Always Home

The day before the official start of school, Song Cong was called to the campus.

The director of academic affairs, surnamed Fu, was in his early forties with a round, protruding belly and an amiably comical appearance. The conversation had two main points: first, preparing a speech draft as the freshman representative for the opening ceremony, and second, the fact that he hadn’t signed up for the Honor Class exam, though the school still recommended he participate.

"Top ten students in the city are directly promoted to the Honor Class, so this selection exam isn’t mandatory. But everyone else has signed up—since you’d get in anyway, it’s good to gauge your level, right?"

Director Fu assumed the city’s top scorer was too proud to bother with the exam.

But Song Cong had thought that not signing up would naturally place him in the regular class, so he was puzzled. "How do I avoid getting into the Honor Class?"

Tianzhong’s Honor Class was renowned far and wide, with outstanding achievements in math, physics, and chemistry competitions every year. Entering this class meant guaranteed admissions, lowered score requirements, and prestigious honors for college applications abroad—each one a golden key to the future. This elite group had always been the one rejecting applicants; how could anyone reject it?

Director Fu was deeply curious. "Why wouldn’t you want to join?"

Song Cong lowered his eyes. "Personal reasons."

For studying medicine, the Honor Class wasn’t the best choice. Even without competitions, there were still chances for guaranteed admission. He’d had enough of living a life different from others.

Song Cong had thought through every point clearly.

"Do your parents know?"

"They do." Song Cong had told his parents he didn’t want to overexert himself, and the Song Family Parents had surprisingly agreed—then don’t go.

Director Fu, with over a decade of teaching experience, had seen all kinds of students. Occasionally, he’d encounter a few with strong personalities. He withheld judgment for now and only smiled. "Take the exam first—you might not even pass."

Now it was Song Cong’s turn to laugh. He suspected this might be a reverse psychology trap, but he decided to play along first and break free later. Pointing at the pen holder on the desk, he said, "Then let me borrow a pen."

He had come empty-handed.

The exam was held in the gymnasium. To Song Cong’s surprise, there were hundreds of applicants. The tables in the center of the venue weren’t enough, so latecomers had to sit in the bleachers. The test papers had already been handed out—one sheet each for math, physics, and chemistry, printed on both sides of an eight-page sheet, with a three-hour time limit.

He was led into the exam hall by Director Fu, who whispered to the proctor who came forward, "Arrange a seat for him."

"This is…?"

"The top scorer." Director Fu exchanged a look with him.

Every applicant was present, filling the venue to capacity. Song Cong took the test papers and pointed to the bleachers. "I’ll go over there."

The proctor silently shook his head, then waved over another colleague. Together, they moved the proctor’s desk to a corner, set up a chair, and gestured for Song Cong to take his seat.

The commotion caused a ripple of hushed murmurs, but order quickly resumed, leaving only the sound of pens scratching against paper.

After sitting down, his phone vibrated with a message from Jing Qichi: "We’re going to buy a computer first. Come find us when you’re done."

Chen Huan’er’s graduation gift was a laptop, funded by Chen Ma, with the two of them acting as advisors. Jing Qichi was green with envy, but Jing's Mother, fearing he’d only use it for gaming, firmly refused. He could only live vicariously through helping Chen Huan’er pick one out.

After all, if it was a good one, he might still get to borrow it.

Song Cong hadn’t prepared for the exam and didn’t want to keep them waiting. He typed a quick "Okay" in reply.

The proctor tapped the desk as a warning, and Song Cong hurriedly put his phone away.

He needed to finish quickly. For once, he felt a rare sense of urgency before an exam.Still missed the trip to the computer mall. The test was quite difficult—it felt like he had barely finished calculating when time was up. Three hours passed in a flash. This trait of Song Cong's had been pointed out by his middle school homeroom teacher, summed up in just two words: focus. Since childhood, when Song Ma took him to the emergency room, the adults were too busy to pay him any attention, so he would watch the doctors carefully pick out shards of glass from bloody wounds, then stitch up the flesh needle by needle from start to finish. Song Cong had many similar memories—their eyes, the tweezers in their hands, their deep and shallow breaths. No matter the wailing and shouting around them, no matter the expressions or reactions of the patients, no matter the urgent reports behind them, those in white coats remained unmoved. In his eyes, they were motionless. These scenes took root in Song Cong's heart. Whether through imitation or learning, he absorbed what he saw in an unconscious way, making it a part of himself. Later, he became what teachers jokingly called "someone who could solve problems even in a bustling marketplace."

He was often asked how he studied—by teachers, classmates, and the uncles and aunts in the Family Compound. Out of politeness, Song Cong usually answered earnestly, "Pay attention in class and do more exercises." In truth, he couldn’t explain how his mind worked. Hearing something once was enough to remember the gist, glancing through something imprinted it in his mind, and solving problems or taking exams were just natural steps forward. But when these things happened, his surroundings would occasionally fade into stillness. Beyond the task at hand, he was unaware of anything else.

On the first day of school, the class assignment list was posted on the bulletin board at the entrance of the auditorium. Unsurprisingly, Huan'er, Qi Qi, and Jing Qichi were all assigned to Class 5. Song Cong's name appeared first on the list for Class 24—a tradition at Tianzhong High, where the elite group always bore the highest class number.

Qi Qi quietly told Huan'er that the Honor Class had a separate admissions process, and her father couldn’t pull strings with the principal.

