“…”
“Pfft!”
“HAHAHAHAHA!”
Someone in the classroom couldn’t hold it in, and the laughter spread like wildfire until the whole room had lost control.
Lin Tao was jolted awake by the sudden commotion. When she lifted her head, she was thoroughly disoriented — she’d only been napping, and now somehow every person in the room was looking straight at her.
Old Yu was still standing at the podium, in characteristically good humor. “Perfect — your deskmate’s awake too. Student Jiang Yan, why don’t you share what you were looking at?”
Lin Tao: “?”
Oh, hell.
Under Lin Tao’s bewildered gaze of “why were you staring at me,” Jiang Yan put on a look of great suffering and said, “Old Yu, I wasn’t staring at my deskmate. I was simply deliberating whether or not to wake her up. After all, we’re students — studying should come first, and sleeping in class really isn’t a good habit.”
Lin Tao: “?”
Are you SERIOUS—?!
Shameless.
Old Yu: “…”
Everyone else: “…”
Neither Old Yu nor the audience of gleeful onlookers had anticipated that Jiang Yan would come up with a justification like that. For a moment, everyone was stunned into silence.
After a beat, the class came back to its senses and erupted in a fresh wave of wild laughter.
Hu Hanghang clapped Jiang Yan on the shoulder. “Bro, at this rate, when you’re old, who even needs a cane — you can lean on yourself.”
Old Yu chuckled along too. He knew Jiang Yan was talking nonsense, but when he thought about it, the reasoning wasn’t entirely without merit.
He cleared his throat and took a long sip from the insulated cup on his desk. “That said, you’re right. Sleeping in class isn’t a good habit.”
Old Yu held the cup, his tone slow and measured. “In that case, Lin Tao — stand for the rest of the lesson.”
Lin Tao: “…”
Before the words had even fully settled, Old Yu turned back to set the cup down on the podium. He looked up at the two of them and added, “Jiang Yan — you stand too.”
Two figures stood up rigidly.
Hu Hanghang and Song Yuan, sitting behind them, were thrilled to fan the flames. “Old Yu, with the two of them standing at that height, we can’t see the board anymore.”
“We’re students who love learning. This won’t do.”
Old Yu considered it, decided they had a point, and pointed toward the door. “Then go stand out in the corridor.”
Lin Tao: “…”
Jiang Yan: “…”
The class burst into laughter again, which drew students from the neighboring class — who had no teacher and were supposed to be studying independently — to come poking their heads out one by one to see what all the fuss was about in Class Eighteen.
Lin Tao hadn’t said a single word yet, and she was already being walked out of the classroom. Just her luck — standing right there was the boy from next door who was known throughout the year as the big-mouthed gossip.
He took one look at Jiang Yan, froze, then bolted back into his classroom and slammed the door. “Bang!”
A few seconds later, a resounding voice rang out from Class Seventeen: “Oh my god! I just saw Jiang Yan standing in the corridor with a girl!”
“…”
Lin Tao had barely been awake when she was still inside, her head foggy and uncleared. Now the cold air hit her, and she snapped to attention. She rounded on Jiang Yan: “Is your head running on empty?”
Jiang Yan blinked at her, completely at a loss. “What?”
“Everything was perfectly fine. You were in your own class, minding your own business. Why were you staring at me?” Lin Tao had just woken up, and her period wasn’t helping — she was a powder keg, barely a hair’s breadth from igniting.
Jiang Yan looked at her, all thorns and bristles, and quietly sidled a small step away. He wanted to laugh but didn’t dare. “I was not staring at you.”
“Old Yu says otherwise.” Lin Tao turned her face away, fixing her gaze on the sycamore tree by the building.
“And whatever Old Yu says, you just believe it? What if he told you I’d kissed you — would you believe that too?”
“??” Lin Tao nearly choked, staring at him in complete disbelief. “You are shameless! Your head is full of filth!”
“I was just giving you an example.” Jiang Yan held back his laughter, reached out two fingers, and gave her shoulder the lightest touch. “Calm down. We’re still in class.”
