The bell for the first subject, Chinese, rang, and the invigilator entered the examination hall, unsealed the paper bag, and distributed the test papers.

After receiving hers, Tao Zhi first glanced through the questions.

Chinese was also a subject that valued accumulation more, something that could not be rushed, so she hadn’t spent too much time on it during this period. The midterm paper didn’t contain many questions from before either—classical poetry recitations and classical Chinese translations were all from this semester. The answering techniques for the reading comprehension were also the same ones taught in class, and the essay mainly depended on the precision of the theme and the accumulation of material.

At her current stage, the Chinese subject couldn’t create a large score gap. There was no way to suddenly improve much, it could only be done slowly.

Tao Zhi knew very well in her heart that with her present level, reaching seven hundred points was nothing but a fool’s dream. But if she aimed for ninety percent of that—

If she scored one hundred and twenty each in Math, Chinese, and English, and two hundred and forty in Science Comprehensive, that would total six hundred.

Her Science Comprehensive might not reach that mark, but if she was careful enough in English and Chinese, she could probably raise the total by around thirty points, filling in that gap.

If the questions were easy, then on this basis, even taking ninety percent of it, perhaps she would still have a little bit of hope—just a little—to dream about.

But for that to happen, she would definitely have to score at least one hundred and twenty in Math, and her Science Comprehensive couldn’t be too far behind either.

Roughly speaking.

She began to lose confidence again.

Tao Zhi somewhat regretted it—why did she have to boast in front of Jiang Qihuai just now and say ninety percent?

Wouldn’t eighty percent have been fine? Even eighty-five percent would have worked.

She sighed, lifted her hand, and roughly rubbed her head, shaking away all those messy thoughts in her mind.

Forget it.

When the cart reaches the mountain, there will be a way through. She would think about what came next later; right now, she didn’t have the time to be distracted by these things.

She picked up her pen again and focused on the exam before her.

The midterm exam schedule allowed a lot more time—Math was in the afternoon, from three o’clock to five.

Submitting early wasn’t allowed. After the exam, desks and chairs didn’t need to be reset since tomorrow would continue with Science Comprehensive and English.

Tao Zhi walked straight out of the school gate, opened the car door, and got in, greeting Uncle Gu politely.

After waiting for a while, Ji Fan finally came out.

The young man looked drowsy, yawning as he climbed in. “They don’t even allow us to hand in papers early, does this school have no humanity? I slept the whole day, nearly died of boredom.”

Tao Zhi found it hard to comment. “You could’ve written two more questions instead.”

“I did write them, okay?” Ji Fan scratched his head. “I didn’t slack off this time. I even finished the essay, and I wrote down everything I knew.”

“Just not a lot that you knew,” Tao Zhi said slowly.

Ji Fan shot her a look. “Jiang Zhengxun and the others are checking answers in the group chat, aren’t you going to look?”

Through her coat, Tao Zhi pinched the phone in her pocket, paused, and still said, “No.”

Anyway, she hadn’t memorized the answers.

Once the exam was over, it was over. Even if she knew which questions she got right or wrong, the points already deducted wouldn’t come back because of it.

The next day, Friday, after the English exam ended, Tao Zhi returned to the classroom to rearrange the desks and chairs.

While packing up in the exam hall, she was still thinking about the essay she had just written, her movements a little slow. It wasn’t until the students of that class returned that she finally finished packing up and left. By the time she went back to her classroom, her desk had already been dragged back into place.

Tao Zhi tossed her schoolbag onto the desk, grabbed the edge, and dragged both chair and desk back a little. Straddling the seat, she looked toward Jiang Qihuai sitting behind her. “Your Highness, how about giving me an eighty-five percent discount, what do you think?”

Jiang Qihuai was still looking for his own desk. At her words, he turned his head. “Bargaining?”

Tao Zhi thought for a moment, then said more cautiously, “If you’re willing, eighty percent would also be fine.”

Jiang Qihuai raised an eyebrow. “You never stop, do you?”

“I call it having an accurate understanding of my own abilities,” Tao Zhi said with complete seriousness.

Jiang Qihuai found his desk and dragged it back with one hand. “What, didn’t do well?”

Tao Zhi sighed, leaning on the desk he had just pulled back, and said honestly, “I don’t know. I think it should be okay.”

She pursed her lips and muttered softly, “But you know, my ability is limited to begin with.”

As Ji Fan would put it—she answered everything she knew, and anyway, the paper was filled.

Although she hadn’t gone out to play these past two and a half months, spending almost every day from morning till night facing her books, these two days of exams did feel much easier compared to before.

That feeling—when she looked at a question and knew she could solve it effortlessly, fully aware in her heart that she could get it right—made Tao Zhi feel very good.

It was as if the small world formed by those exam papers belonged entirely to her.

The midterm exam ended with a weekend, and Tao Zhi decided to give herself a break.

She sent a WeChat message to Jiang Hesheng to cancel the tutoring sessions for the next two days, then enjoyed a rare lazy weekend—reading in her room and playing games with Ji Fan for an entire afternoon.

