The two stood in the corridor outside the classroom.
Lin Beixing led the way, Lu Yu trailing just behind.
She still gripped the sleeve of his uniform—their uniform, really. Hers.
The solemn national anthem echoed down the hall. Without a word, both froze mid-step.
Below, the flag rose slowly against the morning sun and breeze.
Only when the final note faded did they stir, as if time itself had resumed.
“Ah…” Lu Yu sighed.
“We missed it, Class Rep Lin.”
His eyes dropped to the sleeve she held, fingers hesitating whether to pull free.
Lin Beixing leaned against the railing, gaze sweeping the courtyard below.
At Jiangshui No. 1 High School, classes formed neat square blocks for the ceremony.
Her eyes darted across the formations. Lu Yu quietly lifted a hand.
“Our class is there.”
He knew exactly what she sought—years of skipping class had sharpened that instinct.
“And the homeroom teacher’s standing right beside them.”
His voice was calm, yet in her mind it carried a teasing lilt, a faint smirk woven in.
“Skipping the flag ceremony must’ve left him pretty confused, Class Rep,” Lu Yu murmured.
In the distance, a middle-aged man in a light brown long-sleeve shirt wiped sweat while scanning the crowd.
Lin Beixing said nothing. Her grip on his sleeve remained firm.
“Next: the flag speech by a student from Class 3, Grade 11.”
A deep female voice crackled through the speaker.
Morning assembly followed the ceremony—a student’s passionate speech meant to fire up the crowd.
Lu Yu usually tuned it out. Today, the staticky voice felt especially grating.
“Let’s go. Hygiene committee patrol’ll be here soon…”
Lin Beixing stole one last glance, then tugged his cuff toward the stairwell.
She held on tight, as if scared he’d vanish.
“What’ll you tell the teacher when he asks?” Lu Yu asked.
Him skipping? No surprise. But Lin Beixing—the class rep? Her absence would ripple through the whole class.
“…I’ll say my stomach hurt,” she replied softly.
“Class Rep Lin… lying isn’t really your style.”
Lu Yu rarely teased. Today felt different—like a switch had flipped. He wouldn’t stop until he’d nudged her.
Then he met her glare: sharp, kitten-like, all fluff and fire.
She was tall for a girl, yet still a full head shorter than six-foot-tall Lu Yu.
He fell silent. Lin Beixing turned and led the way—not down, but up toward the rooftop.
The rooftop stood empty. The rust-streaked iron gate creaked open with a light push.
Cheerful shouts from the playground swirled around the campus, loudest up here.
Wind whipped freely. Golden light spilled across the city. Another scorching day ahead.
Lin Beixing stopped before the chain-link fence. A familiar spot.
The first time their bodies swapped, Lu Yu had woken up *outside* this very fence.
Pure panic. He’d genuinely feared falling.
Just remembering it sent a chill down his spine.
“This hole… it’s gone,” Lin Beixing murmured, pointing at the newly mended mesh. “They fixed it.”
“Obviously,” Lu Yu said, watching her face. “Leaving it broken? Someone might jump.”
He stressed the words deliberately. Waiting.
She stayed quiet.
“So… why were you standing out here that day?”
“…Admiring the view,” she said evenly.
He didn’t buy it. But she smoothly shifted topics.
“These two swaps… any ideas?”
No point going back now. They’d wait out the ceremony up here. Talk.
Lu Yu fell silent, piecing memories together.
“Wait…” A thought clicked. “Both times, I was asleep. First, dozing at my desk. Second, crashing into bed after an all-nighter.”
Two swaps. Shared clues. Maybe a pattern.
“And you?”
Wind tangled her hair as she stared down, voice quiet.
“First time… on the rooftop. Second… after studying all night. The moment I lay down—it happened.”
“I get it.”
Lu Yu’s expression sharpened. “Your body’s self-preservation mechanism.”
“…What?”
“First time: pressure so heavy you stood by the edge. Second: pushing yourself to collapse. Your body refused to let you die—so it swapped with mine.”
“Lu Yu… what are you even saying?”
She looked up. He’d stepped closer.
Sunlight haloed his silhouette, casting her face in shadow. The world dimmed.
“So why carry all this weight alone, Lin Beixing?”
His voice turned cold. Sharp. A hint of frost beneath the words.
Her heart skipped.
Fingers resting along her trouser seam twitched slightly. A sting pricked her nose. Vision blurred.
She always teared up under pressure.
But she never let them fall—not in front of anyone. Not now.
Yet his earnest eyes pinned her. No escape. However her gaze wandered, it always circled back to him.
