“I’m truly sorry — about everything before.” Lin Weixia looked up at him, her tone sincere.

Ban Sheng was taken aback for a moment. This was genuinely the first time he’d seen this girl speak to him gently, looking as though she could be shaped however he liked. He gave a quiet laugh and said, with an unhurried air:

“I’m that easy to appease, am I, Lin Weixia?”

Ban Sheng raised his hand and pressed his thumb against the side of his neck, his tone leisurely: “You owe me one wish — consider it my price for accepting your apology.”

Lin Weixia nodded and agreed.

She had no idea, not then, how quietly and methodically Ban Sheng was drawing a circle around her — step by careful step, setting the trap. And whether this thing called a trap had ultimately ensnared her, or Ban Sheng himself, nobody could say.

From the night Ban Sheng declared he was going to pursue her, he had made good on every word. He sent Lin Weixia home almost every single day — even if something came up, he would push it aside for her, as reliable as the weather.

For someone who was Shengao’s most prominent figure — everyone’s center of attention — there were luxury cars to ride every day, yet he chose instead to squeeze onto public buses with Lin Weixia.

But this was entirely one-sided on Ban Sheng’s part.

Lin Weixia never waited for him. She would finish what she needed to do and go home on her own.

Ban Sheng didn’t mind. He pursued at his own pace. He would wait for her in the lane a short distance from school. He tried to make his pursuit cause her as little disruption as possible.

If Lin Weixia was slow to come out, he would wander into the shop next door and play a few rounds of billiards, or duck into the internet café nearby to play games.

Even though Ban Sheng kept a deliberately low profile, rumors began to spread.

What made it out were only fragments and half-heard words — most people were too wary of Ban Sheng himself to spread outright rumors. Being noticed by him was not something anyone wanted.

“Lin Weixia is quite something, isn’t she — getting Ban Sheng to send her home of his own free will,” a group of girls murmured together.

Liu Sijia heard them from a distance, crossed her arms, and drove the gossiping girls away with a cool look:

“Talking behind someone’s back — not a good look.”

“I saw Ban Sheng walking in the direction of the internet café after school yesterday. He wasn’t ‘sending anyone’ anywhere.”

Liu Sijia remained as proud and beautiful as ever. She leaned against the railing, curled one finger, and tapped it against the rail — tap tap — signaling them to know when to stop.

One girl immediately linked arms with Liu Sijia and said: “Exactly. Since the start of first year, there must have been a hundred girls rumored to be Ban Sheng’s girlfriend. And what happened? He stayed perfectly cool — not one relationship to show for it.”

Liu Sijia’s outwardly composed expression relaxed a fraction, yet deep down she felt far from at ease — close to unsettled, even. Rumor only needed the faintest hint of smoke to catch fire. And she was even less willing to go to the source and ask.

Ban Sheng’s courtship was considerate in exactly the right measure. He remembered when Lin Weixia’s period came and would prepare heat patches and brown sugar for her.

Lin Weixia would usually refuse to accept them, and he would find other ways to get them to her through someone else’s hands. After the fact, she would come to realize what had happened, and the moment she turned her head, she’d catch a face of smug satisfaction — a ghost of a smile at the corner of his lips, barely there.

The two of them began to warm toward each other on a Friday evening on the way home. That day, Lin Weixia had stayed late at the teacher’s office helping mark exam papers, and by the time she left, it was already quite late.

Shuiwei Lane wound through the residential part of the city. Because the residents there were of a mixed sort — some relocated households, some migrant workers — people in the neighborhood generally sent their children home early, telling them not to wander around outside.

Home was still a distance away. On the slope not far ahead, a group of rough-looking men had gathered. They had been smoking and trading crude jokes, until one of them — a man with dyed yellow hair — glanced over idly and spotted Lin Weixia. He let out a slow, meaningful whistle.

The yellow-haired man ground out his cigarette and exchanged a glance with his crew, then stepped forward at once. The bare light bulb hung by the road sign, casting his scarred face in sharp relief. Combined with his menacing expression, he looked deeply unsettling.

Lin Weixia’s heart lurched. She clutched her bag strap and stepped back on instinct, her pulse hammering. Fear crawled up her back like countless ants.

She was just about to turn and run when she suddenly heard a familiar voice. The voice that normally made her bristle — that lazy, careless, nonchalant tone — rang out now with the cold clarity and steady weight unique to youth, and it put her heart at ease:

“Keep walking.”

