranking first in the entire grade.

Jiang Qihuai didn’t reply; he simply turned back and continued writing.

Tao Zhi didn’t press further either. She went back to her seat, set down her bag, and unzipped it. After rummaging for a while, she pulled out her own physics paper and then dug a pen out from her desk.

“Click, click.” Two presses, and the pen tip popped out. She turned around, straddled her chair, and placed her paper right on top of Jiang Qihuai’s desk—then started copying, just like that.

Completely natural.

Jiang Qihuai’s paper was already half done; she began copying from the multiple-choice section.

The girl leaned over his desk, her movements quick and deft. Her eyes swept across the lines, and her pen followed immediately, marking down the letters. She copied with practiced ease.

Jiang Qihuai paused slightly and raised an eyebrow. “You still dare to copy my paper?”

“What, you wouldn’t go so far as to sabotage yourself just to get back at me, would you?” Tao Zhi didn’t even lift her head as she started on the fill-in-the-blanks. Mimicking what Tao Xiuping had told her before, she said, “Hurting the enemy a thousand at the cost of eight hundred to yourself—what good would that do you?”

Jiang Qihuai had already moved on to the long problems. Tao Zhi, having finished the fill-in and multiple choice, rested her chin on her hand and waited beside him.

He solved problems at an incredible speed. His eyes swept over the text once, picked out key information, and he started writing immediately—no hesitation at all. Tao Zhi watched carefully, following his every move. Wherever he drew lines, she also drew lines under her paper—perfectly imitating him, like copy and paste.

The two of them finished two big problems one after the other just like that, when Li Shuangjiang came bouncing in, humming a tune with a bun in his mouth.

Even though Jiang Qihuai’s speed was nothing short of terrifying, solving problems still took longer than simply copying them. Tao Zhi, waiting impatiently for him to finish, perked up when she saw Li Shuangjiang—her eyes brightened. “Little brother!”

“Boss!” Li Shuangjiang instantly played along. “What is it, Boss?”

“Did you do the physics paper?” Tao Zhi asked.

“Yeah, hold on, I’ll find it for you,” Li Shuangjiang said while unzipping his backpack and rummaging around. “But seriously, wouldn’t copying Huai-ge’s be more reliable than mine?”

“He writes too slowly,” Tao Zhi replied offhandedly.

Standing in the aisle, Li Shuangjiang pulled out the paper and handed it over. Tao Zhi patted his shoulder. “Good brother.”

“For my boss, I’d lay down my life,” Li Shuangjiang said solemnly.

Tao Zhi took the paper, and just as she turned her head, she saw Jiang Qihuai looking up at her.

His gaze made her feel a bit uneasy. She shook the paper slightly. “What?”

Jiang Qihuai said nothing.

Tao Zhi tilted her head, her face full of confusion.

Jiang Qihuai lowered his head again and continued writing, his pen scratching swiftly across the paper. “Do as you like.”

Tao Zhi blinked twice, realizing belatedly that the expression on His Highness’s usually blank face just now seemed to hold the faintest trace of emotion.

—Why aren’t you copying mine.

What did that mean?

Was he upset because she said he wrote too slowly?

She didn’t copy his, and now he was unhappy about it?

Was this the incomprehensible pride and stubbornness of a straight-A student?

Tao Zhi almost laughed. She placed Li Shuangjiang’s paper underneath without looking at it, propped her chin on her hand again, and waited for Jiang Qihuai to finish writing.

“If you’re going to copy, turn around and copy,” Jiang Qihuai suddenly said. “Don’t hog my desk.”

Tao Zhi lazily slumped forward. “I’m just waiting for you to finish.”

“I’m slow,” Jiang Qihuai said flatly.

“…”

Tao Zhi rolled her eyes, exasperated. “I just said that casually, why are you so petty?”

She shouldn’t have said it. The moment the words left her mouth, Jiang Qihuai picked up a book beside him and slap—covered the freshly written problem with it.

Tao Zhi: “…”

“I,” Jiang Qihuai said mildly as he underlined the next problem, “only have one virtue—pettiness.”

“…”

Why did that sound so familiar?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Halfway through morning self-study, the bell for flag-raising preparations rang. The students stopped writing, zipped up their school jackets, and filed out.

Tao Zhi had to go up the platform to read her self-criticism. She was so used to the process by now that she barely felt anything anymore. She lazily stepped out of Class One’s line and wandered up to the stage.

The discipline director stood beside her, displeased with her nonchalant attitude, and cleared his throat pointedly.

Tao Zhi quickly straightened up, posture instantly correct, and walked to the standing microphone with a perfectly upright back.

Only then did the discipline director step down from the stage.

The field below was packed densely with students. From time to time, whispers rippled through the crowd. Tao Zhi swept her gaze across the audience, expression solemn.

“Teachers, classmates, good morning. I am the class monitor of Class One, Grade Eleven.”

“During last week’s PE class, I unintentionally witnessed a senior student from a certain Grade Twelve class committing an evil act—bullying the weak. I failed to hold myself back and gave her a good beating, causing her both mental and physical trauma,” Tao Zhi said calmly. “To spare her some dignity, I won’t mention her name.”

“……”

A vein bulged on Wang Zhezi’s forehead, and the discipline director’s face turned green. For a moment, he couldn’t decide whether to rush up and stop her.

“But my behavior was undoubtedly wrong. When faced with such a case of campus bullying, I set a bad example. Therefore, I hereby reflect—”

“I should not have used violence to counter violence. However,” Tao Zhi paused for two seconds, “I also hope everyone can take this as a warning. Do not repeat such actions. You must understand that the restroom is not a place beyond the law—righteous messengers are everywhere.”

The entire field went silent.

Jiang Qihuai silently curved his lips into a faint smile. Beside him, Li Shuangjiang couldn’t hold it in and let out a “pfft” of laughter.

At the end, Tao Zhi bowed respectfully. “That’s all. Thank you, everyone.”