For the next period, nearly every teacher who walked in asked the same first question: “Is Yi Yao here? Which one of you is Yi Yao?”

“Excellent. Full marks. Keep it up.”

“Very good. I never noticed such a brilliant student in your class before. We even made this physics exam harder on purpose—you still scored perfectly.”

“I remembered you from the last quiz. You didn’t disappoint this time either, Yi Yao. 148 in English—only lost two points on the essay… Don’t look at me; I didn’t grade that part.”

Every single class erupted over my scores.

This exam *was* brutally hard. But for me—who’d already taken it once, attended review sessions after rebirth, and spent hours daily prepping—it felt effortless. Solving problems was like a master bartender mixing drinks: answers flowed out without a second thought.

Chinese, Math, English, Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Politics, Geography—I scored 708 out of 750. Perfect marks in every subject except English (minus two for the essay) and History.

The second-highest scorer was from Elite Class One, just as I remembered. He got 630.

During homeroom, our homeroom teacher spent half the period lavishing praise on me for “bringing glory to the class.” She stressed how my scores alone had lifted the class average, urging everyone to “learn from Yi Yao.”

Only I knew the truth: one person couldn’t lift an average that low.

Before this, both “I” and Azure Excellence had been dead last in the year.

When the very last student disappears, the second-to-last becomes first. Only then does the average jump.

In a way… it was kind of sad.

At the end of homeroom, the middle-aged teacher sighed over my refusal to retake exams.

“I’ll say this—if Yi Yao maintains this level next month without cheating or skipping exams, she could become Shangjing City’s top scorer in the high school entrance exam.”

Basking in the sunlight, she did something unprecedented: ended homeroom early. “Class dismissed.”

The distant bell signaled the end of the school day.

I stacked my test papers neatly into my backpack. As I stepped out of the classroom, Tan Lijiang and Liang Tong sprinted past me, buzzing with excitement.

“Hey, Yi Yao! Come on! Let’s go taunt Class 12!”

“What?” I frowned.

“Weren’t they acting all high and mighty this morning?” Tan slapped my shoulder like an old buddy, grinning. “Let’s see how much hot air they’ve got left after seeing your scores.”

Just then, the neighboring classroom’s bell rang. A flood of boys clutching lunchboxes poured out like refugees—including the two who’d clashed with Tan and Liang that morning.

“Hey! You two! Don’t run! Let’s chat about your *grades*!”

At Tan’s shout, they bolted even faster.

“Haha! So satisfying!” Tan flipped them off, then turned to me. “Yi Yao, I swear—I’m your little brother from now on. You’re unbeatable in fights *and* exams. Need anything? Just say the word.”

Liang Tong chimed in instantly: “Yeah! Yi Yao-jie, I’m yours too!”

I smiled. “You’d better run to the canteen before all the good food’s gone.”

Every school’s curse: only the fastest get decent meals. Teachers always dragged out the last class, turning dinner into a street-fight survival game. You needed luck, stamina, and zero shame.

“Shit! Almost forgot!” Tan and Liang snapped back to reality. “Yi Yao, you head home for dinner too, okay?”

“Mm.”

I waved them off and headed for the stairs.

I’d waited so long for this day.

Both the old Yi Yao… and me.

The original Yi Yao had avoided visiting her mom in the hospital, dodging questions about her grades. Now, holding those memories, I felt a strange warmth spreading through my chest.

This result had been routine for my past self.

Something that should’ve been ordinary… felt like sudden, unexpected happiness.

Maybe, after living in this body, I was slowly absorbing Yi Yao’s memories.

But I didn’t resist it.

These were traces of Yi Yao’s existence in this world. I had to protect them.

“Dad, are you at the hospital?”

After dropping Huang Yingdie off at her apartment as usual, I called my father.

“Yeah. Cook your own dinner tonight.” His voice sounded less heavy than before. “Oh—did your monthly exam results come out?”

“They did. I’ll come over now. Show Mom my scores.”

“You—don’t—” Panic spiked in his voice, dropping to a whisper. “Do you know what I told her? That you’re always top ten in class! Showing up like this’ll give her a heart attack!”

“It’s fine. I ranked first in the year. Mom won’t be mad.”

“First place? Hey, daughter—”

“Gotta go. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I hung up, tucked my phone away, and pedaled my bike.

I hadn’t felt this light since graduating college.

In my past life, even with top grades, my father rarely let me care for Mom in the hospital. “It’ll hurt your studies,” he’d said.

So many people never realize what they truly need until it’s almost gone.

Family. Friends. Kindness. These primal bonds only become precious when they’re slipping away.

Bad grades and caring for family… they never had to clash.

I found Mom’s ward using the address Dad gave me. The moment I saw her, tears pricked my eyes—but Dad’s voice from beside the bed stopped them cold.

“Yi Yao… you look so thin.”

“What?” Even as a compliment, it threw me. “I’ve been eating fine.”

“You silly child.” Mom, eating with her free hand while an IV dripped into the other, waved me over. “Come here. Those news reports about you nearly gave us heart attacks.”

I pulled a stool to her bedside. “I’m fine now.”

“Fine? After getting stabbed?” She yanked up my shirt without warning, inspecting the wound. “At least no scar… or you’d never find a husband.”

Same ward. Same bed. Same mother. Different words.

“Here.” Dad handed me a medical report. “See? All normal. Your old man’s as sturdy as ever!”

I took it doubtfully. The doctor’s scrawl meant nothing to me. I forced a smile. “I was just worried…”

*Something’s wrong. Why “all normal”?*

*Did Dad fake it? Or did Yi Yao’s presence somehow prevent the illness?*

*If it didn’t flare up now… how could it become terminal in five years?*

“By the way, dear,” Mom’s weak voice cut through my thoughts. “Your exam results…?”

“Yeah. They’re out.”

I dropped my backpack on the bed and unzipped it. Mom pulled out the test papers one by one. “How many points?” she asked softly.

“Full marks in everything except History. English was 148.”

“Pfft—”

Dad choked on his water, spraying it everywhere. “Yi Yao—*cough*—what did you say?”

“I said…” I sighed inwardly. “Full marks except English and History. 708 total. First in the year.”

“Oh-ho! Such high scores!” An elderly leukemia patient in the next bed sat up, giving me a thumbs-up. “You’ve raised a fine daughter!”

“Don’t believe her,” Dad muttered, snatching the papers. He put on his glasses. “Let me check… If these aren’t perfect, you’ll get it tonight… Chinese… 90 on basics plus essay… *perfect essay*? Wait—Yi Yao, is this yours?”

His expression shifted from skepticism to shock. Only when he saw my name written clearly beside the scores did his hands start trembling.

“How many perfect scores in Chinese… in your class?”

“Just me.”

“Open-book exam?”

“Closed-book.”

“Total possible?”

“750.”

“So you scored over 700… *without taking one subject*?”

“Yes.”

Our conversation drew every patient’s gaze. I knew them all—their illnesses, their death dates. Just like before, I could do nothing to save them.

All I could do was show my parents—and everyone—that miracles were possible.

“You didn’t cheat?” Dad pored over every paper, recalculated my total three times, then finally set down his glasses like a man waking from a dream.

“Yi Yao.”

“Yeah?”

“Tell Dad… how did you do it?”

“Studied till midnight every day this month. Listened in class. Took notes. Did practice problems.”

“How could that alone boost your grades this much?”

“But it did.”

I handed him my score slip from my backpack. My voice stayed calm. “See? I kept my promise.”