Jiang Wan reached out to rub his knee, no longer paying attention to those two fools. He simply picked up Jiang Wenyan’s textbook and headed upstairs.
He was dead tired.
Jiang Wenyan and Xu Yichen had good intentions but ended up causing trouble. Along the way, they whispered to each other, timid and cautious.
Xu Yichen: “Bro, what did the class monitor do last night? Why has he been so tired lately?”
Jiang Wenyan replied indifferently, “He’s always been like this, never getting enough sleep no matter how much he rests.”
“Huh?” Xu Yichen’s eyes widened slightly as he thought about it. “No, that’s not right…”
He didn’t know how to phrase the rest, but before, Jiang Wan hadn’t been so prone to sleepiness—at least not like now, when he seemed drowsy and unable to wake up fully every day.
“What do you mean, ‘huh’?” Jiang Wenyan hooked an arm around Xu Yichen’s neck. “My brother said no making noise in the classroom.”
Xu Yichen: “…Since when are you so obedient?”
There were still two exams in the afternoon—chemistry and history. The classroom was quiet, occasionally broken by the rustling sound of pages turning.
Jiang Wan fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the desk, not even glancing at the newly distributed test papers on the surface.
Xu Yichen sat in front of Jiang Wan. He looked at his own math test paper with a score of 137 points, feeling quite satisfied no matter how he looked at it.
He instinctively wanted to check Jiang Wan’s score. Yesterday’s exam hadn’t been easy, stirring Xu Yichen’s competitive spirit.
Jiang Wan was sleeping with the test paper pressed under him, his slender, well-proportioned hand curled around the corner. Xu Yichen craned his neck to get a better look, feeling somewhat incredulous.
In the column where the total score was tallied, it read: seven points.
“!!! ! ! !”
Even if Jiang Wenyan went from artificial intelligence to artificial stupidity, Jiang Wan’s math score couldn’t possibly be just seven points.
Xu Yichen stole a few more glances. Jiang Wan was covering the section with the scores for each question. Afraid of waking him, Xu Yichen only skimmed a few of the fill-in-the-blank questions.
Just the two fill-in-the-blank questions he saw were already worth ten points. He was about to speak up when someone gently tapped on Jiang Wan’s desk.
“What’s up?” Xu Yichen didn’t look up, his gaze still fixed on Jiang Wan’s test paper. It had only been a few days since “school started,” and the homeroom teacher Li Yun was busy with various meetings, big and small. Usually, when something came up in class, they’d go to Jiang Wan first.
Lu Xingheng: “Counting textbooks.”
“Oh.” Xu Yichen responded first. “He’s tired. I’ll take you.”
“No need.” Jiang Wan was still slumped over, pulling a wet wipe from under the desk to wipe his face. “You won’t be able to find the new textbooks.”
The cool sensation touched his skin, and Jiang Wan’s fingertips trembled slightly from the chill. He habitually zipped his school jacket all the way up.
As Jiang Wan raised his hand, the glaringly bright red score on the test paper became especially eye-catching.
Lu Xingheng’s peripheral gaze unintentionally swept over it.
Seven points.
Jiang Wan didn’t dawdle. Xu Yichen hurriedly started to stand up but was immediately pressed back down by Jiang Wan. “There aren’t many textbooks. I’ll be back in a moment.”
It was still hot outside, and even the ice water in Lu Xingheng’s hand felt warm. The person beside him, wrapped in a thick jacket, seemed completely unaware.
Xu Yichen was face-blind, but Jiang Wan wasn’t. He remembered clearly… the new student had been cornered and beaten up in the teaching building.
Jiang Wan’s voice still carried a hint of drowsiness, slightly hoarse. “You left in a hurry at noon, so I didn’t get a chance to ask. Were you hurt back then?”
“No.” Lu Xingheng replied flatly.
Jiang Wan nodded. “That’s good.”
The midday heat was stifling and windless, the air thick with restlessness. The emerald-green leaves hung motionless on the plane trees, and everything around was eerily quiet.
As they turned past the Zhixing Building, Jiang Wan suddenly spoke up, her voice weary and sluggish, as if she couldn’t be bothered to open her mouth.
