When did you start liking sweet things?
Sheng Yan clearly remembered that Qin Zigui didn’t like sweets.
But who cared whether he liked them or not, he could just buy an extra cup for himself anyway.
He wasn’t doing this because he had forgiven Qin Zigui.
After all, how could it make sense for someone to suddenly propose cutting ties without any warning, go cold for an entire year, and then think a perfunctory apology would settle everything?
He did value the brotherhood he and Qin Zigui had built over more than ten years, but that didn’t mean he would simply accept whatever Qin Zigui said. Especially when it was obvious Qin Zigui was still holding back a lot of things from him, if he just let himself be muddled through like that, it would be far too lacking in boundaries and principles.
Still, Qin Zigui was right about one thing: one matter should be treated separately from another.
Not forgiving Qin Zigui for his past actions was one thing; the fact that Qin Zigui had gotten into a fight for him yesterday, been punished, and injured was another. So buying him a cup of milk tea was only fair.
But that was as far as it went.
Sheng Yan considered himself a man of backbone and principles—a mature man, at that. Until Qin Zigui showed a proper attitude, he would never easily surrender or soften.
With that in mind, as if to prove that he wasn’t giving anyone special treatment, Sheng Yan stood up and, with a stiff face, tossed a line at Zhu Peng and Gou You each: “You get one too. You get one too. Come pick it up yourselves at noon.”
Then he flipped the chair upside down onto the desk that Qin Zigui had already cleared, gripped one side of the desk with one hand, hoisted the desk and chair together, and walked straight out the door toward the classroom at the very end of the corridor.
Shi Wai’s full name was Nanwu City Experimental Foreign Language School, one of the top one or two private elite schools in Nanwu. Its first-tier university admission rate stayed above 90% year after year.
It wasn’t a school famous for academic competitions, nor did it rely on grinding students into exhaustion. Instead, it focused on boutique education. Each grade enrolled no more than a little over three hundred students, and its high admission rate came entirely from strong student intake and high teaching quality.
Classes were divided according to class numbers, from higher numbers to lower ones, students’ academic performance steadily improved.
For example, Class Six sat at the bottom of the science track. Most students there were firmly aiming for second-tier universities, pushing for first-tier, or had just reached first-tier scores and were trying to break into Project 211 schools.
Class One, on the other hand, was made up entirely of top students, twenty-five of them, every single one a future Tsinghua or Peking University candidate. If they messed up on the exam, they’d only be able to wipe away their tears and settle for Fudan, Shanghai Jiao Tong, Renmin, or Zhejiang University.
So for someone like Sheng Yan—a rich second-generation slacker who’d been wild and freedom-loving since childhood and had gotten in purely because his family had poured huge sums of money into sponsorship being suddenly hauled into Class One by Huang Shuliang was no different from tossing a little white rabbit into a den of big gray wolves.
Just imagining being trapped for an entire month among a group of lifeless bookworms who didn’t play on their phones, didn’t game, didn’t snack, didn’t slack off, and only knew how to bury themselves in studying was enough to make Sheng Yan feel like he’d fallen straight into hell.
His already good-looking face grew darker and darker as he walked, until by the time he reached the back door of Class One, it looked like the words “I’m going to prison” were practically written across it.
Holding his desk, he stood in front of the tightly closed back door of Class One, face blank, unwilling to take even one more step.
Qin Zigui, carrying his backpack, stopped behind him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Sheng Yan replied expressionlessly. “Just mentally preparing myself.”
Qin Zigui seemed amused by his reaction. He didn’t urge him, just stood slightly behind and to the side, watching that tightly wound sour face and asked lazily, “What kind of mental prep? Let’s hear it.”
With complete seriousness, Sheng Yan asked, “Do you people say more than ten sentences a day besides asking questions and explaining problems?”
Qin Zigui: “?”
“Do you even go to the bathroom during breaks?”
“…”
“Do you eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner with test papers?”
“…”
“Are you studying all day except when you sleep, and you’ve never even downloaded mobile games?”
“…”
Qin Zigui fell silent behind him, apparently at a loss for words.
Sheng Yan was convinced this silence was silent confirmation.
So he took a deep breath, intending it as his final farewell to this beautiful world—when a long, powerful hand reached past his shoulder, pressed against the door, and gently pushed it open.
Inside the classroom, twenty-four heads instantly turned in unison, their gazes sharp and blazing.
Sheng Yan stood frozen in the doorway, desk still in his arms, holding the breath he’d just inhaled.
