At seven in the morning by the staff housing complex entrance, Chen Huan’er finally met the legendary top student of their grade.

Jing Qichi lazily introduced, “This is Chen Huan’er from our class, Aunt Lina’s kid. If you don’t know, ask your dad.”

Song Cong raised his hand in greeting, “Hi.”

A true gentleman, refined as jade. The literary description now had a concrete form.

The three set off for school together. Song Cong rode in the middle, matching Huan’er’s pace as he talked with her, “Qichi told me about the day you just moved in…”

Chen Huan’er immediately understood and shot a fierce glare at the instigator.

Jing Qichi maintained complete innocence, “I just mentioned it to Old Song.”

“That morning we were playing soccer together,” Song Cong explained unhurriedly, “there was this guy who played dirty, and I left first after the game, who knew he’d go pick a fight with Qichi afterward? We were on the phone talking about this, and he was still angry about it.”

“I’ll tackle him every time I see him from now on, that psycho.” Just mentioning it made Jing Qichi’s anger surge—that day he’d nearly come to blows.

What else could be said? That fate work in mysterious ways?

Chen Huan’er remained silent.

“Your mom messaged my dad this morning,” Song Cong quickly changed the subject, “Must be a lot to adjust to after just transferring, right?”

“It’s better now,” Huan’er answered quietly. This was her bad habit—no matter how good her first impression of unfamiliar people was, she couldn’t manage more than a peep.

Song Cong responded gently, “If there’s anything I can help with, just say so.”

Before Huan’er could speak, Jing Qichi, riding on the other side, said with a sly grin, “Why don’t you help her with her exams?”

The last-ranked student mocking the second-to-last—rare in heaven, scarce on earth.

Chen Huan’er was so choked with anger she wanted to hit him, but catching Song Cong in her peripheral vision, an inexplicable sense of humiliation suddenly overwhelmed all other emotions.

The boy beside her was first in their grade.

Not at some unknown little school in Four Waters County, but in this domain where teachers and classmates wore the same uniforms and constantly talked about the provincial key school Tianhe First.

So this was what it felt like to be a struggling student with aspirations. The inferiority, embarrassment, and sense of being lesser that came with poor grades would appear regardless of place or time, like a splinter in your fingertip that you couldn’t pull out or push back in—not painful enough to cry, not irritating enough to scratch, but you’d feel it with the slightest touch, an indescribable discomfort.

Song Cong tilted his head to look over, seeing her flushed face and guessing most of what was going on. Everyone in the complex knew Jing Qichi spoke without filters, but newcomers inevitably struggled to handle it. As he hesitated, he heard the troublemaker speak again, “Never mind, you’d better help me instead, my situation is even more dire.”

Well, even the tactless one tried to smooth things over, though still only half-heartedly.

“Does helping have to mean sacrificing yourself?” Song Cong said casually, “I’ll list out the key points from the test papers later, and see if that’s useful to you both.”

“Thanks for the favor, teacher Song.” Jing Qichi took his hands off the handlebars and cupped them in gratitude, taking the chance to slow down and squeeze between them, elbowing Huan’er, “Quick, say thanks, he’ll start charging if you’re late.”

“Thank you,” Huan’er nodded to Song Cong, then had an idea and signaled with her eyes for him to speed up.

How clever was Song Cong? Getting the signal, he pedaled faster, and as Huan’er accelerated, she took revenge by bumping Jing Qichi’s handlebars.

He had been showing off riding with no hands, and this sudden jolt made him swerve, nearly falling flat on his face. By the time he frantically grabbed the handlebars to adjust, he looked up to see the other two several meters ahead. Jing Qichi suddenly realized he’d been tricked and chased after them while cursing, “Chen Huan’er, you’re getting pretty bold!”

They arrived at school as they talked, the three parking their bikes side by side and walking toward the teaching building together. Jing Qichi glanced behind them, deliberately slowing his steps until stopping, then casually said, “Chen Huan’er, looks like someone’s calling you.”

“Hm?” Huan’er turned around to see Qi Qi, who had just finished locking her bike, waving excitedly, “Qi!”

Qi ran over quickly, her eyes scanning the three faces like a barcode reader before settling on her friend’s face, “You all…”

Huan’er smiled in response, “We all live in the same complex.”

Song Cong made a sound of realization, “Ah, it’s you. Your midterm Chinese essay was passed around even in our class.”

Now it was Huan’er’s turn to be surprised, “You two don’t know each other?”

“There are hundreds of students in our grade,” Jing Qichi seized the chance to avenge the handlebar incident, “Think this is your little backwater Four Waters?”

“We had hundreds of students in our grade too.” At the mention of Four Waters, Chen Huan’er’s fighting spirit maxed out, her neck stiffening like a protective mother hen.

Jing Qichi hooked an arm around her neck, scratching under her chin like teasing a puppy, “You knew them all?”

“Well, no…”

“Then why must these two know each other?”

“No…” Huan’er was left speechless, she had just instinctively felt that the top student in the grade and the top Chinese student must have some connection.

