After enduring four morning classes—English, Math, Chemistry, and Physics, each led by a different teacher—the afternoon began with a twist. The Math and Chinese teachers had swapped sessions, marking the start of the first mock exam of the week.
Their math teacher, Duan Weiguo, was a hobbit-like elderly man in his fifties, his name evoking the traditional, unpretentious feel of his generation. With his slightly hunched back and thick glasses, he fit perfectly into Cheng Xing's mental image of a math teacher—strict, dedicated, and meticulous. Though Duan Weiguo didn't wield a stick, his ruler became an extension of his discipline, often tapping against students' palms to emphasize his points.
By senior year, the syllabus had long been completed. Now, they faced endless days of review. Mock exams were a constant, designed to pinpoint knowledge gaps and weaknesses, serving as a fast, efficient measure of academic progress.
Yet for Cheng Xing, none of this mattered. His focus remained on memorizing English vocabulary, utterly detached from the classroom's atmosphere. Fortunately for him, Duan Weiguo had stopped bothering him a long time ago. Even if Cheng Xing openly read an English book during a math exam, no one cared.
To prevent cheating, all desks were turned around, and half the students were relocated outside. Cheng Xing was among those sent to the hallway.
Though he loved winter, he could understand why spring and autumn were favored. Unlike summer's oppressive heat, a breeze wafted in from afar, scattering the afternoon's stuffiness and replacing it with refreshing coolness. Downstairs, the sycamore trees were shedding their blossoms, petals falling like rain.
During exams, Cheng Xing often moved a chair into the hallway, enjoying the open space. When teachers patrolled nearby, he'd pretend to work, scribbling aimlessly. When they weren't around, his gaze wandered—either admiring the school's lush scenery or letting his eyes rest on a pretty girl, observing her face touched by sunlight or her hair lifted gently by the breeze.
After a while, he paused his vocabulary recitation, leaning back in his chair to soak in the unique tranquility of Yizhong's campus. Everywhere he looked, there was youth—lively, vibrant, and full of promise.
Not far from him, Jiang Luxi sat quietly, working on her exam. Compared to the morning, her complexion appeared much brighter, her spirits noticeably lifted. Cheng Xing, seated slightly higher, could see her clearly. She was stationed at the stairwell between the second and third floors, part of the overflow from the hallway.
A distant breeze lifted a few strands of Jiang Luxi's hair from her forehead, revealing her delicate features. Sunlight streamed down from above, casting a golden glow on her serene face. Cheng Xing watched her silently, captivated by her calmness, until she finished a question and brushed her hair back. Their eyes met.
Cheng Xing remained composed, his gaze steady. Jiang Luxi, however, was the first to lower her eyes, returning to her paper. Cheng Xing chuckled softly to himself. Perhaps it was age that made him bolder. In his past life, he would've been the one to look away first if caught staring.
He reopened his English book, picking up right where he left off. Immersed in the world of words, he lost track of time. Before he knew it, only ten minutes remained. The air became charged with urgency as students hurried to complete their exams. Desperation filled the final moments, with even the most indifferent students glancing around for answers.
In years past, Cheng Xing would've been among them, frantically scribbling down borrowed answers. He almost always relied on Chen Qing's paper for those last-minute saves. Sitting above him, Chen Qing noticed something odd. Cheng Xing hadn't made a move to borrow her paper. Instead, he continued flipping through his English book, unbothered by the looming deadline.
"Is Cheng Xing planning to score zero? He hasn't even touched his test paper," a girl next to Chen Qing whispered, frowning in disbelief.
"I don't know," Chen Qing responded, equally puzzled.
Ten minutes later, the bell rang, signaling the end of the session. Duan Weiguo appeared promptly, his presence a reminder of the rigid structure that ruled their days.
"Jiang Luxi, collect the test papers from outside and bring them to my office," he instructed.
Jiang Luxi stood, gracefully moving from student to student, gathering their papers. When she reached Cheng Xing, her steps faltered. His paper was entirely blank. She hesitated, knowing this wasn't normal. Cheng Xing's past submissions had always been mostly complete, with only a few application problems left undone.
She took his paper but paused after a few steps, turning back toward him.
"What's wrong?" Cheng Xing asked, confused by her return.
"If you're going to ask why I handed in a blank paper," he said preemptively, "it's because I think copying answers is a waste of time. I'd rather use that time to memorize more vocabulary."
Jiang Luxi's expression remained neutral. "Class and name," she said calmly, holding out the paper.
Cheng Xing blinked in realization. He hadn't written his details, assuming the paper was irrelevant. Taking the pen she offered, he quickly scribbled down his class and name.
"Thanks," he said, handing it back.
"No need," Jiang Luxi replied with a small shake of her head, resuming her task.
Back inside, as students returned their chairs to their original positions, Zhou Yuan leaned over. "How'd it go, Cheng? This time, the teacher barely checked in. I copied Zhang Huan's entire paper."
"I didn't copy anything," Cheng Xing replied casually.
"What? Then you're definitely ranking last this time," Zhou Yuan exclaimed, wide-eyed. "Even Zhao Long copied quite a bit."
Since the second year of high school, mock exams had become a staple. Initially, teachers graded each paper meticulously. By the third year, however, the frequency of exams outpaced their capacity to keep up.
A new system was introduced: students swapped papers between the inside and outside groups, grading each other's work while the teacher continued teaching. This not only expedited the process but also ensured fairness—no one graded their own paper.
The following morning during math class, Duan Weiguo distributed the graded papers. Zhou Yuan's eyes lit up as he recognized the name on the paper he received.
"Cheng, it's Jiang Luxi's paper!" he whispered excitedly.
In their youth, even the smallest connection to a crush felt monumental. Sitting in her seat, borrowing her notes—these little things carried immense significance.
And at Ancheng No. 1 High, was there any boy who hadn't, at some point, admired Jiang Luxi?