This was the legendary school bully?
This was the legendary top class?
Who was he supposed to fight?
Would they attack him with math?
Fifty pairs of eyes met, all wary, neither side daring to move first.
Until Qin Zigui casually walked past Sheng Yan into the classroom, pulled his own desk back, took Sheng Yan’s desk from his hands, slid it into place, and explained offhandedly, “Huang Shuliang sent him to our class to experience the learning atmosphere. Nothing else. Carry on.”
“Oh, then that’s fine.”
With that, Class One finally relaxed. They went right back to making use of the last moments of morning self-study, some catching up on sleep, some eating, some sneaking off to the bathroom, some gossiping. Two girls even set up mirrors and started combing their hair.
Sheng Yan stood empty-handed at the back door. “…”
Why did this alien world look exactly like the human one?
Qin Zigui took his books and miscellaneous items out of the backpack and neatly sorted them onto the desk. Without lifting his head, as if he knew exactly what Sheng Yan was thinking, he said, “Relax. We play on our phones, we eat, we use the bathroom. For now, we’re normal humans. We won’t eat you.”
“…”
As if he was scared of being eaten.
Caught out, Sheng Yan felt a little awkward. He shuffled over and sat down on what felt like an emperor’s throne, uncomfortable in every possible way.
Just as he was about to pull out his phone and complain to Zhu Peng and Gou You, a hand extended in front of him and hooked two fingers lightly.
“?”
Sheng Yan looked up.
Qin Zigui lowered his gaze to him, tone flat. “Your phone.”
“??” Sheng Yan’s face fell. “Didn’t you just say people in your class play on their phones?!”
“Mm. But only during breaks. Even if they use them in class, it’s to look up study materials or past exam questions. Can you do that?” Qin Zigui’s tone was so calm it didn’t even sound like a question.
Sheng Yan felt utterly, nakedly insulted.
This man Qin Zigui was playing with fire.
He let out a cold laugh, about to teach Qin Zigui how to write the words ‘big brother’, when Qin Zigui spoke lightly: “Hand it to me and I can give it back after class. Otherwise, once Huang Shuliang shows up, you can wait until graduation to get it back.”
“Oh, yeah,” Chen Yubai in the front row added calmly while sipping soy milk, turning around to him. “I heard this morning when I went to the grade office that Huang Shuliang is plotting how to confiscate your phone. If I’m lying, I’m a dog.”
“???”
Sheng Yan couldn’t believe it.
It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d ranked last in the grade so why was Huang Shuliang being such a sore loser this time, even scheming to confiscate his phone?
It wasn’t that he was worried about not being able to buy a new phone. What he feared was that if he changed phones, the Wishing App would be gone and then those glorious days of stepping on Little Qin Zigui and punching Big Qin Zigui would be lost forever. What meaning would life have then?
As he was thinking, Huang Shuliang’s familiar footsteps echoed down the hallway, getting closer and closer. He was about to reach the door of Class One. The choice had to be made now.
Grinding his teeth, Sheng Yan reluctantly shoved the phone into Qin Zigui’s hand. “Fine. Take it. Give it back after class. If that weasel confiscates it, I’m not letting you off.”
Qin Zigui smoothly slipped Sheng Yan’s phone into his pocket.
The moment he finished, Huang Shuliang entered through the back door together with Class One’s homeroom teacher, Liang Jie. Without another word, Huang launched a surprise inspection:
“Sheng Yan! Stand up! Turn around! Empty your pockets! Raise your backpack! Hold it upside down and shake it three times! Show me your desk drawer! Hey—how come there’s nothing here?”
Sheng Yan obediently followed every instruction. When Huang Shuliang came up empty-handed, he frowned. “That’s not right.”
Yet no matter how unreasonable it seemed, he had checked inside and out, Sheng Yan really hadn’t brought a phone. Could this kid have genuinely turned over a new leaf?
Despite being middle-aged, Huang Shuliang still possessed a heart that believed in fairy tales. After a brief moment of thought, he patted Sheng Yan on the shoulder approvingly. “Good job. Keep it up.”
Sheng Yan felt as if he’d seen a ray of hope. “Then, teacher, can I go back—”
“So it seems the learning atmosphere in Class One really is effective! In that case, stay here properly! You don’t need to worry about anything else!” Huang Shuliang flashed a rare warm, hearty smile at Sheng Yan.
Sheng Yan: “???”
This was not the result he wanted.
