Hearing the girl mention that name, my heart felt as heavy as lead. It beat slowly, each thump an immense effort.

“...”

“Don’t you dare mention that name!” I snapped coldly at Jiang Muqing, shaking off her arm.

Everyone has a past they can’t show others. To me, those memories were pure as snow. I wouldn’t share them with anyone—least of all Jiang Muqing, who’d already tainted them.

“Even if you don’t say it, Fan, I know your memories,” the girl behind me murmured, her tone softening.

Did she know? My mom must’ve blabbed.

“Was she pretty?” she asked quietly, a hint of worry in her voice.

“I told you never to mention her again!” I roared, slamming the door behind me.

Jiang Muqing was really pushing her luck.

...

Thanks to her interference, I left late. I hurried to the bus stop, but my bus had just pulled away.

“It’s fine. The next one will come soon,” I thought, anxiously checking my watch.

Buses arrived and departed one after another. Bulky vehicles passed me endlessly. Time dragged on, but my route never showed.

Today was truly uncanny. Waiting for buses was like that—yours never came, while others kept rolling in. Doubly frustrating.

Glancing at the time, I knew I’d be late. Just as I considered splurging on a taxi, one carrying passengers pulled out of traffic and stopped before me.

The front passenger window rolled down. A girl with a single ponytail leaned out slightly.

“Heading to the old cram school?” she asked.

Mo Shiyu? What was she doing here? Her house shouldn’t be on this route. I was slightly surprised. Even on break, she wore her school uniform neatly.

“Yeah,” I replied. I’d signed up for the same cram school as last semester. Based on past results, I was satisfied with it.

“Then get in,” she said flatly.

What a godsend. I’d planned to take a taxi anyway. Sharing with Mo Shiyu, my classmate, would halve the cost. But guys usually paid full fare in such situations. We were classmates but barely spoke—hardly friends. No need for that courtesy. Splitting the fare was only fair. She must’ve stopped for that reason.

I scrambled into the back seat. I expected her to tell the driver to go, but she asked him to wait. Then she got out from the front and sat beside me in the back.

Well, fair enough. Usually, the front passenger paid directly. If friends, they often treated. Maybe she didn’t want me thinking we were friends.

“Drive!” she called once settled.

As the taxi moved smoothly, the scenery slid backward. During the ride, I felt I should say something. But she kept her head turned, watching the passing view, ignoring me.

Silence filled the journey. The tragic end? I paid the full fare. She just opened the door and walked out! What could I do? Was her kindness just a ploy for a free ride?! What a despicable woman. I didn’t argue. As a guy, I should show grace. So I obediently paid and followed her into the cram school building.

We arrived just as class started. To my surprise, Mo Shiyu had signed up for the same cram school. She walked in first; I followed right after.

Since we were late, the front seats were all taken. I grabbed an empty spot in the back row. Mo Shiyu glanced at my seat. Without hesitation, she left her spot and sat beside me.

Plenty of other bad back-row seats existed. Why squeeze next to me? The trauma from my female desk mate wasn’t something time easily healed.

Ignoring my pained expression, she took out her books and pen. Propping her chin on one hand, pen in the other, she watched the board and took notes diligently.

Though she seemed oddly off today, once class began, I put it aside. I took out my books and pen and focused.

The cram school was a mixed crowd. The atmosphere was more relaxed than regular school. Some students, bored, glanced at phones or doodled. Mo Shiyu and I studied meticulously until the teacher called on someone.

“You, the boy sitting with the girl in the back, try solving this problem,” the teacher said, pointing to a math equation on the board.

Why did sitting with a girl make me a target?! The problem was new second-year material. Luckily, I’d previewed the cram materials—it was straight from them. I solved it smoothly and blurted out the answer.

“Good.” The teacher waved me down, satisfied.

After a while, he wrote a new problem. His gaze fell on us again. He wouldn’t call me twice—I was already marked ‘passed.’ He’d focus on others whose minds wandered.

“The girl next to that boy, you answer this question.”

He actually called on Mo Shiyu, who’d been listening attentively beside me.

“Um...” Startled, she stood up and stared blankly at the teacher. Busy with notes, she hadn’t heard the question. She seemed lost on which problem he meant.

“That one...” I tried to hint, but she didn’t react.

“Pay attention in class. Don’t just bury your head in notes. Jot down key points, but what matters is storing it in your mind.” The teacher wasn’t pleased. He waved her down.

She gave a sheepish smile and sat. He called on another student.

It wasn’t a hard question; the other student answered smoothly. This should’ve been easy for Mo Shiyu! She was acting strange today. I didn’t dwell on it. I refocused and continued listening carefully.

We both listened quietly. Not a word passed between us until class ended.

“Class rep, if there’s nothing else, I’ll head out first?” I said while packing up, glancing at her still tidying her things.

“Wait. Lu Fan.” She stood suddenly, stopping me.

“What?” I turned, puzzled.

“What are your plans for summer break, Lu Fan?” she asked softly.

“Well, I’ll be at cram school for now. After that, school starts soon. I might study at the city library.” My plans were simple: use the break to study.

“Can I join you?” she ventured.

?! My heart skipped a beat.

“Together?” I didn’t quite grasp her meaning.

“You’re strong in science, Lu Fan, but your liberal arts scores dragged you down in finals, right?”

She was spot on. Liberal arts were my weakness. My Chinese essay hit a new low. My teacher said it lacked personal thought—fancy words but hollow, like a tree eaten by termites. In English, my comprehension often clashed with the test makers’ intent. Foreign semantic nuances gave me headaches, leading to high error rates. Other liberal arts subjects had similar issues. I lost many points. The messy ideas in humanities were tough for my straightforward mind.

“My science scores aren’t great, but I’m decent in liberal arts. We could complement each other, right?” Mo Shiyu’s finals were good, mid-to-lower in Class A. But compared to her overall grades, science was weak. She’d messed up the last few math problems.

“Sure!” Though her sudden request was odd, I agreed. It was mutually beneficial. After all, as high schoolers, everything’s for studying.