The cold war dragged on.

Xiao Yu’s sudden attack caused a ripple in the atmosphere between Bai Su and me—only to fade just as quickly.

The last days of summer vacation were dull, repeating themselves day after day.

Bai Su kept typing away at his novel *The Divine Book*. He’d even secured a contract, earning just enough to cover his own living expenses.

He borrowed money from a few of Dad’s friends to solve our urgent tuition fees—though he stayed silent through the whole process while I handled all the arrangements.

I holed up in my room, diligently writing *The Dragon Clan*. I’d already mailed completed drafts to well-known magazines targeting teens.

I also sent them to publishers—but I didn’t expect anyone to publish my unfinished work just because I was a reincarnator.

I remembered this truth well: even reborn, I had to stay low-key and follow the rules in this unpredictable world.

Besides… what right did I have to break them?

Right now, I was still a fledgling chick with tender wings. A single storm could turn me into a corpse.

So, I’d grow stealthily.

Ordinary days flew by.

In the blink of an eye, it was time for school.

High school—the place I’d once hated yet cherished—called to me again.

Its name was City First Senior High, nicknamed "Yi Gao."

For a while, I’d wondered if every "First High" in China was part of a chain. Of course, that was a silly thought.

Names like First, Second, or Third only marked them as public schools. They revealed nothing more.

You couldn’t judge a school by its name. The best way was to check its size, facilities, and how many students it recruited locally or nationally—a rule that applied to most Chinese schools.

This Yi Gao? Nationally, it barely ranked as a second-tier high school.

Ordinary. Yet it had trapped my entire youth.

"Su Su, what are you spacing out for? Hurry up!"

Bai Su’s voice cut through the noisy crowd ahead, direction unclear.

I squinted slightly against the late-summer sun, scanning the sea of parents and students. Soon, I spotted him—a silhouette waving in the left front, wearing an oversized blue Doraemon T-shirt, looking utterly silly.

Yep. That was him.

I sighed, gripped the strap of my chest bag, and called back, "Coming!" as I walked over.

Before me, the crowd parted like seawater. Like Moses splitting the Red Sea, I slipped through the human tide effortlessly.

Behind me, beside the slightly worn school gate, a small blackboard stood. My photo and name were pinned there, alongside bold words: "Welcome, 2008 High School Entrance Exam Top Scorer Bai Susu, to Our School."

"Top scorer"—a title unreachable in my past life—now hung clearly on my face.

I sighed inwardly again.

Seeing the crowd’s expressions—admiration, awe, envy—I understood one thing deeply:

My high school life wouldn’t be boring at all.

—

Thanks to my top-scorer status, Bai Su and I skipped the long, sun-baked lines of students and parents paying fees. Instead, a man who looked like the principal’s secretary led us straight to the principal’s office.

The stiff, meticulous middle-aged man stopped at the door. He forced a kind smile, softening his tone as he addressed me: "Student Bai Susu, and this other…"

He froze, struggling to address Bai Su—who looked slightly older but clearly wasn’t a parent.

"Just call him Bai Su," I prompted. "He’s an alumnus of this school."

Bai Su snapped to attention, scratching his head with a goofy grin. "Director Li! Long time no see… though you’ve clearly forgotten me."

Director Li offered an awkward yet polite smile, speechless.

Well… Bai Su had little to stand out except decent looks.

He was like those vivid-but-forgotten classmates in everyone’s memory—briefly lively, but mostly silent in a classroom corner. He’d become a holly bush in the garden of past recollections.

With so many holly bushes looking alike, who’d remember one hidden among them?

So when this oversized holly bush—wearing a blue Doraemon shirt—stood before Director Li, he couldn’t recall a single memorable thing about him.

Bai Su’s expression dimmed, hurt.

As the awkwardness thickened, I sighed, grabbed his hand, and opened the office door. I turned back with a polite smile. "Director Li, thank you. We’ll go see the principal now."

After all, I’d study here too. Leaving a good impression on school leaders mattered.

Sure enough, Director Li gave a stiff smile. He frowned slightly at Bai Su, shook his head almost imperceptibly, and walked away.

Bai Su and I stepped into the office, greeted by a blast of cold air.

There, facing us, was an old man with a face I knew all too well.

He seemed busy, head bent slightly as he read documents on his desk.

His hair was jet-black—unnaturally so for his age, likely dyed—giving him a stubborn, unyielding air.

A round face bore faint age spots. He smiled warmly, eyes hidden behind tortoiseshell glasses, as if burying untold stories.

Dressed in a dark blue Tang suit, he radiated vigor. His decisive gestures while handling papers carried a middle-aged man’s boldness.

Old age and vitality. Death and life. Opposing traits coexisted in him seamlessly, astonishingly harmonious.

My heart churned. I glanced sideways at Bai Su—his face mirrored my turmoil.

I sighed inwardly again, looking at this man I’d always admired. Softly, I greeted him: "Principal Qi, sorry to disturb you. I’m Bai Susu."

Principal Qi. Full name: Qi Shou Dao.

But to us, he was always "Old Qi."

[To be continued]