Jiang Wan’s expression stiffened for an instant, but she quickly regained her composure. She looked up and flashed an awkward yet polite smile.
“Sorry about that.”
With those words, she handed the test paper toward Bei Huai.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
No response.
Puzzled, Jiang Wan glanced up.
The girl was staring down at her, eyes dark and inscrutable.
Their gazes met, and Jiang Wan looked away first. She fidgeted uncomfortably, pinching the test paper in her hand.
“Bei Huai, what are you doing? Get back to your seat and stop bothering the other students!”
The math teacher glowered at Bei Huai. His eyes held the kind of disgust reserved for a rat turd dropped into a pot of perfectly good soup—utter revulsion mixed with helpless frustration.
In an instant, every eye in the room turned to Bei Huai. The looks were a tangled mix: sneers, fear, schadenfreude, curiosity—all of it.
The girl didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow at the reprimand. It was as if she were used to it, or it simply didn’t register.
She pulled her hand back from the desk and pivoted sideways. With cold, unflappable calm, she swept her gaze around the classroom.
She hadn’t uttered a single word from start to finish. Yet anyone who met her eyes felt a primal chill, like being locked onto by the most savage, bloodthirsty wolf deep in the jungle.
It was downright hair-raising.
No one dared provoke Bei Huai outright. Eyes darted away in unison.
“None of you are paying attention! This is a classroom! Look at the sorry state you’re in—I’ve never seen such dimwitted students! Chen Ming, still sleeping? Get up here and solve this problem! Get it wrong, and you’ll copy the entire paper ten times!”
The math teacher was clearly fuming, but he didn’t dare take Bei Huai head-on. Instead, he vented his rage on the rest of the class.
The students fumed inwardly but kept their mouths shut.
Chen Ming: …Don’t just dump this on me.
The whole spectacle had Jiang Wan inwardly cheering. Life at No. 6 Middle School had never been this entertaining.
But… was that diary entry about protecting Bei Huai for real? She could barely protect herself.
Ignoring the math teacher’s indirect jabs, Bei Huai glanced at the test paper in Jiang Wan’s hand. Her voice remained even and indifferent. “No need.”
No need?
Jiang Wan blinked, still processing the words, when Bei Huai slid back into her seat.
And then…
She promptly face-planted onto her desk and went to sleep.
Jiang Wan: ??? You only said no need because you don’t even listen in class?
Well, damn.
After a few seconds of thought, Jiang Wan decided to take the advice. She didn’t hand back the paper. Instead, she shoved aside her tangled emotions and focused on the lesson.
Mi Shuyun, sitting beside her, shot Jiang Wan a look that was equal parts complicated and exasperated.
She badly wanted to ask her new deskmate if she knew Bei Huai somehow. Otherwise, why would Bei Huai know Jiang Wan was a transfer student?
Bei Huai hadn’t been in Class 6 for long, and she either slept through class or ditched entirely. She barely remembered anyone’s face—maybe just the class monitor’s, at a stretch.
Mi Shuyun agonized over it for ages. But with Jiang Wan looking so studiously attentive—and Bei Huai right behind them—she decided against speaking up.
Pretending not to notice her deskmate’s hesitant glances, Jiang Wan kept up her focused facade. In truth, her mind had already begun to wander.
She lowered her gaze to the test paper.
Setting aside the glaring red X’s, the page was strikingly clean. Only a handful of multiple-choice questions had been filled in, and even those looked half-assed.
Of the five she’d bothered to answer, three were wrong. It was a disaster.
The quintessential bad-student exam.
It was Jiang Wan’s first time seeing one like this, but her attention wasn’t on the score. It was fixed on the name at the top.
Was this… really the person she was looking for?
Someone mentioned only in that diary, now suddenly right there beside her—sleeping soundly in the seat behind.
It felt surreal.
Jiang Wan rubbed the bridge of her nose and let out a sigh. She picked up her red pen and jotted the correct answers next to the X’s.
Whatever. Just let it play out naturally. She’d found the person, after all. The truth would reveal itself in time.
When the bell rang, Jiang Wan turned around, ready to return the paper to her intimidating back-deskmate.
But the seat was empty. She hadn’t even noticed Bei Huai slip out.
