At seven in the morning by the Family Compound gate, Chen Huan'er finally met the legendary top student of their grade.
Jing Qichi introduced lazily, "This is Chen Huan'er from our class, Aunt Lina's kid. If you don't know, ask your dad when you get back."
Song Cong raised his hand in greeting, "Hi."
A modest gentleman, gentle as jade. The bookish description suddenly materialized before her eyes.
The three set off for school together. Song Cong rode in the middle, matching Huan'er's cycling speed as he chatted, "Qi Chi told me about the day you moved in..."
Chen Huan'er immediately understood and glared fiercely at the instigator.
Jing Qichi wore an innocent expression, "I just mentioned it to Lao Song in passing."
"That morning we were playing soccer together," Song Cong explained unhurriedly, "There was this kid with particularly dirty moves. After the game, I left first, but who knew he'd go pick a fight with Qi Chi afterward. We were actually on the phone discussing it—he was just too angry to let it go."
"Seriously, next time I see him, I'm tackling him every chance I get. What a psycho." Even now, mentioning the incident made Qi Chi's anger flare up—he'd nearly come to blows that day.
What could she say? That some bizarre twist of fate had brought them together?
Chen Huan'er remained silent.
"Your mom texted my dad this morning," Song Cong swiftly changed the subject. "Must be tough adjusting to a new school?"
"Getting better," Huan'er answered quietly. It was her bad habit—no matter how good the first impression, she could never manage more than a squeak around strangers.
Song Cong responded gently, "Let me know if there's anything I can help with."
Before Huan'er could reply, Jing Qichi, riding on the other side, smirked mischievously, "You could take her exams for her."
The second-to-last mocking the third-to-last—a rare sight indeed.
Chen Huan'er was so choked with anger she wanted to hit someone, but when her peripheral vision caught Song Cong, an inexplicable sense of humiliation instantly overwhelmed all other emotions.
The boy beside her was the top student in their grade.
Not at some no-name school in Sishui County, but here—wearing the same uniform as her now, at the prestigious provincial key high school where teachers and students constantly boasted about its reputation.
So this was what it felt like to be an ambitious underachiever. The shame, awkwardness, and inferiority complex brought by poor grades could surface anytime, anywhere—like a soft splinter in your fingertip, impossible to remove or ignore. Not painful enough to cry over, not itchy enough to scratch, but the slightest touch would remind you of its presence—an indescribable discomfort.
Song Cong glanced over and, seeing her flushed face, guessed most of what had transpired. All the kids in the compound knew Jing Qichi had a loose tongue, but newcomers might not handle it well. As he hesitated, he heard the troublemaker speak again, "Never mind, you'd better help me instead—my situation's more dire."
Well, even when trying to smooth things over, the guy couldn't help being half-hearted about it.
"Does helping have to mean sacrificing yourself?" Song Cong said casually. "I'll outline the key exam points later—see if you find them useful."
"Thanks for your generosity, Professor Song." Jing Qichi let go of the handlebars to clasp his hands in mock salute, seizing the chance to slow down and wedge himself between them. He nudged Huan'er with his elbow, "Quick, say thanks before he starts charging."
"Thank you," Huan'er nodded at Song Cong, then had an idea and signaled with her eyes for him to speed up.
Song Cong, ever sharp, got the message and pedaled faster. As Huan'er accelerated, she retaliated by jabbing Qi Chi's handlebar.He was showing off by riding with both hands off the handlebars when the sudden jolt threw him off balance, nearly sending him face-first into the dirt. By the time he regained control, the other two had already pedaled several meters ahead. Jing Qichi suddenly realized he'd been tricked and gave chase while cursing, "Chen Huan'er, you've got some nerve!"
Soon they arrived at school, parking their bikes side by side before walking toward the classroom building together. Jing Qichi glanced behind them, deliberately slowing his pace until he stopped, then casually remarked, "Chen Huan'er, I think someone's calling you."
"Huh?" Huan'er turned to see Qi Qi, who had just locked her bike, waving excitedly. "Qi Qi!"
Qi Qi jogged over, her eyes scanning the three faces like a barcode reader before settling on her friend. "You guys..."
Huan'er smiled. "We all live in the same compound."
Song Cong suddenly realized, "Ah, it's you. Your midterm Chinese essay was shared in our class."
Now it was Huan'er's turn to be surprised. "You didn't know each other?"
"There are hundreds of students in our grade," Jing Qichi seized the chance to retaliate for the earlier bike trick. "Thought your little backwater Four Waters was different."
"We had hundreds in our grade too," Chen Huan'er fired back, her neck stiffening like a protective mother hen whenever Four Waters was mentioned.
Jing Qichi hooked an arm around her neck, scratching her chin like teasing a puppy. "You knew all of them?"
"Well, no..."
"Then why should these two know each other?"