Lin Weixia’s heart steadied a fraction. The direction her feet pointed no longer turned backward. She caught a glimpse of the shadow behind her, keeping pace at an unhurried, measured distance. Ban Sheng was dressed in all black that day — the silver zipper of his windbreaker pulled up to the hollow of his collarbone, which made the whole figure look sharp and commanding. He had one hand in his pocket, the other dragging a baseball bat he’d produced from somewhere.

Ban Sheng trailed behind her, chewing his gum with lazy, casual bites. Every step Lin Weixia took forward, he dragged the bat across the ground, and the scraping sound cut sharp and piercing through the night.

In the quiet of the evening, it rang out particularly loud.

As Ban Sheng followed Lin Weixia past the group of men, his lips were just forming a bubble of gum. Pop — the sound rang out, startling the men. The yellow-haired man flinched on reflex.

He rolled the burst bubble back behind his teeth and kept chewing at his unhurried pace. Ban Sheng tilted his eyes up and looked at the men across from him, his expression flat. He let out a cold, quiet laugh.

The group was thoroughly embarrassed. The yellow-haired man took one look at Ban Sheng, locked eyes with him, and knew in an instant: this was someone not to be messed with. He had no choice but to back down — clearing his throat loudly, waving the others off, and making a show of pulling out phones to scatter.

In the end, Ban Sheng delivered her safely home. Lin Weixia stood at her front door, hesitating for a moment, then turned and looked at him: “Tonight — thank you.”

Ban Sheng lowered his head and smiled quietly to himself. He reached out and drew her black hair free from where it had been pressed flat under her bag strap. The cuff of his sleeve grazed her arm, his fingertips trailing through her hair, and he spoke in an unhurried drawl:

“All you ever say is apologies or thank-yous. When am I ever going to hear the words I actually want from you —”

“Tell me you like me.” Ban Sheng looked at her and said, one word at a time.

Lin Weixia froze. For a moment she had no idea how to respond, and her fingers curled into the hem of her clothes without thinking. Just then, the dog in a neighbor’s yard began to bark, shattering the soft tension of the moment.

“Go inside. I can wait.” Ban Sheng fished a cigarette out of his pocket and put it between his lips, then turned and walked away without looking back. He bent his head slightly and cupped a hand around the flame, then seemed to think of something and gave a loose wave toward her back.

The winter trees of Nanjiang stayed green year-round, glowing in the embrace of the street lamps. A thin wisp of white smoke drifted from his slender forearm, curling through the light. The lamplight stretched the young man’s upright, solitary shadow long across the ground.

Ban Sheng’s pursuit knew exactly when to advance and when to pull back — never enough to make her tired of him. He would send her home without saying a word more than necessary, always quietly following at a distance,

and then taking a cab back home on his own.

On the road home, Lin Weixia always had a protecting shadow behind her.

From that day on, Lin Weixia was no longer as cold toward Ban Sheng as before. The two could occasionally exchange a few words along the way. When Ban Sheng felt like being mischievous, he would tease her a little, drawing Lin Weixia out of her usual composure and putting that rare, irritated look on her face.

Ban Sheng stretched out a long arm and effortlessly hooked Lin Weixia’s bag strap, pulling her back. In the push and pull between them, click — something fell from the half-open zipper of her bag and landed on the ground.

A flicker of panic passed over Lin Weixia’s face. Ban Sheng leaned down slightly, reached out and picked it up, holding the paper between two fingers to examine it.

It was a promotional flyer for a major brand-sponsored cello performance event, with a note at the bottom saying you could scan a code to enter a lucky draw for a chance to win on-site viewing tickets.

“Do you like the cello?” Ban Sheng asked her.

His question was precise. Most people, on seeing the flyer, would infer: Are you hoping to go to this performance?

Ban Sheng wasn’t most people. He looked further, and grasped the essence of the matter — the wanting to go was because of the liking.

Lin Weixia didn’t answer. She reached out to take the flyer back, but Ban Sheng held it higher, his expression entirely unhurried and at ease — looking for all the world like he was waiting for her to give in.

Unable to get the flyer back, Lin Weixia simply gave up. She said calmly: “If you want it, just take it.”

Ban Sheng’s expression shifted, but he said nothing.