“Here.” Jiang Wan pointed ahead. “The cafeteria is up front, and the water room is just behind it.”
“Mm.”
“Textbooks need to be picked up from the academic affairs office. It’s a bit far.” Just before turning the corner, Jiang Wan gestured to the left. “The library is over there.”
“Mm.”
“The study rooms and computer labs are upstairs in the library.”
“Mm.”
Jiang Wan stopped walking, her voice slightly louder. “Classmate, did you install an auto-reply on yourself?”
Lu Xingheng: “…”
From the doorway of the teaching building came the boisterous laughter of other classes, and someone—whether the class monitor or the academic committee member—rapped the desk twice. A few calls for “quiet” faded into the sweltering summer air, barely making a difference.
Lu Xingheng didn’t respond again, and Jiang Wan lost interest in asking. Instead, with a hint of laughter in her tone, she turned back to Lu Xingheng and gave a deliberate “Mm,” imitating him with about thirty percent accuracy.
“…”
It was neither early nor late, and the academic affairs office was locked, with no other teachers on duty. An A4 sheet was even taped to the door, with the words “Quiet During Lunch Break” scrawled in marker.
Lu Xingheng frowned.
“Don’t rush to frown.” Jiang Wan chuckled, pulling a set of keys from her uniform pocket and jingling them. “I’ve got the most primitive method right here.”
“Though I’m not entirely sure which one it is.”
Jiang Wan casually tried two keys. One of them went in but wouldn’t turn no matter how hard she tried.
But it did go in.
Jiang Wan shook her hand and gently tugged Lu Xingheng’s wrist back. “You try.”
“Mm.” Lu Xingheng gave it a forceful twist.
“Guess not.” Jiang Wan stared intently at the lock. “Then it must be the next one.”
“Counting from the left.”
“I know.” Lu Xingheng switched keys, and as the door clicked open, he heard Jiang Wan ask with a laugh, “So it’s not an auto-reply?”
Lu Xingheng: “…”
Jiang Wan: “Don’t look at me like that.”
Jiang Wan pushed the door open and stepped inside. The academic affairs office was indeed empty—after all, it was only supplementary classes, and aside from the second- and third-year subject teachers, many faculty members hadn’t returned to campus yet.
Lu Xingheng asked, “What?”
Jiang Wan: “I just feel like you look all flustered and indignant, as if you’re being forced into something shameful.”
“…”
Lu Xingheng was rendered speechless. He walked straight to the corner and began counting textbooks. The air conditioning must have been on earlier, as a lingering coolness remained, making it much more comfortable than outside.
“There are more over there.” Jiang Wan pointed ahead. “Physics, chemistry, biology, history—”
Lu Xingheng: “Chemistry?”
Jiang Wan: “Yeah, what’s wrong?”
Before transferring, Lu Xingheng had already chosen his academic track. He’d selected the science stream, with physics and biology as his two elective minor subjects.
He hadn’t studied chemistry for over half a year. And as for history, politics, geography…
“The previous grade didn’t study minor subjects either. Our year just happened to coincide with the university reform.” Jiang Wan seemed to recall something. “You’re from another province?”
Lu Xingheng responded coldly.
Jiang Wan: “Then why did you decide to transfer here?”
Transfers were usually within the same province; it was rare to move across provinces directly.
Lu Xingheng replied as if it were nothing. “I got a disciplinary record.”
Jiang Wan touched her neck. “Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.”
But… unlike others, Jiang Wan didn’t press further. Instead, she simply moved on from the topic.
“One question,” Jiang Wan paused, “How did Sister Yun tell you? How did you know I was the class monitor?”
Jiang Wan had been the class monitor for nearly two semesters. Li Yun had gotten used to calling him “monitor” and rarely addressed him by his name directly.
Lu Xingheng: “Heard the second fool call you that.”
Perhaps it was a bit cold, as it took Jiang Wan a moment to realize who Lu Xingheng meant by “second fool.”
Far away in Duxing Building, Xu Yichen suddenly sneezed. While working on his test papers, he muttered quietly, “Someone must be thinking of me.”