Mo Xuan’s fingers stilled. He lifted his gaze from the test paper, eyes heavy with unspoken meaning.

Under that look, Tian Sirui instinctively lowered her head, a flicker of unease stirring within her.

“What did you just say?” His voice remained as smooth as ever, yet now edged with quiet reproach.

Tian Sirui stole a sideways glance. Mo Xuan’s expression had turned icy—no trace of a smile. Her pulse quickened with nervousness.

*He’s angry.*

But the words were already out. Stopping now would only make it worse. Trapped, she steeled herself and pressed on.

“I… I talked to the top students about their study methods, but they all said…” Her voice dwindled to a whisper. “They claimed they never review at home—just listen in class…”

A bitter smile tugged at her lips as the memory surfaced. “My grades are barely above average… and that’s only because I grind problems until eleven every night. They make it look so effortless, no tutoring… I guess people really *are* just different.”

Mo Xuan said nothing. His finger traced idle lines across the paper; his lips pressed into a tight line.

Then—a slight shoulder tremor. A soft *snort*.

“They’re lying,” he said calmly, certainty glinting in his eyes.

Tian Sirui blinked. “Huh?”

“If they truly didn’t study at home? I’d bet they burn midnight oil harder than you—midnight, one AM. If classroom listening was enough, why didn’t they get into Qingyuan High School?” He scoffed. “Don’t waste time on them. Nine times out of ten, they’re faking a ‘study god’ image. I’ve seen it all.”

A wistful sigh escaped him.

*No matter where you are… involution is unavoidable.*

He remembered elementary school—summer break ending, a surprise test announced. Everyone huddled together, voices tight with panic.

Classmate A: “I played all summer! Didn’t crack a book—and it’s *math*?!”

Classmate B: “I copied my homework last minute! Don’t tell anyone!”

Classmate C—his deskmate—sat unmoved. “Finished my homework. Didn’t review.”

Mo Xuan believed them. *We’re all doomed together*, he thought, relieved. Slept soundly. Walked into the test confident.

Then the papers came back.

Classmate A: “Lucky! Scored 94!”

Classmate B: “Guessed half—and got them right! Lady Luck’s with me!”

Classmate C spread his paper calmly. A glaring **99**. Mo Xuan’s own **66** mocked him from below.

The teacher’s grim lecture ended with rare praise… and a lingering glance that screamed *Mo Xuan, you dragged us down*.

That night, his dad’s slap nearly knocked him sideways.

*That’s when I learned.*

*Involution.*

After that? He never believed a word about “no studying at home.” *If you’re that gifted, why no university recommendation?* Those who couldn’t even reach Qingyuan High spouting nonsense—*what’s there to prove?*

He spent half an hour urging Tian Sirui, voice firm: “You *will* take the college entrance exam. You *will* go to university. For someone like you—ordinary, struggling—it’s the only path forward.”

Tian Sirui sat stunned, then stammered, “So… they did it just to… make us let our guard down?”

“Exactly,” Mo Xuan said, frustration simmering. “Everyone’s a rival. The moment you slack, they leap ahead. That’s involution.”

*What’s so hard to admit? Everyone knows.*

*Involution. Damn it. Involution.*

“Promise me,” he said, urgency sharpening his tone. Memories surged—a fresh wave of irritation. Without thinking, he turned, gripped her shoulders firmly, eyes blazing. “You *will* take the exam. And you *will* score well.”

Tian Sirui froze. A blush crept up her cheeks. She glanced away, flustered, but his hands held her like iron.

“I know… I know,” she whispered, nodding frantically.

Not enough. He grabbed his backpack, pulled out neatly organized notes. “Take these. Key points our teacher emphasizes—other schools might not cover them. Ask me anything. I’ll come over evenings to study together. Send me your wrong answers after monthly exams—I’ll find your weak spots.”

His rapid-fire offers left her dizzy. *Was he ever this warm?* Her intuition whispered: *There’s more here.* A bold thought flashed—heat flooded her face. She clenched her thighs.

“Mo Xuan…”

“Hmm?”

“Why… suddenly so serious?” She forced a teasing lilt, eyes wide.

He paused mid-page-turn. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

Lamplight softened his profile—lips curved faintly, eyes deep and unreadable. So effortlessly handsome she forgot to breathe.

“Why so serious?” he murmured, leaning closer. Eyebrows lifted. Lips parted. “What do *you* think?”

Her whole body tensed. Heart drumming. *Say more. Please.*

Then—

“I’ve eaten at your place so many times… felt awkward. Can’t help much else, so… this is the least I can do.”

“And when I moved here? You took care of me. This is nothing compared to that. I believe in repaying kindness.”

“Enough talk. Study. Senior year demands focus.”

“O-oh… okay…”

She snapped her gaze to the paper, fingers trembling around the pen. Words blurred. Emotions swirled.

He stayed. Studying quietly.

But joy wouldn’t come.

Those three sentences echoed: *Awkward. Repaying kindness. Least I can do.*

*What was I even thinking…*

She whispered it too softly for anyone else to hear. A bitter smile.

Disappointment. Sadness. A quiet laugh at herself.