“The observatory?” That was the only word Lin Weixia retained.

Liu Sijia let out a short, scornful laugh. “You heard it from those girls in the restroom, didn’t you? The school’s observatory belongs to him — because his family donated two laboratory buildings to the school.”

“A person like him — who wouldn’t want to get close to him?”

When the dismissal bell rang, Lin Weixia looked up to find several girls crowding around Liu Sijia’s seat so tightly that Liu Sijia’s face was completely hidden. She sat there leisurely chatting with them, seemingly having forgotten about the arrangement between the two of them.

Lin Weixia looked away, picked up her bag, pushed back her chair, and prepared to go buy her textbooks.

Fang Mo was just getting ready to leave when she noticed the textbook list in Lin Weixia’s hand, and her eyes lit up. “Hey, let me come with you to buy your textbooks — I was heading out of school anyway.”

“Sure.” Lin Weixia smiled.

As she thought back over everything that had happened, her expression turned curious: “Why doesn’t that person want a deskmate?”

Fang Mo’s expression shifted slightly and her words came out haltingly: “He had one before. Maybe he just finds it troublesome.”

The next morning, Lin Weixia changed into the Shengao school uniform, pinned her name badge to the left side of her chest, and looked at herself in the mirror. She managed, with some effort, to pull out a small smile.

Putting on the Shengao uniform made the transfer feel real for the first time.

After morning reading period, Lin Weixia sat at her desk and took out a book. She had barely read two pages when she felt a shadow falling repeatedly across the edge of her book. She looked up and caught Fang Mo’s face right in the act.

She looked a little embarrassed.

Ning Chao, lounging against his desk, had also noticed. He swayed idly and gave Fang Mo a sideways glance, launching into commentary: “It’s been a whole morning and you keep turning your head back and forth like a QQ penguin logging in. What’s up — you’ve got a crush on me?”

“I absolutely do not!” Fang Mo’s face went bright red, then she looked back at Lin Weixia. “She looks so good in the uniform, I just couldn’t help it…”

Ning Chao turned to take stock of Lin Weixia beside him. She had a cool, reserved quality about her, but her features were pleasant and easy on the eye, and she sat still and quietly. He turned to look squarely at Liu Sijia in the row ahead, then made a dismissive sound through his nose:

“Fair enough. She’s a lot better than that witch.”

When the morning reading bell rang, Lin Weixia and Fang Mo went to fetch hot water.

There were a few girls already queuing at the water dispenser. Lin Weixia walked over, her shadow falling alongside her. Once the girls in front had filled their cups and turned around to find Lin Weixia there, they registered a flash of admiration upon taking in her features — but when their gaze moved to the school uniform bow at the front of her collar, the admiration cooled at once. They raised an eyebrow:

“F-student?”

“Hmm?” Lin Weixia’s eyes held a flicker of puzzlement; then she nodded, catching up: “Yes, I suppose so.”

The taller of the girls withdrew her gaze and walked away with her companion. They glanced back at Lin Weixia and murmured something in low voices — their expressions held a note of appreciation, alongside a thread of condescension.

Lin Weixia turned the lid of her cup and asked Fang Mo beside her, “What is an F-student? What’s the criterion?”

“This school divides students into A-students and F-students based on the bow tie on the uniform. Our bow ties — the F-students — are deep navy blue. The A-students’ bow ties are a lovely bright red,” Fang Mo explained.

Lin Weixia glanced ahead to her left. A group of students stood in the corridor, the girls in school-issued uniforms, their blazers a uniform dark navy blue, beneath their plaid skirts a pair of straight, fair legs. Most importantly, their bow ties were a flamboyant red that added a touch of playfulness to the otherwise formal, serious uniform.

The girls were like fresh, beautiful peaches.

The F-students’ bow ties, by contrast, were deep navy — paired with the blazer in its near-black dark navy, the overall effect was oppressive and faintly stifling.

Through Fang Mo’s explanation, Lin Weixia learned that Shengao’s student body was broadly divided into A-students and F-students, the distinction drawn according to a tiered point system.

