Jiang Muxing listened to Yan Hao's suggestion—neither agreeing nor refusing outright, saying he would consider it.
Yan Hao was burning with anxiety all night, unable to sleep. He arrived at school the next morning with dark circles under his eyes. Entering the classroom through the front door, he stole a glance toward Jiang Muxing’s seat. While stepping onto the podium, he missed his footing and fell flat on his face.
His forehead hit the podium with a solid thud—"thunk."
The students in the front row were startled by the loud noise and quickly stood up to investigate.
Yan Hao felt dizzy for a moment, seeing stars as he struggled to get up. He crouched under the lectern, clutching his forehead and cursing under his breath.
Jiang Muxing rose from his seat and walked over to the lectern, asking, "Are you okay?"
Yan Hao immediately stopped cursing. His heart raced as he replied in a muffled voice, unconsciously mixing in a hint of grievance, "No, I'm not. I hit my head and got a huge bump."
Jiang Muxing's voice was deep: "I'll take you to the infirmary."
With that, he instructed the class monitor to maintain order.
Yan Hao placed his backpack on the lectern and asked Yang Cong to help carry it back to his seat. Before even reaching the stairs, he received a text message.
-You okay, A You?
Today's morning self-study was English class, and my buddy pulled off a slick move, hoping his friend would return the favor.
Yan Hao didn't want to reply, but afraid he might escalate things, still sent a message back.
- Fuck you.
Tucking his phone into his pocket, Yan Hao walked while asking: "Class President, have you made up your mind yet?"
Jiang Muxing's lips were set in a cold line: "No."
Yan Hao blew at his bangs, the tips brushing against the large bump on his forehead, making him hiss in pain: "Is it really that hard to consider?"
Jiang Muxing remained silent.
As they walked, Yan Hao gradually slowed his pace, staring at the back of Jiang Muxing's head with greedy, burning eyes—though his words carried only the casual teasing tone of classmates, betraying nothing unusual.
"Class monitor, you really don't need to worry too much. I'm not expecting to score very high in math—just passing is enough for me. Anything above 100 is up to fate."
Jiang Muxing asked, "What's your average score?"
"Well..." Yan Hao glanced around nervously. "I've never calculated it."
Jiang Muxing changed the question: "Last month's exam."
Yan Hao's voice was very soft: "65."
The air suddenly fell silent.
Yan Hao's head drooped down, a little tuft of hair on his crown swaying slightly in the summer breeze.
After a long pause, Jiang Muxing spoke: "I'll give you an answer before noon."
Yan Hao picked at his fingers: "Yeah."
The infirmary was on the second floor of the opposite teaching building, empty of students.
Yan Hao was immediately tended to with gentle care by the nurse.
"Did you bump your head? Let me take a look."
The nurse carefully brushed aside the bangs on his forehead and smiled, saying, "What a handsome young man."
Yan Hao noticed Jiang Muxing was looking at his phone without even glancing at him, so he pursed his lips and slumped dejectedly.
"Classmate," the nurse exclaimed in surprise, "you have a mole between your eyebrows."
Yan Hao absentmindedly responded with a vague "Mhm."
The nurse said it wasn't serious, just stay here and ice it to reduce the swelling. Before Yan Hao could react, he heard Jiang Muxing say, "I'm going back to the classroom."
Yan Hao opened his mouth: "Class monitor, thank you for coming with me."
Jiang Muxing left without looking back.
Yan Hao's eyes followed him until he disappeared from sight before finally looking away.
The nurse keenly noticed that as soon as that tall, handsome class monitor left, the boy in the sickbed became visibly off—suddenly withdrawn and gloomy.
It was like a clear sky being covered by a thick blanket of dark clouds, casting a dreary shadow that made even the atmosphere in the infirmary feel stifling.
The nurse tried several conversation starters but failed to engage him, eventually giving up.
Yan Hao embodied the phrase "distracted and out of sorts." When the second class ended, he used dizziness as an excuse to skip exercises, slumping lifelessly at his desk with his face pressed against it, flipping sides like a pancake.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Yan Hao happened to be facing the back door when he locked eyes with a girl sneaking glances into the classroom while clutching a box of chocolates.
