"Wrong! Even if you guessed it right, you can’t just skip it like that!"

Ding Yun swung the rolled-up workbook hard and *thwacked* it squarely on Chen Dao’s shoulder.

His body flinched. He had no choice but to stare at the multiple-choice question—supposedly meant for his error notebook.

It asked for the main purpose. Chen Dao had guessed correctly, thinking a quick review while compiling errors was enough. No need to copy the key points. But Ding Yun wasn’t having it.

"But… I got it right…"

Chen Dao muttered under his breath, yet picked up his pen and started copying.

Truth was, even with his body back in peak condition, his focus remained catastrophically short. In a forty-five-minute class? Maybe fifteen minutes of real attention. The rest had to be crammed later.

But not every lesson gave him that chance—especially when he needed to rebuild his memory from scratch.

Clever shortcuts couldn’t replace solid, steady groundwork.

So Ding Yun, who scored 552 last month, was now sternly tutoring Chen Dao (595) and scolding him without mercy.

"What if I added a negative sign earlier? Would it still be 'greater than one'?"

Ding Yun knew her grades weren’t high enough to lecture others. She also knew Chen Dao had Gu Lian—a 700-point prodigy—teaching him at noon and after school. She had no standing.

But he’d come to *her*, not Bai Qiaoqiao (whose "combat power" was 600+). So she’d see it through.

Besides, Chen Dao’s progress this week was a disaster. He’d forgotten not just new material—but old knowledge too.

Scolded by Zhu Zhan that morning for messy homework. Called to the board yesterday, bluntly saying "I don’t know," making the physics teacher shake his head.

He really seemed to know nothing.

*Be bold, Ding Yun! Drop the "seems"!*

"Uh… less than or equal to one?"

Chen Dao’s mind was blank. For unsolvable problems? Pure guesswork.

He admitted it: this stuff gave him a headache. No cheat skills. No system. Just himself.

"Wrong. Use the method I taught you. Try again."

*Thwack.* The paper tube struck again—highly effective.

Chen Dao sighed, rewrote the problem in his error notebook, penned the solution in red, noted Ding Yun’s variant, and solved it in blue.

*If it were my godmother… she’d never hit me!*

He grumbled inwardly, then remembered Gu Lian—recently avoiding him.

Even his "godmother" Gu Lian seemed distracted. She refused his snacks, even when offered to her lips… though her nose still twitched for a quick sniff.

Maybe she thought their bond wasn’t real friendship. So she kept her distance, protecting herself.

Yet bound by their agreement, she still tutored him—though twice-daily sessions shrank to one noon hour. After school? She’d vanish home, mumbling "I’m busy."

Three days like this. Everyone saw it: Chen Dao was being distanced. The "villain" who’d asked for a "friendship fee."

Not Gu Lian’s fault. She was just too considerate.

Last Sunday, when she whispered, "It’s fine… I don’t need friends," Chen Dao’s heart ached. They sat together reviewing—but exchanged not a word.

His helpless act had shoved the girl, who’d finally stepped toward "friendship," back into her hermit crab shell.

Gu Lian likely saw herself as a tool. An ATM for Chen Dao’s studies—supplying clothes, stationery, time… and now, cold cash.

Chen Dao glanced at the Chenguang pen in his hand. One-third ink left. Still not returned.

"By the way… anywhere good to hang out after school?"

Chen Dao wasn’t one to leave knots untied.

If conflict existed, he wouldn’t wait for a "perfect moment." He hated ambiguous emotional tug-of-war.

Others might play it safe—stay strictly study-focused until she "figured things out," then "gently" step in.

That’s ten-chapter novel filler.

Not him.

He wasn’t a gentleman. He was a rogue.

*Time to settle this face-to-face.*

Bai Qiaoqiao lifted her head from her problem set, eyes locked on the back of Chen Dao’s skull.

She’d lost the warm-hearted guy who once attended to her every need. Humiliated by his blunt rejection, she hadn’t spoken to him all week.

Yet now? She was practically burning holes into his head.

"Huh?"

Ding Yun blinked. *Is this good-for-nothing… asking me out?*

Then she scoffed inwardly. He had girls wearing white thigh-highs for him. A beauty like Gu Lian. When would *she* ever get a turn?

"The market on Haibin Road? With Lunar New Year near, there should be plenty to see…"

"Mm. I’ll consider it."

Vague reply. Pen back to the notebook.

Bai Qiaoqiao noted silently: *He’s thinking about hanging out?* She’d seen his math homework—correct formulas, messy steps, sometimes missing "Solution."

Was his slump really just from rejection? Or something else?

She watched Ding Yun tap his shoulder—*thwack, thwack*—fifty times before dismissal.

Ding Yun left with her parents. Bai Qiaoqiao "studied" alone in class.

Only when the enrichment bell rang did Chen Dao amble to Class One’s back door.

They’d agreed: he’d wait in the library first, avoiding "underage dating" rumors.

But avoidance wouldn’t make him yield.

*Time to settle this face-to-face.*

"Who are you looking for, classmate?"

A student eyed Chen Dao warily—dark expression, trouble vibes.

Everyone in Xinchi knew Chen Dao. Vandalism. Theft. Underage dating. Not someone you welcomed at the door.

"I’m here for Gu Lian. You know—the most beautiful one."