The handwriting was neat—so neat that even the height and width of each character seemed identical.

Tao Zhi stared at the two characters that looked as if they had been printed, for five seconds, before raising her head expressionlessly.

“I suddenly regret not egging Timely Rain on to wait for you another four hours. You really are someone who deserves a beating.”

Jiang Qihuai remained unmoved. “Don’t pick a fight with me while I’m working.”

The test papers were passed to the first row. Wang Er collected them in groups, flipping through them casually as he walked toward the podium. Halfway through, he paused, then suddenly laughed.

“Come on, where’s Tao Zhi sitting? Stand up and let me see.”

Tao Zhi was about to retort, but she turned around and stood up, her unhappy expression not yet withdrawn.

Wang Er raised his hand and shook the blank paper in it. “What’s this supposed to mean? You challenging me? Pretty rebellious, huh.”

Tao Zhi pursed her lips. “I don’t know how to do it.”

Wang Er looked at her half-doubtfully. “You don’t know? I just graded your homework last class. I remember you wrote pretty well, you only got a few wrong.”

“Teacher,” Tao Zhi said honestly, “there are all kinds of ways to finish homework. When necessary, one can also make use of other people’s help. But an exam isn’t the same thing.”

She paused for a moment, then added in a small voice, “Especially with your kind—where the papers in front, back, left, and right aren’t even the same.”

Wang Er was choked by anger. “You’re quite straightforward, huh? Complaining to me now? Fine, I won’t waste everyone’s class time. Come to my office after class. Sit down.”

Tao Zhi had just bent her knees to sit when Wang Er, still sorting the papers with his head down, said again, “Which two are the class monitors? I heard from your teacher Wang you just elected them on Friday, right? And my subject rep—stand up, let me see.”

Tao Zhi remained standing motionless.

Behind her, Jiang Qihuai also stood up.

Wang Er looked up. Jiang Qihuai didn’t surprise him—he was a full-mark math student—but seeing the two standing one behind the other, he couldn’t figure it out for a moment. He looked at Tao Zhi in confusion. “Why are you standing too?”

The class tried to hold back laughter, but a few couldn’t help snickering aloud.

Wang Er finally realized. “You’re the class monitor?”

Tao Zhi was starting to get impatient.

“Your teacher Wang sure has good taste,” Wang Er chuckled, then teased Jiang Qihuai, “You two hold the same position. Why don’t you help her out a bit? Maybe explain some problems for your colleague.”

He pulled out Tao Zhi’s blank paper and slapped it onto the podium.

“Take it back after class. Five questions. Have your colleague explain them to you. You’ve got the whole afternoon—figure them out. During evening study, come to my office. I’ll test you again. Sit down. Let’s start class.”

Tao Zhi sat down numbly, feeling utterly hopeless.

She slipped her phone out, hiding it inside her sleeve, and sent a WeChat message to Tao Xiuping.

Zhizhi Grape: [Dad, I want to switch classes.]

Tao Xiuping, unusually fast in replying, texted back immediately: [You look like a class to me.]

Tao Zhi collapsed: [I can’t stay in this class another second! I want to go to one where the students don’t study!]

Tao Xiuping: [Do I look like a class? Why don’t you switch dads instead?]

“……”

Tao Zhi was just about to reply.

Tao Xiuping: [Pay attention in class, stop playing on your phone.]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Tao Zhi didn’t know why, but ever since starting her second year of high school, her life had undergone a sudden change.

In the past, she could skip classes, get punished, and score zero on exams, and no one cared.

But suddenly, she was expected to study again.

Every teacher now watched her like a dog that had gone out without a leash.

It was pure torture.

That entire class felt tasteless to her. The moment the bell rang, she darted straight out the back door like a hundred-meter sprinter—one with the talent to join the national team, without even half a second of hesitation.

Fu Xiling stared, dumbfounded. “What’s with her today? Was she starving or something?”

Jiang Qihuai’s test paper fluttered up at the corner as she rushed past. He said blandly, “She’s afraid I’ll catch her and make her do problems.”

Fu Xiling: “…”

Fu Xiling racked her brain but still couldn’t imagine what Jiang Qihuai forcing someone to do problems would look like.

After lunch, Tao Zhi returned to the classroom early.

Jiang Qihuai usually came back right when the noon self-study period started, so when she got there, only Fu Xiling and a few others who brought their own lunches were around.

“Zhizhi, Teacher Wang came looking for you,” Fu Xiling said as she saw Tao Zhi sit down. “He said to go to his office when you got back. I brought your math paper back for you. You should really let Jiang Qihuai explain it, otherwise what will you do during evening study?”

Tao Zhi yawned as she lay on the desk, resting her chin on the tabletop. Her eyes drooped as she glanced at the five-problem math paper.

For some reason, she felt that if she let Jiang Qihuai teach her, it would count as losing.

“Then why don’t you teach me,” Tao Zhi said weakly.

Fu Xiling deflated as well. “My math isn’t that bad either…”

“Fine,” Tao Zhi stood up. “I’ll ask Li Shuangjiang this afternoon then.”