Jiang Wan pursed her lips, folded the paper neatly, and left it on Bei Huai’s desk.
She’d hoped for a chance to interact, but it seemed that even being in the same class didn’t guarantee they’d ever talk.
The bell had barely rung when a gaggle of curious students crowded around her, peppering her with questions.
Who wouldn’t want to chat up a sweet, well-behaved girl with such a clean, soft vibe?
Jiang Wan smiled and responded to each one in turn, her attitude generous and natural. Her gaze was gentle, and she spoke at an unhurried pace, always leaving people with a sense of warmth and ease.
It was a distinctive quality, one ingrained deep in her bones.
After politely fending off the enthusiastic classmates, Jiang Wan checked the time. It was too late to go find Guanguan now—being late for class on her first day as a transfer student wouldn’t look good. Better to wait until lunch.
With her mind made up, Jiang Wan flipped through the textbook for the next class. She noticed her deskmate’s occasional glances and turned to her with a slight smile. “What’s up?”
Caught red-handed peeking, Mi Shuyun’s face flushed bright red. She waved her hands in a panic. “N-Nothing…”
Jiang Wan just watched her patiently, without a hint of annoyance in her eyes. Mi Shuyun hesitated for a moment before murmuring, “I just… I really admire you. You’re so good at talking to people. Even though you just got here, everyone seems to like you already.” Herself included.
She was the opposite—tongue-tied and dim-witted, practically invisible in class. Who would waste attention on a speck of dust, after all?
“Everyone has their own unique spark,” Jiang Wan said gently. “You just haven’t found yours yet.” She’d met plenty of girls like Mi Shuyun before.
The same shyness, the same sensitivity. But girls like that always had gentle, tolerant hearts. They considered others’ feelings first.
How could they not be lovable?
Her thoughts drifted, and for no reason at all, an image surfaced in her mind: a cold face framed by that signature bright red short hair.
What was that person’s spark?
From what she’d seen so far, the girl had plenty of flaws. She was the kind of problem student who gave teachers and parents headaches, the delinquent type that classmates both feared and despised.
But there was no denying it—Jiang Wan kind of envied that wild, fearless energy she exuded.
As if she couldn’t care less about anyone else’s stares or whispers.
Lost in her musings, the class bell rang softly.
Jiang Wan glanced back on instinct. The seat behind her was still empty.
She hadn’t come.
For some reason, Jiang Wan’s mood dipped.
The entire class dragged on, but the seat stayed vacant. Bei Huai never returned.
“Um, Jiang Wan… want to grab lunch together?” Mi Shuyun seemed to have summoned all her courage to ask. Her face turned red again the moment the words left her mouth.
“Sorry, I’ve already made plans with someone. Next time?” Jiang Wan gave her an apologetic smile and left the classroom, leaving her deskmate looking disappointed.
With the hallway still relatively empty, Jiang Wan pulled out her phone and texted Guanguan to wait for her downstairs at the teaching building.
No. 13 Middle School’s rules on phones were hit-or-miss. They didn’t outright ban them for students, but pulling one out during class meant confiscation—and in serious cases, a formal demerit.
It had been too long since she’d seen Guanguan, and Jiang Wan felt a thrill of excitement.
When she reached the bottom of the teaching building, there was a girl waiting at the foot of the stairs.
Slightly wavy long hair, striking features, and a tiny mole on the tip of her nose that made her look all the more delicately pretty.
Guan Shaorong.
Her childhood best friend, close enough to share a pair of underwear. Besides her parents, no one understood Jiang Wan quite like Guanguan did.
Unlike Jiang Wan’s even-tempered nature, Guan Shaorong had a fiery personality—but she was just as accomplished in her own right.
“Wanwan! I missed you so much!” The moment they spotted each other, Guan Shaorong threw her arms around Jiang Wan with zero restraint, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness that gave Jiang Wan full-body goosebumps.
Feigning disgust, Jiang Wan pried the “giant koala” off her. “Okay, that’s enough. You still want lunch or not?”
“Hehe.” Guan Shaorong let out a goofy laugh, looped her arm through Jiang Wan’s, and chattered away about the latest gossip as she led the way to the cafeteria.
Jiang Wan listened intently, chiming in now and then.