“The total is 20 points. At this school, strong academic performance earns points. Specialized skills and talents also earn points — for instance, the girl who just spoke to you has passed the piano at Level 10. The girl relaxing in the corridor over there is a ballet dancer. Competition prizes earn points too — recently, the school’s team won first place at the national VEX Robotics Competition.”

These cumulative scores represented a student’s overall standard. Upon graduation, students received a detailed record of their achievements, and those ranked near the top also received priority recommendation rights when applying to overseas universities.

Those in the upper rankings of the comprehensive score were called A-students, and the majority of them had been born into privilege. Intellectually sharp from a young age, raised in comfortable circumstances, their education had focused not only on academic results but also on developing modes of thinking. Trained and nurtured under conditions of extraordinary advantage, they had long since distinguished themselves in whatever area they excelled.

In a colloquial image: they were the finest display models behind the window of the most prestigious boutique.

Placed in the most central position.

Basking in the best light from every angle.

Among the F-students the range was broader and more varied — some were students transferred in as part of an educational ministry quota from weaker middle schools; others had worked hard to gain admission but struggled to keep pace with the curriculum; and some had been admitted under social welfare provisions, like Ning Chao.

Of course, there were A-students from ordinary families too. There were — just very few. These were the birds who had learned to fly through sheer effort, faithfully following the principle that the early bird catches the worm. They walked on eggshells, studying diligently, continually broadening themselves, never daring to slacken for a moment, terrified of slipping from the first tier.

Over time, “A-student” had become synonymous with excellence, intelligence, and strength, while “F-student” conjured associations with slow learners, weakness, and average family backgrounds.

So A-students were arrogant, looked down on F-students, and considered themselves superior in every respect.

“Weixia, you’re a transfer student, and it’s already the start of Year Two — beginning the cumulative score from zero puts you at a disadvantage. And the midterm exams haven’t happened yet.” Fang Mo considered this for a moment, then asked, “Do you have any particular skills or strengths?”

“No.” Lin Weixia shook her head. She freed one hand, holding her cup in the other, and patted Fang Mo on the shoulder with a small smile. “Isn’t it perfectly fine being with you?”

“Absolutely.” Fang Mo agreed.

Their footsteps gradually faded away. The first two periods were Liu Xiping’s consecutive Chinese language classes, and near the end of the final class, he explained that the previous class representative had “for personal reasons” resigned from the position, and a new one needed to be selected.

At the words “for personal reasons,” laughter rippled through the room. In the high-pressure environment of Shengao, everyone essentially focused their energy exclusively on their own affairs.

In the view of A-students, being a class representative — collecting assignments and carrying out tasks assigned by teachers — was a waste of time.

In the end, Liu Xiping appointed Lin Weixia as class representative.

At noon, Lin Weixia went to the convenience store, bought two rice balls and a sandwich, and returned to the classroom. Liu Sijia had finished lunch and was walking back, passing Lin Weixia’s seat on the way.

Lin Weixia tore open the packaging, picked up her phone, and logged into Shengao’s internal school network. That morning, Liu Xiping had asked Lin Weixia to follow up on a few students in the class who had been persistently late submitting their assignments.

One name on the list had been absent for three days on leave, but had an entire week’s worth of work left unsubmitted.

Lin Weixia tapped on a black profile picture to send a friend request — but a message popped up saying the other party had configured their account to block all friend requests. She then got the student’s number from the class committee, and typed out a message:

【I’m the Chinese language class representative for Class One. Your essay from last week and two test papers still haven’t been submitted.】

In under two minutes, the screen lit up. The other party had sent back a single punctuation mark: ?

Cold. Brazen. Too indifferent to waste a single extra word.

Liu Sijia perched on the desk in front of her and asked, “What are you doing?”

Lin Weixia pushed a rice ball into her mouth, chewing slowly, and typed with her right hand, her tone flat: “Chasing up the person at the observatory for his assignments.”