Lin Tao wanted nothing more than to calm down — but before she’d even managed three minutes of composure, fate intervened. Today happened to be the day the academic dean, Li Kun, was on patrol duty, and he was currently making his rounds classroom by classroom. When he arrived at the door of Class Eighteen — there they were.
Four eyes meet.
It was deeply awkward.
“What’s going on with you two? Why are you out in the corridor during class instead of inside? Is listening to the lesson beneath you?”
“Playing on your phones? Sleeping?”
“If you two come clean with me right now, I won’t punish you.”
Lin Tao suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She was internally screaming: You’ve already said everything there is to say — what’s left for us to add?
At this point there was nothing left to lose. Lin Tao went all in, loudly and clearly: “My deskmate was playing on his phone during class. I fell asleep. Our teacher caught us and sent us out here.”
Jiang Yan: “…”
Quite the character.
The classroom full of eavesdroppers straining to catch the show: “…”
Li Kun was startled by Lin Tao’s sudden volume. He composed himself with effort, keeping his face authoritative. “Right — both of you, come by my office after class.”
With that, he knocked on the classroom door, looked at Yu Bingshan standing at the podium, and sighed with deep feeling. “Old Yu…”
He didn’t say much more before walking away. On his way out, he made sure to pull the classroom door shut — clearly wanting to contain those two troublemakers from tainting the good students inside.
Lin Tao: “…”
Jiang Yan: “…”
The moment math class ended, Old Yu personally escorted the two troublemakers to the academic dean’s office. They offered apologies and took responsibility, bowing their heads, until Li Kun finally relented and let them go — each carrying a three-thousand-word written reflection.
They’d missed the first ten minutes of the second class by the time they returned. The two of them got through the period in silence.
The moment that class ended, Hu Hanghang — who had been holding back the entire time — pushed straight over to them. “Sis, if we’d met you sooner, why would we ever have made Jiang Yan our leader?”
“Honestly speaking, you’re way cooler than Jiang Yan.”
“You’re my goddess. I mean it sincerely — you are my actual goddess.”
Lin Tao glanced back at him, puffed her cheek once, and said, “Do you know why you’re only going to live to sixty?”
Hu Hanghang didn’t miss a beat. “Wait, how do you know I’m only going to live to sixty? When I was little, a fortune-teller told me there’d be a life-or-death moment at sixty.”
“I’m telling you, you’re genuinely gifted, sis.”
“Which tradition did you study? Don’t tell me you trained under the same master as that fortune-teller I know?”
“…”
Lin Tao was caught somewhere between exasperation and laughter, and before she could even respond, Jiang Yan turned around and clamped a hand over Hu Hanghang’s endlessly rambling mouth, deploying his full commanding presence. “Can you please be quiet?”
Hu Hanghang gave him an okay sign and silently went mute.
The bell for third period rang, and everyone settled back into their seats.
Lin Tao and Jiang Yan resumed their silent, radio-off mode.
This class was physics.
The physics teacher was also the homeroom teacher for Class Fourteen — a man named Old Yang — who moved through material at a rapid clip. He was now covering an important concept, and before Lin Tao had even had a chance to follow along, he’d already shifted to live problem-solving.
Lin Tao had a splitting headache. Physics was already one of her weaker subjects, and this semester’s teacher was not the type she found easy to learn from.
She had a feeling things were going to go badly.
She was probably doomed in this teacher’s hands.
Jiang Yan had been keeping a quiet eye on his little deskmate. He noticed her poking at her scratch paper with her pen, visibly impatient, and thought about passing her a note — then quickly decided against it.
He was genuinely concerned she might use the pen to stab him like scratch paper.
It was the first time the great leader had ever genuinely feared for his personal safety in someone’s presence.
The two of them kept entirely to their own business for the rest of the afternoon.
There was evening study hall that night as well. On most evenings, Lin Tao would grab food with Jiang Yan and the others.
