The canteen at City No.1 High had three floors, enough to seat the entire student body for lunch.

The school’s philosophy on cafeteria construction could be summed up in one sentence:

*"Only when you eat well can you study well. Only when nutrition keeps up can your brainpower keep up."*

That’s why the school invested heavily in the canteen—and even subsidized meal prices.

The basement floor served Western fast food: fried chicken, burgers, that kind of thing. I’d grab a bite there occasionally. I liked that fried flavor, but too much of it made me queasy and wrecked my health.

The first floor offered set meals, available only during peak hours. The dishes shifted slightly with the seasons and budget constraints, but the core menu stayed fixed. Mornings featured steamed dumplings, soup dumplings, wontons, fried dough sticks, scallion pancakes, and potato cakes—those stood out in my memory. Sometimes, when I overslept, I’d catch the "last bus" of the cafeteria’s breakfast service.

At noon, over ten steaming hot dishes simmered in giant pots, paired with rice or steamed buns. I ate here most days. I’d grab a tray, swiftly scoop two dishes—one meat, one veg—then add a free bowl of hot soup. Simple. Satisfying.

Evenings catered mainly to boarding students and day scholars renting nearby housing. The menu mirrored lunch but added easy-to-digest options like soups and congee.

The second floor resembled a mid-tier restaurant outside campus. Open twelve hours a day, it served stir-fries, cold dishes, noodles, and rice bowls for solo diners. Private rooms hosted student or teacher gatherings.

Food was never a worry here. Only one rule grated on students: the strict ban on taking meals back to classrooms. Everyone wanted to eat at their desks—no cafeteria crowds, plus time to read while eating. But the school refused, citing campus cleanliness and zero tolerance for snacking during class.

So every day, I dragged the half-asleep Guo Tong to the canteen.

Today was no different. We sat on the first floor, trays in hand, picking at our set meals while chatting idly.

"Bro Lu," Guo Tong sighed, fork hovering. "You really turned down the top student in our year? A total beauty? You used *studying* as an excuse? Seriously?" His face twisted with regret.

"I don’t need romance. Especially not this twisted, baseless crush. It’s just a whim. I don’t have the energy to play along." I chewed quickly.

"*Sigh*. You’re a true citizen of Planet Study, Bro Lu. Well, good luck. I’ve got no such ambitions. Ordinary is fine for me. Why grind so hard? Life’s got way more fun stuff than textbooks." He shot me another bewildered look.

"Like what?"

"Pretty girls. Fun games. The classics every cultured dude loves." He struck a dramatic pose, baring his soul.

"Give it a rest. Since when are *you* a cultured dude? Got the poetry skills? The trust fund?" I rolled my eyes.

"Point is, Bro Lu—life’s got more to offer than just hitting the books." He gazed dreamily out the window.

I knew exactly what he was staring at: the internet café across the street.

"My brain’s not as sharp as yours. If I don’t work hard, I’ll starve someday. Besides…" I set my chopsticks down firmly. "There are things I want to prove to someone."

"Someone important?" Guo Tong nodded knowingly.

"Important people. Unforgettable things. Just… messy stuff from the past." A flicker of sadness colored my voice.

"Enough about sad history," Guo Tong pivoted sharply. "Did things wrap up cleanly with Jiang Muqing? Honestly, the whole grade is dying to know."

"I met Teacher Li Zhe’s expectations. And the whole grade’s." A hint of pride crept in.

…

When the crushing blow of "*homework*" landed on that hopeful girl’s head, she probably felt her beautiful body meant less to me than a page scribbled with checkmarks and crosses.

She’d given up. Guys like me—blockheads buried in textbooks—were hopeless. Too dense to even acknowledge her feelings properly.

For an ordinary girl, it’d be a perfect indirect rejection.

And judging by Jiang Muqing’s icy reaction that night? It worked.

She’d climbed off me in silence, staring out at the thunderstorm. Her teeth dug into her lower lip.

Just as I braced for her next move—

She turned away in the dark and blurted:

"Thank you, Lu Fan."

"Lu Fan is… a truly good person. Your mom is too. For your sakes, I’ll keep living properly."

Gratitude. A forced friend-zone. And the promise I’d demanded.

*She thanked me early?*

Jiang Muqing spun around, cold as ice, and walked out. She shut my door softly, her fingers brushing the lock beneath the handle—almost by accident.

"Unfortunately…" Her back still faced me. "I’m not that kind of person."

Then she vanished. No sound. No trace.

By dawn, the storm had cleared. The crimson sun rose in the east. On the dining table, bathed in morning light, lay a white envelope.

Jiang Muqing’s neat handwriting spelled out "THANK YOU" across the front, followed by her name. Inside? A thick stack of hundred-yuan bills.

I counted roughly. It far exceeded the medical fees and meals we’d covered.

*Was this a bravery bonus? Hazard pay for the heatwave?*

I showed the cash to Mom, telling her Jiang Muqing had gone home.

Mom, still curled in bed, stared at the money. After a long pause, she asked:

"Did you say something to her? She wasn’t this formal before."

"Isn’t politeness nice between people?" I smiled.

"Whatever. As long as Xiao Fan’s happy." She shrugged, unconcerned.

Just as I’d predicted, Jiang Muqing returned to class. For over a month, we’d cross paths on campus like strangers. Not a single word exchanged.

Seeing their star student back to normal, Grade Leader Li Zhe was thrilled. When I reported in, he heaped verbal praise on me—then shooed me out to focus on final exam papers.

…

"A perfect ending, right?" I told Guo Tong.

"How is this perfect?!" He slammed his palms on the table. "Bro Lu, you almost escaped single-and-virgin status! Miss this chance, and you’ll regret it forever!" He’d barely touched his food, while I’d nearly finished my rice.

"Escape my *foot*. Eat up. We’ve got to get back—Class Rep’s doing random recitations at lunch. Remember?"

"Recitations? That witch Mo Shiyu won’t spare me. I’d rather savor this peace before facing her wrath." Guo Tong groaned.

"Don’t call the Class Rep names. She means well."

"Teacher gave up on me ages ago! Why’s *she* hounding me like a rabid dog?!" His face sagged with exhaustion.

"Class Rep Mo can be extreme sometimes… but she’s got our best interests at heart." I never criticized class management, but this time, I stood firm. Guo Tong *was* in the wrong.

Copying homework. Sleeping in class. He broke rules everyone else followed. So Mo Shiyu, as Class Rep, made him pay.

Take recitations: others recited one paragraph. Guo Tong? Three.

The feud between Class Rep Mo Shiyu and delinquent Guo Tong never cooled.

And since I sat beside him? I got caught in the crossfire. Better memorize my paragraphs too—lest Mo Shiyu, mid-rant at Guo Tong, suddenly turn on me and demand *I* recite two or three. Failure meant trouble.

…

When everything settled back to normal, I glimpsed the final chapter of my story with her.

If you want an ending? This is it.

Jiang Muqing attends class in Class A. Guo Tong and I sit as desk-mates in Class F. I listen. He sleeps. I do homework. He copies it.

Sometimes, Guo Tong wakes between classes, nudging me to try some new online game. We chat briefly. Then he dozes off again. I return to my notes.

Class Rep Mo’s sudden appearances ruffle our routine—but they don’t change the core.

Just… extra flavor.

Classroom. Canteen. Home. A peaceful loop.

Exactly as I wished.

A perfect ending.