At dinner, Tao Xiuping came home. After chatting casually for a bit, he looked at Tao Zhi as if unintentionally and asked, “By the way, that little… boy you like, how are things between you two lately?”

Tao Zhi scooped a spoonful of tomato meatball soup, savoring it with delight. “We’re currently in an impure ordinary classmate relationship.”

“…”

Tao Xiuping’s expression changed; he looked at her. “What do you mean by impure?”

Tao Zhi said slowly, “It means—I like him, and he knows I like him, but we’re not together yet.”

Tao Xiuping exhaled deeply.

Old Tao felt that he could no longer understand the jumble of things young people had in their heads these days.

Just as he finally relaxed and ladled himself a bowl of soup, Tao Zhi continued, “But we agreed—if I score six hundred thirty on this midterm, we can start dating!”

Ji Fan, sitting beside her, rolled his eyes.

Tao Xiuping almost spat out a mouthful of soup.

Holding up his spoon, he looked up again. “How much?”

“Six hundred thirty,” Tao Zhi said, pointing forward with her finger, her expression serious.

Tao Xiuping thought he must have heard wrong. “Was that six hundred thirty or three hundred sixty?”

“…”

Tao Zhi was very displeased, looking at him expressionlessly. “Dad.”

“Dad was wrong, Dad was joking.” Tao Xiuping coughed twice, set down the bowl of soup, pulled a tissue from the side to wipe his mouth, then picked the bowl back up again, ready to continue drinking.

He glanced at Tao Zhi, who was sitting across from him with a perfectly calm and unbothered expression, and after a pause, he couldn’t hold it in and asked, “You didn’t cheat, did you?”

“…”

Boss Tao hit the bullseye precisely—Tao Zhi bristled instantly.

Suppressing his laughter, Tao Xiuping coaxed and cajoled her patiently, smoothing the little princess’s temper until she finally calmed down.

After dinner, Tao Xiuping went upstairs to his study to work, while Tao Zhi and Ji Fan curled up on the sofa to continue playing games.

Tao Zhi’s skills were a complete disaster. She relied entirely on Ji Fan’s godlike moves to carry her all the way through. All she did was feed; after a while, their teammates couldn’t stand it anymore and started typing to flame her.

Tao Zhi was amused, crossing one leg over the other and launching into a spirited exchange of creative, insult-free national curse techniques with the opposing players. Ji Fan kept his eyes on the phone screen, and after waiting for a good opportunity, he rushed into a crowd of red names, executed a series of fluid, dazzling maneuvers, and pulled off a perfect 1v3 retreat. 

While doing so, he asked, “Has mom contacted you lately?”

Tao Zhi’s fingers clattered on the keyboard as she typed, not even looking up. “No, why would she contact me? Even if she wanted to find someone, she’d definitely find you first.”

Her tone was too natural—so natural that even she didn’t notice anything wrong with it.

After those words slipped out, both of them froze at the same time. Ji Fan lifted his head blankly and looked at her.

Tao Zhi didn’t look back.

Ji Fan pressed his lips together, looked away, and said softly, “She hasn’t contacted me either. I called her twice, but she didn’t pick up.”

The boy’s thoughts weren’t particularly delicate, but he wasn’t stupid either.

Something in his chest felt uncomfortable.

When they were little, Ji Fan had always felt that Ji Jin seemed closer to Tao Zhi.

She would braid pretty hairstyles for her, buy her cute little dresses. When Tao Zhi was small, she often threw tantrums and was hard to coax to sleep, so Ji Jin would sit by the bed and tell her stories.

Sometimes he would feel a little jealous, but he was a little boy after all—always mischievous, always rough-and-tumble. Girls were delicate creatures, more dependent on their mothers. That was normal.

Besides, by that time, Tao Xiuping was already busy with work, often away from home. Compared to the father they rarely saw, both of them had been closer to Ji Jin.

But later, Ji Jin chose to take him away.

She abandoned Tao Zhi.

She didn’t want her anymore.

Ji Fan hadn’t wanted it that way. He’d thrown tantrums for a long time, but nothing changed, and afterward, he never brought it up again.

The day they left, Tao Zhi hadn’t shown up. Ji Fan cried.

He hadn’t meant to cry—he wasn’t the crying type. Even when he’d gotten into fights and ended up in the hospital, he hadn’t shed a tear. But that day, for some reason, he just couldn’t stop crying.

There really must be some inexplicable bond between twins—because sometimes, he could sense Tao Zhi’s emotions with sharp precision.

That day, Ji Fan had felt a sorrow that didn’t belong only to himself—he’d felt someone else’s grief just as vividly.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When the two-day break ended, Tao Zhi officially cut off her rest period. Early Monday morning, as Ji Fan came downstairs for breakfast, he once again heard the familiar sound of English listening practice.

The teachers had taken the midterm exam papers home to grade them, and two days were enough to produce results. When Tao Zhi arrived at class, she immediately sensed the change in atmosphere.

