While the whole class was still shrouded in grief over their classmate’s death, the monthly exams crept up silently.

I’d prepared thoroughly for this test. I memorized every relevant passage from textbooks and drilled countless practice questions.

Exams, much like work, have no shortcuts. Diligent practice, piling through test papers, and accumulating experience—these let you spot familiar patterns even in the toughest questions.

The gap between top students and stragglers? Merely experience.

Even after graduation, real-world challenges rarely mirror classroom lessons. Most jobs demand on-the-spot learning. Some bosses even throw you into completely unfamiliar fields.

Chinese, Math, English, Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Politics, History, Geography—nine subjects crammed into three days.

To prevent cheating, seating was randomized across the entire grade. The day before exams, we had to clear our desks.

Lan Zhuoyue’s desk should’ve been my responsibility. Only after Tan Lijiang’s tearful pleading did I let him help.

“Don’t blame yourself. He never cared about this anyway.”

My comfort only made the boy sob harder. I gave up.

Some people, after realizing their mistakes, would rather face a shouting match than beg for forgiveness. It’s like the bond between Floral Snake members: if you dislike someone, just fight. Then drink together, sling arms around shoulders, and brag. Better than silent grudges poisoning everything.

And so, exams began under tight nerves.

Thanks to thorough prep—and because I’d solved these questions before—I breezed through the first eight subjects, scribbling furiously.

Friday afternoon. History exam commenced.

After two and a half days of testing, everyone looked drained. March weather in Shangjing City wasn’t scorching, yet tension made some students request ceiling fans.

History wasn’t my strength. But subjects relying purely on rote memorization? Simplest to me.

Then, barely ten minutes in, a familiar ringtone echoed from the backpack area outside.

*“A rusted heart, in a soundless world—what does it gaze upon…”*

“And I’m Home”—the character song of Sakura Kyōko and Shizuki Sayaka from *Mystic Maiden*.

I’d set this as Huang Yingdie’s exclusive ringtone. Only the young miss would call during exams.

I’d warned her explicitly: Wednesday to Friday were exam days. No calls unless critical.

Phones must be switched off during exams, all non-essentials stored outside classrooms.

I’d planned to power mine down too. But recalling Huang Yingdie’s earlier mention of Huang Qinghao at the KTV, I’d kept it on. Now, that instinct proved right.

“Whose phone is that?”

The invigilator moved to leave. I dashed out first.

“Hey! Student! This counts as cheating!”

Ignoring her shout, I grabbed my backpack, pulled out my phone. “Hello?”

The teacher fumed. “You dare answer it?!”

“Yi Yao… help… New Urban Hotel, Room B441…”

Huang Yingdie’s weak voice chilled my blood. “What happened? Hello? HELLO?”

*Beep…*

The line went dead.

“What’s your name?! I’ll report you! Expulsion!”

As the furious teacher advanced, I tossed back, “Mark me as cheating,” and sprinted for the stairs.

“Stop! Where are you going?!”

I ignored them, vaulting down steps, scanning left and right before bolting toward the school gate.

“Hey! Exams are ongoing!”

The guard spotted me from afar, readying his notebook. I didn’t slow. Leaping, I cleared the iron fence in one bound.

“Student! Come back!”

He fumbled for his baton. By the time he unlocked the gate, I’d flagged a taxi.

“New Urban Hotel.”

The middle-aged driver blinked. “Miss, that place is rough. Unsafe.”

“I know. Hurry.”

I slapped a hundred-yuan bill into his hand.

“Got it!”

He gunned the engine. Minutes later, we screeched to a halt.

“Excuse me!”

“Room B441?”

“Left turn. Fourth floor, straight ahead.”

“Thanks.”

I dialed Huang Yingdie while taking the stairs. No answer by the time I reached B441.

“Xiaodie? Are you inside?”

No key. No way in.

“Yi… Yi Yao…”

Relief flooded me. Her faint voice came right after my call.

Then—a man’s ragged, aggressive breathing.

“Stay still!”

No more waiting. I’d pay for the door later.

I stepped back and kicked.

*CRASH!*

Whether the hotel used cheap wood or my taekwondo training packed too much punch, the door flew off its hinges.

Chaos inside.

A bed. A computer. A desk. Barebones setup.

The only anomaly? The people trapped within.

Huang Yingdie huddled in a corner, clad only in a thin nightgown, tear tracks streaking her face.

Before her stood Huang Qinghao, stripped to his underwear, body crisscrossed with scratches.

Spotting me, the naked man roared, “Yi Yao! Ruining my fun again?!”

“My fun?”

I walked slowly to Huang Yingdie. The trembling girl scrambled behind me.

Her eyes held only desperate hope.

“I don’t know your ‘fun.’ But Xiaodie’s father asked me to keep her in school during class hours. Sorry. I’m taking her back. Continue your ‘fun’ tonight.”

“Xiaodie! Haven’t I been good to you? Why won’t you give yourself to me?!”

Huang Qinghao’s voice cracked. “With me, you’ll have happiness! The best life! Didn’t I say enough on QQ? I’m the one who loves you most in this world!”

I glanced back at the girl clinging to me. She just shook her head, sobbing.

A taekwondo blue-belt reduced to jelly? Definitely drugged.

“Save the love talk for later. I don’t do third-wheeling.”

I took Huang Yingdie’s hand gently. “Can you stand?”

She shook her head weakly.

“DIE!”

A beastly snarl behind me. I spun and kicked.

*THUD!*

My foot slammed into Huang Qinghao’s forehead. The 170cm man crumpled.

*Kids never think consequences through.*

I crouched to carry Huang Yingdie. A primal warning surged through me—I whirled.

A gleaming knife hovered ten centimeters from my face.

Huang Qinghao’s bloodshot eyes burned with madness.

I could’ve dodged. But Huang Yingdie, helpless beneath me, would’ve taken the blade. Maybe died.

I twisted sideways, avoiding vital spots.

The knife plunged into my shoulder.

Blood gushed down my back. Gritting through the pain, I rolled away from his next slash, staggered up, and drove my heel into his skull with all my strength.

*CRUNCH!*

Like a watermelon bursting. Huang Qinghao rolled his eyes and collapsed.

Clutching my bleeding shoulder, I limped over. Stepped hard on his knife-hand. Kicked the blade aside.

Any taekwondo student above red belt knows: never kick a head full-force in real fights. It kills.

But letting Huang Qinghao keep swinging? That’d kill more than just me.

“Is… is he dead?” Huang Yingdie whispered from the corner.

“Don’t know.”

I pulled out my phone. “120? New Urban Hotel, Room B441. Brain concussion. Hurry.”

Agony buckled my knees. I sank to one leg.

“Xiaodie… how do you feel?”

“I…” She stared at my blood-soaked shirt, fresh tears streaming. “I ate… that thing… can’t… move…”

“Got it.”

I turned my back to her, crouching low. “Climb on.”