Liu Sijia’s eyelid gave a heavy twitch. Lin Weixia was just considering responding with a question mark herself when a shadow pressed down over her, and nail-polish-free, pale fingers pressed down on her phone screen. She looked up.

“How about I do it for you?” Liu Sijia had gotten interested.

Lin Weixia thought for no more than two seconds and handed her the phone. “Go ahead.”

She continued eating her lunch, and by the time she had finished the second rice ball, Lin Weixia was a little thirsty. She pushed a straw through the silver foil lid and was just taking the first sip of yogurt.

Liu Sijia returned the phone, hopped off the desk, and — unusually for her — her characteristic queenly composure had a hint of something animated in it: “He actually had a can of cola right there on his desk, and he still accepted my salted lemon seven-up.”

“I’ve made arrangements with him: tomorrow at five in the afternoon, I’ll go pick up the assignments.”

Lin Weixia gave a nod. Liu Sijia leaned against the desk, continuing to chat with her. “So — what do you think I should wear tomorrow?”

……

On Saturday, Lin Weixia stuffed her books and thermos into her bag and was just about to head out when the radio broadcast the voice of the station host:

“Another typhoon, Candle, is set to make landfall in our city. The period of strongest winds is forecast between Saturday and Sunday evening through the early hours of the morning, bringing heavy rainfall. Blue alert has been issued…”

Whoosh. Lin Weixia pulled back the curtain. Outside, the sky was growing dark, the trees swaying in the wind. She caught a faint salty, damp smell.

Lin Weixia decided to go out anyway. Shengao prohibited students from holding part-time jobs off campus, so this was her last day at her part-time job — she at least needed to wrap things up properly.

She arrived at the internet café on the middle stretch of Yutan Road, walked in, changed shifts with a coworker, and settled behind the front desk. Her job involved issuing access cards and selling snacks and the like.

Because of the weather, the café had fewer customers than usual. After a busy spell, Lin Weixia took a mystery novel from her bag and read quietly in the noisy environment.

Throughout the afternoon, a series of distracted young men came forward to buy access cards, and upon noticing her appearance, each tried to get her number. Lin Weixia declined each one patiently and pleasantly. She had just become absorbed in a gripping section of the novel when someone knocked on the marble bar counter with two deliberate taps.

Assuming it was another person trying to get her number, she had just furrowed her brow and was about to look up when a pleasantly textured voice spoke, casually unhurried: “An access card. Five hours.”

A hand slid an ID card across the counter. The black sleeve pushed upward — soft fabric, evidently expensive — revealing a pronounced wrist bone.

Lin Weixia didn’t look up. She took the card, processed it quickly, and the person collected it and left without a word.

She was eager to return to the novel’s plot, and only afterward, belated, did she notice a faint scent of ebony wood drifting through the air, mingled with cool tobacco. It was rather pleasant.

Not forty minutes later, though, a commotion broke out inside the internet café, followed by a torrent of shouting. Lin Weixia put down her book and immediately called the security guard downstairs. Through all of it she heard the crash of a stool being knocked to the ground.

She had barely hung up when she saw a boy in a black hooded sweatshirt hauling a slight, frail-looking boy out of the café. He was very tall; the frail boy stumbled repeatedly, lurching into his chest, barely managing to keep up with his pace.

Snap. A grey card sailed in an arc through the air and landed on the counter in front of Lin Weixia. A voice, devoid of any particular emotion, spoke:

“Someone will come to return the card in a moment.”

Shortly after, a boy with a rounded buzz cut ran out after them, his voice carrying back on the wind: “Boss, wait for me!”

By the time things settled, even the handful of customers remaining in the café had returned their cards and left. Lin Weixia stood up and opened a window. A wave of cold, damp air rushed in. She peered out — a shop sign along the road had been blown down, landing with a clang. The sky was heavy and overcast, the dark clouds massed together like thick, dense ink.

Lin Weixia pulled open the drawer. Inside lay an ID card and an unreturned access card. She picked them up and looked: it was rare for someone’s ID photo to come out this striking.