Song Cong patted Jing Qichi’s arm signaling him to let go, “Well, now we know each other.” He smiled at Qi Qi, “I saw your photo on the bulletin board last semester.”

Qi Qi returned the smile, and seeing Huan’er’s unconvinced look, directly put an arm around her shoulders, “Come on, how can our Flower of Four Waters be getting angry?”

Hearing this, Jing Qichi laughed even harder, “Flower of Four Waters? One dares to say it and one dares to accept it.”

“We like it,” Qi Qi shot back, walking up the stairs with her arm around Huan’er.

Just as Jing Qichi was about to follow, Song Cong grabbed his backpack strap, “Why do you keep teasing her? You live in the same complex and are in the same class, don’t you have anything better to do?”

“If you want to stick up for her, you’ll have to come to our class first,” the boy answered half-heartedly, his gaze fixed on the bouncing ponytail of the girl walking ahead.

“Can’t do that,” Song Cong’s mouth twisted. “Can’t score low enough.”

He was in Advanced Class One, a special group with the fewest students but the fastest progress.

“Get lost,” Jing Qichi replied bluntly. He and the top student had grown up together, and as their parents said, they ate the same food and drank the same water, yet their grades were never the same. The more he thought about it, the more mysterious it seemed until he traced the reason back to its root—Uncle Song only became a father in his late thirties, so Song Cong had absorbed richer life experience from the womb, can’t blame the kid for that.

Before evening self-study, Chen Huan’er was called to the teachers’ office.

Their homeroom teacher taught math, a meticulous, quiet little old man who never parted with his thermos. Chen Huan’er lowered her head as she stood before him, knowing without thinking it was about her midterm results.

“Your ranking dropped too much compared to the monthly test,” he got straight to the point, “Have you analyzed why?”

Chen Huan’er kept her head down, feeling mortified at being counseled as a poor student for the first time, stammering out her answer to the teacher’s question, “I thought about it… couldn’t finish the test paper, when questions were combined I didn’t know which formula to use…”

The homeroom teacher blew on his tea with one hand while flipping through her test paper with the other, “Monthly tests focus on current material, in other words, what you’ve just learned; midterms cover a broader range of topics, you need to connect everything you’ve learned. A weak foundation means lack of solid ground—go back and shore up what you’ve learned before, make it solid and thorough.”

“Mm.” Chen Huan’er squeezed out the syllable glumly. Her hands clasped tightly behind her back, nails digging into her fingertips.

The little old man suddenly smiled, “Your mother says you were quite active at your previous school, being a class officer and organizing activities, so how come you’ve become ‘silence is golden’ in my class?”

Huan’er knew the answer, but she couldn’t say it out loud.

The small-town girl had only discovered after coming to the big city that she’d been like a frog in a well—there were so many excellent people, so many clever minds, and so many unfamiliar things she didn’t know or understand. A young girl’s fragile and precious self-esteem made her ashamed to expose her shortcomings, and silence was just a cloak to eliminate her presence.

“Difficulties are always temporary. If you don’t understand something, ask—ask teachers, ask classmates, don’t be embarrassed. Knowledge only becomes yours when you’ve digested it,” the homeroom teacher said after a long pause.

“Yes.” Huan’er lowered her head, her hands behind her back twisted into a dead knot.

“Have you adapted to life since transferring?” The little old man closed the test paper, “Besides studies if you have any other difficulties, communicate more with teachers and classmates.”

“Mm.” Chen Huan’er’s voice was as faint as a mosquito’s buzz as she stood stiffly in place.

“Alright then, you can go back now.”

“Teacher,” she instinctively looked around before formally asking her question. Evening self-study was about to begin, and the office had only two or three teachers buried in work, no other students. Only then did she slightly raise her voice, “What ranking do you need to get into Tianhe First?”

After nearly three months in school, having heard and seen much, this question had become her most cherished secret. Secrets didn’t need to be told to others, but regrettably, her secret was a question that needed an answer for support. She couldn’t ask unfamiliar people for fear they’d think she was reaching too high, and asking her parents would only get encouragement that even they didn’t believe in, asking Qi Qi wouldn’t get an accurate answer since she too was crossing the river by feeling for stones—the little old man before her suddenly became the most neutral confidant.

Indeed, the homeroom teacher answered objectively with an unchanging expression, “At least upper-middle in the class.”

“Upper-middle.” Huan’er let out a small sigh of relief, “That’s not too bad.”

She had unconsciously let her true thoughts slip out because she felt this goal wasn’t too difficult.

Now the little old man laughed, “Oh? So my Advanced Class Three isn’t enough to contain you?”

Huan’er hurriedly waved her hands, her natural personality showing through as her mood lightened, “I won’t take up much space.”

“Work hard then, others aren’t standing still while you’re studying,” the homeroom teacher put down his teacup, “Competition has always been cruel, don’t be the one who gets knocked down.”

“Thank you, teacher!” Huan’er bowed, gently closing the office door.

Just upper-middle, and besides, how could Chen Huan’er be knocked down?