Shen An and Xu Yijing sat pressed close together, yet each remained absorbed in their own affairs.
Shen An focused intently on the documents in his hand, determined to commit everything he needed to memory within the limited time available.
Xu Yijing, meanwhile, had her phone open and was silently jotting down notes on some of Pei Xiuran’s remarks from the stage.
Neither disturbed the other, adhering strictly to the principle of treating strangers as such.
Up on stage, Pei Xiuran expounded at great length, well beyond the allotted speaking time.
During her monologue, Xu Yijing frowned repeatedly, glancing at the time now and then.
It was nearly a full hour before she finally wrapped up her speech.
That near-hour had been more than enough for Shen An to master all the content he hadn’t yet memorized.
He had even committed the rest of the miscellaneous details to heart.
This transmigration hadn’t just strengthened his body—it had supercharged his brain too. When fully focused, his memory was like a computer’s: photographic, never to forget.
With everything memorized, boredom set in. He stretched lazily and took the opportunity to gauge the reactions around him.
He noticed Chen Nannan with her head down, pen in hand, apparently taking notes—or perhaps making edits.
Xu Yijing beside him went without saying; her open memo app was filled with densely packed text.
Plenty of others weren’t paying attention to Pei Xiuran at all, their focus scattered every which way.
Shen An took in everyone’s reactions and thought to himself, “Looks like every school is the same. During leadership talks, they all dutifully zone out.”
Yet he had to thank Pei Xiuran for it.
Without her dragging things out up there, he might really have run into trouble.
When Pei Xiuran finally finished, Shen An’s applause rang out the loudest, immediately earning him a sharp glare from Xu Yijing at his side.
She took the stage next.
She wasn’t there to host; she clutched a thick stack of files. Clearly, she represented the Student Union leadership as well.
Sure enough, Xu Yijing launched straight into a summary of the Student Union’s activities from the previous school year.
Shen An used the moment to sneak a peek at the legendary Student Council President—what sort of person was she?
The Art Troupe lacked a Chief Troupe Leader; the role was concurrently held by the Student Council President.
Xu Yijing was only a sophomore, so her junior status could explain it. But Zhao Qingyu was a junior—did she really seem like the type to happily play second fiddle?
Shen An was deeply curious. Who was fierce enough to keep Zhao Qingyu in check?
He hadn’t noticed before, but upon looking, he realized the entire first row—aside from himself—was filled with girls!
His gaze then settled on the young woman seated beside Pei Xiuran.
She looked utterly ordinary, her appearance nothing remarkable. Was she the Student Council President?
Having grown accustomed to beauties at this school, Shen An felt a touch out of sorts. Compared to her position, her looks were downright mediocre.
But Shen An wasn’t one to judge by appearances. Looks were mere ornamentation; what truly defined a person’s worth lay within.
To serve others with beauty invited peril when that beauty inevitably faded.
Her plainness only served to highlight the extraordinary heart beneath that “mediocre” exterior.
As if sensing his gaze, the girl turned her head slightly. She gave Shen An a surprised glance before breaking into a smile.
Shen An smiled back. Their eyes met briefly before they each looked away.
Xu Yijing’s speech was far sharper and more straightforward than Pei Xiuran’s.
She wasted not a single word: summaries were summaries, critiques were critiques. It made for deeply uncomfortable listening, especially for those she named outright.
Shen An had spent the first half leisurely watching the show. But in the second half, Xu Yijing suddenly turned her sights on him.
A huge question mark popped into Shen An’s mind. What was going on?
Then he heard her cool voice say flatly, “Here, I must particularly critique the Art Troupe’s work from the previous school year.”
“Especially Deputy Troupe Leader Zhao Qingyu!”
With those words, Shen An once again became the center of attention.
Everyone knew Zhao Qingyu wasn’t present, so the stares carried a gleeful, drama-hungry edge—just like the ones Shen An had enjoyed while watching others get reamed earlier.
With Zhao Qingyu absent, all the heat naturally fell on Shen An.
Even though he was just a stand-in representative.
Xu Yijing’s critiques were brutally severe, piling on one after another: dereliction of duty, disregard for Student Union rules. She stopped just short of pointing at Shen An’s face and accusing Zhao Qingyu of hogging the toilet without doing the deed.
Damn.
Shen An knew he wasn’t the target; the barbs had nothing to do with him personally.
But getting publicly dressed down like that was bound to irk him a little.
No wonder Zhao Qingyu had skipped out. If it were him, he wouldn’t have come either—whoever wanted to take the hit could have it.
He’d walked right into the crossfire, tanking the full barrage for her.
On the surface, Shen An maintained a calm smile, as if it were none of his business and he couldn’t care less.
Deep down, though, he decided kneeling and begging wouldn’t cut it for Zhao Qingyu. No—he’d shove a spiked ball gag deep into her throat, making her whimper and choke.
Then bind her up tight, scrawling tally marks across her smooth, flawless skin with red ink! Finally, a collar around her neck, forcing her to kneel like a bitch and beg for mercy!
Fuck.
Xu Yijing had critiqued or commented on every department in the first half.
In the second, she concentrated all her fire on the Art Troupe.
On Deputy Troupe Leader Zhao Qingyu.
As Shen An sat in her seat, the onlookers’ gazes shifted from mocking amusement to pity.
Poor freshman, catching an undeserved spray-down. What a tragedy.
Fortunately, Shen An had skin thicker than city walls and mental resilience to match. He betrayed not a hint of weakness, holding a gentle smile throughout.
His poise only drew more sympathy from the crowd. Whispers spread: Xu Yijing was going too far—Zhao Qingyu wasn’t even here. Overkill on a mere freshman, wasn’t it?
