With the new semester underway, every class from first year — except for the two elite accelerated tracks — had been reshuffled. Students were reassigned by score into entirely new classes.

Today was the first day of registration. Class Eighteen had drawn students from across the old first-year cohort — including Lin Tao from Class Six, and Jiang Yan and his three companions from Class Fifteen.

Lin Tao still hadn’t worked out what sort of cosmic alignment was responsible for all four of them landing in the same class.

And unlike her, who knew no one else in the room, they had arrived to find their seats already saved for them in the prime positions of the classroom.

Standing in the doorway, Lin Tao had already mentally progressed from new student, helpless and alone, to adrift and friendless student, all the way to hapless new student, driven to despair, forced to drop out — a full tragic arc, played out in under a minute.

The homeroom teacher interrupted this before she could get to the ending: “You two come in and find a seat. We’ll take roll in a moment and everyone can introduce themselves.”

Jiang Yan’s friends had arrived early and claimed the best spot in the room for him. Lin Tao, knowing no one and having had no one to claim anything, surveyed the classroom and found only one empty seat remaining — in the front row, beside the door.

She had no other option. She picked up her bag and went to sit down.

Her new deskmate was a boy. He gave Lin Tao a cheerful, friendly greeting, then immediately lowered his head to look at his phone and said nothing further.

“…”

Great. Very cool.

With her arm in the cast making things awkward, Lin Tao set her bag on the desk and looked up at the blackboard, where three bold characters had been written in a strong, confident hand.

Yu Bingshan.

Followed by eleven digits.

That had to be the teacher’s name and contact number.

The homeroom teacher confirmed it almost immediately: “That’s my name and contact information on the board. New students, take note.”

New students — clearly meaning her and Jiang Yan.

Lin Tao nodded with appropriate attentiveness, and was about to reach for a pen to pretend to copy down the number — then looked down at the arm in the cast and thought better of it.

“We’re all starting fresh as a new class,” Yu Bingshan said, at a pace that seemed almost deliberately unhurried. “I’ll call roll now. When I call your name, please come up and introduce yourself.”

He moved slowly to the lectern and drew out the class list from his bag. Lin Tao watched his unhurried movements and suppressed a breath, then quietly slid her phone out of her pocket and sent Meng Xin a message.

“Lin Tao.” Yu Bingshan called from the front.

“…” The girl in question raised her head with a carefully neutral expression, meeting Yu Bingshan’s scanning gaze of who is Lin Tao, is Lin Tao even here — and stood up.

“Ah — so you’re Lin Tao.” Yu Bingshan gestured to the spot beside his own. “Come up here, face everyone.”

“…”

Lin Tao suddenly felt a profound regret that she hadn’t taken her father up on his suggestion to wait a few extra days before returning to school. She’d insisted on being there for the first day. This was the direct consequence.

Under Mr. Yu’s encouraging gaze, Lin Tao dragged herself — cast and all — up to the lectern, turned around, and nearly choked at the sight of a full classroom of eyes trained on her.

Several seconds of silence passed. Mr. Yu, taking this for shyness, turned to the class and said warmly, “Let’s give our new classmate some encouragement.”

A round of applause rippled through the room.

“…”

Sir, I really don’t need the applause. Please just let me sit down.

Standing beneath a mixture of curious, excited, and thoroughly nosy gazes, Lin Tao finally spoke: “Hello everyone, my name is Lin Tao. The character Lin — two trees side by side. Tao is the character written with a roof and two dots above the character meaning ‘far.’ I’m happy to be in the same class as all of you. Thank you.”

Yu Bingshan led another round of applause. Lin Tao was about to step down when someone in the back raised a hand. “Mr. Yu, aren’t introductions supposed to include hobbies and interests and things like that?”

Lin Tao looked toward the back of the room. She found Jiang Yan’s gaze — and his ten-teeth smile — waiting for her.

She drew a slow breath, reined in the impulse that had just surged up, and added evenly: “I don’t really have any hobbies. I just love studying.”

Mr. Yu led another enthusiastic round of applause and looked genuinely delighted. “An excellent attitude toward academics. Lin Tao’s dedication is something we should all aspire to.”

What followed was a thunderous response from the class — and, Lin Tao noticed, one absolute idiot in the back who was slapping his cast against the side of his chair to join in the applause.

“…”

Absolute idiot.

The self-introduction ordeal wrapped up not long after. Before class ended, Yu Bingshan selected a class president and academic committee chair based on placement scores and conduct during introductions.

Lin Tao’s deskmate, Du Wenbo, was appointed academic committee chair. Jiang Yan was appointed class president.

She glanced over at Du Wenbo — still absorbed in his phone — and then at Jiang Yan in the back row, who was already asleep. She couldn’t help but exhale quietly, her confidence in Yu Bingshan’s judgment of character taking a slight but noticeable hit.

Her confidence in her own survival through to graduation also took a moment’s pause.

The first day of school had no scheduled lessons — just time to settle in, get to know the new environment, and meet new classmates.

During the afternoon study period, Yu Bingshan had students go around and note down clothing sizes for uniforms. “When this period ends, the class president will take a few boys over to collect everyone’s uniforms from near the sports field.”

No. 10 High issued different uniforms by year level, though the color and cut remained more or less the same. The one distinguishing detail was the stripe count on the badge below the school emblem: one stripe for first-years, two for second-years, three for third-years.

It was universally and accurately known as the all-the-way-up-the-stripes uniform.

Once sizes were recorded, Yu Bingshan stood at the lectern with his list, occasionally glancing up at the students and jotting something down.

Lin Tao didn’t pay much attention. She occupied herself with a conversation on QQ with Meng Xin.

