The Y C H website had recently seen a few more posts, most of them about the sports meet. One in particular stood out:

Has everyone heard? Students from Class 3-1 are participating in the 4×400 relay race — both A-students and F-students competing together. This is the biggest event in Shengao’s history. Should be quite a spectacle.

[Sugar Bubble]: The original poster has some nerve — they already abolished the student ranking system, and here you are still using “A-student” and “F-student.”

[2333]: My bad, a bit clickbait-y. Sure, they abolished it officially, but the bias still exists in practice. Those two groups just can’t seem to blend together.

[Green Rose]: OP is spot on — this is getting interesting.

[Train to Lhasa]: I think Class 3-1 will win. The F-students are practical, down-to-earth; and that group of A-students is no pushover either — they’ve always held themselves to a high standard. Being competitive is in their nature, and they care about appearances. You can see them training on the track every day after school now.

From another angle, it’s actually a good thing — essentially the two strong factions have united.

With the sports meet fast approaching, Ban Sheng suddenly came down with a severe cold the day before — his voice thick with congestion, much lower and hoarser than usual. Lin Weixia asked him about it, and after a round of questioning, concluded that he’d soaked too long in the pool at dusk.

“Can you still run? Should we let the substitute take over?” Lin Weixia’s tone was full of concern.

“It’s fine,” Ban Sheng replied.

The two of them went to the school canteen for lunch together. Ban Sheng disliked crowds, so he specifically took her upstairs to eat. But no sooner had they sat down than envious glances began drifting their way.

They were now in their third year of high school, and a fresh batch of lively first-year students had arrived. As the two ate, a steady stream of whispered commentary made its way to Lin Weixia’s ears.

“Is that Ban Sheng? He’s so handsome.”

“He’s absolutely mesmerizing — that pink wrist band he’s wearing, oh my god, paired with his whole vibe, it’s perfect. I want to go ask for his number.”

“But who’s that girl sitting across from him? The little birthmark on her face looks kind of weird.”

Lin Weixia was slowly chewing on a green bean. At those words, her eyelashes flickered — then she continued eating, entirely unaffected.

Ban Sheng glanced over at Lin Weixia at just the right moment, and said nothing.

Lin Weixia had just passed the soup from the table to Ban Sheng when a slender figure appeared before them, accompanied by a waft of fresh, clean perfume. The girl wore her hair in a high ponytail; her lively tone carried a thread of nervousness.

“Senior, I’m a new student. There’s still so much I don’t understand about Shengao — would you mind leaving me your number?”

Having said her piece, the girl’s heart thudded rapidly, caught between anxiety and anticipation. But after waiting a long while, Ban Sheng showed no reaction whatsoever.

Ban Sheng leisurely sipped his soup, his throat working up and down with each swallow — as though he were deliberately keeping the girl waiting. When he finished, he leaned back in his chair, didn’t even spare her a glance, and spoke with careless disdain:

“The wrist band — she gave it to me.”

“The birthmark you find strange — I like it most.”

“As for my number,” Ban Sheng’s tone remained indifferent, “you’d better check with your senior first.”

Ban Sheng’s string of remarks left the girl both indignant and mortified. The color on her face shifted through several shades before she finally stamped her foot and fled.

Lin Weixia pressed three pills from each of two blister packs and handed them over, then slid the water across the table, saying:

“Why did you need to frighten her like that?”

Ban Sheng took the medicine — and without reaching for the water, tipped the pills directly into his mouth, tilted his head back, and swallowed. A low, amused hum escaped him. Lin Weixia found herself caught in a pair of pitch-black eyes, and he let out a quiet laugh:

“You should be grateful. Your future partner keeps himself clean.”

The next day, the sports meet officially opened amid the principal’s lengthy speech. Students standing below listened with glazed eyes, drifting toward sleep, muttering endlessly: “The principal really can talk.” “The principal out-talks even my mother.”

“The principal can talk because you’re standing under the blazing sun while he delivers his speech from the comfort of the ceremonial platform.”

Liu Sijia, serving as the student athletics representative, took the stage looking polished and radiant. The moment she stepped up and was about to open her speech, rip — the paper tore clean in two. Her elegant fingers were covered in super-glue; the more she tried to pull them apart in the sunlight, the stickier they became.

Several students below burst into laughter. Someone even whistled. Phones came out one after another, cameras snapping away, and the commentary flowed:

“The school forum is going to be lively again tonight.”

