Cheng Xing leaned against the corridor railing, letting the cool morning breeze wash over him. The school grounds were bustling with students, their chatter filling the air. Moments later, Zhang Huan arrived, his footsteps barely audible amid the noise.
The corridor was already crowded with students, all of them from Ancheng No. 1 High School. This was a familiar scene, one that Cheng Xing had come to appreciate after his regression. If he hadn't been arriving early every morning lately, he wouldn't have realized just how much effort these students put in to achieve their academic goals. The determination in their eyes was more than just a display of talent; it was persistence, pure and unyielding, forged through years of hard work.
Talent alone wasn't enough. Beneath every success story lay a foundation of relentless effort, day after day, month after month. Occasionally arriving early was one thing, but doing it consistently, year after year, before dawn even broke? That required a level of discipline that the Cheng Xing of his previous life could never have imagined, much less achieved.
Zhang Huan unlocked the classroom door, and the students filed in with practiced efficiency. Cheng Xing made his way to his desk, pulling out his English textbook. The morning self-study period was designated for Chinese, but he had already memorized all the required essays and ancient poems over the past two weeks. In his previous life, he had mastered them once before. Though many had faded from his memory after his regression, relearning them had been surprisingly easy. Some of the classic texts had remained etched in his mind, as if refusing to be forgotten.
Jiang Luxi had meticulously crafted his review schedule, with Sundays reserved for math. However, Cheng Xing had no intention of wasting time. His goal was clear: he would memorize all the English vocabulary during school hours, freeing up more time for math review. The college entrance exam loomed large in his mind, a monumental challenge demanding mastery of thousands of vocabulary words.
To achieve even a decent score, one needed to know at least 3,000 to 4,000 words. But Cheng Xing was aiming higher. For a score above 130, he would need a firm grasp of 4,000 to 5,000 words, fluently and confidently. He knew that without taking every opportunity to review in class, his chances of getting into a top-tier university would be slim—especially since chemistry and physics required memorizing countless formulas.
Sometimes, he couldn't help but wonder: What if I had been reborn in my second year of high school? It wasn't about gaining an extra year of preparation, but rather the possibility of switching from the science track to the humanities. His strengths lay in subjects like history and geography, areas where he excelled naturally.
Transferring now, in his senior year, was technically possible, but he dismissed the idea. The effort required to switch tracks, learn new subjects, and adjust to different teachers and classmates seemed more trouble than it was worth. Cheng Xing hated unnecessary complications. Besides, there was something satisfying about conquering the daunting subjects of science, physics, and chemistry. Thanks to Jiang Luxi's recent tutoring, these subjects no longer felt as overwhelming as they once had. If things had gone differently—if he couldn't grasp the material even with help—he might have switched tracks. But that was no longer necessary.
His first wish after his rebirth had been simple: to get into a good university. Now, it wasn't just about getting in. It was about excelling, about proving to himself that he could overcome any challenge.
When the bell rang, signaling the start of the morning self-study session, Mr. Zheng Hua strode into the classroom. He scanned the room, his eyes quickly taking in the familiar faces. Cheng Xing was present. So was Zhao Long, who had recently returned after a week-long absence due to illness. A rare smile touched Mr. Zheng's face.
For the past two years, his class had never been fully present during morning self-study. If Zhao Long wasn't on leave, Cheng Xing would show up just as the session was ending. Today was different—or so he thought.
Suddenly, his gaze sharpened. One seat remained conspicuously empty—the one next to Cheng Xing. His frown deepened as he approached.
"Where's Zhou Yuan?" Mr. Zheng's voice cut through the room like a knife.
"He hasn't arrived yet," Cheng Xing replied, just as puzzled. Zhou Yuan was rarely late. His grades had declined since sophomore year, but tardiness wasn't a habit of his. His strict father ensured that. Cheng Xing vividly recalled how Zhou Yuan had once been chased down half a street by his father, belt in hand, for being late. Zhou Yuan had even leapt into the An River, thinking his father wouldn't follow since he couldn't swim. To his horror, his father had jumped in after him, scaring him half to death.
Midway through the self-study session, Zhou Yuan finally appeared, standing nervously at the door. "Reporting in," he said, his voice hesitant.
Mr. Zheng, who had been grading papers, didn't look up immediately. When he did, his eyes were hard. "You're late. Do you know what time it is?"
