After school, students drifted toward the cafeteria in small groups.

I’m a day student, and I live close. I usually go home at noon to cook.

But today I was on the rooftop, sunbathing while eating sweet steamed buns.

They were a specialty from Zhao Yin’s hometown, brought by his relatives. He’d brought them to share at school. I’d meant to go home, but Wu Ze and Xiao Wangyi dragged me here.

“This sweet bun is so good. It’d be a waste if you didn’t come.”

Sitting beside me, Xiao Wangyi chewed and complained, “You never stay to eat with everyone. You’re way too unsociable.”

I smiled and didn’t answer. They didn’t know I’d adopted a girl. Bai Yu couldn’t stomach school food, so I went home to cook for her every noon.

The buns were made from glutinous rice. They were sweet but not cloying, and they didn’t stick to your teeth.

But I ate a little distracted. I’d already texted Bai Yu, told her I had something at noon and asked her to endure the school food. She still hadn’t replied, so every few minutes I couldn’t help checking my phone.

Ding-ling-ling~

Finally, the text tone came. I checked it. Bai Yu replied with just three words.

“Got it.”

I put my phone away and squinted a little in the sun. In September, S City isn’t hot. The afternoon sun is warm on your skin. It makes you drowsy.

Zhao Yin, the one who brought the buns, sat silently among us. His hands weren’t idle. He held a knitting needle in each hand and worked a sweater with easy skill.

Yeah, the guy who looks like a gang boss has a favorite hobby: knitting.

The first time I found out, I thought the mob had switched to textiles…

“Eagle Bro, it’s only September and you’re knitting already? For your little brother and sister?”

“Mm.”

“A bit early, isn’t it?”

“No.”

That’s how concise he is. He never wastes a word.

When I first met him, I thought he’d be hard to get along with. He’s actually very gentle. I’ve never seen him lose his temper. He looks out for us like a big brother.

He’s from a single-parent family. His mom raised four kids alone. Zhao Yin’s the eldest. They run a little noodle shop, but money’s tight. Every winter, he knits sweaters for his younger siblings. Don’t be fooled by that big, burly frame. His hands are deft, and the sweaters he makes are beautiful.

“Ahhh! Why is it the hatchet ending?!”

Wu Ze’s fingers flew over his PSP. He grabbed at his hair and howled, “How could this happen? She was such a cute little sister!”

On the PSP screen, a girl had already gone dark, clutching a hatchet. Fatty had told me about this one, a romance sim he worshiped. Looks like he didn’t get the HAPPY END.

It’s nice… having friends who’ll eat sweet buns with you and sit in the sun.

Sleepiness washed over me. I squinted and tried to doze on the rooftop.

“My mouth’s so dry. If someone could go grab a few bottles of water, that’d be great.”

Xiao Wangyi said that while sneaking a glance at me.

Stare—

I got up helplessly. “I’ll go. What do you guys want?”

“Cola!”

“Iced black tea.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Zhao Yin set down the half-knit sweater and stood to go to the school shop with me.

On the way back with the drinks, we ran into our homeroom teacher, Ms. Li.

“Zong Jun, come to my office.”

Ms. Li Shufang called me over. I handed the drinks to Zhao Yin and followed her in.

As soon as we entered, Ms. Li got straight to the point. “You haven’t joined a club, right?”

“Yeah. I’m busy with work, so I haven’t.”

“Join the Literature Club.”

“Huh?”

“There’s a writing contest among fifteen high schools in S City. It’s pretty important. The school leaders care a lot. You should enter.”

“Why me?”

“Aren’t you a novelist? A high school contest should be a piece of cake for you.”

She said it like it was obvious.

I refused without thinking. “That’s totally different.”

Web novels aren’t the same as traditional literature. I’m not saying one is worse. They just chase different things. Even a great literary giant would probably flop writing web novels. And flop hard. Likewise, web fiction isn’t recognized by the mainstream. Even a top web author might not write poetry or essays people would accept.

Web lit is fast food. It feeds our self-indulgent fantasies. Most of it isn’t very nutritious. The texts in our textbooks praise this or criticize that. Even an offhand phrase by the author gets scholars digging for hidden meaning.

I can’t write something that powerful.

Ms. Li didn’t see it that way. “There’s no difference. Enough chatter. I brought the club application for you. Sign.”

“Teacher, think it over. I’m really busy lately. I don’t have time for this.”

I wouldn’t take the form. I tried to make her reconsider.

We deadlocked. Neither of us would budge.

Ms. Li played the feelings card. “You heartless kid. After all the ways I’ve looked after you. Now you won’t help me?”

“…”

Seeing I wouldn’t speak, she frowned and glared, then switched to threats. “To boost our acceptance rate, the school is forcing evening study hall. I’m starting to buckle under pressure from above. What should I do?”

So… despicable. She really used that to threaten me.

Damn it. If I have to attend night study, when do I write? Am I supposed to live on air?

Then she tried the carrot. “If someone brings honor to the school, wouldn’t they cut him some slack?”

Before I could answer, she added, “Tell you what, I won’t force you to enter. Actually, I have another favor to ask.”

“…What is it?”

“The one who should compete is the Literature Club president. But her writing is really… Since she chose fiction, why don’t you coach her a bit?”

“A short story?”

“Mm.”

“I’ve never written short fiction…”

I do write short pieces now and then to practice. But this was a good time to dodge.

“Then coming back for evening study tonight is fine, right? Oh, and since the admins will patrol, no sleeping during study hall.”

“I get it, I get it. I’ll go.”

I agreed, helpless. Ms. Li flashed a triumphant smile.

“By the way, you’re a Chinese teacher. Why not just teach her yourself?”

“Oh please. A kid shows you her work, full of passion, wanting your approval, and you tear it to shreds? I don’t have the face for that.”

“…Teacher, are you calling me thick-skinned, indirectly?”

“Heh-heh.”

“This is when you should be thin-skinned and deny it, you know!”

No matter how much I complained, going to the Literature Club was set in stone by Ms. Li.