Monthly exams were just small skirmishes—but midterms and finals were the real battles, the ones that counted, the ones that could be used as extra points in various school and city evaluations.

When she arrived, it was already almost time for morning self-study. Jiang Qihuai’s seat was empty—he hadn’t come yet.

He rarely came too early, almost always arriving right on the bell, so Tao Zhi didn’t think much of it. She sat down, picked out the practice paper she planned to do during self-study, lowered her head, and began to write.

But through all the morning classes, Jiang Qihuai’s seat stayed empty.

Even Ji Fan asked her, “Why didn’t my deskmate come today?”

Tao Zhi glanced at him, a bit puzzled. “He’s your deskmate, not mine. How would I know?”

Ji Fan crossed his arms, sneering. “Aren’t you two in that impure ordinary classmate relationship? Shouldn’t you have more intel than me, his actual deskmate?”

He deliberately emphasized the words “impure ordinary.”

Tao Zhi didn’t bother to answer him.

The whole day passed, and Jiang Qihuai still didn’t show up. Tao Zhi kept it to herself and didn’t ask.

During the afternoon self-study period, Wang Zhezi came in with a stack of report sheets. He tore off a piece of transparent tape and stuck the results sheet on the blackboard beside him. “I’m going to a meeting first. When I get back, I’ll give you your midterm summary. Not much to say now—take a look yourselves.”

The classroom went quiet.

Once Wang Zhezi finished speaking and left the room, the door closed—and the silence immediately burst apart. The classroom exploded into noise. The students dropped their books and swarmed toward the front, beginning their monthly ritual around the results sheet.

Tao Zhi still had things weighing on her mind. She hesitated for a while before finally moving.

She suddenly thought—maybe it was actually a good thing Jiang Qihuai hadn’t come today.

What if she hadn’t reached the score?

Anyway, it wouldn’t hurt if he found out a day later that she hadn’t met it.

She walked forward slowly. A crowd of students was already gathered around the results sheet. Tao Zhi stepped onto the platform and squinted down from above their heads.

She habitually started looking for her name from the back. Her eyes swept over a dozen rows, but she couldn’t find it.

Her heart started pounding—like a small rabbit trapped inside her chest, hopping and leaping restlessly.

She kept looking forward.

Past Gu Nana, past Zhao Mingqi—until she reached number thirty-nine in the class ranking. Then she saw her name.

Tao Zhi held her breath. Her gaze slid across the long row of subject scores until it reached the final total.

—583.

Not enough.

She still hadn’t reached it.

Her English and Chinese scores had indeed pulled her up by over twenty points compared to the standard 120, but it still wasn’t enough to make up for her weaknesses in Math and Science Comprehensive.

But—it was something she could see hope in.

Tao Zhi didn’t feel sad. In fact, she even felt a strange trace of happiness. She had already taken a big step forward toward Jiang Qihuai.

Around her, the students were talking noisily. Jiang Zhengxun sighed, staring at the familiar name on the very first line of the list. “Unbelievable. Is this guy even human? Even like this, his total score still jumped higher than last month’s. Can’t compete, can’t compete.”

“We’re not even in the same league,” Wu Nan shook his head. “These kinds of questions probably aren’t hard for him at all.”

“After all, he went to the training camp,” Li Shuangjiang said, cheerful and lively after doing quite well this time. “A mere midterm exam doesn’t even catch Brother Huai’s eye. While we’re all gathered here sighing at the results sheet, he’s busy preparing for the National Olympiad.”

Tao Zhi froze for a moment and turned her head. “What National Olympiad?”

Li Shuangjiang was stunned too, a little surprised. “The math competition, of course. Didn’t Brother Huai go before? He passed both the first and second rounds and got into the winter training camp to prepare for the national finals. He’s probably gone for about a week. I thought he told you.”

He went on, sounding excited, “If he places in the finals, Brother Huai can get a guaranteed university spot. I bet tons of top schools will fight to recruit him.”

Tao Zhi pressed her lips together and after a long moment said softly, “He didn’t tell me.”

He hadn’t.

He hadn’t told her anything. And thinking about it, it made sense—she hadn’t known about the finals, and she hadn’t asked either. Jiang Qihuai wouldn’t suddenly go out of his way to tell her, Hey, I’m heading to a training camp for the competition finals.

Tao Zhi knew very well that even in a national final, Jiang Qihuai would definitely get an excellent result.

He had moved another step forward.

Tao Zhi bit her lip, eyes lowered, her lashes trembling slightly.

That small flicker of happiness she had just felt was like a wisp of smoke—impossible to grasp, slowly rising before fading away little by little.

She had thought the distance between them was shrinking fast. Tao Zhi had done her utmost, exhausting every bit of effort to try to catch up with his pace, and she had finally achieved a tiny bit of progress.

She lifted her head—she had finally reached out her hand toward the mountaintop.

And against the light, she watched the boy she was reaching for step onto the clouds.