Since Xia Zhen was the new face in class, the monitor, Gao Ling, took it upon herself to lead her to the cafeteria. Gao Ling truly lived up to her name; she was a genuine “high-and-mighty flower” [高岭之花 Gāolǐng zhī huā: A Chinese idiom for an unreachable, ethereal beauty who is cold and aloof]. Though she was stunning, her face was a mask of indifference. According to the school gossip, it was this icy demeanor that allowed her to maintain such absolute authority over the students.
Admittedly, the canteen at No. 1 Middle School wasn’t quite as “refined” [精细 Jīngxì: Often referring to the high-end, delicately prepared meals at private or “elite” schools] as the one at her old school, Shengyi, but it was respectable.
The moment Xia Zhen stepped into the hall, she became a magnet for every gaze. Heads turned, with whispers trailing in her wake: When did a girl this fair-skinned, this radiant, with legs that long, join this school?
The cafeteria was a sea of bodies, every seat claimed—except for one table. A small clique of girls sat there with several empty spots around them, yet a visible “no-man’s-land” kept the other students at bay.
“Boss, look! That kid from Class 4 brought this meat as a tribute [上供 Shànggòng: Originally meaning offerings to gods or emperors, here used as slang for a bribe or protection money from a weaker student],” one girl bragged, her voice dripping with smugness. “Let’s see if he ever dares to cross you again.”
The “Boss” had hair permed into voluminous waves—far too mature for a high schooler—and wore a full face of makeup. She was exquisitely beautiful, but her aura was sharp and predatory. Picking up her chopsticks, she took a lazy bite of stir-fried pork [小炒肉 Xiǎochǎoròu: A classic, savory, and spicy Chinese soul-food dish]. Her eyes flicked toward the girl in the queue—the one with the high ponytail and the fluttering skirt.
“Who’s that?” she asked casually.
“The new transfer in Class 1. Word is she came from that elite private academy.”
“Doesn’t our school usually block transfers mid-term?” another girl chimed in.
The girl at the front leaned in, whispering, “Use your head. She clearly has ‘thick legs’ [Backing/Money: A play on the idea of having powerful connections]. How else does a transfer land a spot in the top-tier class immediately?”
The Boss withdrew her scrutinizing gaze, her voice dropping to a dangerous low. “She’d better stay well-behaved. Otherwise…”
She suddenly jammed her chopsticks upright into her mound of rice—a silent, ominous omen of death. [In Chinese culture, sticking chopsticks vertically into rice resembles incense at a funeral and is considered a curse or a sign of great disrespect].
Xia Zhen, however, was unfazed by the ripples she caused. To her, being the center of the universe was simply the natural order of things.
Xia Zhen returned to the classroom early after the meal. The room was hushed; as few students were hunched over there exercise books [练习册 Liànxí cè: Ubiquitous workbooks used for intensive test prep in China], while others used the lunch break to catch up on sleep.
As expected her deskmate, Lu Jin, hadn’t moved from his spot an inch.
“I’m back,” she chirped, sliding into her seat with a bright smile.
Lu Jin didn’t offer so much as a glance at her voice. A modest lunchbox sat on his desk. He ate with agonizing slowness, lifting small mouthfuls of white rice with practiced, silent precision. Unlike the typical clatter of a school day, he didn’t let his chopsticks so much as graze the side of the tin.
The school had a strict ban on eating in the classroom, but because of Lu Jin’s mobility issues [Referring to his physical frailty or disability], he was the sole exception.
“Lu Jin’s mother is incredibly devoted,” a nearby student whispered, noticing Xia Zhen’s curiosity. “She prepares every single meal for him. My mom won’t even get out of bed five minutes early for me.”
“Wouldn’t the cafeteria be easier?” Xia Zhen asked.
“He’s a picky eater [挑食 Tiāo shí]. Apparently, he can’t stand the canteen food.”
The class teacher, Ms. Wen, had tried to help, suggesting other boys carry a meal up for him. But at the last parent-teacher conference [家长会 Jiāzhǎng huì: A high-pressure event in Chinese schools where grades and behavior are discussed], Lu Jin’s mother had explained with a pained expression that her son would only eat her cooking. Some students whispered privately that he was just a “spoiled young master” with too many eccentricities.