Near the end of the study period, someone from the class next door came to call for people to help carry the uniforms. Jiang Yan rounded up six or seven boys and headed out with them.

The bell rang soon after. Yu Bingshan took his list and left. The room grew noisy. Lin Tao’s deskmate Du Wenbo remained sealed in his own world, phone in hand, unmoved by any of it.

Lin Tao stretched her neck, stood up, and went to the bathroom.

When she returned, Jiang Yan and the others were back, distributing uniforms through the classroom.

With the room in its usual after-class commotion, and her arm at risk of being jostled, Lin Tao hung back outside the door and waited.

The class had fifty-eight students, boys outnumbering girls considerably.

When the distribution was done, Hu Hanghang brought the list over to Jiang Yan. “A few people got skipped. You’d think the people handing out uniforms could count to fifty-eight.”

Jiang Yan flipped through the list, checked the names he’d circled — all boys who’d been missed — then turned to the last page. He tossed the list on the desk. “We’ll go get the rest later. Let’s eat first.”

“On it.”

All four of them swept out through the back door. Lin Tao came in through the front at almost the same moment. When she didn’t find a uniform on her desk, the girl sitting behind her, Xu Huanhuan, mentioned it. “I think they might have been one short. They’ll probably bring yours later.”

“Oh.” Lin Tao nodded. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“It’s nothing.”

Lin Tao smiled briefly and said no more. She grabbed her phone from her desk and went downstairs to find Meng Xin for dinner. The two classes — Eighteen and Fourteen — were on different floors, right above and below each other.

When they met up, Meng Xin was already complaining. “I genuinely cannot believe I ended up in the same class as Tang Yushi. And we’re both on the student council now.”

“Just thinking about spending the next two years in the same room as her, I’ve already lost the will to study.”

“How did she decide she hated us so much anyway? It’s not like we took anything from her. She’s still the class beauty, still class president. Why are we the ones she’s got it in for?”

Lin Tao ran her pen quickly down the menu and marked off a few items. “Maybe good-looking people just naturally attract a little extra hostility. Society’s way of keeping things balanced.”

“…”

After dinner, as Meng Xin headed back to her own class, she mentioned in passing: “I’m going to make my dad put in a transfer request.”

“We’ll be waiting for you in Class Eighteen,” Lin Tao said, already heading upstairs.

Partway up, her father called — asking if she had evening class, saying he was passing by the school later and could give her a ride home.

Lin Tao ended the call and swung by Mr. Yu’s office to get excused. Mr. Yu took one look at the cast and approved immediately, reminding her to be careful on her way.

“See you tomorrow, sir.” She jogged down the stairs, two steps at a time, grabbed her bag from the classroom, and went to wait at the school gate.

During evening self-study, Mr. Yu had the academic committee chair create a class group chat and add everyone in. Lin Tao, having gone home early, didn’t see the notification — and missed Mr. Yu’s message: Tomorrow is the opening ceremony. School policy requires uniform dress for all teachers and students. No need to wash your uniform tonight.

So when Lin Tao arrived the next morning and walked into the classroom, she found everyone else already wearing the standard two-stripe uniform.

She had nothing.

Xu Huanhuan, holding a cup of warm soy milk, looked over in surprise. “Lin Tao — how come you’re not in uniform? The school requires it today for the opening ceremony.”

“Didn’t they say there was a uniform missing yesterday? I assumed no one had come to give it to me.” Lin Tao set her bag down. “Did I miss something?”

Xu Huanhuan blinked. “Oh — they went to get the rest of them last night. You’d already left, so I assumed you’d picked yours up on your way out.”

“I…” Lin Tao rubbed the back of her head and decided not to get into it. “Is it a big deal if I skip the opening ceremony?”

“I heard Blackie’s doing roll call in every class.”

“…” Lin Tao glanced toward the back of the room. Weighing Blackie against Jiang Yan, she chose the lesser ordeal. “Fine. I’ll go ask him.”

With two rows of desks between them, Lin Tao walked over — pausing inwardly to remind herself that asking for help required humility — and managed to arrange her face into something resembling a smile. “Hey, class president.”

Jiang Yan looked slightly surprised. He glanced down at her, said nothing.

Lin Tao continued: “I don’t have a uniform. Did you all miss me when you were handing them out yesterday?”

“You don’t have one?” Jiang Yan looked up properly this time, leaning back in his chair. “Hu Hanghang — where’s the distribution list from yesterday?”

“On my desk. Can you grab it?” Hu Hanghang was back in an instant, list in hand. “Here you go.”

Lin Tao: “…”

Jiang Yan checked the names he’d circled the night before, then flipped to the back page and found Lin Tao’s name. No check mark. No annotation.

He turned the list toward her. “The ones flagged last night were all boys who’d been missed. If you didn’t have yours, why didn’t you say something at the time?”

Lin Tao pressed her lips together. “I didn’t know I’d been missed.”

“The way you’re saying that makes it sound like I deliberately left you out.” Jiang Yan smiled, leaning his back against the wall. The cast didn’t diminish his particular brand of effortless provocation even slightly.

“It’s fine. Never mind.” Lin Tao didn’t want to spend another second on the topic. She turned to leave.

“Hey.” Jiang Yan stopped her. He reached into his desk and pulled out his own uniform jacket, holding it out to her. “Wear this for now. There’s a check first thing.”

Author’s Note: — Jiang Yan: AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH SHE’S GOING TO WEAR MY CLOTHES!!!!!!!! (Completely losing it!!!!!)

Jiang Yan: Round figures — this is basically like sharing a bed!!!!!!!!!

Lin Tao: ???????????????

Red envelopes today too!!