Eyes met, and something subtle passed between them.
Yan Hao's slightly tousled bangs cast fragmented shadows, his half-lit, half-shadowed eyes narrowing slightly.
The girl inexplicably shivered, and by the time she realized it, the boy had already turned toward the window. She thought he was trying to spare her the awkwardness.
Yan Hao simply turned a blind eye to avoid the annoyance.
As long as the seat beside Jiang Muxing remained empty, people would continue to pour out their affections for him one after another.
The girl stuffed the chocolate into Jiang Muxing's desk drawer. She had wanted to sit in his seat for a while, to touch the textbooks and stationery he'd used, but unluckily for her, someone was there—forcing her to retreat for now.
Yan Hao sat up, wiped the sweat that had smeared onto the desk, and propped his head up to look toward the playground. A sea of blue-and-white school uniforms and black-haired heads stretched before him, the sound of a loudspeaker drifting faintly in the air.
"Section four, body rotation exercises—one—two—three—four—"
Yan Hao slumped back down, feeling this summer was more stifling than any before. The cicadas' chirping was especially grating.
Before long, students from various classes began trickling back into their classrooms from the playground.
Yang Cong knelt by the table drinking water, spilling half of every three gulps, his chin and collar soaked. He wiped his mouth roughly and cursed, "Fuck, it's scorching today—my scalp's about to fry."
He tugged at the collar of his shirt, fanning himself as the scent of sweat mingled with the warmth of youthful vigor.
Yan Hao moved closer to the window in disgust.
"Stop dodging," Yang Cong grinned, baring his teeth. "This is called manly charm."
Yan Hao couldn't be bothered to respond.
Yang Cong shamelessly sidled up: "Hey, Xiao Hao, got something to tell you."
Yan Hao propped his chin on his hand and turned his head. "How much do you need?"
Yang Cong made a fist-and-palm salute: "Truly the CEO incarnate."
Yan Hao's mouth twitched.
"Lingling has her eye on a phone charm," Yang Cong said, pulling out his phone to show him a photo. "This one. I think it's just okay, but she really likes it, so I've got to get it for her. I'm down to my last bit of living expenses this month—could you spot me? I'll pay you back next month."
Yan Hao glanced at it—four or five thousand, quite a luxury for a small pendant: "You've been together for quite a while, huh?"
Yang Cong shook his leg: "Almost a year now."
Yan Hao propped his feet on the chair support of the front desk: "So you're going to keep pretending not to know each other at school until graduation?"
"What else can we do? Circumstances force us," Yang Cong said with an air of worldly wisdom. "Class 3 is even stricter than ours. If we get caught, they'll call our parents on the spot. She won't even let me tell my friends or go to her classroom to find her. You're the only one who knows about this, so you better keep it under wraps."
Yan Hao muttered, "It's like an underground affair."
"Exactly." Yang Cong clicked his tongue. "Nonstop excitement every day."
Yan Hao envied this kind of excitement. Pretending to be casual, he shifted his gaze toward the front door, letting it linger on Jiang Muxing's back for a second. "So are you guys celebrating your one-year anniversary then?"
"Sure." Yang Cong rubbed his chin. "I'm planning to give her a surprise when the time comes."
"Let me know if you need any help." Yan Hao transferred the money over.
Yang Cong reached out his arm and hooked it around Yan Hao's neck: "Bro Hao, you're the real deal!"
The sticky sensation pressed against him made Yan Hao break out in goosebumps. Unable to stand it, he quickly pushed him away.
He even disliked his own sweat, only savoring the scent of Jiang Muxing's perspiration.
I just like it.
Jiang Muxing said he'd give a reply before noon, leaving Yan Hao feeling like an ant on a hot pan, utterly tormented.
The phone number was right there in his QQ signature.
Jiang Muxing and he were both in the class group chat. He could message him privately on QQ, call him, send a text, or just come over directly—there were plenty of ways to reach out.
Yan Hao was on the verge of losing his patience. Never in his life had he felt such unbearable restlessness—it was truly a milestone moment.
The last class was a pop quiz in physics.
Yan Hao had one hand clutching his phone under the desk, the other holding a pen, his eyes fixed blankly on the test paper while his mind remained completely empty.