“But…” Xia Zhen leaned her chin on her hand, tilting her head to look at him with a look of feigned innocence. “Won’t it hurt Lu Jin’s health to eat so much spicy, heavy food [重口味 Zhòng kǒuwèi: Food with strong flavors, oil, and spice, often considered ‘taxing’ on a weak constitution in Traditional Chinese Medicine]?”
The boy’s hand froze mid-air.
The student who had been talking blinked in realization. It was true—Lu Jin’s lunchbox was always filled with bright reds and oily peppers. For someone with his condition, common sense dictated a light, nourishing diet. Even if his parents doted on him, why would they feed him things that seemed like poison for his frail body?
The atmosphere in the room shifted. A few students exchanged uneasy looks, sensing a shadow they couldn’t quite define.
Xia Zhen moved her chair closer, the pungent scent of the spices filling her senses. Lu Jin finally turned. His eyes, pale and haunting, met hers.
“Don’t get so close to me,” he said, his voice a flat line.
Xia Zhen obeyed, sliding her chair back a fraction, but she didn’t stop. She turned her whole body toward him, arms crossed, staring at him with unblinking intensity. He tried to ignore the weight of her gaze, but it was like a physical pressure. Finally, he dropped his chopsticks.
They stayed like that, locked in a silent duel.
“What are they doing?” the Chinese class rep whispered to the Math rep.
“A staring contest?”
“Who’s winning? The one with the big eyes or the one with the… well, they both have beautiful eyes.”
“Wait… could it be… ‘lightning meeting fire’ [Falling in love at first sight]?”
In an instant, the “quietest corner” became the most scrutinized spot in the room. Lu Jin felt the heat of a dozen eyes on him. And at this point he realised his sanctuary was gone.
“What,” he bit out, his voice icy, “do you actually want a bite?”
Xia Zhen’s face turned deathly serious. “Lu Jin, I want to bribe you.”
“…What?”
“I used to daydream constantly and miss the important points,” she lied smoothly. “I want to be a ‘Good Student’ now. I want to borrow your notes to copy.”
“Hey, Newbie!” someone called out. “Lu Jin’s grades are just average. If you want notes, wait for Su Nuo to get back. He’s the ‘Scholar Lord’ [学霸 Xuébà: A straight-A student/top of the class]—first in every subject, even PE!”
Xia Zhen gave a polite nod. “I see. Thank you for the tip.” Then she turned right back to Lu Jin. “So, can I borrow your notes?”
Lu Jin was stunned. He looked at her, searching for the scrutiny. “You should ask someone else.”
Xia Zhen covered her cheeks, looking uncharacteristically bashful. “But I’m shy. I’m too embarrassed to talk to the others.”
Shy? The students who had watched her bold entry nearly choked.
Perhaps remembering her help earlier that day, Lu Jin sighed. He pulled a stack of books from his desk and slid them toward her. “Take whatever you need.”
“Lu Jin, you’re a saint! To seal the bribe, I’m sharing half my snacks with you from now on.” She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small, soft package, thudding it into his pale hand. “Consider this the down payment.”
It was a slice of thick-cut toast [Handmade or “Japanese-style” milk bread, popular in boutique bakeries]. The bright pink, peach-scented packaging looked jarring against his ghostly skin.
He moved to give it back, but Xia Zhen was already yawning. “Ah, lunchtime is over. Time for a nap.”
With a soft thud, she dropped her head onto the pile of books—his books—and closed her eyes.
In the distance, the Math rep nudged his friend. “What’s the status?”
The Chinese rep stroked his chin like a wise philosopher. “I didn’t realize our new classmate was such a ‘player’ [会玩 Huì wán: Slang for someone who is very skillful at social games or flirting].”
The Math rep blinked. “A player? At what?
