Facing Qiqi’s puzzled look, Yexiaobai shook his head, a soft spring-light smile warming his face.

“It’s my fault.”

No dodging at all. He gathered every mess onto his own shoulders, calm as still water, sincere without force.

Qiqi’s eyes widened a fraction, like a startled deer. “Xiaobai, you’re amazing.”

Yexiaobai blinked, a question clouding his gaze.

“J-just—” Qiqi scratched his hair like a ruffled sparrow. Words wouldn’t come. He still couldn’t name the feeling. He was impressed—whatever the truth was, Xiaobai could own his mistake so openly.

The morning reading bell chimed, a silver note rippling through the room. Qiqi had to give up.

Xiaobai glanced at Mu Xiaowei, who kept her book raised like a fence between them. He parted his lips, then let the words sink back, and sat down.

This period was English morning reading. In tenth and eleventh grade, a rep would lead. By late senior year, everyone paddled their own small boat, plugging gaps, patching flaws.

Next to them, Zhaomingming flipped through yesterday’s grammar notes, pages whispering like leaves. Yexiaobai wore a wry face, dug out the English quiz from his test stack, and covered the corrected answers, ready to redo the misses.

English had always been Yexiaobai’s rocky shoal. In his earlier years, his scores were worse. If he hadn’t met Xu Yanfang in senior year, the wreck would’ve been worse.

Xu Yanfang was his current English teacher, and homeroom for Class Seven.

She was thirty-something, yet looked like a twenty-something campus bloom.

She could be strict, but her core was gentle. In English, she’d pulled Yexiaobai up by the hand.

Sometimes, though, her brain would zig. She’d toss out orders that made jaws drop.

Last time, Yexiaobai got punished to cosplay Han Meimei and read the text loudly on the track. Shame blazed like fireworks at his feet. She stood under a tree, arms folded, laughing till the branches quivered.

This time, he’d tripped into Teacher Yanfang’s hands again. He had to join a stage drama for the school anniversary. When she sat, fighting a grin, and said, “We’ll still pick Han Meimei as the topic, Xiaobai,” his face went dark as storm clouds.

How much do you love Han Meimei, really? Yexiaobai nearly blurted a complaint on the spot.

Still, the text itself was fun. It was extension reading, so they hadn’t covered it. He’d planned to read it last night. Then that storm happened. It ended safely, but time got stolen. He skimmed, nothing more.

He discovered the long passage had Han Meimei and Li Lei as protagonists. Not their high school selves anymore, but graduates meeting by chance in a café years later.

“Graduated college… huh?” He tucked away the corrected quiz. Sitting by the window, he could see the green canopy outside, summer shade breathing. He couldn’t help drifting. “Nice. After I graduate, what will I be like? When I start working, I can ease Kong-jie’s burden a bit.”

His gaze dimmed, a cloud crossing a lake. “Forget marriage—Kong-jie hasn’t even dated. She always says she doesn’t care for it, but she’s thinking of me, right? Sigh. I want Time to run faster.”

While Yexiaobai leaned on his cheek and stared out, Mu Xiaowei tilted her book, peeking at his profile like a finch from behind a leaf.

Honestly, she’d pulled out her test paper, but her heart wouldn’t quiet. Yesterday’s mess, and just now with Yexiaobai, left her prickly, like sitting on needles.

She wasn’t deaf; she’d heard his words. A little temper is a girl’s privilege, but Mu Xiaowei wasn’t a girl who tangled for nothing. She knew this wasn’t really about right or wrong. If anyone should apologize, it was her.

Yet Xiaobai yielded first.

But—

“But…” She slumped softly onto the desk. The test paper pressed her cheek; the graphite’s dry scent rose like dust in sunlight. Two red petals bloomed on her face. Heat licked her skin. She muttered, “I just really want to be mad.”

Her own heart puzzled her. She wasn’t a girl of fine threads. She couldn’t untangle why, ever since she’d seen Yexiaobai waiting for some girl by Class One’s door yesterday, a sour-sweet tide kept spreading in her chest.

She couldn’t help pinching the collar of her uniform, whispering to herself.

“This feeling is so uncomfortable.”

...

“So how’s your prep going?”

“Mm… it’s… okay.”

The talk happened in the office.

Morning English ended. Then came two full English periods. Yexiaobai didn’t dare slip now. Who knew if next time she’d make him wear a dress as Han Meimei on stage?

He’d die of shame. Absolutely.

After locking in for two focused periods, Yexiaobai barely caught a breath before Teacher Xu Yanfang called him to the office.

Zhaomingming and Mu Xiaowei went too. The air between them was a quiet tangle. Zhaomingming felt squeezed in the middle, like walking a tightrope.

When the three stepped in, Xu Yanfang was grading papers. Her ponytail swayed under the sun. A crisp white shirt glowed against her pale skin, and slim gray trousers framed legs straight as bamboo. In that light, her skin looked near transparent, veins faint like blue threads.

Wow, did Time rewind? A single day passed, and this campus girl looked younger again. Yexiaobai snarked inward. Who’d guess this “youthful beauty” was thirty-plus, a mom with a kid?

“You’re here.”

She set down her pen. The swivel chair creaked like an old door as she turned and crossed her legs.

“So, for the stage play—how’s the prep?”

Her gaze swept them like a breeze, then settled on Yexiaobai.

“Xiaobai, you tell me.”

Why me again?

He grumbled inside, but answered straight. “Mm… it’s… okay.”

“So you haven’t started?” Her smile curved sweet, not exactly gentle, like a blade wrapped in silk.

Yexiaobai couldn’t help glancing at Zhaomingming. She rolled her eyes, saying without words: even without mind reading, your stammer gives you away.

“Is there some difficulty?”

“Uh, if I have to say, maybe we’re short on people.” Yexiaobai answered fast. “Three actors for the whole piece means lots of repeated roles. It’ll look messy.”

“Oh? You thought of that.”

“Yeah… I think it could happen.”

“Mmm.” Xu Yanfang’s eyes widened a touch. She studied him, a fox’s interest glinting. Her hum held a meaning under the surface.

“W-what?” Her look made Yexiaobai itch all over.

“Nothing. Just that your persona—” She twirled the pen between slender fingers and smiled. “has shifted a bit.”

“What’s my persona?”

“What do you think?” The teacher’s smile stayed sly and bright, a fox under sunlight.

Zhaomingming, meanwhile, didn’t spare him the thrust.

“An idiot.”

“Ha—huh?” Yexiaobai stared at her.

Zhaomingming kept a blank face. She repeated, steady as a pin. “An idiot.”