Lin Weixia and Ban Sheng’s tussle on the road was spotted by someone. The story spread quickly through the school. Unlike before, when it had only been one person who’d seen something and it could be dismissed as rumor, this time several people had witnessed it together. The talk spread further and further, and in the eyes of their classmates, the fact that Lin Weixia had gotten together with Ban Sheng was as good as confirmed.

A group of girls sat on the steps in a cluster, one behind the other, eating ice cream, now and then letting out light, coy laughter. They spoke about others with an innate air of superiority — in their version of events, Lin Weixia had been turned into a seductive girl who liked to toy with people’s feelings.

“That’s enough.” A hint of reproach appeared on Liu Sijia’s striking face.

Li Shengran propped her chin in her hand, thoughtful: “But I heard from my brother that Ban Sheng seems to be pursuing a girl.”

At a moment like this, only Li Shengran would have dared to say something like that. Never mind that she was a latecomer to that household, or that she and her paternal half-brother Li Yiran had never gotten along — what she said carried some credibility, after all. Li Yiran was one of Ban Sheng’s people, counted among his inner circle.

The atmosphere was like the surface of a calm lake beginning to crack into ice. Liu Sijia’s mind went blank. The ice cream in her hand melted, then splat — a drop fell onto her school skirt.

Li Shengran let out a startled cry and immediately produced a tissue to help clean it up. The other girls crowded in to help as well. Liu Sijia still hadn’t reacted, staring blankly at the stain on her skirt.

During evening self-study, Class Two of Year Two was in an uproar. Some students were talking freely, and others, emboldened by head teacher Liu Xiping being away on business, were wandering from seat to seat.

The discipline had completely fallen apart.

No one knew who first spotted Liu Xiping’s stern face appearing at the window, but the classroom — which had been as noisy as a wet market — fell instantly silent.

Zheng Zhaoxing had his back to the podium, a spicy strip of snack hanging from his mouth. He slapped his playing cards down on the desk with a smack and called out: “Pair of kings!”

A ripple of barely suppressed laughter ran through the class. The more solemn the situation, the harder it was to hold it in. Qiu Minghua’s entire body shook with the effort of not laughing.

On top of everything else, two students had even skipped class entirely.

“Still laughing! The entire class — go run fifteen laps outside!” The usually mild-mannered Liu Xiping’s face clouded over with fury. He slapped the lectern several times with a ruler in quick succession, a vein rising on his forehead.

The class dragged their feet and was chased out to the sports field by the head teacher, drawing stares from students in other classrooms who leaned out their windows as the sorry procession passed.

The floodlights on the sports field blazed like daylight. Tall trees layered overhead, leaving swaying shadows in the night breeze. The sports representative lined everyone up and led the group in running laps.

Liu Xiping stood in front of the formation with his hands clasped behind his back, face stern. He blew his whistle: “Lin Weixia — step out.”

Ban Sheng instinctively looked over at Lin Weixia, who stepped out from the formation looking puzzled. The other students were equally confused.

“You rest — everyone else, start running!”

Lin Weixia immediately understood the teacher’s intention and was just about to say she could run, when a sharp voice cut in:

“Teacher, weren’t we all supposed to be punished together? Why does she get special treatment?”

“Right — does her family donate more money to the school? Buildings or equipment? Doesn’t every child matter to their parents?”

“Exactly. He doesn’t find it ridiculous himself? I’m going to tell my mother.” An A-student chimed in, going so far as to criticize the head teacher directly.

The scattered sounds of dissatisfaction grew louder and louder. Old Liu’s expression turned uncomfortable. Liu Sijia swiftly tied her hair back, swept the group with a commanding look, and the voices fell silent. She turned to Liu Xiping with an expressionless face: “Are we running or not?”

Liu Xiping exhaled quietly in relief, blew his whistle, and called the start. The group finally began running in their reluctant, dragging way. Around and around they went, every one of them gasping so hard they could barely breathe, looking thoroughly miserable. Only after Liu Xiping had supervised every last lap from the sideline did the group get to disperse.

After this punishment, the students went home with hearts still fluttering with residual dread. The next morning they woke up to every variety of post-run side effect — some with aching stomachs, others with legs so stiff they shuffled downstairs like elderly women.

Among them, for some, the more their bodies hurt, the more their resentment toward Lin Weixia festered.

