Just minutes before the bell, the math teacher deliberately scrawled a formidable problem across the chalkboard—a parting challenge for the students to chew on. While not mandatory, those with Xue Ba [学霸: “Academic Overlords” or straight-A students] ambitions would surely lose sleep until they cracked it.
A dense crowd gravitated toward the second row. At the epicenter stood a boy framed by the scholarly glint of his glasses. Su Nuo was the picture of refined handsomeness; he carried a reserved, “model student” aura that made him the silent protagonist of many girls’ daydreams.
Praise erupted from the circle like a coordinated chorus.
“Su Nuo, you’re incredible!”
“You solved it already? You’re a literal god!”
“Of course he did—Su Nuo is always Nian Ji Di Yi [年级第一: Top of the entire grade]!”
Su Nuo offered only a humble, composed “thank you.” He was the “Perfect Senior”—a paragon of virtue in the eyes of his teachers.
In stark contrast, the corner where Xia Zhen sat was a pool of silence.
She spared the lively scene only a fleeting glance before losing interest. Propping her chin on her palm, she bit into a piece of chocolate, her gaze fixed entirely on the boy sitting beside her. She had used the excuse of a lingering hand injury to coax him into copying notes for her. In truth, the scab was ready to fall off, but she was a master of acting cute .
This boy wasn’t conventionally “handsome.” His hair was a shock of white, and his profile was carved with sharp, harsh angles—a result of the malnutrition that left him excessively thin. Yet, whenever he lowered his eyes, a unique, magnetic charm bled through the jagged edges of his silhouette.
Xia Zhen found him utterly irresistible.
Even in the dimness of the back row, she could see the sweep of his long eyelashes and the rhythmic movement of the prominent Adam’s apple against his pale neck.
Caught in a trance, Xia Zhen reached out a finger, aching to brush those alluring lashes. But before she could make contact, he sensed the shift in the air. His hand shot out, catching hers mid-air.
He turned his head, his gaze quiet and questioning.
Xia Zhen didn’t recoil. Instead, her eyes sparkled like fallen stars, glowing even brighter as their gazes locked. The intensity between them was palpable. Lu Jin was the first to break; he released her hand and turned back to the notebook, his ears tinged with a faint heat.
“Lu Jin,” she whispered, leaning so close their shoulders nearly brushed. “You’re the smartest one.”
The pen in his hand stuttered.
“You’re better than him,” she teased, nodding toward the crowd around Su Nuo. “They can’t even compare.”
Xia Zhen had seen it. Moments after the teacher assigned the problem, Lu Jin’s pen had danced across his paper, solving it in a heartbeat. He hadn’t sought the spotlight; he had simply closed his book and started neatly annotating her notes instead.
He was hiding his light, a Quiet genius in a world that rewarded noise.
“This is our secret,” she breathed, her voice a silken thread. “I won’t tell a soul.”
Lu Jin forced his breathing to steady. He closed the book and slid it back to her. “Okay.”
“I’ll keep this book forever,” Xia Zhen promised, hugging it to her chest. “Even after graduation.”
A nearby student, sensing the intimacy, tried to break it with a loud jeer. “Hey, new girl! You seem so studious—why don’t you come watch a real top student work?”
The commotion forced Su Nuo to look up. For the first time, his eyes formally met Xia Zhen’s.
She offered a polite, shallow smile. “Break time is for resting. I prefer to leave the suffering for class hours.”
Physically, they were a perfect match—the beautiful transfer student and the handsome genius. But while the other girls worried about a romance blooming between them, Xia Zhen’s heart was already anchored elsewhere.
Su Nuo gave a curt nod, and they both looked away,and just like that two celestial bodies returned to their separate orbits.
“Why bother with her?” someone whispered to the heckler. “Her family is Wealthy second-generation, she doesn’t need grades. She’ll get bored of Lu Jin soon enough.”
Lu Jin kept his head down, but his fingers tightened on his book. Suddenly, he felt a gentle tug on his uniform jacket.
