Li Hao hadn’t been idle these days. Between reviewing his studies, he’d also been quietly searching for any trace of that hospital figure.

Some things required secrecy—but determined eyes could still spot the less guarded details.

“So only these five matched the criteria in the hospital’s admission records?” Li Hao scanned the report from the detective he’d hired with years of saved-up New Year’s money. He almost heard Alipay’s cold *cha-ching* in his head.

“Yep,” said the detective—a girl in sunglasses, still chewing gum. “Based on your vague description: a girl aged twelve to sixteen, accompanied by a nurse, so likely a patient, not a relative. These are the only names on that day’s log.”

“Boss, your info was too thin,” she added. “I checked all five for free. Only this one fits.” She pulled out a folder. “Zhou Wenyao, sixteen, enrolled in Boya Middle School’s Pioneer Class…” She flipped it open. A photo of a delicate-faced girl smiled back. “Trained in classical dance. Purchase records for hanfu…”

“Any other possible matches?” Li Hao asked, uneasy.

“None,” the detective girl replied after a pause.

Li Hao took a slow breath, eyes fixed on the photo. Long hair, gentle features, shoulders draped in dark strands. It looked like an award ceremony shot—her big eyes crinkled with a bright, joyful smile.

Long hair. Right age. Pretty face… Li Hao’s mind raced. It had to be her.

But just thinking about her Pioneer Class status made his scalp prickle.

Boya Middle School’s high school had sixteen classes per grade. Four were key classes—and within them, two tiers: Pioneer Class and Intensive Class. Simply put: top-tier vs. secondary elite. Unlike Intensive Class, where connections might occasionally sway things, Pioneer Class was the school’s crown jewel. Entry demanded raw academic power. Top students even received hefty annual scholarships.

And Zhou Wenyao? The absolute pinnacle. Li Hao remembered his dad muttering once: the school had practically *recruited* this prodigy—full tuition waiver, full scholarship, plus a special “study stipend.” She was the school’s treasure of treasures.

Forget pulling the “my dad’s on the board” card with her. If he messed up, his dad’s Seven Wolves belt might need replacing.

So first step: get into Pioneer Class. Then figure out the rest.

Li Hao carefully tucked the folder away. His study drive surged—*again*.

Charge!

Small goal first: crush his current desk-mate, the academically idle one, through sheer effort.

Just the thought gave him a headache.

He stayed late after every evening self-study. His desk-mate? Barely wrote an hour before flipping open a novel. Sometimes even went home with an empty backpack.

For Li Hao—turning over a new leaf, aiming for a stunning comeback—this attitude was the epitome of laziness. A mudslide among mudslides.

Imagine burning to improve… only to have someone prove, by sheer existence, that slacking off still wins. The blow to your willpower? Devastating.

And Li Hao was the victim.

This diagnostic exam? He *had* to win.

Crush Feng Yijiu!

Back home, Li Hao dove straight into review.

…

“You’re really not reviewing? Exam’s tomorrow. Seating’s based on ranking.” Since the “milk candy diplomacy,” things between Feng Yijiu and Li Hao weren’t exactly close—but the old rift had softened.

“Pfft. Just a quiz. Small exam, small fun; big exam, big fun.” Feng Yijiu wasn’t worried. She still remembered most material. A few fuzzy details? Evening self-study cleared those right up. She felt perfectly calm.

Yet seeing her so effortlessly relaxed sparked a weird competitive itch in Li Hao.

“Hey. Bet you won’t wager on our scores?” Li Hao challenged.

“Not interested.” Feng Yijiu yawned. Truth was, she wasn’t a teen at heart anymore. In her mind, everyone here was practically a kid.

“Scared?” Li Hao pushed.

Feng Yijiu smiled faintly. “Just boring.”

“Then raise the stakes,” Li Hao pressed, heat rising. “One request—nothing illegal or unethical.”

“Hmm… not sure that’s fair?” Feng Yijiu eyed him. *He’s not a masochist, is he?* Bossing around someone younger felt off.

“Just say yes or no!” Li Hao insisted. Then, catching the sweep of her long lashes, he added, “Don’t be such a wimp. Stop dilly-dallying.”

Feng Yijiu’s eyes narrowed. Her slumped posture straightened. The pen twirling in her fingers stilled. She turned—locked eyes with him.

“Fine. Betting on rankings?” The lazy glint vanished. A sharp, chilling intensity replaced it. Under that gaze, Li Hao shivered—like he’d just broken a seal on something ancient and dangerous.

“If you lose,” Feng Yijiu said, each word precise, eyes piercing his, “you. will. cross-dress.”

Li Hao sucked in air, ready to retort—

—but Feng Yijiu had already looked away. “If you’re too scared to bet, don’t talk big. Backing down this fast? Pathetic.”

Li Hao shot to his feet. “Scared? Since when?! I accept! And *you* cross-dress if *you* lose!”

His voice rose slightly. Heads turned. Classmates glanced between the two potential cross-dressers. More than a few secretly hoped Feng Yijiu would lose.

“Deal.” Feng Yijiu raised her right hand, pinkie crooked.

Li Hao hesitated—then hooked his pinkie with hers. The promise sealed.

“What’s your clothing size?” Feng Yijiu pulled out her phone, voice light as air. The question nearly spiked Li Hao’s blood pressure into critical range.

Huffing, Li Hao snatched up his textbook. *Laugh now. Wait till results drop—you’ll be the one crying.*