“The final bell rang, but Ms. Wen lingered in the class for a few more minutes, stretching the evening meeting [晚课/晚总结 Wǎnkè: A common Chinese school practice where teachers give a final wrap-up or pep talk before dismissal] into a brief lecture. When she finally gave the word, the room exploded. Students scrambled out, desperate to catch the bus or beat the rush, unwilling to gift the school a single extra second of their lives.
Xia Zhen was in no such hurry. Having been whisked to and from school by a private driver for years, the concept of a “commute” was foreign to her. She packed her bag with languid grace.
However, her deskmate was even slower. Lu Jin sat motionless, buried in his book. While the hallway echoed with shouts of boys planning internet cafe raids and girls gossiping about dinner, he remained anchored in his own silent world.
Xia Zhen glanced out the window. The sun was dipping low, painting the sky in a vibrant “fallen rose” glow. For most, it was beautiful; for Lu Jin, that lingering afterglow was still a dazzling, painful glare. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a voice cut through the doorway.
“Lu Jin.”
Xia Zhen turned. Standing there was a boy who looked like he’d stepped out of a shoujo manga [少女漫画: Japanese/Chinese style romance comics for girls, featuring idealized, handsome male leads]. When he saw Xia Zhen, his eyes widened in genuine wonder. He recovered quickly, offering a warm, approachable smile.
“I haven’t seen you around. You must be the new transfer in Class 1? I’m Lu Ci, from Class 1, Sophomore year.”
Xia Zhen’s gaze flicked back to her deskmate. Lu Jin had closed his book. He was staring at the newcomer with a face as expressionless as a stone tablet.
Lu Ci was undeniably handsome, possessing the kind of “sunshine” charisma that made him a favorite among the girls. He took a confident step into the room.
“The teacher said,” Xia Zhen interrupted, her voice airy, “that students from other grades aren’t allowed in our classroom.”
Lu Ci froze mid-step.
Xia Zhen’s eyes were wide and brimming with a terrifyingly pure innocence. She looked exactly like a “Goody Two-Shoes” [乖乖女 Guāiguāi nǚ: An obedient, traditional ‘good girl’ who follows every rule to the letter].
Lu Ci retreated to the threshold, laughing awkwardly. “Sorry, I was just… worried about my brother’s health. I got a bit anxious.”
Xia Zhen tilted her head, looking between the two. “You’re brothers? You don’t look a thing alike.”
The air turned heavy. Lu Jin was an albino; if Lu Ci looked like him, he wouldn’t be the school’s golden boy.
“Aren’t you leaving?” Lu Jin’s voice was a dry rasp, directed at Xia Zhen.
Lu Ci maintained his polished smile, though it now carried a hint of saintly patience. “Please forgive him. My brother rarely interacts with people, but I promise he means no harm.”
It was a masterful performance. Beside the refined, polite Lu Ci, Lu Jin appeared like a jagged, ill-tempered shadow.
“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t misunderstand,” Xia Zhen chirped, her lips curling into a sweet, knowing smile. “Lu Jin is just shy [害羞 Hàixiū]. He’s easily embarrassed, that’s all.”
Shy? Lu Ci nearly choked on his own breath. How naive did this girl have to be to mistake Lu Jin’s icy wall for shyness? He managed a few forced laughs. “That’s… good to hear.”
But Lu Jin’s hand, resting on the desk, gripped the wooden edge until his knuckles turned as white as his hair.
Xia Zhen seemed to take a liking to Lu Ci, her enthusiasm growing. “Did you come to take Lu Jin home?”
Lu Ci glanced at the wheelchair and nodded with a gentle, brotherly sigh. “Yes. With my brother in this condition… I worry about him making the trip alone.”
“You two have such a beautiful bond,” Xia Zhen sang.
“Of course. We’re brothers; we have to look out for each other.”
Under the honeyed light of the sunset, for anyone to see the beautiful girl and the handsome boy looked like a match made in heaven—a “Golden Couple” [金童玉女 Jīntóng yùnǚ: An idiom for a perfectly matched, beautiful pair].
Lu Jin listened as they swapped names and moved from school talk to hobbies. They sounded like old friends. The warmth she showed Lu Ci far surpassed the “unexplained interest” she had shown him earlier. He sat in his corner, like a ghost in his own seat, finding no place to speak—and no right to.
