May 5th. Sunny. But a perverted roar echoed from Class 2, Grade 6’s classroom.

“Qin An, what on earth did you write?” Lin Chunlan fumed, nearly throwing the test paper in his face.

In stark contrast, she beamed at An Qi. “Your essay is perfect—parallelism, metaphors, all beautifully used. Emotions feel genuine, handwriting lovely. Keep it up next time.”

An Qi asked curiously, big eyes sparkling, “Qin An, what did you write to make Teacher Lin so angry?”

“Better not look. It’s all nonsense I made up,” Qin An muttered. He’d glimpsed his essay score—a big fat zero. His show-off attempt had failed.

“Hehe, I love your writing!” An Qi snatched the test paper he held above his head.

At first, Qin An’s neat handwriting impressed her—like machine-printed text. But as she read on, the tone shifted weirdly. Love and emotions? She was lost. And something about “you, my desk mate” appeared.

“How could you write such trash? Teacher Lin will be furious!” An Qi’s pretty face flushed red.

“Just give it back.”

“Nope! Zero-score essays are rare—I’m keeping it as a souvenir. You took my carefully prepared test too. Remember?”

Qin An spread his hands helplessly, watching her tuck his “masterpiece” into her backpack.

Unseen by them, the class monitor watched their playful antics.

Later, the homeroom math teacher praised Qin An and An Qi fiercely. They were the only two with perfect scores—and desk mates. Qin An, once unremarkable, had made a huge leap this time.

Rumor said Qin An aced the language basics, but his essay sparked debate. Some teachers wanted full marks; Lin Chunlan overruled them. “He must’ve plagiarized or memorized it. How else write something so mature?”

“Attention: An Qi and Qin An from Class 2, Grade 6, report to the principal’s office immediately. Repeat: report now.”

The sudden announcement stunned them. After the math teacher urged them, Qin An and An Qi walked out side by side.

Huang Jiajun watched their closeness, jealousy flaring. She glanced at her own 60-point test—given only because the teacher was in a good mood—then at the empty seat beside her. A hollow loneliness gripped her. Why not me?

Walking down the hall, An Qi bounced along, ever optimistic.

“Qin An, you only got 170, right? I scored 199! I win the bet!”

“Seems so,” Qin An said, rubbing his nose. That bet was a terrible mistake.

“You’re not backing out, are you?”

“Dare not! What do you want me to do?” Qin An waved his hands.

“Hmm, haven’t decided yet. I’ll think later!” An Qi replied, but her mischievous smile gave her away.

They reached the principal’s office quickly. Qin An had never been here; An Qi led the way like a regular.

An Qi didn’t knock. “Uncle Li, I’m coming in!”

“An Qi, you’re finally here. Otherwise, I wouldn’t dare let your father waste time here.”

Unlike silent Qin An, An Qi greeted politely. “Principal Li, Teacher Tong, Dad—what are you doing here?”

Principal Li sat center. To his left was a square-faced man—youthful features but graying temples, eyes sharp with hidden stories, Qin An noted.

Before Qin An could check the right side, a little girl crashed into him. “An, I missed you!”

It was Pupils!

To the right stood the tall woman with crossed arms—the demon with the 34D bust Qin An feared most. Her enchanting smile felt like poison to him.

“Actually, we called you for your recent deeds. An Qi, your grades are always top school—I’ll award you Study Model. Qin An, your brave acts outside make you a model Young Pioneer. You’ll get Outstanding Young Pioneer.”

Principal Li rested elbows on his desk, chin on hands. Qin An saw only the glare from his glasses.

But Tong Tong, energetic as a genki girl, winked and stuck out her tongue at Qin An. He knew who’d set this up. Was this what she meant last time? He faintly recalled her whisper: “I know everything you’ve done.” Cold sweat prickled his skin.

“Alright, get ready. We’re awarding you now.”

“Uh, no need to be formal! It’s just a Young Pioneer thing—can’t skip changing?”

Qin An’s plea was ignored. Tong Tong held one arm; Pupils hugged the other. They dragged him to the changing room.

“Principal Li, about my proposal to donate a computer lab—your thoughts?” An Tielian didn’t glance at his daughter, discussing business instead. An Qi seemed used to it. She fiddled with her sleeve, unaware her eyes were moist.

Break-time exercises were canceled—a celebration for slacker students. Broadcast calisthenics were just too boring.

Same old speeches. Same old praise. Same old reward: certificates.

Qin An was forced into a tiny suit and tie. It fit perfectly—too perfectly, making him uneasy. An Qi wore a simple red A-line mini dress, chic and retro. Elegant yet cute, topped by a big bow that radiated grace.

Huang Jiajun watched them onstage—a golden couple. Bitterness twisted her heart. Her small hands clenched her sleeve, nearly tearing it.

Wang Luoran stayed unusually quiet. Normally, she’d shout, “Xiao Anzi, you’re amazing!” She reached toward Qin An, murmuring, “You’re drifting further away… Qin An…”

“How can Brother do this! Dressed so formally—is he marrying that fox spirit?” Qin Yage stomped her little white shoes. “He said a sister-in-law is completely unnecessary!”

A gentle breeze blew, making Qin Yage’s twin tails flutter behind her.