A dozen minutes into the exam, the phone suddenly vibrated, nearly slipping from Yan Hao's grasp. Dazed, he stole a glance at the message.
It was from Jiang Muxing.
Yan Hao's breath caught in his throat, his eyelid twitching as his fingertip brushed against the screen.
What if it wasn't what he wanted to see...
Yan Hao brought the mechanical pencil to his lips, biting down on the eraser end. He nervously gnawed at it for a moment until his emotions settled slightly. Turning his head away, he opened the text message and cautiously peeked at it from the corner of his eye.
-I am Jiang Muxing.
-I'll agree to the tutoring.
Yan Hao sat frozen for a minute or two before suddenly springing to his feet.
The chair screeched across the floor with a piercing sound, startling the others who were working on their test papers.
The teacher on the podium glanced over. "Yan Hao, have you already finished your test paper?"
Yan Hao lowered his gaze, fingertips trembling slightly. "No," he murmured.
Yang Cong raised his hand from the side: "Teacher, I can vouch for that—he didn't even write his name."
The teacher picked up the teacup and took a sip. "Have you finished writing?"
Yang Cong shook his head: "Nope."
The teacher slammed his teacup down: "Then why are you opening your mouth?"
Yang Cong: "..."
"Pfft—"
A buddy couldn't hold back his laughter, and the sound proved contagious—shoulders were shaking all around.
The teacher said kindly, "It seems this exam was set too easy after all."
"......"
Yan Hao was secretly watching the figure by the front door, unable to imagine what that guy looked like texting on his phone during class.
So close to the lectern, right under the teacher's nose.
Yan Hao's ears buzzed. He didn't even hear when the teacher told him to sit down. It wasn't until Yang Cong tugged at his clothes that he finally withdrew his stolen glances and sat back in his seat, his hands still trembling.
Yang Cong nudged him with an elbow: "If you're possessed, blink once."
Yan Hao remained completely still.
This really does look like some kind of demonic possession.
Yang Cong shielded his face with his arm, his shadow falling heavily: "Xiao Hao, you..."
Yan Hao slumped onto the table.
A row of question marks popped up above Yang Cong's head—what the hell was going on? Just as he was about to ask, a loud noise came from the podium.
"Yan Hao, if you hand in a blank test today, I'll be inviting your father for tea tomorrow."
The entire class fell silent.
Yan Hao lifted his head from the crook of his arm, revealing a face flushed so red it seemed about to drip blood, his neck and ears equally crimson, like a shrimp boiled to perfection.
Yang Cong's hand trembled, poking a hole in the test paper: "Y-you—why is your face as red as a monkey's butt?"
Yan Hao pursed his lips: "The teacher called me out in front of everyone. I'm thin-skinned—it was embarrassing."
Yang Cong rolled his eyes. "If I hadn't grown up with you, I might've actually believed that."
Though he knew it was a lie, he couldn't figure out the real reason, so Yang Cong simply put it out of his mind.
Yan Hao didn't offer any further explanation either. He clicked his mechanical pencil and lowered his head to work on the problems.
Yang Cong wrote for a while but got stuck on a few problems he couldn't figure out. He simply left them blank, grabbed a clean sheet of scratch paper, and began doodling aimlessly, occasionally showing his "masterpieces" to Yan Hao for appreciation.
Acting like a jerk, asking for a beating.
Yan Hao was busy calculating: "I'm not going to finish in time."
Yang Cong crossed his legs: "It's just an in-class assignment."
Yan Hao was annoyed: "Stop bothering me."
"Damn!" Yang Cong nudged him with an elbow. "The class monitor just turned in his test paper."
"He's already ridiculously good, and now he pulls this kind of flashy move? Does he even give other guys a chance to live? There are barely any girls in our class, and they're all his fangirls."
Yan Hao was working on a major problem, intending to write the word "Solution," but somehow ended up writing "Jiang Muxing" instead.
Yang Cong had sharp eyes and a quick tongue: "Damn, why did you write the class monitor's name on your test paper?"
The volume wasn't loud, but the classroom was silent.
Yan Hao wanted to kill him.