She ought to dial it back, lest things get awkward for everyone.
He was a handsome guy, after all. Couldn’t she show a little pity for the fair beauty?
By the end, even Pei Xiuran couldn’t help glancing his way now and then, offering silent encouragement with her eyes.
Fortunately, Xu Yijing’s speech wasn’t long—just over ten minutes.
She reined in her fire and cleared her throat lightly. “Next, please welcome the Art Troupe’s representative.”
Here it came.
The Art Troupe truly held lofty status in the Student Union.
After the guidance teacher and leadership came the troupe rep.
At that moment, Qi Taili leaned in close to the back of his head and murmured softly, “Don’t be nervous. You’ll be fine.”
Shen An turned with a slight smile. “Mm. I just hope I don’t disappoint you, Senior Sister.”
With that, he rose and headed to the stage—without taking his files.
Qi Taili stared at the documents he’d left on the desk and was left speechless.
Was this supreme confidence… or total surrender?
As he took the stage, Xu Yijing stepped down.
Returning to her seat, Xu Yijing glanced at the files Shen An had abandoned on the desk. A flicker of surprise passed through her beautiful eyes.
“Hello, Teacher. Hello, fellow seniors. I’m Shen An, the Art Troupe representative.”
“Senior Sister Zhao had an urgent matter, so I’m here to deliver the summary report on everyone’s behalf.”
“I appreciate your kind attention.”
Shen An wasn’t nervous in the slightest.
If anything, he seemed entirely at ease.
Xu Yijing had handed off the microphone on her way down—because she had questions!
This was the interrogation.
“Classmate Shen, it looks like you forgot your files.”
She pointed it out.
Shen An replied gently, “Thank you for the reminder, Senior Sister, but no need. I’ve got it all memorized.”
Xu Yijing: ???
Qi Taili: ???
Chen Nannan: ???
That thick stack—memorized in full?
“Very well, then. Proceed with your report.”
Xu Yijing said lightly.
She pulled out another document—one that everyone in the room had, prepared in advance.
It contained outlines of summaries from every department.
Only the first row and a handful of key department presidents were qualified to question, of course.
But every member had the right to review the previous year’s summary report.
“And now, the Art Troupe’s annual summary.”
Shen An picked up a spare microphone and launched into his performance.
Drawing on his extraordinary memory, he recalled the files’ contents nearly verbatim. Coupled with keen logical analysis, he broke down and summarized the material rather than droning through it word for word.
At first, Xu Yijing and the others eyed him skeptically. How much could he possibly have memorized in so little time?
Chen Nannan had been on edge from the moment he took the stage, more nervous than if she’d been speaking herself.
But soon, as Shen An spoke fluidly and confidently, all doubts and tension melted away.
He had indeed memorized it.
And his summaries matched the written content perfectly.
Even the finer data points were spot-on, without a single error.
With the summary complete, it was time for the annual plan.
His concise breakdowns kept things brief; reading straight from the files would have dragged on for over an hour at least.
No one had the patience for that.
Shen An wrapped up the annual report and new semester plans in just over half an hour.
The first hurdle had been cleared.
Yet the most grueling challenge lay in the second stage: the questioning.
Shen An hadn’t even joined the Art Troupe yet. He knew next to nothing about its inner workings.
This phase was pure interrogation—a barrage of questions.
He set the microphone down, lifting his chin with quiet confidence. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he awaited the onslaught.
Before the audience could fully process what was happening, Xu Yijing spoke up first.
“Isn’t your annual plan overly optimistic about the budget? The Student Union has no intention of funding the Art Troupe’s proposed expenditures.”
“Our troupe believes it’s essential,” Shen An replied. “First of all…”
He fielded her queries one by one, his responses flowing seamlessly.
For every pointed question Xu Yijing threw at him, he had a ready answer, as if he’d rehearsed it a hundred times.
Question after question came, and he handled them all without a single hitch.
The crowd in the seats below watched Shen An in growing awe.
This guy… he was too impressive.
The Art Troupe members felt it most keenly. They knew better than anyone how convoluted their group’s affairs could be. Even as insiders, they didn’t have a grasp on every detail—not to mention the big-picture arrangements for the entire troupe.
No one except Zhao Qingyu could command such precise knowledge of it all.
Right now, Shen An was every bit her equal.
His expression stayed composed, his demeanor unflappably calm.
But beneath the surface, ripples of emotion stirred.
While everyone admired his prowess, Shen An found himself admiring Zhao Qingyu’s brilliance.
Every answer he’d given was right there in that thick stack of documents.
It wasn’t some feat of superhuman memory, cramming all that info in a short time while dissecting the troupe’s operations on the fly.
No—Zhao Qingyu had prepared the responses in advance.
She’d even predicted Xu Yijing’s exact questions with uncanny accuracy.
Shen An couldn’t tell if these were standard queries or if Zhao Qingyu was simply that shrewd, reading Xu Yijing’s mind like an open book.
Either way, Zhao Qingyu was no ordinary woman.
It almost felt like she’d set him up on purpose, shoving an utter novice onto the stage to face the fire in her stead.
Yet she’d armed him with the perfect script.
Whether he sank or swam was on him now.
In one deft move, she’d washed her hands of any blame. Even the “test of ability” excuse stood on firm ground.
His presentation of the report and plan had taken just over half an hour.
The questioning dragged on for roughly the same.
All told, it added up to a little more than an hour.
Throughout that time, Shen An’s performance was flawless. Not a flicker of nerves betrayed him.
He parried every question with fluid ease, never once faltering or falling silent.
When the interrogation finally wrapped, Shen An offered a slight bow.
Thunderous applause erupted across the room.
He’d nailed it.
An assignment that had seemed all but impossible.
