"Xiaoxi!" I called her name while swapping shoes at the entryway.

I plopped the pudding on the table and dashed to the fridge for a cold drink. Sweltering heat had nearly melted me. The icy orange juice slid down my throat, chilling me from mouth to stomach—finally, some relief.

"Haaah~"

I gulped half the can in one go. Pure bliss.

Xiaoxi pushed her door open just then, chuckling at the sight of me.

"Why do you look like a dog dragged through hell?"

"What do you think?" I shot back. Heartless kid.

"Pudding’s over there. Help yourself."

"Thanks!"

She pulled the pudding from the bag, inspecting it from every angle.

"Finally got the right one…"

"What’s so great about this stuff? It’s just jelly."

To me, pudding and jelly were twins—both wobbly, both squishy.

Xiaoxi shot me a disgusted look and marched to the fridge to stash the pudding inside.

"Honestly, you have zero charm with girls. Should’ve praised my excellent taste instead. But since you bought it for me… I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that."

"Finished your homework?"

Her carefree vibe suddenly annoyed me.

Her sunny expression clouded over instantly.

"No. Those teachers are monsters! I’ve been grinding since morning and only finished math and physics. Tomorrow’ll be another all-day slog. Might even pull an all-nighter."

Classic Tianchao education: every teacher dumps a "quick two-hour weekend task" on you. Add them up, and holidays become worse than school days. Back in junior high, I dreaded long breaks—test papers stacked taller than textbooks. Even top students like Xiaoxi couldn’t handle it.

Thankfully, freshman year homework wasn’t too brutal. Sophomore year would be true hell. Better enjoy teasing her now while I still could.

"I’m hitting the shower. You grind on!"

Now it was my turn to stroll leisurely to my room.

Weekends were half homework, half scrolling through class group chats or school forums on Tieba. Time flew.

But every glance at the bracelet on my left wrist dragged my thoughts to Xia Tong. Couldn’t help it—objects trigger memories. I’d considered taking it off, but her stern "Don’t you dare remove it" always flashed in my mind. In the end, I never did.

Monday morning. During the break between readings, I handed in assignments one by one. Only then did I feel a weird sense of accomplishment.

As class monitor, Fang Yiyi had led our morning readings since day one. Before subject reps were chosen, she’d handled all class duties too. Yet I’d never seen her look tired. Always bursting with energy.

Her simple black bob hung loosely over her shoulders. Delicate features, but sharp eyes radiating grit. If Xia Tong scored 100, Xiaoxi was 95–98 (98 when obedient, 95 when causing trouble). Fang Yiyi was a different kind of beauty—maybe 93—but her personality boosted her to 100.

Plenty of boys stole glances at her during readings. Not everyone had my "beauty fatigue." At least staring made morning drills less boring.

First two periods: Chinese class. Our homeroom teacher commanded serious respect.

When she walked in holding a stack of test papers, the room fell silent. A bad feeling crept in my chest.

"We’ve covered a week’s material. Time for a quick review quiz—everything we’ve learned so far," Teacher Wang announced with a smile. We could only return strained grins. Just as expected…

"Fang Yiyi, please hand out the papers."

No choice but to accept it. The surprise test caught us unprepared, but luckily, the questions were basic middle school stuff.

Two periods later, it was finally over.

I capped my pen. My right hand ached. Chinese, politics, history—these exams murdered your wrist. When you knew the answers, you wrote pages. When you didn’t, you wrote even more.

Zhou Qi beside me looked like a dried-up husk. He’d mumbled during morning reading. Now? Stone silent.

………………

Next day.

Teacher Wang returned with graded papers. 131 points. Not bad for zero prep.

"Top score goes to Ye Xi—131 points. Ye Xi, you’ll be our new Chinese subject rep!" Her eyes locked on me.

"Ye Xi, confident?"

What? No one mentioned a rep selection before the test!

Didn’t she even ask if I wanted it?

Were homeroom teachers this overbearing?

I stood up, ready to refuse—but the words died in my throat under everyone’s stares.

"Yes!" My voice lacked conviction. Stuck with this role out of nowhere.

Subject rep sounded fancy, but really? Just collecting and distributing homework. My life motto: walk if you can stand, lie down if you can sit. Energy conservation above all.

I’d explain after class. Beg her to replace me with anyone.

"Good. Sit down." Teacher Wang gestured…

"One more thing: Friday afternoon is club recruitment. The school requires everyone to join at least one. Think it over this week—no last-minute panic. High school should be fun."

She ignored our sudden chatter.

"Quiet down! Open your books to page six. Last week, we felt Mao Zedong’s grandeur in *Qinyuanchun: Snow*. Today, we turn to Jiangnan—to Dai Wangshu’s *Rainy Alley*. Let’s taste its gentle grace…"

"That’s all for today. Finish the basic exercises tonight. We’ll tackle the analysis tomorrow. Dismissed."