Lin Weixia couldn’t pinpoint when it had started — it might have been after one of the P.E. classes — but the number of speculative stares directed at her kept growing. Sometimes, passing a group of girls from a distance, she’d hear the mocking and insinuations multiplying, occasionally punctuated by a burst of snickering. The boys, too, had taken to watching her with a suggestive, knowing look.

“It’s true — Ke’er saw it in the changing room.”

“So that’s what it was. All that poised, untouchable act, and it turns out… goddess image shattered, haha.”

“No wonder she was always acting so agreeable — afraid of making enemies, I bet. She’s quite the performer.”

Things were generally better when Liu Sijia was around. Even when the two were together, the whispers still came, but a single glance from Liu Sijia would silence them.

Fang Mo showed tremendous worry over all of this. Sometimes those pointed stares were cutting enough that she could barely stop herself from fighting back. A hand gripped her by the arm; she turned around to meet a pair of clear, calm, untroubled eyes.

“Weixia, aren’t you angry?” Fang Mo asked worriedly.

“I am,” Lin Weixia said. “But anger is the most useless thing.” Her expression remained distant; and yet she quietly turned to comfort Fang Mo instead. “I’m alright. I have my own path to walk — they’re not within my line of sight.”

Those who attacked her weren’t doing so because of some particular reason — they had never liked her. Now they had simply found a convenient excuse, one that allowed them to feel justified in hurting her behind her back.

And those who joined in — folding themselves into a group, going along with blind and rough-handed judgments in order to feel the safety of belonging.

Lin Weixia had done nothing wrong. It was the malice and envy buried deep in the soil that was at fault.

Fang Mo wasn’t entirely sure she understood, but she felt that Lin Weixia, beneath her gentle exterior, was in fact a very strong person.

A new week arrived. The sky was deeply overcast — a heavy, ink-stained grey — and a cold, damp chill moved through the air, dimming even the vivid red of the school’s phoenix flowers.

Students in their Shengao uniforms were at their desks in the classroom, tidying their appearance. Girls scrambled to borrow hair ties, dabbed lipstick away with tissues; boys had it simpler — just making sure their zippers were up and their buttons fastened.

But occasionally a straggler slipped through the net.

When the duty officer came to inspect Class Two of Year Two, they found Zheng Zhaoxing without his name badge. A student beside him suggested he go buy one from Ban Sheng. Zheng Zhaoxing let out a cold laugh.

He and Ban Sheng had been at odds for a long time. Go to Ban Sheng? Like hell. If Ban Sheng would actually sell him a badge, he’d write his own name backwards.

“I’m not wearing a name badge today — what are you going to do about it?” Zheng Zhaoxing sat on his desk and glared at the duty officer.

The duty officer was from another class — a girl who rarely smiled. She swept a glance at Zheng Zhaoxing and opened her blue folder to write down his name.

Zheng Zhaoxing’s face darkened. Without warning he kicked the chair in front of him, accompanied by a girl’s shriek as books toppled one after another and crashed to the floor. A pen flew up and hit the duty officer in the face; the pain made her involuntarily blink.

“Why? Why can she leave her hair down?” Zheng Zhaoxing glared at the duty officer, but his finger pointed straight at Lin Weixia.

The air went still. Most of the class turned to look at her. Lin Weixia was standing at her seat distributing Chinese exam papers to each row — her pale, slender fingers stained with rough ink. Her movements paused for a moment, then she continued counting the papers.

Thinking back to what had happened at the last inspection, Li Shengran silently rolled her eyes. Zheng Zhaoxing jumped off the desk and walked toward Lin Weixia one step at a time, every inch of him looking for trouble.

“Fellow student Lin, it’s unreasonable for you to keep getting special treatment in Class One. Why don’t we let everyone see what you’re hiding in your hair?” Zheng Zhaoxing said, looking at her — smiling eyes that nonetheless held a sharp, vicious edge.

The atmosphere went dead silent. Everyone around them wore the face of someone waiting to watch a spectacle. Zheng Zhaoxing had the air of a man who had chosen Lin Weixia as his target and had no intention of letting go. Fang Mo was so frightened her eyes brimmed with unshed tears — she didn’t dare let them fall.