He lowered his eyes, his white fringe shielding his gaze. His eyes eventually settled on a shadow on the floor.
It was her shadow.
Then, the sun slipped further behind the horizon. The shadow stretched, thinned, and vanished. His eyes felt suddenly hollow, like a lake that had just lost its moon.
“It’s getting late,” Xia Zhen announced. “I have to go.”
“If you want to talk more, Senior…” Lu Ci started, sounding almost reluctant to let her leave.
“No, no, another time.” Xia Zhen pointed playfully at the window. “The sun has ‘gone off duty’ [下班 Xiàbān: Slang for finishing work]. If I stay any longer, it’ll be dark.”
The sun was gone. The light was… safe.
Lu Jin’s heart gave a sudden, violent throb, like a strike of lightning in a silent sky.
“Lu Jin.”
The girl’s voice acted like a physical command. He was forced to lift his head.
Xia Zhen’s eyes were curved into crescents, sparkling like “autumn water” [秋水 Qiūshuǐ: A poetic Chinese metaphor for clear, shimmering, expressive eyes]. She waved, her smile carrying a hint of something soft, something almost… enticing.
“See you tomorrow,” she whispered.
Lu Jin’s fingers slipped from the desk. A flicker of sheer panic crossed his pale features. He dropped his head, unable to muster the courage to even offer a simple “Mm.”
He felt like a trapped animal that had briefly glimpsed the forest, only to scramble back into the dark thicket to hide.
Xia Zhen bid a final goodbye to Lu Ci and swung her bag over her shoulder, her steps light as she vanished down the hall.
The classroom was left to the two brothers. Lu Jin began to pack his things when a heavy thud echoed—several workbooks [作业本 Zuòyè běn] were tossed onto his desk.
Lu Ci patted his brother’s shoulder, his smile now sharp and mocking. “I’ve got plans with the guys tonight, so you handle these. Honestly, if I hadn’t stepped in, Mom and Dad would never have let that ‘little wildcat’ stay in the house.”
Lu Jin silently tucked the extra assignments into his bag. It was a routine as old as their childhood.
“Hey, that Xia Zhen girl…” Lu Ci’s tone shifted to one of greedy interest. “I heard her family is ‘old money’ [家里有矿 Jiālǐ yǒu kuàng: Literally ‘has a mine,’ slang for being incredibly rich]. Is it true?”
Lu Jin’s grip on the bag tightened until his hands looked like porcelain about to crack. Then, he let go. “I don’t know her.”
He spun his wheelchair around Lu Ci and rolled out of the classroom, brushing past a group of boys who were laughing in the hall.
“Lu Ci! You’re just gonna let him go like that?” one of the boys jeered. “Aren’t you gonna help your ‘beloved’ brother?”
Lu Ci chuckled. “He’s too proud for that. He’s been ‘independent’ since he was a kid. He hates it when we touch his chair.”
“I heard a total ten-out-of-ten transferred into his class,” another boy chimed in. “Can she actually stand being his deskmate?”
Lu Ci smirked. “I just talked to her. She’s fine with it—probably just pities him. She’s the ‘kind’ type.”
The group erupted in laughter. “Well, having a ‘cripple’ [残废 Cánfèi: A derogatory term] in the grade isn’t all bad. Because of him, the classes stay on the first floor. We’re always the first ones out the door at dismissal!”
“True! Hey, Lu Ci, why don’t you break a leg? Do us all a favor!”
“Get lost!”
Lu Ci joined in the banter, finding the cruelty of his friends amusing. To him, his brother was nothing more than a tool for convenience or a punchline for a joke.
Dusk flooded the corridor, bleeding into the shadows.
The boy in the wheelchair never looked back. He didn’t have to. He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against a small, plastic package. The soft, crinkling sound of the peach-flavored toast packaging was the only thing he could hear.
It was a tiny noise, but it was loud enough to drown out the filth behind him. It made his palms burn with a strange, terrifying warmth.