Finally free. Those classes had me too tense to even doze off.

"Ye Xi, come with me."

I’d just slumped onto my desk when her voice cut through. I looked up—Teacher Wang was already heading out. I scrambled after her.

Her desk sat in the office corner. Unlike other teachers buried under homework piles, hers was spotless. Probably because she only taught our class. Most teachers handled multiple classes, but Teacher Wang—barely 25 or 26—was young enough to manage just one. Yet she’d become homeroom teacher. Proof that looks deceive.

Besides humor, a teacher’s appearance was the fastest way to grab students’ attention. Few dozed off in her class: her lessons were genuinely engaging, and even rowdy boys stayed quiet.

Why?

Zhou Qi was the perfect example. Always complaining about exhaustion, but in Chinese class? He’d perk up like he’d chugged ten energy drinks.

What was this? Teenage boy hormones?

"Um… Teacher." I decided to strike first.

"Hmm?" She looked up from her chair.

"I don’t want to be subject rep. Can you pick someone else? Wasn’t comfortable refusing in front of everyone…"

She seemed intrigued. "Why not? Most students fight for this."

"Too much hassle!"

No sugarcoating. Straight answer.

She paused, then burst into a tinkling laugh before turning serious.

"No. If I let you quit that easily, what authority would I have as a teacher?" Definitely fresh out of college—zero generation gap.

"I called you here to explain your duties," she continued, ignoring my protest. "Before each class, fetch my textbooks. Erase last period’s board notes. Collect and distribute homework. Simple stuff. Laziness won’t cut it! Off you go—next class is starting."

Reasoning with girls was pointless. They *were* the reason. Even teachers weren’t immune.

"No compromise?"

"What do you think?"

"Understood."

"Congrats, Rep Ye. Guess I can skip homework now, huh?" Zhou Qi teased as I re-entered class.

"In your dreams."

Too drained to banter. A random duty now weighed on my shoulders.

"Which club will you join?" he asked.

"What options are there?"

"Check Tieba yourself!"

I pulled out my phone, scrolling posts.

"Why’s there no Home Club? What about you?"

"Track and field. I got in as a sports admit. No question." Zhou Qi didn’t hesitate.

"Respect."

I gave him a thumbs-up. Yinghua High’s sports admits were rare—far fewer slots than for art students.

"Never took you for an athlete!"

"Yep. Planning to major in sports later. Becoming a PE teacher sounds like an easy gig. You?"

"No idea," I admitted.

I’d always admired people who mapped out their futures years ahead. To me, dreams and ideals were different. Dreams were fantasies—perfect versions of ourselves. Everyone gets asked as kids what they’ll be when they grow up. Like most, I’d wanted to be a scientist or astronaut. They seemed cool. I’d wanted to be like them.

As you grow older, you gain new perspectives. You might still hold onto dreams, but without the effort to fight for them, "dream" feels less practical than daydreaming—it cuts straight to the truth.

Ideals and goals go hand in hand. They’re built from small, achievable targets you can actually see. Step by step, you’ll find the finish line is called "ideal." Ideals are deeply tied to reality.

Zhou Qi got into a good high school. His ideal path? Ace a sports college entrance exam, then graduate to become a PE teacher.

And me?

Hearing Zhou Qi’s words, I froze. A cold sweat broke out. I realized—I had no ideals, no goals. Had I just been drifting through life in a daze?!

...

"Xiaoxi, what do you think are my strengths?" I asked during dinner.

Xiaoxi stood up and felt my forehead.

"Bro, what’s wrong? That doesn’t sound like you at all."

"Just answer," I pressed, full of hope. What praise would she give me?

"Let me think!" Xiaoxi chewed her chopsticks, deep in thought.

"First—you’ve got thick skin!"

"Is that even a strength?" I grumbled.

"You cook better than Mom!"

"Seriously? That feels like an insult to my skills."

"You’re patient. You keep your cool."

"Oh?! Really? Finally, something positive."

"Well... you can sleep in bed for days straight, right?" Her voice faded, probably seeing my weird expression.

"I was wrong. I apologize. I shouldn’t have asked." I sighed—every word from this girl stabbed my heart.

Xiaoxi stuck out her tongue. "You sprung this on me! How can I say it off the top of my head? We’re so close, right? Strengths or flaws—they’re all strengths to me anyway." Her face flushed slightly.

I thought it over. To others, Xiaoxi was a lively, pretty girl with great grades—but they might not tolerate her spoiled side. After fifteen years together, I’d automatically turned her flaws into strengths and her strengths into normal.

Yeah, this had to come from me. Start small: join a club I actually like.