In those years, school bags didn’t have any special styles. They were mostly military-green crossbody bags. Stationery was also simple—exercise books, fountain pens, and ink.
Tang Huan chose a small, compact backpack as long as it could fit her books.
She picked the most ordinary fountain pen; if it got lost or broke, she wouldn’t feel heartache.
The bag cost 3 yuan, the fountain pen 2.5 yuan, and with notebooks and ink included, the total came to 6.2 yuan.
Tang Huan reached into her pocket and took out the 10 yuan she had prepared for tuition, handing it to the shop assistant.
The assistant reached out to take it.
“Wait, I have exact change,” Xing Cui interrupted, stopping the change from being given back. She took out 6.2 yuan and handed it directly to the cashier.
“I’ll pay for it myself,” Tang Huan quickly said.
“I’m happy to buy things for you!” Xing Cui snatched back the 10 yuan from the cashier and stuffed it into Tang Huan’s pocket.
The shop assistant, relieved, simply accepted the exact amount of 6.2 yuan.
Tang Huan felt bad about it and tried to return the 10 yuan, but Xing Cui had already walked away quickly, not giving her the chance.
After Meng Zeyu’s death, the factory compensation had all been given to the old couple by Tang Huan. Since then, they had been constantly worried she had no money, always secretly giving her cash and insisting on paying for things.
It wasn’t that Tang Huan had never been tempted to use that money to buy a place of her own, to have somewhere she truly belonged. But every time she thought of it as Meng Zeyu’s “life money,” it felt too heavy to touch.
They had only been married for a single day—they hadn’t even consummated the marriage. The only connection between them was a marriage certificate with a name on it.
After buying everything, the two of them went to eat. At that time, breakfast shops were still crowded.
They found an empty table. Tang Huan ordered a bowl of tofu pudding and a fried dough stick. Xing Cui ordered spicy soup and a flatbread.
This time, Tang Huan secretly paid the bill while Xing Cui wasn’t paying attention.
The tofu pudding was topped with a rich savory gravy, filled with chopped mushrooms, seaweed, and fried tofu bits. If you tasted carefully, you could even detect minced meat. It was extremely flavorful.
Tang Huan liked tearing the fried dough stick into small pieces and soaking them in the tofu pudding until they absorbed the soup. One bite would make the broth burst in her mouth.
In her previous life, she had no sense of taste. She used to watch eating livestreams, drooling while listening to streamers describe flavors.
But when she ordered the same food herself, she still couldn’t taste anything.
After finishing their shopping and meal, the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law headed home.
Today, Tang Huan wore a white short-sleeved blouse paired with a red-and-white checkered long skirt. On her feet were crystal sandals. The outfit perfectly outlined her delicate figure.
She carried a military-green crossbody bag with her newly bought stationery inside.
After returning home and putting her bag away, she sat on the edge of the bed, spacing out. A wave of nervousness rose in her heart—she would be going to school in the afternoon. Would she be able to get along with her classmates?
At twenty, repeating high school—would she be laughed at?
Memories of her past life flashed through her mind, when she had sat in a classroom but felt separated from everyone by an invisible wall, isolated and afraid.
In the end, her fear of Meng Zeyan won out. She didn’t dare tell him she didn’t want to go.
After lunch, Meng Zeyan waited in the courtyard, ready to take her to school.
The high school he arranged for her was the same one he and Meng Zeyu had attended before. It was nearby—two bus stops away, or less than ten minutes by bicycle.
The principal said she would need to take an entrance test. If she passed, she would be admitted. Meng Zeyan felt she should have no problem.
And if she failed, he still had ways—either way, she would go to school.
Back in her room, Tang Huan slung her bag over her shoulder, gripping the strap tightly as she walked nervously toward Meng Zeyan.
“Brother, let’s go!”
“Mm.”
He nodded and turned to leave.
Tang Huan followed behind him quietly. Her steps were small, and the distance between them kept widening. Whenever it got too far, she would jog a few steps to catch up.
Hearing the footsteps behind him, Meng Zeyan turned around and saw her running.
Startled, she stopped abruptly, standing stiffly.
“If this happens, you can just call me,” he said gently, his expression calm. Even he didn’t understand why she seemed so afraid of him.
Very few people were scared of him at first sight—after all, he was considered in his unit to be… a “gentle” person.
Tang Huan blinked and nodded. “Oh.”
He turned back and slowed his pace.
Only then did he realize—Meng Zeyu must have liked a little rabbit-like girl.
To him, Tang Huan looked like a frightened rabbit, startled by the slightest movement.
If he had known she was like this, he wouldn’t have suspected her in connection with his brother’s death.
In the past two days, he had carefully investigated the cause of Meng Zeyu’s death. It matched what his mother had said—it really was an accident.
He had overthought it.
Now, at the bus stop, they stood waiting. He finally remembered something.
“I haven’t told you yet. When you get to school, you’ll need to take a few test papers. Do them if you can. If you can’t, it’s fine.”
Tang Huan nodded. “Mm.”
Then, realizing it sounded too perfunctory, she quickly added, “I can do them.”
“That’s good,” he replied, not saying anything else.
There were only the two of them at the stop. Meng Zeyan stood tall and straight, his posture naturally disciplined.
Standing behind him, Tang Huan’s gaze landed on the black short-sleeved shirt clinging to his back, outlining firm, strong muscles.
She quickly lowered her head and stared at her toes, as if they held some rare treasure.
The bus arrived. Meng Zeyan got on first, and she followed.
The driver saw it was just the two of them and immediately started the bus as soon as she stepped on.
She lost her footing. Not wanting to fall, she reached out to grab the handrail but missed.
Just as she was about to fall, Meng Zeyan turned around, saw her, and quickly grabbed her arm.
He pulled her back from mid-air—and even lifted her directly into the empty seat beside him.
Before she could react, she was already standing there.
“Sit properly and hold on,” he reminded her.
She obediently sat down and gripped the seat tightly. That had been close.
After buying tickets, Meng Zeyan found another seat.
The ride was only six or seven minutes. He stood early and moved to the back door to signal it was time to get off.
She followed, gripping tightly as they got off with the crowd of students.
The school gatekeeper recognized Meng Zeyan from the morning and let them in without stopping them.
The principal was already waiting in the office, with a stack of test papers on the desk—eight sheets in total, one for each subject.
This year, English had officially been added to the college entrance exam. The principal wasn’t worried about everything else—only that she might have no English foundation at all.
She was already twenty, and had graduated from high school three or four years ago. It was very possible she had never learned English.
If that was the case, it would be difficult.
A knock came at the door.
“Come in,” the principal said.
Meng Zeyan opened the door and brought Tang Huan inside.
Smiling, he introduced her: “Uncle Xu, this is Tang Huan—the student I told you about who wants to repeat high school.”