They were strolling along when a girl came barreling toward them from the opposite direction. She slammed right into Jiang Wan’s shoulder without warning.
The impact sent Jiang Wan stumbling, though she managed to keep her balance. Guan Shaorong steadied her at once, her temper igniting. “Hey! Watch where you’re going! Didn’t you see us here?”
“Sorry, sorry!” The girl apologized over and over as she scrambled to pick up the drinks that had spilled everywhere from the crash.
There must have been about ten bottles.
She was rail-thin, her face ashen and drawn, like she hadn’t slept properly in ages.
Jiang Wan calmed her still-fuming friend and knelt down to help gather the bottles.
“Thank you, thank you,” the girl kept saying, but she never once looked up or met Jiang Wan’s eyes.
She seemed to be in a rush. Once everything was collected, she bolted off again.
Jiang Wan watched the girl’s disappearing figure, an inexplicable feeling stirring in her heart.
“Wanwan, what are you looking at? Come on, let’s go,” Guanguan urged, puzzled.
“Nothing. Didn’t that girl seem a little off to you?” Jiang Wan pulled her gaze away.
“Huh? Off… Oh yeah, she was pretty weird. There’s all that space, and she still crashes right into people.”
Jiang Wan fell silent, giving Guanguan a few pointed looks.
Guanguan touched her nose, her expression all innocence. “What? Did I get it wrong?”
“No, you’re spot on. Let’s go—I’m starving.” Jiang Wan decided to drop it.
The mention of food instantly reignited Guanguan’s enthusiasm.
“Canteen Four’s braised pork trotters are to die for! And don’t get me started on Canteen Two’s spicy ribs…”
By the time Jiang Wan finished lunch and sat through the afternoon classes, Bei Huai still hadn’t shown up.
Jiang Wan glanced at the test paper sitting on the desk behind her and couldn’t help asking, “Is it really okay for her to keep skipping classes like this?”
“Huh?” Mi Shuyun blinked in confusion, taking a couple of seconds to realize who Jiang Wan meant.
“The teachers have all decided to look the other way when it comes to her—except the Discipline Director, who still tries to rein her in. Word is, her dad’s one of the big investors in No. 13 Middle School. That’s why they haven’t kicked her out yet.”
“So yeah, money talks. She can do whatever she wants.”
It was clear from Mi Shuyun’s tone that she had no love lost for Bei Huai.
Jiang Wan didn’t reply. She lowered her eyes, hiding the strange glint in them.
It sounded pretty awful.
But… was that the real her?
~~~
Every curtain was drawn tight, blocking out even the faintest sliver of light.
No lamps were on in the room. It was pitch black and utterly still.
Bei Huai lay flat on her back on the bed, staring vacantly at the ceiling as loneliness wrapped around her like a shroud.
She might as well have known that struggling was pointless. So she simply surrendered.
Letting herself sink into the darkness’s cold embrace.
Minutes ticked by. She didn’t stir—like a statue frozen in place.
Rrring—
The shrill ringtone sliced through the oppressive gloom, as if ripping apart two parallel worlds on the verge of collision.
Bei Huai didn’t budge, as if she hadn’t heard a thing.
The phone rang on relentlessly, pausing only briefly before starting up again.
Whoever was on the other end seemed to know she was ignoring it on purpose. They just kept calling.
It turned into a stubborn standoff, neither side willing to back down.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the ringing stopped. The caller must have given up.
Ding.
A message notification.
Two seconds later, Bei Huai sluggishly reached for her phone. The harsh white glow of the screen made her already pale face look ghostly.
She ignored the dozens of missed calls and tapped open the text.
—Tonight’s your dad’s birthday. You WILL be there!
The same overbearing tone as always, brooking no argument.
Bei Huai’s lips twisted in a sneer, her eyes brimming with disdain and mockery. She deleted the message without a second thought.
The happy little family of three was having a perfectly nice birthday celebration. But Lady Yun had to force her way in—and drag Bei Huai along for the misery.
She shut her eyes, her stomach roiling. The mere thought of their faces made her want to hurl.
Disgusting. Utterly revolting.
The Bei family, Yun Manzhu—they all turned her stomach.
If she could, she’d rather never have come to this world at all.
Too bad there were no do-overs.
