The tension of a full day’s schooling finally eased. Day students without club activities headed home, while boarders and club members lingered for after-school events.

The sun dipped toward the western horizon, its midday ferocity faded to a dim, crimson glow hidden behind wisps of cloud shredded by the evening breeze. Yet even so, the excess light and heat of summer still scorched the land.

“Ugh, it’s sweltering!” I wiped sweat from my temple.

I hated summer and winter. Spring and autumn were my seasons. Simple reason: spring was rebirth. Plants thrust out tender shoots; animals frolicked freely in crisp, pleasant air—everything pulsed with vibrant life. Autumn was harvest. Plants stood tall, flaunting their fruits; animals groomed their young, basking in domestic bliss under cool, gentle skies—everything radiated quiet contentment.

But summer and winter? What praise could they earn? One killed you with heat, the other with cold. Two seasons bent on murder. Proof enough that when nature crafted Earth, it never foresaw humans—its accidental byproducts—enduring this, complaining about this.

In summer, I only existed in air-conditioned spaces: home, classrooms, the cafeteria, cram schools… anywhere chilled. Watching classmates bounce around the rubber track after class, I couldn’t fathom why they’d willingly suffer.

On the scorching basketball court, boys chased a spherical object, scrambling until exhaustion finally let one sink a shot. Girls, in the marginally shadier badminton courts, swung rackets after a shuttlecock with deformed wings, tiring themselves out just to smash it past their opponent’s feet.

Humans. Spherical objects. Scrambling. Exhaustion.

Basketball and badminton—beloved by students of both genders—shared these keywords. Meaning their essence was identical.

Stupid sports. Stupid humans. Stupid me.

Why was I sprinting madly around the track on this infernal day, dragged here without warning?! I gasped for breath, forcing myself upright. Dizzy. Nauseous. Nearly heatstroke.

I lifted my head slightly, glaring at the one who’d pulled me out here.

A crisp white uniform shirt clung perfectly to her frame, paired with a black skirt just above the knees, revealing slender, pale legs. Delicate features rested calmly on her face, betraying no extra emotion—except for those bright, unblinking eyes fixed solely on me.

Yes. A girl. A strikingly pretty girl.

Her aura felt eerily familiar, like someone I’d once met. But for the life of me, I couldn’t place her. Who was she? What was she to me?

She stepped closer. Her gaze never wavered. No words.

My irritation shifted to unease under her strange stare. My skin prickled.

She leapt lightly right before me. Her lovely face thrust abruptly close.

“Classmate,” I blurted, unable to bear the weird standoff. I leaned back—she was too near. I could smell the faint orchid scent of her breath, see sweat beads glistening on her porcelain skin. “Why did you drag me here?”

“Hmm…” Her lips parted slightly. She stepped even closer. Her expression remained unchanged.

Just as I flinched to retreat, she reached out and pinched my cheek.

“Classmate?!” Startled, I tried to block her hand.

“Am I… dreaming?” she murmured to herself. A flicker of something new sparked in her eyes. Then, hesitantly, her fingers twisted on my skin.

“Ow! Ow! What are you doing?!” I yelped, slapping her hand away. A bruise bloomed instantly on my cheek. I clutched my face, stumbling back several steps like a fugitive.

“Fan Lu…” she whispered. “I… finally… finally found you…”

Amid summer’s lethargy, when all living things drooped under the heat, the girl’s face glowed with impossible satisfaction. A cool evening gust swept down from the heights, stirring her black hair—strands dancing playfully in the wind.

Hearing that name struck my head like a hammer blow. My ever-churning thoughts froze. All that remained was the scene from one month ago:

Blinding heights. Arms torn by gravity…

To make sense of this moment, let’s rewind twenty minutes.

We stood in line.

All first-year students, guided by class monitors, filed orderly into the school auditorium.

