"This question is basically a free point. We'll skip it and look at the next one…"

The teacher at the front was going over the monthly exam paper. Jiang Yueming lay sprawled across his desk absentmindedly, his gaze unfocused.

He was still lost in the dreamlike events that had just occurred, unable to collect himself.

His memories, as if scrambled, had turned his mind into mush. He could hardly tell if he was in a dream right now—how else could he explain everything that just happened?

Somehow, he had become entangled with that eldest daughter of the Xia family.

They hadn't even met face-to-face before this, yet today she had suddenly appeared, coming to see him with the familiarity of a close friend.

Recalling Xia He's words at the doorway during the break, he actually got the mistaken impression that she was enthusiastic toward him.

‘Could it be... that she's interested in me?’

This thought flashed through his mind, startling even Jiang Yueming himself.

He quickly shook his head, dispelling that unrealistic notion.

‘How was that possible?’

She was the lofty eldest daughter of the Xia family. How could she possibly take a liking to someone like him?

What did he have? Mediocre grades, an ordinary appearance, no family fortune, his only hobby being playing games—the kind of person you'd never pick out of a crowd.

‘I must have gone stupid from playing too many games.’

"This question is even more of a free point," the teacher's voice drifted from the podium, "I doubt any genius here could get it wrong, right? Let me call on someone to answer..."

Jiang Yueming couldn't absorb a single word.

With nothing else to do, his gaze habitually drifted toward a figure not far ahead of him, sneaking glances at her.

It was a petite girl, sitting two rows in front of him by the window, her back facing Jiang Yueming. She held herself very straight, her skin pale to the point of coolness.

In stark contrast to her skin, her jet-black long hair was braided into two neat pigtails, resting obediently against her school uniform. Above that was a slender nape, exposed from the wide collar of her uniform, giving off an impression of pristine simplicity—like clear water, like the first breath of air on a winter morning.

Wen Xiaoyu.

A girl he had been secretly observing since the start of the semester. He had spoken a few words to her, limited solely to when she came around to collect homework.

Her expression was always indifferent. Jiang Yueming felt he had never seen her show interest in anything other than her studies.

He had considered using asking for help with schoolwork as an excuse to talk to this aloof class representative, but the damn problem was that Wen Xiaoyu was the Chinese class representative.

Chinese was different from math. For math, you could point to a problem and say, "I don't know how to do this one." But for Chinese... you couldn't exactly point to an essay and say, "I don't understand this article," could you?

He'd never seen those top students, who argued passionately during breaks, huddle together to discuss a Chinese problem.

Sigh...

If only she would take the initiative to talk to him, just like Xia He did, Jiang Yueming thought wishfully.

Compared to Xia He, Wen Xiaoyu indeed didn't hold an advantage in terms of looks.

But when it comes to love, it's all about a certain spark. Sometimes, no matter how beautiful someone is, to some people they're just like an exquisite oil painting—hanging there dryly, beautiful in its own way, but what does that have to do with him?

If you had no feelings for someone, and one day they suddenly went to a cosmetic surgery hospital and got a face that made them look flawless like a big star, would you suddenly develop feelings for them?

Jiang Yueming shook his head, thinking to himself: That's not liking someone. That's just being moved by lust.

Her back looked so earnest. If only she would look at him with that same expression.

Jiang Yueming sighed, then went back to daydreaming.

The air fell silent for an instant. It seemed the heavens had truly heard Jiang Yueming's prayer, because Wen Xiaoyu actually turned her head around to look at him. Their gazes collided in midair.

Jiang Yueming was stunned at first, then an unavoidable small thrill rose in his heart.

He looked at her face. There seemed to be a faint hint of confusion in her brows and eyes. He was a bit baffled. Was this the kind of look someone gave when sneaking a peek during class?

The silent atmosphere made him uneasy. He looked around and realized that everyone had turned to look at him, including the teacher on the platform.

His deskmate nudged his arm and whispered a reminder.

"What are you spacing out for? Old Ban called on you to answer the question."

Jiang Yueming immediately realized that Wen Xiaoyu hadn't been stealing a glance at him; rather, he had been called on by the teacher.

He stood up at once, flustered, and flipped open his Chinese textbook.

"Uh—"

Staring at the book in his hands, he whispered to his deskmate, "What page..."

His deskmate covered his face. "Not the textbook... The monthly exam paper... The monthly exam paper!"

He spoke in a breathy whisper, repeating himself again for fear Jiang Yueming hadn't heard, only to find he still had no reaction, staring blankly at the Chinese textbook in his hands.

‘What's wrong with this guy? Scared stiff? Is Old Ban's pressure really that intense?’

He looked up at Jiang Yueming and saw that his face had gone slightly pale. He stood motionless at his seat like a statue, not moving an inch under the gazes of the teacher and classmates.

He still hadn't taken out his exam paper, just holding that Chinese textbook in a daze.

Within Jiang Yueming's line of sight, he had randomly flipped to a page. Beside the dense text were two lines of red handwriting.

Crooked and slanted.

Don't trust her.

The handwriting seemed pressed down with great force, and carried a sense of hesitation, as if someone had used the last of their strength, struggling desperately to leave this message in his book.

Below that sentence was handwriting he recognized—his own. The strokes were heavily connected, just how he wrote.

Don't trust anyone.

Jiang Yueming froze. Then he felt a bomb detonate inside his head. His thoughts were completely scrambled, leaving nothing behind.

A pain without warning swept through his brain. Veins bulged on his forehead. He felt as if his skull was about to split open. His body tensed instinctively, unable to utter a single word.

"Jiang Yueming?"

The teacher called his name again. Seeing he still didn't respond, she just assumed he was too nervous to speak.

The teacher sighed inwardly.

‘Ah, not only does he not pay attention in class, but his mental fortitude is this poor.’

The surrounding classmates cast puzzled looks his way.

"Alright, sit down. Stay after school tonight; I need to talk to you about something."

The teacher turned her back to the class, chalk scratching across the blackboard, and continued to the next problem. But Jiang Yueming showed no intention of sitting down.

His entire being was wracked with intense pain, unable even to move a finger.

Blurry images flashed before his eyes, a chaotic mix of light and shadow. He saw a girl running toward him through a surreal, bewildering world.

‘Xiaoyu…’

The image abruptly cut off. His dulled senses returned to his body as his deskmate pulled him back down into his seat.

"What's wrong with you?"

His deskmate's voice sounded by his ear. It took Jiang Yueming a long while to return to normal.

A few beads of cold sweat dripped from his temple. He stared blankly at those two lines of red text in his textbook.

"No... nothing..."