“Imagine it happening to me — making a fool of myself in front of the entire school. I couldn’t take it.”

Ban Sheng stood to one side, arms folded, watching Liu Sijia on the stage. Her gaze was sharp and composed. He spoke:

“She’s returning it to you, in her own way.”

The sun blazed down. Lin Weixia looked up, and all she saw was Liu Sijia stepping off the stage amid a sea of ridicule.

After the school leadership finished their remarks, a machine sent red and white balloons popping — pop, pop, pop — while a crowd of uniformed students on the green track burst into cheering applause, like sails of youth unfurling in the wind.

Students began staking out their territory. Two boys dragged inflatable mats to claim a spot; those not competing flopped right down on them, using school uniforms as cover to play on their phones in secret. Someone had even brought a portable speaker.

“Incredible — are we just throwing a music festival right here?” Ning Chao pointed a middle finger in their direction.

Ning Chao had barely taken two sips of water when the intercom called names to the high jump check-in station. He tossed his bottle aside: “Someone come cheer me on later, yeah?”

The morning consisted mostly of individual events; the relay race wasn’t until the afternoon. After finishing two of her own events, Lin Weixia received a small slip of paper — written by Liu Sijia:

The cello incident — I won’t apologize for that.

The time someone splashed you with water in the bathroom — I didn’t order it, and I had no part in it. You splashed me back in the end, but it started with me. I’m sorry.

The glue incident — consider it returned.

Lin Weixia’s eyelashes fluttered. She tucked the note into her pocket and hurried off to the rest area to be with Ban Sheng.

His cold hadn’t improved — if anything, it seemed to have gotten worse. That morning Ban Sheng had skipped the opening ceremony entirely, retreating to the rest area to lie low.

The door was pushed open by Lin Weixia. Ban Sheng sat in a chair, head tilted back against the ice-blue wall, eyes closed in rest. His dark lashes lay shut, the lines of his profile clean and sharp.

At the sound of her entrance, he opened his eyes.

“Are you feeling any better?” Lin Weixia walked over and handed him a cup of hot water.

Ban Sheng’s expression was tired and dim. Pale hands wrapped around the cup; when he spoke, his voice was rough:

“Not too bad.”

He seemed to read her concern, and gave a small laugh. “I’m not that fragile.”

“Alright. If you really feel awful this afternoon, let me know.”

The afternoon relay arrived quickly. Just before the event began, the entire class gathered together, surrounding their competitors in a tight cluster.

Ban Sheng looked as though he’d recovered somewhat — he stood apart from the group with a cool expression, hands shoved in his pockets, a clean stretch of wrist bone visible, hovering at the edge of the crowd.

Li Shengran was wearing a lively pink tracksuit and pacing back and forth, every step betraying her restless nerves.

Liu Sijia was growing unsettled from all the movement. She finally spoke: “Stop walking — you’re making everyone anxious.”

“I can’t help it. I feel like my heart is racing so fast,” Li Shengran said, her face full of worry. She took Liu Sijia’s hand and pressed it to her own chest. “Sijia, feel my heartbeat — does something seem wrong?”

“What if I drag everyone down out there? That would be so embarrassing.”

Li Shengran kept voicing her anxiety, even trying to drink water to bring her heart rate down. The group of girls gathered around her, suggesting deep-breathing exercises and the like.

Then, a timid voice broke through: “Do you want to try this?”

Everyone turned. An F-student wearing glasses held out her thermos, her tone friendly: “It’s the lotus heart calming tea my mom brews for me. She’s a pharmacist — she adds two herbal medicinal ingredients to it. Whenever I get nervous before exams, she makes it for me.”

The group of girls let out a derisive “ha” through their noses, mocking her for contradicting herself. If she never got nervous before important things, how had her grades managed to sink so low?

Li Shengran turned and glanced at the girl, who promptly fell silent. Then Li Shengran turned back and accepted the thermos: “Thanks — I’ll give it a try.”

“Oh — it’s nothing, really.” The F-student’s face lit up with surprise. She hadn’t expected Li Shengran to actually take it.

Before long, the Class 3-1 competitors took their positions in the competition zone — twelve people in total, split into two teams facing the opposing side, set to race against the other classes of the same year.

A sharp crack of the starting gun rang out, and six teams of athletes shot forward like arrows loosed from bows. Their class had a strong opener — the class president ran first, and his speed was solid.