Zhou Yuan lowered his head, saying nothing.
"Since you're so late, don't bother coming in. Go outside and squat in a horse stance until class ends," Mr. Zheng barked, his tone laced with frustration.
Normally, Mr. Zheng wasn't this harsh about tardiness. At worst, latecomers were asked to recite outside the classroom. But today, Zhou Yuan had struck a nerve. Mr. Zheng had been hopeful, for once, that every student would be present. Zhou Yuan's unexpected absence shattered that illusion. Moreover, watching Zhou Yuan's descent from a top 20 student to the bottom three was a sore spot for him. It felt like a personal failure, a reflection of his own inadequacies as a teacher.
Zhou Yuan complied without a word, heading outside to assume the punishment.
"Why's our homeroom teacher so mad today? Makes me scared to be late," Zhao Long whispered, leaning toward Cheng Xing.
"You think Zhou Yuan's like us? It's his first time being late. Remember your first time? Did the homeroom teacher go easy on you?" Cheng Xing replied, his voice low.
Zhao Long winced. "Right. He dragged me to his office and whacked me with a stick until my hands swelled."
Cheng Xing nodded knowingly. His own first experience with tardiness in sophomore year had earned him a few painful whacks. Over time, the punishments had softened—stick-beating turned into standing outside, then standing inside, until eventually Mr. Zheng gave up entirely.
"By the way, you owe me meals for a week. I covered your duties as health monitor while you were out," Cheng Xing said, his tone casual but firm.
Zhao Long grinned. "You used to love cleaning duty. What changed?"
"That was then. Are you treating or not?" Cheng Xing pressed, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course! Who wouldn't want the honor?" Zhao Long laughed, his carefree demeanor returning.
Zhao Long's family owned several restaurants in Ancheng, making them relatively well-off. Though not as wealthy as Chen Qing's family, Zhao Long's background set him apart in this school. Most students came from humble backgrounds, their parents working low-wage jobs or being raised by grandparents in rural areas. Poverty was a constant in this city, a reality few could escape.
Yet here they all were, united in their pursuit of something greater. And for Cheng Xing, that determination meant everything.
After class, Zhou Yuan hobbled back to the classroom, bent over and limping. He collapsed into his chair, refusing to move. His entire body ached, and his legs were practically useless.
"Brother Cheng, help me grab something to eat later. My leg's done for," Zhou Yuan groaned, waving a hand weakly.
He had endured a half-hour of horse stance training, his body trembling under the strain. At first, he'd thought he could slack off, assuming their homeroom teacher wouldn't notice. But to his dismay, the teacher kept peeking into the room every now and then. Toward the end, the teacher even struck up a conversation with the female literature teacher in the hallway, ensuring there was no escape for Zhou Yuan.
Cheng Xing, sitting nearby, found the situation amusing. He leaned over with a grin. "What were you up to yesterday? You came in late today, looking like you've been through a war."
Zhou Yuan's eyes darted around as he stammered a response. "Nothing much... just... couldn't sleep. Stayed up late and overslept this morning."
It was a poor excuse, and Cheng Xing could tell. He'd known Zhou Yuan long enough to recognize when he was lying. If Jiang Luxi wasn't good at lying, Zhou Yuan was worse. Jiang Luxi tended to look away when she lied; Zhou Yuan, on the other hand, stammered and couldn't maintain eye contact.
Still, Cheng Xing decided not to press further. He had a good guess already—Zhou Yuan was either gaming late into the night at an internet café or binge-reading online novels.
Back then, online novels were gripping, almost addictive. Unlike the future, when readers would become more discerning and critical, this was a golden age where almost every story felt fresh and engaging. Readers devoured whatever they could get their hands on, enchanted by the newness of it all.
From the mid-2000s to the early 2010s, access to online novels was still somewhat limited. People either bought pirated paperback copies or read them on clunky desktop computers. Neither option was convenient. Pirated paperbacks, while cheaper than legitimate ones, still cost seven to eight yuan per volume, and even those were hard to carry around.
Computers weren't a common household item in China back then. Families that did have one rarely used them for reading. Internet cafés charged by the hour, and most patrons preferred playing games or watching... less than wholesome late-night videos rather than reading novels.