She got up and walked out of the classroom, strolling lazily toward Wang’s office.

During the lunch break, the corridor was quiet. Most students hadn’t returned yet. When Tao Zhi reached the office door, it was half-open. She raised her hand, about to knock on the door frame—

“I’ve already talked to Principal Li about the financial aid. It’s been approved. The principal said that as long as your grades stay consistent, the school will help you apply for a full scholarship.”

Tao Zhi froze.

Wang Zhezi continued, “You were on a full scholarship back at the Affiliated School too, right?”

Jiang Qihuai answered with an “Mm,” sounding no different from usual.

“Don’t worry. The school won’t let you stress over things like this. You just focus on studying and keeping your grades up,” Wang Zhezi’s tone was unusually gentle. “Since you’ve come to Experimental, you’re one of our own now. It might be a bit hard to fit in at first, but your classmates are easy to get along with. Once you’re familiar, it’ll be fine. If anything feels uncomfortable, just come to me directly.”

Jiang Qihuai said, “Thank you, Teacher.”

“I also tried calling your mother several times before, but couldn’t reach her. See when your guardian’s available, I’d like to have a proper talk with her.” Wang Zhezi added.

This time, Jiang Qihuai replied almost immediately, his voice noticeably colder. “I don’t have a parent.”

It carried that hard-edged stubbornness unique to a boy his age.

Tao Zhi froze for a moment.

Wang Zhezi didn’t speak.

Leaning against the door frame, Tao Zhi seemed dazed. She vaguely heard Jiang Qihuai say from inside, “Then I’ll be going now.”

“Alright, you can go.”

Tao Zhi snapped back to her senses. Footsteps sounded from inside the office. She glanced around the bare corridor in a panic. There was nowhere to hide. The stairwell was too far, and the nearest classroom door was still ten steps away—no matter what she did, it was too late.

The footsteps inside the office were already just a few steps away.

Tao Zhi barely had time to think—she spun around abruptly, facing the wall, pressing herself tightly against its surface.

The next second, the office door was pushed open. Jiang Qihuai stepped out.

With her back to him, Tao Zhi’s shoulders stiffened. She didn’t move an inch.

Silence lasted for five seconds.

Then she felt a faint breath brush her left ear from above, and the boy’s calm voice sounded.

“What are you doing.”

Tao Zhi’s forehead rested against the cold wall. She didn’t want to turn around, her muffled voice escaping, “I didn’t hear anything.”

Jiang Qihuai seemed slightly amused. “What are you guilty about?”

Tao Zhi said nothing and still didn’t turn around. She pressed herself even closer to the wall, as if she could merge into it.

Another few seconds of quiet.

Jiang Qihuai lost patience and turned to leave.

Suddenly, Tao Zhi turned her head. She gave him a quick glance, then dropped her gaze again, looking visibly flustered.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she muttered softly. “I’m sorry.”

Jiang Qihuai thought he’d misheard.

“Say that again.”

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Tao Zhi repeated obediently.

“Not that part.” Jiang Qihuai’s lips curved. “The one after.”

— I’m sorry.

Tao Zhi lifted her head and glared at him, a little annoyed.

He stood in front of her, head slightly lowered. The midday sunlight poured through the window, softening his peach blossom eyes with a gentle sheen that dulled some of their sharpness and coldness.

Light touched the bridge of his nose, high and straight, where a tiny ridge of bone stood out. A faint curve lingered at the corner of his lips.

Tao Zhi tilted her head upward, dazed for a brief instant.

She suddenly felt something inside her give a heavy thud, as though something unseen and weighty had crashed down from above. The tremor rippled through her chest; her heartbeat jolted, blood rushed upward, and in her mind there was a faint crack—a spark bursting recklessly into flame.

It lasted only an instant.

The next second, the strange feeling vanished completely.

Tao Zhi blinked. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Jiang Qihuai didn’t seem to care. “Doesn’t matter.”

Seeing his indifferent—or perhaps simply distrustful—expression, Tao Zhi felt a bit displeased.

“I really won’t tell anyone. I’ve already kept your secret for so long.”

Jiang Qihuai glanced at her. “What do you mean, ‘so long’?”

“I’ve known since the beginning,” Tao Zhi said dryly. “The first time I saw you, when you were filling out that… application form. I saw it.”

Jiang Qihuai said nothing.

This little groundhog’s temper exploded at the slightest touch; she really had angered him a few times before, but she had never mentioned this matter.

Tao Zhi seemed afraid he wouldn’t believe her, so she emphasized again: “I wouldn’t use something like this to attack you; that would be dishonorable.”

Jiang Qihuai lowered his eyes.

Tao Zhi continued: “I’ll defeat you openly and aboveboard, so that one day you’ll admit my superiority, deeply realize how formidable I am, understand that you’re no match for me, and then kneel and beg me to spare you.”

“……”

Jiang Qihuai looked at her with a strange expression, wondering what dream this little madwoman was running on.

Tao Zhi had already fallen into her own fantasy and couldn’t stop herself from boasting. She said giddily, “But I won’t forgive you. I’ll beat you so far into the cracks of the earth you won’t be able to claw yourself out.”