Modeled after medieval European cathedrals, the hall boasted solemn gray-black stone walls, slender Gothic spires, and a grand clock face centered above the entrance. Its vast dome sheltered nearly ten thousand students. Tall, narrow stained-glass windows lined both sides, draped with enormous crystal chandeliers. A wide stage dominated the center, fully equipped with curtains, microphones, and speakers. Seats fanned out below, neat and orderly.

This space hosted everything: grand performances, poetry recitals, school-wide assemblies, student council plays, singing contests, film screenings. Most notably, the college entrance exam pledge ceremony that had just sent off the seniors—and would one day send us off too.

Funded by provincial education grants and donations, this historic building had stood long before I was born. Entering it always swelled me with pride.

But today’s event—the end-of-term study report meeting—was the most pointless thing ever held here. Normally, I’d slouch in a plush corner seat, memorizing Chinese texts or vocabulary. Today, however, our class was stuck in the front row, directly under the headmasters’ watchful eyes. I had no choice but to sit straight and endure their droning.

First the vice-principal in charge of freshmen, then the academic director, then the grade head—all solemnly reciting into microphones about “studying hard,” material utterly useless despite sounding academic. Our homeroom teacher repeated this daily. Their core message? *Seize every minute. Study hard for the college entrance exam in two years. Bring glory to the school.*

Then came the truly meaningless part. If the teachers’ repetition served as a warning, what was this?

The top student from the midterm exams would share study tips.

Sharing tips—shouldn’t that be good?

No. It was a waste of time. Her speech had been vetted line by line by teachers. Anything contradicting their views was cut. Essentially, more repetition. Besides, which top student genuinely shared their secrets? They feared those chasing them, haunted by nightmares of being surpassed.

After a day of intense focus, their monotonous chanting made my eyelids droop. I slumped against my desk mate Guo Tong’s shoulder and drifted off.

*Gulp.*

Guo Tong swallowed loudly.

“Hungry?” I mumbled drowsily.

*Gulp… slurp.*

He swallowed again, smacking his lips this time.

Was the cathedral-like hall serving communion wafers? I was hungry too. Sleep vanished. I sat up straight in the second row and scanned the stage.

No food. Just a row of stern-faced school leaders sitting rigidly behind the podium.

And…

“First, preview lessons before class. Then, pay full attention during lectures. Finally, review thoroughly afterward…” A flat, clear female voice reached my ears.

“Previewing means skimming upcoming material for a rough understanding…”

A pretty girl?

I squinted at the figure standing tall on stage, reading her script with rigid precision.

By looks alone, she was definitely attractive.

Strange. I’d never heard of anyone like her at our school. The midterm top scorer’s name—I thought it was some guy surnamed Wang.

Why did this feel so familiar…?

I recalled saying almost the same thing once: *“By looks alone, she’s definitely attractive.”*

I shot a suspicious glance at Guo Tong, still swallowing like a goldfish.

His eyes bulged at the girl on stage. A lecherous grin stretched his lips, a trail of drool glistening at the corner of his mouth.

“Seriously?!” I hissed, shoving my utterly dazed desk mate. *What’s in that brain besides girls and games?!*

Perhaps sensing his stare, the girl—who’d been glancing forward between lines—suddenly looked down at the audience.

Straight at Guo Tong. Definitely.

“Dude, rein it in! Act civilized!” I whispered urgently.

“Oh crap,” he muttered, snapping back to a stiff, serious expression.

I flashed the girl on stage an apologetic smile.

“Completing homework daily… is… very… important…” Her voice faltered as she stared at Guo Tong.

*Crackle.*

Her thin script slipped from her fingers.

She gaped at Guo Tong, frozen. He stared back, bewildered.

The entire auditorium’s wandering attention snapped to the faltering top student. Her teacher behind the podium noticed the commotion and hurried over.

What happened next stunned everyone. She shoved the teacher aside, leapt off the stage, and charged straight at Guo Tong.

Then she grabbed my hand instead.

…

*Why me?!*