The happiest was Jing Qichi. In the morning, he had pestered Qi Qi with compliments like "You're so pretty," and now he was chanting like a monk, "Fate, fate." Qi Qi couldn’t help but snap at him, "You're just riding on Huan'er's coattails."

Jing Qichi didn’t overthink it. "She’ll be the one riding on mine later."

"Song Cong, you…" Huan'er turned around but didn’t see him. She muttered to herself, "He was just here."

In the Academic Affairs Office, Director Fu was quietly observing the young man before him.

On the desk lay the Honor Class selection exam papers. He was the undisputed first place, over thirty points ahead of the second. In this highly competitive environment, such a score represented far more than effort—it reflected composure and intellect under pressure.

Especially since he hadn’t prepared at all and had even arrived fifteen minutes late.

Yet now, the young man had come with only one request—to switch classes.

Director Fu tapped the exam papers. "Do you know the acceptance rates of this year’s Honor Class graduates and the universities they’re attending?"

Song Cong frowned. "Director, I never wanted to take this exam in the first place."

"But the facts prove," Director Fu said, looking at him, "Song Cong, you’re better suited for this kind of group."

A top-tier unit equipped with the strongest faculty, designed to unleash limitless potential under pressure, where every member harbored lofty ambitions and soaring aspirations.

"I…" Song Cong suddenly smiled. "I know what I want."

"Go back and think it over," Director Fu urged, unwilling to give up. "After all, this affects the next three years of your life—maybe even your future."When one approach failed, Song Cong changed tactics and began playing the sympathy card. "Director, please just let me switch classes. If I stay here physically but my heart's elsewhere, won’t that just cause trouble for you and the teachers?"

"We’re not afraid of trouble."

"But I am," Song Cong said with utmost sincerity. "What if things get so chaotic that I end up demoralizing the whole class?"

Director Fu, left speechless, simply waved his hand. "Go back to your class and prepare for this afternoon’s speech. We’ll talk about the rest later."

Song Cong thanked him and left.

He had no choice but to return to Class 24. Once again, it was the smallest class, located on the top floor of the teaching building—a quiet, undisturbed place.

If he stayed here—Song Cong thought—it would just be a repeat of the past three years.

A classmate approached him. "You’re the top student in the city, right? Hope you can help us out in the future."

"Yes," Song Cong nodded, then added, "But I might not be able to. I’m switching classes soon."

His voice wasn’t loud, but in the silent classroom, it caused an uproar.

Students from all around immediately crowded him, and even those sitting far away in the front rows turned their heads to listen. Everyone asked the same question: "Why are you switching classes?"

After all, it took every ounce of effort just to earn a spot in this class.

And those spots were limited.

Song Cong didn’t want to elaborate, but he had to give a believable reason. So he told them, "I don’t want to focus on the Competition."

Their reactions varied. Some nodded in understanding, others relaxed at the thought of one less formidable rival, while a few lamented, "It’s a shame to waste your grades by not pursuing the Competition."

Song Cong silently took out his books, ignoring the comments around him.

The path one should take and the path one chooses to take are two different things. The former should never be an obstacle to the latter.

During the afternoon opening ceremony, Song Cong stood on the podium under the gaze of over a thousand people.

He adjusted the microphone, pulled out his speech, took a deep breath, and began, "Dear..."

Those three words were like fish food scattered into the sea. The students in the playground, like little fish, huddled together in groups and started whispering. "So that’s the top scorer in the entrance exam? He’s so handsome." "He also ranked first in the Honor Class test. Didn’t you see the honor roll?" "His voice is so nice too. Wow, why wasn’t he in my middle school?"

Chen Huan'er stood in the crowd, overwhelmed by the praise around her. She poked Qi Qi’s back from behind and whispered with a chuckle, "Even if he were in the same middle school, they might not have gotten to see him."

As an important member of Song Cong’s fan club, she was practically floating with excitement.

Qi Qi half-turned and made a "shush" gesture. "Quiet, listen to the speech."

Huan'er obediently shut up and, amidst the surrounding praise, unconsciously straightened her back.

After a while, Qi Qi turned back again. "Song Cong hasn’t switched classes, has he?"

Song Cong had been called by the teacher at noon to rehearse for the ceremony and hadn’t eaten lunch with them. But if the city’s top student had really transferred to a regular class, the news would have spread by now. So far, there was no such rumor on campus.

Huan'er didn’t think much of it. "He’s been super busy today. Probably hasn’t brought it up yet."

"True." Qi Qi nodded and turned back to look at the shining figure on the podium. If you’re switching—you must, must come to our class.

Song Cong finished his speech, bowed, and stepped down.

Huan'er clapped as enthusiastically as everyone else. She was proud of her mother, whose medical skills saved lives, and of her father, who carried the weight of defending their country. But among her friends, Song Cong was the first to make her feel this kind of pride.Every day, they set off for school together from the Family Compound, occasionally gathering around the same dining table to share identical meals, studying and solving problems to face one exam after another without daring to slack off. Because of these utterly ordinary routines, she never realized just how exceptional her friend was.

Or perhaps, in the process of growing closer, she simply forgot.

Chen Huan'er watched the spirited young man descending from the podium and suddenly thought that forgetting might be a good thing.

Only when he wasn’t the untouchable top student in their grade could they share their frustrations over falling behind, the insecurities buried deep in their hearts, and the restless anxieties and uncertainties with nowhere to go.

You can be outstanding—but as my friend, you don’t actually have to be that outstanding.