But Huang Shuliang only cared about how high he flew, not how tired he got flying. Completely indifferent to Sheng Yan’s thoughts, he carefully instructed Liang Jie on the “Top Ten Precautions to Prevent Sheng Yan from Committing Crimes” and the “Principle of Showing Absolutely No Mercy to Class Enemies Like Sheng Yan,” then strode away with flair.
Left behind, Liang Jie sighed and patted Sheng Yan’s other shoulder. “Director Huang won’t stop until you’re completely reformed, so… good luck.”
She then picked up her lecture notes and clicked her high heels up to the podium.
Sheng Yan was left standing there in despair.
Beside him, Lin Qian put herself in his shoes and couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. She whispered, “What did you even do to offend Huang Shuliang? He actually went to such lengths to dump you into our hellhole?”
“Nothing much,” Sheng Yan replied lifelessly as he pulled out his chair and sat down. “I just scored 327 on the final exam.”
Lin Qian: “……”
After a brief silence, she said sincerely, “You deserved it.”
After all, not just anyone could score something perfectly axis-symmetric with the grade’s top student.
“Um, may I ask something?” Chen Yubai turned around, holding his bag of soy milk, looking a little unsure whether he should ask.
Sheng Yan didn’t think much of it. “Go ahead.”
Chen Yubai delivered a direct blow to the soul: “How did you manage to score only 327?”
Sheng Yan: “……”
Do you think that question is polite?
But Chen Yubai showed no mockery at all—only genuine curiosity.
Since Shi Wai didn’t allow blank exams, how exactly did one end up with a 327 after filling out the whole paper?
Chen Yubai was extremely curious about this exam paper that exceeded his understanding of reality.
Just as he finished speaking, Liang Jie tapped the desk twice. “Alright, everyone stop talking. Swallow your buns and fried dough sticks and take out your final exam papers. Especially you, Chen Yubai no matter how good-looking Sheng Yan is, don’t stare at him during class. First look at why your Chinese score is only 121!”
Having failed to get his answer, Chen Yubai could only turn back resentfully.
Meanwhile, Sheng Yan frowned slightly.
Papers? What papers? Did he even have his final exam papers?
Before he could start rummaging around in confusion, Qin Zigui’s low voice came from behind him: “I put them away for you earlier. The final papers are in the second folder from the left. The first page is Chinese.”
“?”
With half-hearted suspicion, Sheng Yan flipped through and sure enough, they were there.
So when had Qin Zigui organized his things for him?
Before he could dwell on it, Liang Jie called his name from the podium: “Sheng Yan, speaking of which, I’ve always had a question I wanted to ask you.”
“Huh?” Sheng Yan looked up blankly.
Standing on the podium, Liang Jie calmly explained, “Because your exam paper was so… distinctive, even though the grading was anonymous, I unfortunately recognized it. There’s a question that has puzzled me ever since. Would it be convenient for you to answer it now?”
Sheng Yan felt a sense of doom.
Without changing her expression, Liang Jie said, “In the classical poetry analysis question—‘In Shu, one once heard the cuckoo’s cry; in Xuancheng, one sees azaleas bloom’ you wrote that ‘the image of the cuckoo symbolizes something extremely annoying; azaleas symbolize the same.’ May I ask what state of mind led you to write that answer?”
Sheng Yan: “……”
Zigui: “……”
The entire class: “……”
Feeling the sudden drop in pressure behind him and the icy stare burning into the back of his neck, Sheng Yan couldn’t help turning around. “Um, Qin Zigui, let me expl—”
Before he could finish, Liang Jie leisurely stabbed again from the podium: “And there was a second sub-question. Why do ancient poets often use the cuckoo bird to express sorrow? How did you answer that?”
Sheng Yan froze in place. “……”
He felt he had the right to remain silent.
But clearly, Qin Zigui disagreed.
He lightly raised his eyebrow and shook Sheng Yan’s phone in his hand, the meaning obvious: confess, or the phone is gone.
After a brief hesitation, Sheng Yan lowered his head, ears burning red, and answered guiltily with eight words:
“Because the cuckoo is not a good bird.”
“……”
At that moment, the entire classroom fell silent.
Chen Yubai finally understood how Sheng Yan had managed to score 327.
Because other people’s exams were exams.
But Sheng Yan’s exam was nothing more than a flirtatious, bickering lovers’ quarrel.
Author’s note:
Cuckoo bird: ??? What did I ever do wrong???
Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152