The baton passed from one runner to the next. Class 1 was currently in second place, momentum holding steady. When the third baton reached Fang Jiabei, she charged forward with her jaw set tight.

Lin Weixia could see the tension locked into Fang Jiabei’s face — but those eyes, ordinarily so dull and lifeless, had caught a light.

She was fighting to move forward.

Standing at the front of the queue, waiting for Fang Jiabei to deliver the baton — and then thud — halfway down the track, Fang Jiabei fell.

The world seemed to freeze for half a breath.

Their classmates’ mouths fell open. Students from other classes filled the air with chatter, wearing the expressions of people who’d come for exactly this kind of spectacle.

“Ha — the way she fell, it’s actually kind of hilarious.”

“I can’t figure out why those A-students would mix with F-students for a race. They were always going to be a weak link.”

Amid the murmuring, Lin Weixia was just drawing breath to call out some encouragement when Liu Sijia, standing opposite, suddenly cried out:

“Fang Jiabei — keep going!”

Before, Liu Sijia had only known her by the nickname “freak.” Now she called her by her full name, accurately and without hesitation. Lin Weixia was startled. Like a resonance spreading outward, more and more voices joined in:

“Come on!”

“Get up — run!”

“Go, Fang Jiabei!”

Sprawled on the ground, Fang Jiabei pressed both hands to the track and slowly pushed herself upright. She picked up the baton, and with one injured leg dragging in a limp, ran on.

The collective breath that everyone had been holding released the moment Fang Jiabei placed the baton into Lin Weixia’s hands.

The instant Lin Weixia took the baton, she surged forward with everything she had. She had removed her hearing aids before the race; the cheering voices around her reached her as though from a great distance.

Wind burned hot against her face. She fixed her eyes on the finish line ahead — where Liu Sijia stood, red lips parting and closing, seemingly whispering “go.”

As the baton was about to be transferred to Liu Sijia, she stretched out her hand. Breathing mingled. The backs of two girls’ hands brushed lightly against each other.

Lin Weixia staggered out of the lane, gasping for air, elbows braced on her knees, forehead beaded with dense sweat.

She had no time to drink water. She lifted her eyes to watch the distant relay, as a classmate stood beside her with a camera, asking if she wanted a photo taken.

Liu Sijia always ran with her chin raised — her gaze cool and composed, proud and beautiful. She sprinted forward with full force, like a rose blooming in fierce, unyielding defiance.

Then, from within the crowd, a burst of cheering erupted. It was Ning Chao — he bent his body into an arc, moving with the agility of a leopard.

Approaching the finish, Ning Chao spread his arms wide and let out a roar. He had actually made up the time Fang Jiabei had lost.

From among the spectators, voices began rising: “Come on, Class 1!” “Go, Ning Chao!” “Go, Ban Sheng!”

Lin Weixia stood further back, looking into the light.

The sun was blinding. Ban Sheng wore a black tracksuit — a tall, upright figure pressing ceaselessly forward. The wind whipped past him. In those final decisive moments, the usually languid Ban Sheng suddenly broke into a full sprint.

His speed was like a streak of lightning.

The cheering grew louder and louder. Ban Sheng drove forward like an arrow — straight and unwavering — cutting through bend after bend, overtaking. Everyone’s hearts climbed into their throats.

Third.

Second — no, falling back again.

First.

He had overtaken everyone in the final stretch.

The moment that young man spread his arms and broke through the finish line, everything around him seemed to stop — the sound of wind, the referee still holding a whistle in his teeth, the smiles on his classmates’ faces.

Only he was radiant, surging upward without limit.

Ban Sheng swung his arms wide. As his body crossed the finish line, a blazing red sun hung steadily behind him.

The light was chasing after him.

In this moment, Ban Sheng was not falling. He was not dissolving into nothing. Every shadow of gloom that clung to him had vanished entirely — and what remained was a wholly new version of himself.

Lin Weixia raised the camera. Click — she captured his silhouette in a single frame.

After the race, the group hovered between anxiety and anticipation. Even the usually boisterous crowd fell silent, everyone waiting for the final results to be announced.

When the intercom broadcast: “Congratulations to Class 3-1 for taking first place in the 4×400 relay race” — “AHHHHH——” the entire field erupted. Young men and women threw their arms around each other and cheered.