Lin Weixia’s expression remained utterly calm. Her jet-black hair fell loose around her, and through it one could faintly make out the crimson of her lips — the same beautiful, cold, composed face, serene beyond all expectation. She kept her head down, counting papers. The only sound in the classroom was the soft rustle of turning pages.

She didn’t so much as grant Zheng Zhaoxing a glance — let alone bow to his pressure out of fear.

Lin Weixia’s indifference only provoked Zheng Zhaoxing further. The smile left his face. His eyes fixed on the girl before him, as though he wanted to devour her whole.

Li Shengran was helping Liu Sijia put her hair up; a few girls had gathered around the queen and were chatting with her, seeming to intentionally keep her from getting involved. Ning Chao was still at the science block doing cleanup — he had no idea what was happening here yet.

As for Ban Sheng — the moment the bell rang, he’d disappeared somewhere and still hadn’t come back.

Zheng Zhaoxing stepped up to Lin Weixia’s desk and pressed a hand down on the exam papers, forcing her to stop. Without a second thought — in full view of everyone — he reached out his hand—

“Don’t touch her.” A voice came through, impossible to read for emotion. The tone was calm, yet it carried an inexplicable weight of authority.

Everyone looked over. Ban Sheng was leaning against the doorway. Dark clouds massed behind him like ink, merging with those pitch-black eyes of his — dark as a mountain before a storm breaks. He held a can of ice-cold cola in one hand, one finger hooked over the silver pull-tab, the tendons and joints of his hand showing, edged with a subtle tension.

Both in Shengao uniforms — but Ban Sheng hadn’t done a single thing. He simply leaned there, watching Zheng Zhaoxing. The presence of him was oppressive.

Scattered whispers rippled through the class: “It’s Ban Sheng.”

“I guess even he couldn’t watch.”

“Zheng Zhaoxing would have to be out of his mind to mess with Ban Sheng.”

Ban Sheng looked at Zheng Zhaoxing and said nothing. But the two had crossed paths enough times — Zheng Zhaoxing should have understood what that look meant. If he was prepared to bear the consequences, Ban Sheng would not stop him.

The moment Ban Sheng opened his mouth, Zheng Zhaoxing’s hand instinctively started to pull back. Ban Sheng was not someone to be trifled with. He rarely resorted to force himself — he preferred to use his mind, finding people’s weak points and pressure points. Once before, when someone at No. 13 High had caused trouble, he had quietly gathered a full collection of that person’s offenses and, regardless of the family connections behind them, sent the person straight to a juvenile detention center.

At the thought of this, Zheng Zhaoxing hesitated. Everyone around him was watching — eyes alive with excitement, curiosity, and anticipation.

Then he seemed to remember something, and glanced instinctively toward a particular direction.

The next second, without any hesitation at all, as though stung into action, Zheng Zhaoxing reached out and grabbed a fistful of Lin Weixia’s hair. The movement was fast and vicious — no time to resist.

Lin Weixia’s scalp erupted in a tearing pain. She was yanked forward and slammed into the desk, books and papers scattering and toppling in all directions. The impact of the desk against her abdomen sent a wave of pain through her and made her involuntarily hunch forward — yet Zheng Zhaoxing showed no intention of releasing her. His hand shot forward again, and like ripping out weeds, he yanked with brutal force—

Zheng Zhaoxing’s sharp fingernails raked across, sharp as a blade. A searing pain struck Lin Weixia at the base of her ear. Her right ear erupted in a ringing, a thunderous rolling crash — as though a car tire had rolled over her ear, reducing it to fragments — and then something warm began to flow.

He had hit some kind of switch. The noise surged abruptly. She squeezed her eyes shut on instinct, chest gripped by a spasm. She couldn’t hear anything clearly — she could vaguely make out the shapes of people’s mouths around her, and it seemed like they were all laughing, wearing expressions of of course and just as I thought, laced with contempt. Liu Sijia’s face had gone pale with shock.

Only Fang Mo was crying.

Zheng Zhaoxing had violently wrenched something out of Lin Weixia’s ear. With a smack, a hearing aid hit the floor and rolled to a stop not far away.

Blood was dripping from his fingers — dark red, uncanny and grotesque, one drop after another, falling on the ground.

BOOM — a low roll of thunder cracked across the sky outside the corridor. On its heels, the long-plotted downpour finally came crashing down without warning, and the morning assembly was thoroughly canceled.