But in 2010, things changed. Mobile phones with built-in e-book functionality became widespread. For just 50 cents, you could download multiple novels onto your phone from any mobile shop, making it easier to read on the go. From that point until the rise of 4G live streaming and short-form videos, online novels ruled the entertainment landscape.
Though legitimate platforms would gain more traction in later years, they could never replicate the sheer number of readers during this era. Writers who gained popularity in this golden age often became wealthy when their works were adapted into IPs. The top online writers' earnings far outpaced those of traditional authors.
Cheng Xing couldn't help but feel envious. Traditional writers like him preferred to take their time, crafting and refining their work before publication. While this approach resulted in polished, enduring novels, it couldn't compete with the rapid updates and massive followings of online writers.
In his previous life, Cheng Xing had never managed to create a true literary classic. His debut novel, Ancheng, had potential but lacked the maturity of a seasoned writer. Though the film adaptation became a commercial success, the novel itself failed to achieve classic status.
After Ancheng, he immersed himself in literature, devouring countless classics and traveling extensively to hone his skills. Yet, he could never recapture the authenticity of Ancheng. It was real; everything else felt like fiction.
In this life, he was determined to make Ancheng a masterpiece, something timeless. Every director dreams of creating their own Let the Bullets Fly, the way Jiang Wen did—critical acclaim paired with commercial success. That perfect blend of artistry and profit was the ultimate pursuit.
Suddenly, Zhou Yuan handed Cheng Xing a five-yuan note. "Brother Cheng, just get me a yuan's worth of fried buns and soy milk. The rest is for you to grab a drink."
"Keep it," Cheng Xing replied, his tone firm.
Zhou Yuan's family wasn't poor, but they weren't wealthy either—just average. In 2010, five yuan was still a decent sum, and Cheng Xing didn't feel right taking it. Zhou Yuan had once lent him 20,000 yuan—money he had painstakingly saved. Now, Cheng Xing couldn't let his friend go hungry over a few yuan.
In life, you only need one or two true friends. Zhou Yuan was one of those rare gems for Cheng Xing.
Cheng Xing headed downstairs to the fried bun stall.
In 2010, fried buns were unbeatable in terms of value. For just one yuan, you'd get eight plump, filling buns. It was more than enough for anyone. Those with smaller appetites could eat well for 50 cents. Naturally, it was a staple for students.
A yuan's worth of buns with a bowl of spicy soup or millet porridge was a comforting breakfast for many in Ancheng.
Compared to the watery mo rice cakes at the neighboring stand, this stall always had the longest line.
Cheng Xing joined the queue and immediately spotted a familiar face ahead of him—Sun Ying, a top student from his class. Even more coincidentally, standing in front of her was Jiang Luxi.
After their recent interactions, Cheng Xing could now recognize Jiang Luxi instantly, even from behind. Her high ponytail, the graceful curve of her slender neck, and her unmistakable aura made her stand out. She was the girl forgotten in his youthful memories, destined to shine at Ancheng High.
Her shadow had taken root deep in Cheng Xing's heart long ago.
"Cheng Xing, what brings you here?" Sun Ying turned around, clearly surprised.
In her mind, someone like Cheng Xing, who came from a well-off family, wouldn't bother with cheap fried buns.
"Why can't I be here?" Cheng Xing responded with a playful grin. He actually loved fried buns and often sent others to buy them for him in the past.
Sun Ying, short and slightly chubby, wasn't unattractive. She had a round, cheerful face, somewhat resembling a younger, chubbier Jia Ling. Her bubbly personality made her popular among classmates, but she rarely interacted with Cheng Xing. Perhaps it was because of Cheng Xing's reputation—girls, aside from Chen Qing's circle, tended to avoid him. He, in turn, rarely initiated conversations to avoid unnecessary misunderstandings.
"No, no, don't get me wrong. It's just… I've never seen you here before," Sun Ying quickly clarified, her face flushing with embarrassment.
"Why so nervous? I'm not going to bite," Cheng Xing teased, chuckling at her flustered reaction.
"No! I just—well, I was afraid you'd hit me if I said something wrong," Sun Ying admitted sheepishly.
Cheng Xing stared at her, speechless.
Ahead in the line, Jiang Luxi, overhearing their exchange, couldn't help but stifle a quiet laugh. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who thought Cheng Xing had that intimidating aura.