“Class 3-1 is the absolute best!”

“Sijia, you ran so fast!”

“AHHHH I didn’t drag anyone down!”

Li Shengran kept covering her face and jumping for joy. But in her excitement, she accidentally bumped into a classmate’s shoulder — and when she turned to apologize quietly, she realized it was the girl who had given her the lotus tea earlier.

“Thanks for earlier — I’ll treat you to shaved ice this weekend!”

“Oh, really? You don’t have to — it was such a small thing.”

So it turns out most A-students, aside from being a little proud, actually have decent personalities. And F-students are genuinely capable — and kind, too.

Each of them thought this privately as they all clapped together. In this moment, the wall of division that had stood between the two groups of students — the bias — was briefly set aside.

They huddled together, cheering and clapping. The collective pride they felt was real; the prejudice they’d held toward each other was, for now, quietly fading.

“How about we all go out for dinner tonight? My treat.” A faint, uncharacteristic blush rose across Liu Sijia’s cheeks.

Ning Chao gave a slick whistle and called out with a grin: “It’s rare for the queen to pluck a feather — if no one minds, we could go to my family’s restaurant. Everyone gets twenty percent off!”

The crowd burst into laughter, and they all began working to talk Ning Chao into an even steeper discount.

Lin Weixia stood among them, a quiet smile spreading across her face.

Fang Jiabei happened to be standing just across from her, grinning stupidly to herself — even with an injured knee. She really must be thrilled, Lin Weixia thought.

But as Lin Weixia watched Fang Jiabei, she noticed the smile suddenly vanish from the girl’s face. Fang Jiabei pulled her neck back and retreated into her former shadowy, shrinking posture.

Following her gaze, Lin Weixia caught sight of what stood behind Fang Jiabei — Zheng Zhaoxing, staring at her with a dark, brooding expression.

Lin Weixia was about to step forward when an icy sensation wrapped around her wrist. A forceful grip locked around it — Ban Sheng had pulled her away.

Inside the sports equipment room, the light was dim and dust hung in the air. A young man and woman stood alone in the enclosed space. Lin Weixia stood before the equipment racks; Ban Sheng had his head resting on her shoulder, breathing in quiet, shallow drafts.

He had run with every last bit of strength he had.

His breaths were small and measured, warm air spilling against the porcelain-pale skin of Lin Weixia’s neck. His forehead gently nuzzled the soft curve just below her ear.

The strange sensation spread — a ticklish, numbing warmth she couldn’t suppress. Lin Weixia’s toes curled involuntarily, a flush of heat rising through her body.

She stood still, letting Ban Sheng rest against her shoulder. Lin Weixia reached up and touched the ridge of vertebrae at the back of his neck, and said:

“You were incredible just now.”

Ban Sheng’s voice came out muffled and hoarse: “When am I ever not incredible?”

Her fingertips rested there — and that’s when Lin Weixia realized his neck was burning. Without thinking, she reached to feel his forehead. The heat was alarming. She exclaimed:

“You have a fever.”

“We need to go — see a doctor. Now.”

Lin Weixia tried to push him upright, but Ban Sheng was like a giant dog — impossible to budge. He spoke slowly: “Let me rest here a little longer.”

So she held still. Once he’d recovered enough, Lin Weixia nudged him off her shoulder. She braced her elbow against the wooden panel behind her and was just about to head out.

Her hand reached out instinctively — rip — Lin Weixia winced and let out a startled cry. A nail had sliced across her index finger; blood welled up steadily, flowing freely.

Ban Sheng’s tall figure loomed over her. He stared at the dark red line of blood against her snow-white finger, and something shifted in his eyes — an emotion long held in check, threatening to break through.

Ban Sheng was running a fever. His naturally pale skin looked faintly sickly in this moment, and the small mole near the bridge of his nose lent him an air of something sinister and captivating.

His breathing quickened. His throat moved in an involuntary swallow. Lin Weixia was unnerved by the look in his eyes — her heart clenched. She tried to pull her hand back and found she couldn’t move it at all.

The dark hair at Ban Sheng’s brow was damp with cold sweat. In his eyes, a small flame burned.

Steadily drawing her in, pulling her under.

Ban Sheng stared at her. Without a moment’s thought, he lowered his long, elegant neck — and took the bleeding finger into his mouth, his downcast lashes a sweep of absolute black.

Dangerous. And utterly captivating.