The young man’s hair was cut short. His brow bone sat high. He had a fine-edged nose and thin lips, and looked into the camera without expression — cold and arrogant.

Lin Weixia let her gaze settle on the information printed on the ID:

— Ban Sheng.

She connected the dots: the competing gazes of the girls in her class, the word “observatory,” and Liu Sijia’s deliberate pretense of indifference. So it was him. The one with the overdue assignments.

Wasn’t he supposed to be with Liu Sijia right now?

Just then, the security guard came upstairs and patrolled the room. Lin Weixia thought it over, asked him to keep an eye on the café for a moment, took the ID card, and headed out.

The moment she stepped outside, cold raindrops pelted her face. Lin Weixia glanced around — from the alley to the southeast, not far away, came the sound of movement. She walked toward it.

The alley was long and narrow. The street lamps cast a dim, warm-toned glow, and with every step she took, a powerful gust of wind bore down on her. Lin Weixia stopped beneath a burnt-out lamp and took in the scene before her.

In a corner against the wall, a slight, bespectacled boy sat slumped at the base of the wall, his face drained of color, clutching at the legs of a boy in black — who shook him off without mercy.

The tall boy was in a black hoodie. On his left chest, a discreet brand logo was partially visible. The wind cut across his face, sharpening the angular planes of his features. Before the slight boy could react, the tall one seized him by the collar and slammed him against the wall — once, twice, three times — while the other cried out in pain and begged for it to stop.

The cold wind keened overhead; raindrops began to strike Lin Weixia’s face — a faint, mild sting, nothing close to the intensity of the slight boy’s anguished cries from the corner.

The tall boy lit a cigarette for himself. He exhaled; pale grey smoke curled slowly upward through the light drizzle, and ash drifted down in soft flurries onto the slight boy’s head. He spoke to the person beside him in a perfectly relaxed tone.

Something Lin Weixia had deliberately sealed away in her heart was forced open. It overlapped with a memory somewhere in her mind. The composure of her expression cracked, and she hesitated before speaking: “Ban Sheng—”

The buzz-cut boy beside him caught sight of Lin Weixia and let out a short whistle. “Boss, a girl’s here for you.”

The boy who had been addressed stopped and turned slowly. He wore the black jacket, his neck long and slender, his complexion a pale, cool white; at his ankle was a black lily tattoo that wound endlessly upward.

He wore a black billed cap that concealed most of his face, leaving only a faintly raised chin exposed — though the line of his jaw was all the more defined and clean for it.

Ban Sheng raised an eyebrow. He said nothing.

“He’s almost beaten to death by you.” Lin Weixia said quietly.

Ban Sheng had a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. From the shadows by the wall, he bent down and picked up a rod. The slight boy reflexively shrank back — but there was nowhere left to retreat.

The cold wind swept past, catching the hem of Ban Sheng’s black jacket. He raised the rod and tapped it lazily against the slight boy’s face, then spoke:

“Someone’s even come to plead for you. Shouldn’t I give you a little face—”

The slight boy nodded frantically. His expression had just begun to relax when the rod pressed close again, cold as ice. Ban Sheng gave a quiet laugh. “And keep hitting you.”

Seeing Ban Sheng was about to continue, Lin Weixia stood in the shadows, her eyes pale and still, watching him: “Didn’t you agree to meet Liu Sijia to pick up the assignments? Why are you here doing this?”

“You’re talking nonsense — my brother was clearly—” The buzz-cut boy started to grow agitated.

Ban Sheng gave a low laugh. His tone was perfectly calm, yet within it she could detect a fine thread of disdain. He raised a hand to silence the buzz-cut boy who had started to explain, then tossed the rod aside.

The slight boy used the moment to peel himself away from the wall and flee, disappearing without a trace.

Ban Sheng stubbed out the cigarette with a casual pinch, the last dim ember dying in his palm. He raised his gaze and looked at her again. Something moved in his cheek — a barely perceptible shift — and he spoke slowly, as if weighing his words:

“I don’t usually care for the ones who chase me. But someone like you, coming to try—”