Paradise for learners—Class A, Grade 10. A place I’d dreamed of stepping into.

Right now, I stood by their classroom’s back door, peering inside.

*Just need to spot Jiang Muqing’s seat. Just need to see her safely here. Then I can finally breathe easy.*

But no matter where I looked, Jiang Muqing was nowhere. Instead, the first-row seat under the lectern sat empty.

A bad feeling coiled in my gut.

Morning reading hour should’ve started.

Yet unlike neighboring classrooms echoing with recitations, not a single student in Class A held a textbook.

Boys stared blankly at the empty blackboard or hunched in silence. Girls buried faces in their arms, some sniffling quietly.

The atmosphere felt… off.

…

This wasn’t a dream. But the dreamlike scene sent chills down my spine.

After Monday’s flag ceremony, I’d slipped behind Class A’s line while my monitor wasn’t looking. Without realizing it, I’d skipped my beloved morning reading—just to tail them to this back door.

*Why does this déjà vu feel so wrong?*

I remembered it crystal clear: next, the head of grade would announce Jiang’s eulogy.

*Damn it!*

But the figure walking toward the lectern wasn’t the head. It was one of their subject teachers.

“After discussion,” the young female teacher announced, her voice tinged with helplessness, “Classes A and B will have no Dragon Boat Festival break. With subject competitions and finals approaching, we must prioritize studies. I’m truly sorry—I fought for you.”

She wore the school’s standard Western-style uniform, but the heat had her in a snow-white short-sleeved shirt and black work skirt.

Fresh out of college, probably. A substitute or intern.

Teachers like her—close in age to students—usually shared gossip or fought for fewer holiday assignments.

*Hmph.*

Foolish teacher. Thinking cheap tricks like this would win over our brilliant principal?

More holidays and lighter homework would only ruin China’s future flowers!

Good thing it failed. *Hmph!*

And you geniuses of Class A—crying over a canceled holiday? The grief in this room made it seem like a classmate had died.

I smirked behind the back door, silently scolding these ungrateful talents who got to enjoy extra classes.

Too busy fuming, I forgot the danger behind me. A tall shadow loomed.

I caught its reflection in the glass window—but too late. Hands clamped onto my shoulders.

“Ahem. Lu Fan,” a deep, magnetic voice rumbled. “You’re blocking my spot.”

…

Past corridors humming with recitations, I felt like a dog on a leash, dragged by that man to his chosen destination.

“Come with me,” he’d said.

A teacher’s command held absolute power.

My mind went blank, but my body obeyed. Before I knew it, I sat alone in a single-office room.

A desk dominated the space.

Neatly arranged lesson plans, towering exam papers, and files stacked like vertical pancakes filled the document cabinet—a rigid, conservative aura. Only a vibrant green spider plant broke the monotony.

A computer screen glowed with an unfinished Word document.

Around the desk sat a water dispenser, a sofa, a coffee table…

*And was that a full set of rosewood tea ware on it?!*

“Haha… Mr. Li, what’s up? Can I head back to class if it’s nothing?”

Years of student reflexes made me flash an innocent smile.

Inside, my heart hammered.

This was Li Zhe—the head of grade, my homeroom teacher’s boss.

A middle-aged man with faint wrinkles on his forehead and eyes. Known for his humor in math class and a no-nonsense approach to discipline.

Male teachers were stricter. Detentions, copying texts—he could punish as he pleased. Why would he need to curry favor?

My pulse spiked.

*He must know about the incident…*

Because of me, Jiang Muqing’s voice had turned hoarse mid-speech at that assembly.

“Relax, Lu Fan. Sit.”

His towering frame forced me onto the sofa.

The cheap poplar wood frame dug into my skin.

This was my first one-on-one with Mr. Li.

“How do you know my name, sir?” I tilted my head, aiming for cute.

“Forgotten your little stunt in the auditorium?” He smiled knowingly.

“No…” I mumbled, eyes dropping.

“But sir—first period’s started! I should get back—”

“Don’t rush. Your homeroom teacher is Miss Zhang? I’ll explain.”

“Yes, Miss Zhang, but… why am I here?” My voice trembled.

*Expulsion?*

*I’m a model student who loves studying! Don’t do this to me!*

“No hurry. Let’s talk over tea.”

Mr. Li’s “warm” smile felt eerie.

He settled beside me, pouring steaming liquid from the rosewood teapot into a small bowl.

I eyed the odd pale-yellow brew. Sniffed its roasted barley scent. Took a cautious sip…

*Buckwheat tea?!*

*Sir, are you kidding? Using premium rosewood ware for buckwheat tea? That’s like drinking millet porridge from a jade bowl!*

…Though buckwheat tea *was* cheap, stomach-friendly, and great for summer hydration.

(Blame my surname: Lu. Descendant of the Tang Dynasty’s Tea Sage. My grandparents still ran tea fields back home.)

*Why am I analyzing tea while facing interrogation?! Focus!*

“Actually,” Mr. Li began, that sinister smile deepening, “I wanted to discuss Jiang Muqing. You know her, right?”

*Of course he’d suspect us after that performance.*

“Truth or lies, sir?”

“Truth.”

“Never met her.”

“How about copying the entire history textbook? I’ll ask Miss Zhang to assign it.” His smile never wavered.

“…We know each other.”