“Don’t listen to them,” Xia Zhen murmured. “I’m not like that.”
He didn’t look up, offering only a blunt, “Mmm.”
Over the following days, Xia Zhen played the part of the social butterfly, but she always hurried back from the School cafeteria to find her deskmate even in breaks.
“I’m back!” she announced, sliding into her seat.
She placed a pink insulated Bento [便当: Lunch box] between them. “Today is pork and cabbage Jiaozi [饺子: Dumplings]. Since you were my scribe today, I’ll share.”
“No need,” he replied, his voice stiff.
“But I can’t finish them,” she lied, her eyes turning pitiful. “And I’m only close to you.”
The words hit him like a physical blow. A flash of raw, youthful vulnerability crossed his face. Before he could retreat, Xia Zhen noticed something bright in his desk drawer.
She pulled out a bunch of small yellow wildflowers. They were common, but each petal was pristine—picked with a tenderness that defied his sharp exterior.
She looked at him, her eyes shimmering.
“I promised I’d pick them for you last time,” Lu Jin managed to say, his voice thick with discomfort.
Xia Zhen slid her chair closer until she was leaning against him, her warmth seeping through his clothes. “Are you worried I’ll lose interest? Is this a bribe to keep me?”
His body tensed into a wire. “No.”
A lie. His ears were burning crimson.
“I told you I’d kiss you the day you finally stand up for yourself,” she whispered, her voice dropping to a sultry, watery depth. “But I regret saying that.”
Lu Jin’s gaze finally locked onto hers, searching for the rejection he expected.
She held the flowers to her face, smiling with a radiance that eclipsed the classroom lights. “I regret it… because I want to kiss you right now.”
Lu Jin’s heart hammered against his ribs—a violent, frantic rhythm. For the first time in his life, he forgot how to breathe.
All afternoon, Lu Jin remained a fortress of silence. He didn’t utter a word to Xia Zhen, nor did he dare to meet her eyes.
Xia Zhen wondered briefly if she had pushed her teasing too far. But she quickly dismissed the thought—it wasn’t her fault he was so painfully easy to fluster.
As the final bell rang, Lu Jin began packing his bag with practiced deliberation. Lately, his backpack had become a sanctuary for things that didn’t belong to him—mostly snacks and treats Xia Zhen had smuggled onto his desk under the guise of “repaying her debts.”
She reached out, her fingers ghosting over his sleeve. “Are you really going to keep ignoring me?” she whispered, her voice a soft ache. “You won’t see me for the next two days.”
Lu Jin’s hands froze over his bag.
Xia Zhen let out a long, dramatic sigh. “My driver is picking me up today. I won’t be back until Monday. A day is 24 hours, two days are 48… that’s 2,880 minutes, or exactly 172,800 seconds…” She cupped her face in her hands, looking at his sharp profile with an expression of profound sorrow.
The classroom emptied, leaving only the sound of his zipper—a jarring, mechanical noise in the stillness. Suddenly, she grabbed his arm. Lu Jin looked down to find her looking up at him with misty, “damsel-in-distress” eyes. She reminded him of a stray white kitten, shivering and pathetic.
“I’m going to be gone for two whole days, Lu Jin!”
He remained a statue, watching her quietly. Xia Zhen took his hand and placed it firmly atop her own head. Under the weight of her watery, alluring gaze, his resolve finally crumbled.
“I will… miss you,” he murmured.
The words were so faint, so fragile, that she only caught them because she was leaning too close. Xia Zhen froze. She had expected a stiff “I’ll wait for you,” but “I’ll miss you” was a direct hit to the heart.
Realization dawned on Lu Jin, and a deep, blooming crimson flooded his fair face. “You misheard,” he stammered, “I meant—”
He was cut off as she surged forward, throwing her arms around him.
