The basic elements of a story are time, place, and characters. The core of a plot lies in its setup, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution.

The story before this fulfilled all requirements—it had a true beginning and end.

But after the finale… could there be a new beginning?

I couldn’t predict it.

Just like pi: even after one decimal cycle, we never know if the next will repeat.

Maybe tomorrow someone will prove pi is an infinite non-repeating decimal. Or maybe that day will never come.

I thought my life had settled back into peaceful routine. Yet after everything that happened, I realized my story with her was far from over.

Before I was ready, a new incident she brought landed right before me.

…

After believing everything was perfectly resolved, I threw myself single-mindedly into exam prep.

The end-of-term exam for sophomore year—also the division into science and liberal arts tracks—was the final major reshuffle since freshman orientation.

This test would reorganize the original Classes A through F into science classes (A-D) and liberal arts classes (Alpha and Beta).

Given my logical mindset, I’d choose science.

My goal? At least Class B—a fast-track class sharing the same curriculum as elite Class A. I’d worked toward this all year.

Analyzing my strengths:

Liberal arts subjects rarely created gaps. Rote memorization and daily accumulation mattered more than last-minute cramming.

Science subjects demanded exam-day agility. Beyond mastering concepts, I needed practice problems to build adaptable thinking. For freshman-level math and science, attention to tiny, easily confused details decided scores.

So these past weeks, I’d focused on science—patching knowledge gaps—while skimming liberal arts material.

Most classmates thought alike. So much so that someone got caught studying math during Chinese class and had their book confiscated.

Our Chinese teacher noticed this science-over-humanities trend. Furious, she ordered a surprise recitation check today at lunch.

The plan? Our class monitor would randomly test students with poor classroom performance.

…

It was lunch break now.

Standing at the podium, calling names for recitations, was our Class F monitor—Mo Shiyu.

Like any ordinary high school girl, she had a slender frame in standard uniform: white short-sleeve shirt, black pleated skirt. But unlike others, her single ponytail never changed season to season, and her brows were permanently knotted in deep concern.

Yes—she was always worried. About class events, group payments, monitoring every student’s academics and wellbeing. Even whether homework collectors finished their rounds.

In short: a powerhouse of leadership, authority, and control. Today, this formidable girl had replaced our timid Chinese class rep to conduct the checks.

"Lu Fan," she called. "Recite the first paragraph of *On the Faults of Qin*."

Strange. She usually picked my desk mate, Guo Tong. Why target me today?

"Lu Fan. Did you hear me?"

Her voice sharpened with monitor authority when I didn’t rise immediately.

"*When the First Emperor came to power… he wielded the might of six generations, brandished his long whip over the realm, swallowed the Two Zhous, and destroyed the feudal lords…*"

I stood respectfully and began. Though I hadn’t reviewed Chinese lately, solid foundational knowledge kept the text clear in my mind. After reciting smoothly, I smiled politely, signaling I wished to sit.

"Now recite the second paragraph of *Encouraging Learning*."

She ignored my gesture, flipping noisily through her textbook for the next challenge.

Tough classical texts again? But they wouldn’t stump me.

"*Thus, without climbing a high mountain, one knows not the height of heaven; without peering into a deep ravine, one knows not the thickness of earth…*"

Still effortless.

Classmates erupted in applause when I flawlessly recited long-forgotten passages.

"And the ending of *My Conduct as a Ruler*."

Today, the monitor seemed personally invested in tormenting me.

"*Dogs and pigs eat what should feed men… yet no one checks the waste. Starving corpses litter the roads… yet no granaries open…*"

I managed the hardest passage—though strained.

"One more—"

Past the three-recitation limit, Mo Shiyu still wouldn’t release me.

Guo Tong stared at me, then at the flustered monitor on stage, utterly bewildered. Whispers rippled through the class.

Had my low-profile self somehow offended Her Majesty recently?

I glanced at Guo Tong. He looked like a lamb suddenly spared slaughter—

Relieved, yet uneasy.

I was the innocent man dragged to the gallows.

Not just hanged—sentenced to death by a thousand cuts.

The girl seemed to realize her excessive targeting had sparked suspicion. Flustered, she waved me down and called the next student.

As expected, it came.

"Guo Tong. Recite Liu Yong’s *Bells Ringing in the Rain*."

Today’s text for him was oddly simple.

But his round, wide eyes glazed over—he hadn’t crammed that section during his all-nighters.

His panicked gaze shot toward me for help.

I flipped open my textbook to the right page, angling it toward him.

"Lu Fan. Close your book."

Mo Shiyu’s sharp eyes caught me instantly.

I snapped it shut.

Mouthed the lines silently.

"Lu Fan. No lip-reading!"

I clamped my mouth shut.

Wiggled fingers to signal answers.

"Lu Fan. No hand gestures!"

I dropped my hands.

…

How did she spot such tiny movements unless she’d been watching me nonstop? I gaped at the girl on stage, her face tight with irritation.

Guo Tong, stripped of his last lifeline, choked on silence.

Helpless, I could only offer my doomed desk mate an apologetic grimace.

"Enough."

Mo Shiyu checked her watch, realizing class was near.

Perfect timing—Guo Tong had exhausted her patience.

"Guo Tong and Lu Fan. Copy *Bells Ringing in the Rain* ten times. Submit before school ends. Everyone, prepare for class."

She shot us a look of smug satisfaction.

"But I recited everything perfectly! Why punish me with him?!"

I protested. Normally I’d comply, but with finals looming, my precious afternoon was booked for math formulas. Who had time to copy a poem I’d memorized years ago?

The proud monitor ignored my justified outrage. She gathered her books neatly from the podium, clutching them tightly, and turned to leave.

Like a victorious tigress, she stalked down from the platform—head high, shoulders squared.

…

Just as I resigned myself to fate—

She paused beside my desk. Leaning down with deliberate provocation, she whispered:

"Lu Fan? Because lately… I’ve been annoyed with you."