"..."

Speechless.

Neither Yang Mo nor Zhang Cheng had expected to meet a classmate so… "eloquent."

And that "eloquent" wasn’t about polished words or silver-tongued charm.

In truth, the boy’s face burned crimson, his voice trembling with every syllable—a dead giveaway he wasn’t built for debate.

Yet once that impression settled, a strange feeling bloomed:

*He’s so sincere.*

Like he’d laid his whole heart bare.

And once you felt that? His words slipped right past your defenses, leaving you with no will to argue.

Zhang Cheng, still flustered, stammered a last-ditch protest.

"Um… Lu Huai… even if you say that… but…"

"Have you ever liked a girl? Never had feelings for anyone?"

"I…"

"You *have*, haven’t you?"

"No, that’s not the point—"

"It *is* the point!"

"I…"

"Just reread the manuscript. The theme’s genuinely uplifting!"

"Lu Huai, you can’t just—"

"It’s not *me* saying it."

"Huh?"

"It’s *written there*. Please… just read it. I’m begging you."

Flushed, stepping closer, wordlessly disarming—this earnest boy offered only raw, unwavering sincerity.

Sweat beaded on Zhang Cheng’s brow.

He’d faced sharp arguments before, stood firm on protocol… but as the saying goes: *you don’t strike a smiling face*.

This boy wasn’t even smiling—he’d handed over his soul, bare and trembling.

What *could* you say?

He even felt a flicker of warmth.

Other students treated submissions like chores, recycling tired tropes. But Lu Huai? This felt like passion. Devotion. Love.

Another proverb whispered: *Mock skill, never passion.*

*Maybe I should skip the proverbs today*, Zhang Cheng thought wryly.

He turned helplessly to Yang Mo, equally flustered.

"Uh… what was his story again?"

Yang Mo blinked slowly, then tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"A boy and girl meet in a school hallway… grow close… keep their feelings quiet… promise to get into the same university together…"

Zhang Cheng’s eyes widened. "That’s… actually uplifting. How is that ‘early romance’?"

"Wait—you *read* it?"

"Must’ve mixed it up. Someone else’s weird draft polluted my memory. Let me check again… probably fine…"

Zhang Cheng glanced at Yang Mo.

Yang Mo glanced at Lu Huai.

The boy stood rigid, heart hammering like it might burst, forcing calm into his gaze despite the terror clawing his throat.

*If I walk away now, I’ll be the joke.*

No superpowers. No talents. Just raw, stubborn honesty.

Yang Mo’s cheeks warmed. She looked away.

"Well… I never thought it was problematic. The school magazine… doesn’t need to be *that* strict. It’s for students, after all…"

*Phew—*

Lu Huai exhaled inwardly.

He straightened up, voice soft but genuine.

"Thank you."

"No need…"

"Really, it’s nothing…"

Stepping out of the activity room, Lu Huai ignored the curious stares.

No hero’s pride. No swagger.

Just a desperate urge to *run*.

*Never returning to this room. Ever.*

*A Saint Seiya warrior never falls twice in the same place—but I’ll avoid the spot entirely.*

*Even as the clown… I won’t perform on the same stage twice. That’s my rule.*

…Kinda cool? Should I make it my motto?

Lost in thought, he slipped out of the tech building.

Inside, Zhang Cheng and Yang Mo exchanged uneasy glances.

"Yang Mo… this is *really* okay?"

Yang Mo shook her head, covering her face. "Don’t ask me—you agreed first!"

"Think it’ll cause trouble?"

"Honestly? The story’s borderline… but the message feels clean… *right*?"

Their eyes met. A silent question hung between them:

*Did we just agree to something huge?*

A shared sigh escaped.

"So hard…"

Just then, a gentle tug on Yang Mo’s sleeve.

She turned. Liu Qianxun still stood there, shyly glancing between them.

"Um… Yang Mo? Could I… see it? His story?"

Yang Mo blinked. "Lu Huai’s manuscript?"

A tiny nod. Crimson cheeks. Lips pressed tight. Fingers clutching her uniform hem.

"...Mm!"

*ADORABLE. I’d give her my soul.*

Yang Mo’s face melted into a lovesick grin.

Unseen by her, Liu Qianxun’s flushed thoughts drifted to one detail:

*Hallway… meeting?*

---

Lu Huai was late.

Blame the detour from the tech building. Blame the timing.

Worst of all—it was Ms. Xu Zhixi’s English class.

Silent hallway. Classroom doors shut. Every step echoed.

No escape. No back door—it’d look guiltier.

He stood frozen at the threshold.

"Ms. Xu…"

A whisper in the quiet room.

All eyes turned.

Xu Zhixi adjusted her silver-rimmed glasses, a faint, teasing curve on her lips.

"Lu Huai. You’re three minutes late. Bathroom break?"

"The… universal excuse," he mumbled.

"Quite a long break. Feeling unwell? Should I excuse you?"

A ripple of laughter filled the room.

Lu Huai knew this script: public teasing for cheap laughs. Smile along, or be labeled "no fun."

*Maybe social anxiety isn’t so bad,* he thought. *So much interaction is just noise.*

But… it was *Xu Zhixi*.

*(Scratch that "mature elegant type" thought.)*

She waved a hand. "Go on. Pay attention."

"Thank you, Ms. Xu…"

Back at his desk, the laughter faded. Calm returned with the lesson.

*Safe. For now.*

Next mountain: rank top three in grade.

One impossible peak after another.

Like the 81 trials in *Journey to the West*.

*Wait… she’s not the villain. She’s the Buddha.*

Lu Huai buried himself in notes—intense, meticulous. Pressure forged focus.

While classmates chatted during break, he felt a quiet pride.

*You laugh and flirt. I study for my future. For survival.*

*I’m Lu Huai. Pathetic? Maybe. But trying.*

"Hey hey—Lu Huai! My friend saw you at the literature club!"

Li Xin slid into view, grinning.

Lu Huai ducked lower. "Didn’t go."

"Really? Said you went full hero mode—yelling, tearing clothes, punching critics bloody!"

"I did *not* tear my clothes or punch anyone!" Lu Huai snapped up.

Met Li Xin’s mischievous smirk.

"…So you *were* there."

"…"

Li Xin left, satisfied.

*At least it was a guy… Wait, no. Still bad.*

Lu Huai didn’t know this was just the first ripple.

Before fourth period, a figure passed his desk.

He barely glanced up—people pass through your world all the time.

Then—a small paper square landed on his notebook.

He looked up.

A slender back retreating. Black-rimmed glasses adjusted.

*Lin Ruoxing?*

He unfolded the note. Neat script:

*"Lunch after school. I know what happened. Let’s talk."*

Lu Huai scratched his head, bewildered.

This matter of mine... Could it be about this morning? When I was on the bus, I accidentally put in a twenty-yuan bill instead of the two-yuan fare.