Tonight was different.
Everyone in the known world was aware that something had gone sideways between them.
To be precise: Lin Tao was unilaterally furious with Jiang Yan, while Jiang Yan apparently had not yet grasped the full gravity of the situation.
It was now five or six minutes past the final bell. Jiang Yan finished a round of his game, casually pocketed his phone, and stood up. At almost the exact same moment, Lin Tao stood up too.
Jiang Yan paused. Naturally, he asked, “What do you want for dinner?”
Lin Tao’s anger hadn’t quite died down yet, and she wasn’t feeling well on top of it. She said quietly, “I’m not eating.”
“Really not eating?”
“Yeah. Not eating.” Lin Tao looked up at him and repeated it.
Jiang Yan studied her face for a few seconds, like he was confirming something. After a moment, he nodded. He walked past her and called out, “Hu Hanghang — let’s go.”
“Coming!”
The group filed out of the classroom.
A little while later, Tao Jia — who had left early to buy something — came back into the classroom. She found Lin Tao sitting there alone and raised an eyebrow, walking over to take the empty seat in front of her.
“Lin Tao, how come you didn’t go eat?”
Lin Tao looked up. “Not really hungry. Didn’t feel like going.”
“I see. I bought some snacks — let me share some with you.” Tao Jia was quick about it; before Lin Tao could decline, she’d already set down an assortment of things on her desk and placed a few more packages on Jiang Yan’s desk as well.
There were the sorts of snacks girls tend to like: chips, dried plums, jelly cups, and dried mango slices.
Lin Tao frowned slightly, reached over, and pulled the bag of dried mango from Jiang Yan’s desk. Tao Jia watched the motion and blinked. “Oh — do you like dried mango? I have more.”
Lin Tao nodded, then shook her head, explaining calmly, “No — it’s that Jiang Yan is allergic to mango. He’d have a fit if he saw that.”
“Oh… I see.” Tao Jia nodded as if just realizing something.
When Jiang Yan and the others returned from dinner, evening study hall was already halfway done. The classroom had no teacher at the moment and was buzzing with noise.
He came back with his school jacket draped over one arm and a cup of milk tea in his other hand — bought for Lin Tao.
During dinner, Song Yuan had walked through the reasoning: the likely reason Lin Tao hadn’t come was that she was angry at Jiang Yan. After all, she’d been napping peacefully, and because of him, she’d ended up standing in the corridor through an entire class.
Anyone would be angry. Completely reasonable.
So after the meal, Jiang Yan had made a point of going to buy a cup of milk tea. An apology was in order.
A real man knows when to step up and when to let things go.
He could do this.
When he returned, Lin Tao had just remembered the three-thousand-word reflection she still owed. She reached into her bag and pulled out a brand new exercise book, opened it, and was ready to launch into her essay — only to suddenly realize her arm was still in a cast.
Right. She couldn’t write a single word.
She dropped her pen. Her forehead hit the desk with a dull thud.
Not a loud sound, but just loud enough for Jiang Yan to hear, and to notice that his deskmate was currently navigating one of life’s harder moments.
After considerable deliberation, Jiang Yan tapped her on the shoulder with his pen. “Lin Tao.”
Lin Tao didn’t respond. She rotated her face in his direction — still not speaking, but radiating impatience so clearly it practically had its own presence.
Truthfully, Jiang Yan still wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done to upset her this much. But girls could get upset for countless reasons, and he didn’t feel like devoting energy to decoding it. Lowering his head and acknowledging fault — that was the straightforward solution.
“I was in the wrong about this.” The overhead light came down and settled on his shoulder, catching the clean line of it.
Jiang Yan dropped his gaze to look at her.
His eyes were a rare, naturally upturned shape — slightly narrow, with a broader arc at the outer corners, angling up just slightly. His irises were a warm, translucent amber.
Lin Tao was still drifting in her own thoughts when she heard him continue: “But you really shouldn’t have been sleeping during class.”
“…”
This isn’t over between us.