Shan Jiqiu realized that with Lu Yun, sometimes he didn’t care about his image—and sometimes he was shameless beyond measure.
You could say he cared, but in truth, he was pretty low‑key, seeming genuinely indifferent. So what was with him today?
The shop owner gave him a “fracture‑level” discount just for his looks, and he rushed to defend her?
Shan Jiqiu’s good mood soured a little at that moment. And she hated herself for always feeling this pointless jealousy. What right did she have? What claim, what status? None. No right, no status at all.
“That’s just the atmosphere,” Shan Jiqiu shrugged. The arm draped over her shoulder felt like it had grown out of her own body—impossible to shake off. “Has nothing to do with the food.”
“Oh.”
That “oh” felt careless, carrying a vague, unreadable undertone.
In the last class of the afternoon, Old Xie was angry again. The dismissal bell had already rung, but he stood at the podium, tapping the chalk against the blackboard, his voice sharp and severe: “You’re the experimental class—shouldn’t you show the standards of an experimental class? What’s wrong with dragging the lesson a little longer? Are you here to study for me, or to help me get into college?”
He scolded them, but in the end, Old Xie still didn’t finish his last point. His mood broken, he waved them off: “Class dismissed.”
As soon as he stepped out, he ran into Xu Zhi at the door. Like a father spotting his children, he immediately began to complain: “Teacher Xu, your students need stricter discipline. They’re less and less like an experimental class. I only kept them a few minutes late, and the ones in the back already had a leg out the door. And another thing…”
Xu Zhi listened patiently, then chuckled: “Good students today aren’t like before. Back then, experimental classes only read by rote, lifeless. At first, I worried these kids would be too stiff, but really, they were just pretending when school started, not familiar with each other yet. Two months in, they’ve shown their true colors. And that’s fine—full of energy, like the morning sun. Do you really want them to be like the evening glow?”
Old Xie, speaking from experience, warned: “You’re young yourself, always smiling. That makes them fearless. Teachers are teachers, students are students—you need boundaries.”
Xu Zhi shrugged: “If students can treat a teacher like a friend, confide in us, that’s real achievement. Besides, their grades still live up to the name ‘experimental class.’”
Old Xie smiled helplessly: “True enough. Anyway, I still have to report to you as their homeroom teacher. None of us wants to harm them—we just want them to do well. Fine, I’ll head back to the office.”
Xu Zhi nodded, humoring him: “Alright, I’ll talk to them. They’re in eleventh grade now, time to buckle down.”
When Xu Zhi entered the classroom, most students were still there. He didn’t scold, only said: “Your average chemistry score is third in the grade. Is that the level you should be at? Teacher Xie has high hopes for you. Think about it yourselves.”
Then he called Shan Jiqiu, Lu Yun, Tan Junhao, and a few others to the office to discuss competition class matters.
After the last selection exam, five from their class had qualified for the math competition team.
Tan Junhao’s deskmate Liu Peng had been eliminated. The boy was devastated, eyes swollen behind thick glasses, gloomy for a week.
Tan Junhao even considered giving up his spot—Liu Peng’s constant muttering was driving him mad.
Luckily, Liu Peng suddenly returned to normal. Everyone thought he’d accepted reality. But in fact, he’d found another way—joining the informatics competition—a real dark horse.
Xu Zhi explained the competition classes.
Selections for the five major subjects were complete. From now on, those chosen would attend evening study sessions in their competition classes rather than their regular classes. And every other weekend, they’d have half‑day sessions.
By the time they left the office, the sky was already gray, tinged with dark blue.
The late autumn wind was no longer gentle, gusting like a madman—blowing the physics teacher’s wig clean off downstairs.
The poor man looked around nervously to see if anyone noticed, but never looked up.
At that moment, the campus broadcast floated like a feather through the air, soft against the raging wind, drifting into every ear.
“Today’s first blessing is from an anonymous student. He or she requested Jacky Cheung’s *Blessing* for Shan Jiqiu of Class 1, Grade 11—wishing her happiness every day.”
“Don’t ask, don’t say, everything is understood without words…” Jacky Cheung’s unique, magnetic voice washed over Shan Jiqiu. She turned to the two boys beside her. Tan Junhao immediately denied: “Not me.”
She looked at Lu Yun, then quickly dismissed the idea: “Impossible for you.”
Lu Yun laughed helplessly: “Why is it impossible? That’s discrimination.”
Shan Jiqiu: “Do you even know yourself?”
The song‑request segment was new this semester. Every time the broadcast got sentimental, Lu Yun scoffed: “Better to read current events than this sappy nonsense. If you’re going to broadcast, give us riddles or quiz questions…”
So, he’s requesting a song? Unless Li Bai suddenly started singing in English.