“Lu Jin, you’re too cute,” she laughed, sounding like a mischievous Xiao Yaotai [小妖精: A “little demoness” or “enchantress,” used to describe a girl who is charmingly manipulative]. “While I’m gone, you’d better not let anyone else steal your heart.”
Despite his attempt to remain cold, his heart was drumming a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He reached out stiffly to push her away, but her eyes narrowed into crescents of pure mischief.
Before he could react, she straightened up and brushed her fingers against his Adam’s apple.
Lu Jin went rigid, his breath hitching. Seeing her mission accomplished, Xia Zhen grabbed her bag and her bouquet of yellow flowers, darting toward the door. “Don’t push yourself too hard with your Kangfu [康复: Physical therapy/rehabilitation] while I’m away!”
She vanished in the lobby after saying that.
Lu Jin sat alone in the silence. After a long moment, he raised a trembling hand to his neck. With a dull thud, the boy in the wheelchair slumped forward, burying his face in the desk. His white hair couldn’t hide his ears, which were now a violent, bleeding red. The “stagnant pool” of his indifference had been hit by a tidal wave.
Xia Zhen arrived at the Xia villa in high spirits. “Young Mistress, you look radiant,” Uncle Zhao noted. “Did something good happen?”
“I just had some world-class chocolate,” she hummed, twirling a yellow wildflower. Uncle Zhao dismissed the weeds; surely the daughter of the Xia family wouldn’t treasure roadside flowers. He didn’t realize that for Xia Zhen, these were more precious than diamonds.
However, her mood soured the moment she stepped inside and saw the “guest” in the living room.
Song Heng sat lazily on the sofa, looking more like the owner of the house than she did. He was wearing the uniform of Shengyi Middle School [a prestigious, private “International” style school], but he wore it with a deliberate, rebellious sloppiness—jacket open, shirt loose to reveal his collarbone. This “bad boy” aesthetic made him a legend among the girls at his school.
He looked at Xia Zhen’s baggy, athletic school uniform [the standard, “tracksuit-style” Xiao Fu worn by most Chinese public schools] and chuckled. “What on earth are you wearing?”
Xia Zhen ignored the jab. She marched to a vase on a corner cabinet, unceremoniously dumped a bunch of expensive red carnations into the trash, and replaced them with her humble yellow wildflowers. She touched the petals with a tenderness that bordered on the sacred.
“Xia Zhen,” Song Heng stood up, his voice dropping into a commanding tone. “If you’re going to play this ‘commoner’ act, fine. But don’t bully Su Su behind her back just because I chose her. It’s not her fault.”
Xia Zhen let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Bully her? Because of you? Song Heng, isn’t your Ego a bit excessive?”
She crossed her arms, scanning him with biting sarcasm. “Are you that good a talker? Is your GPA that high? Are you particularly gentle? Why would I waste my energy fighting over you?”
Song Heng’s eyes flashed with hostility. “Everyone knows you want to be my fiancée.”
“I did think you were attractive,” Xia Zhen admitted boldly. “And you never exactly said ‘no’ to the attention, did you? But now you’ve found ‘true love’ and don’t need me as a shield against other girls, so you’re kicking me aside. Fine. But don’t forget…”
She tilted her chin up, radiating the cold arrogance of a Qian Jin [千金: A “thousand pieces of gold,” a term for a wealthy, high-status daughter]. “I am a daughter of the Xia family. I am never short of admirers.”
Under the soft lamplight, her joy was unmistakable. Song Heng’s gaze drifted to the vase of weeds. It hit him with a sudden, jarring force: She actually likes someone else.
He wanted to dismiss it as a stunt, but memory pulled him back. When they were ten, she had cried over a torn dress. He had given her a common three-leaf clover to shut her up. She had held that weed with the exact same reverent care she was showing these yellow flowers now.
A sense of loss, cold and inexplicable, began to seep into his chest. He watched her, a touch of irony coloring his thoughts. Anyway, for a girl like her, this ‘liking’ is probably just a passing whim.
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