"No..." Huan'er was left speechless. She just instinctively assumed the top student in the grade and the top Chinese student should have some connection.
Song Cong patted Jing Qichi's arm, signaling him to let go. "They know each other now." He smiled at Qi Qi. "I saw your photo on the bulletin board last semester."
Qi Qi returned the smile and, seeing Huan'er's indignant expression, slung an arm over her shoulder. "Come on, why's our Flower of Four Waters so worked up?"
Jing Qichi burst out laughing. "Flower of Four Waters? Wow, one of you dares to say it, the other dares to believe it."
"Whatever," Qi Qi shot back, pulling Huan'er up the stairs.
Jing Qichi moved to follow but was yanked back by his backpack strap. "Why do you always tease her? You live in the same compound and share a class. Got nothing better to do?"
"If you want to stand out, you'll have to join our class first," the boy replied absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on the girl ahead whose ponytail swayed with each light step.
"Can't do that," Song Cong smirked. "Could never score that low."
He was in Class One Fast Track, the smallest but most advanced group in the grade.
"Piss off," Jing Qichi retorted without hesitation. He and the top student had grown up together. As their parents often said, they ate the same food and drank the same water, yet their scores had never matched. After hearing it so often, even he found it strange, eventually tracing the reason back to its roots—Uncle Song had become a father in his late thirties, so Song Cong had absorbed more life experience in the womb than others. Couldn't blame the kid for that.
Before evening self-study, Chen Huan'er was summoned to the teachers' office.
Her homeroom teacher taught math—a meticulous, quiet little old man who always carried a thermos. Standing before him, Huan'er instinctively lowered her head. She didn't need to guess why she'd been called; it was obviously about her midterm results.
"Your ranking dropped significantly compared to the monthly exam," he got straight to the point. "Have you analyzed the reasons yourself?"Chen Huan'er kept her head down, utterly mortified at being singled out as an underperforming student—an unprecedented humiliation. She stammered through her responses to the teacher's questions, "I thought about it... couldn't finish the test, got confused about which formula to use when questions combined topics..."
The homeroom teacher sipped from his teacup while flipping through her exam papers. "Monthly tests focus on recent material—basically testing what you've just learned. Midterms cover broader topics, requiring you to connect everything you've studied so far. Weak foundations just mean gaps in understanding. Go back and review what you've learned before—hammer it in until it sticks."
"Mhm." Huan'er squeezed out the syllable, her voice muffled. Her hands, clasped tightly behind her back, twisted together until her nails dug into her palms.
The elderly teacher suddenly chuckled. "Your mother mentioned you were quite active at your old school—class monitor, organizing events. Why so tight-lipped in my class?"
Huan'er knew the answer, but she couldn't say it aloud.
A small-town girl arriving in the big city had realized she'd been a frog at the bottom of a well. There were too many outstanding people, too many brilliant minds, too many new things she didn't understand. The fragile yet precious pride of a teenage girl made her ashamed to expose her shortcomings. Silence was just a cloak to make herself invisible.
"Difficulties are temporary. If you don't understand, ask—teachers or classmates. No need to feel embarrassed. Knowledge only becomes yours when you digest it." The homeroom teacher spoke after a long pause.
"Yes." Huan'er bowed her head, her hands knotting into an inextricable tangle behind her back.
"Have you adjusted since transferring? Besides academics, let us know if you face other challenges." The old man closed her test papers.
"Mhm." Chen Huan'er's voice was as faint as a mosquito's hum, standing stiffly in place.
"Alright, you can go for now."
"Teacher—" She instinctively glanced around before asking. Evening self-study was about to begin; only a few teachers remained in the office, heads buried in work, with no other students present. Emboldened, she raised her voice slightly, "What rank do I need to get into Tianzhong High?"
Nearly three months into the semester, after hearing and observing so much, this question had become her most treasured secret. Secrets weren't meant to be shared, yet hers was a question that demanded an answer. Asking acquaintances might make her seem overambitious; her parents would only offer hollow encouragement they didn't believe themselves; Qi Qi couldn't give a precise answer, struggling just as much. The elderly teacher before her suddenly became the most neutral confidant.
True to form, the homeroom teacher answered matter-of-factly, "At least top-middle of the class."
"Top-middle." Huan'er exhaled slightly. "That's manageable."
The thought slipped out unintentionally—because she genuinely believed the goal wasn't difficult.
This time, the old man laughed outright. "What, is my Class Three not good enough for you?"
Huan'er hastily waved her hands, her relaxed mood revealing her true nature. "I don't take up much space."
"Work hard. Remember, others are studying too." The teacher set down his cup. "Competition is always ruthless—don't be the one who gets crushed."
"Thank you, teacher!" Huan'er bowed before gently closing the office door behind her.
Top-middle was nothing. Besides, since when would Chen Huan'er ever be crushed?
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