Lu Yun only smiled silently. Shan Jiqiu muttered: “At least you know yourself.”
Tan Junhao pressed on: “Then could it be Yu Kexia or Zhou An?”
Shan Jiqiu shook her head: “Zhou An would definitely tell you. As for Xiaxia…” She suddenly smiled: “Her playlist only has one song she’d ever request.”
“What song?” Tan Junhao asked.
“One Like Summer, One Like Autumn,” Shan Jiqiu said.
“Right, your theme song.” Tan Junhao thought for a moment, then grinned with hidden meaning. “So… could it be your secret admirer?”
“No.”
That answer came from Lu Yun. Both turned to look at him. He cleared his throat, clicked his tongue twice: “Who would secretly like her?”
Tan Junhao immediately jumped to defend her: “Brother Yun, come on. With Autumn God’s looks, grades, and popularity, she’s got plenty of admirers. From middle school till now, hasn’t she received tons of love letters and gifts? And weren’t you the one tossing them all away, acting like her dad? Who’d dare confess openly with you around?”
Shan Jiqiu thought about it—he wasn’t wrong. She nodded in agreement: “Tan Junhao, you’re… absolutely right.”
“Of course I am.”
For some reason, Lu Yun felt a guilty unease, like he’d been caught doing something wrong. He scratched his nose and added: “Cut off early romance, or how else would you be first in the grade? If your mind wandered to someone else, could you really study properly?”
Shan Jiqiu looked at Lu Yun, wanting to tell him: My thoughts are all on you, and I’m still first in the grade. Forget it—she’d have to be crazy to say that.
“Why are you looking at me like that? Study hard, alright?” Lu Yun rubbed her head. “Come on, let’s eat.”
Shan Jiqiu leaned on the railing with both hands. “After the song finishes.”
Tan Junhao: “You like this song?”
Shan Jiqiu: “Of Jacky Cheung’s songs, this one’s my favorite.”
Lu Yun gazed at the girl before him, her smile calm. Hearing her say “favorite,” his lips curved up involuntarily.
…
The evening self‑study bell rang across campus. Five classrooms lit up—the competition classes for the five major subjects.
The math competition class was in a spare room on the fifth floor of the south building. Xu Zhi was one of the teachers in charge. Earlier in the office, he had told his students to eat first, then clean the room.
The spare room lived up to its name—dust everywhere. They had just finished cleaning when the bell rang. The math class wasn’t large—twenty‑two students in total. Physics and informatics had close to thirty. But everyone knew: to reach the national training team was one in ten thousand. Their rivals weren’t just the faces in that room, but the best across the province, across the country. After all, there had been years when an entire province produced zero winners. No one could guarantee success. No matter how elegant the formulas, competition turned them cold and cruel. Behind success lay endless sweat and tears, mountains of study.
At the summit, when paths crossed, it wasn’t the brave who won. It was those with both brains and courage, with unshakable composure—the true kings.
…
That night, Shan Jiqiu finished her homework, washed up—it was already 11:30.
Shen Suyue was always asleep before eleven. The only light left in the house was in Shan Jiqiu’s room. She was about to turn it off when her phone buzzed on the desk, rattling against the wood. She picked it up—Lu Yun. She answered, pacing to the window.
Shan Jiqiu: “What is it?”
Lu Yun: “Come up to the rooftop.”
Shan Jiqiu: “I’m going to sleep.”
Lu Yun: “You’ve got one minute.”
As soon as he said that, the call was cut off, leaving only the busy “beep beep beep” in her ear.
Shan Jiqiu yawned, sighed softly, and stepped out of her bedroom, flicking off the wall switch.
At once, the whole house fell into darkness.
Her eyes slowly adjusted, shapes emerging in the dimness. Guided by the pale glow from the balcony, she stepped outside.
The hallway’s sensor light flicked on. She climbed the stairs, passing walls plastered with old ads for locksmiths and plumbing, until she reached the top.
The rooftop wind hit her straight on, making her shiver uncontrollably. She hugged her arms tight, rubbing her palms up and down.
She was only wearing a thin pajama set, not expecting the near‑midnight chill. She regretted not bringing a jacket. Above, a single dim bulb hung from tangled wires, no cover, just bare glass. Its filament glowed alone, the bulb swaying in the wind, fragile yet casting a strange, gentle light over the small rooftop.
Shan Jiqiu looked around. Aside from a few tiny vegetable plots and two old bamboo chairs, there was no sign of Lu Yun. She lowered her gaze—only her own shadow.
Fooled again. Lu Yun had tricked her into coming up countless times since childhood. Every time she fell for it.
Was she stupid? Yes.
“I’m just too dumb,” she muttered, turning to leave.
But as she turned, someone stepped through the rooftop door, blocking her path.
“Where are you going?” Lu Yun asked with a smile.