After school in the evening, Zhou Yuan shoved the pile of books in front of him, knocking them over as he slid his phone into his pocket.
"Brother Cheng, let's head home."
"Alright." Cheng Xing nodded, placing his books neatly into his desk drawer.
The two of them descended the stairs and exited the school, their silhouettes fading into the evening light.
Inside the nearly deserted classroom, Jiang Luxi remained. She picked up a piece of chalk from the podium and walked to the blackboard at the back of the room. She stood there for a long time, the chalk resting lightly in her hand, but she couldn't bring herself to write anything.
If she had her way, she would've done what Cheng Xing had done before—simply write "Happy National Day" and call it a day. But this time was different. The homeroom teacher had shifted the responsibility of the blackboard newspaper from Cheng Xing to her, a clear sign that this task was being taken seriously. After all, this wasn't just any routine school duty; it was part of a district-wide competition involving other schools.
But artistic flair wasn't Jiang Luxi's strength. Cheng Xing's previous efforts, though minimal, had left no guidelines for her to follow. She had no clue what separated an impressive blackboard newspaper from a mediocre one.
Mu Yang, the English class representative who had yet to leave, noticed Jiang Luxi lingering by the blackboard. He got up from his seat, a gentle smile on his face, and approached her.
"Class President, need any help?"
Jiang Luxi turned to face him.
"I did a blackboard newspaper in my first year," Mu Yang continued. "It even won an award. I could help you with this."
Normally, Mu Yang would've left by now. But today was different. He had anticipated that Jiang Luxi might stay behind to work on the blackboard newspaper. Knowing his own skill with it, he lingered in the classroom longer than usual.
His thoughts had already been swirling since the homeroom teacher's announcement that afternoon. If there were still boys at school who hadn't fallen for Jiang Luxi, there certainly weren't any left in Class Three. Seeing her almost every day, it was impossible not to be captivated by her charm.
In their earlier school years, they had encountered pretty girls, but Jiang Luxi was in a league of her own—exceptional in beauty, character, and academics. She embodied everything beautiful about high school life.
As the final year of high school crept towards its end, with less than a year remaining before they all went their separate ways, an inexplicable melancholy settled over Mu Yang. Maybe it was the crispness of autumn, or perhaps it was the rare solitude of being alone with her in the classroom.
Watching Jiang Luxi's delicate and serene face, his heart raced. It wasn't just spring breezes that could stir a boy's heart—autumn winds could do it, too.
For a fleeting moment, Mu Yang almost confessed his feelings, the affection and admiration he'd hidden away for so long. She was the center of every entry in his diary.
Yet, he held back. Confessing was easy. Facing the aftermath was not.
The girl before him would likely remain a memory—beautiful, but unreachable. Still, if he could spend this final year standing beside her, working on something as simple as blackboard well-wish writing, it would be a precious memory. No longer observing from afar like the wind, intangible and fleeting, but standing close, even if only briefly.
"No need," Jiang Luxi said softly, shaking her head.
"It's hard to do this alone," Mu Yang pressed gently.
Jiang Luxi remained silent, her eyes steady.
"Would it be different if Cheng Xing helped?" he asked after a brief pause.
Jiang Luxi frowned, confusion flashing in her eyes. "What does he have to do with this?"
"Nothing, really," Mu Yang answered awkwardly. "Just... I think he moved on to you a little too quickly after being rejected by Chen Qing."
Jiang Luxi's expression didn't change. "Anything else?"
"That's all," Mu Yang replied, forcing a smile. "If you need help later, just let me know."
When she remained silent, Mu Yang turned and left, embarrassment weighing heavily on his steps.
Jiang Luxi stood motionless before the blackboard for a long time. Finally, she wrote two words: "Happy National Day."
It was getting late, and she didn't want her grandmother to worry. There was still time before the National Day break. She figured spending twenty minutes after school each day would be enough to complete the blackboard newspaper.
Returning the chalk to the podium, she locked the door and left.
The next morning, Zhang Huan unlocked the classroom. When Cheng Xing switched on the back lights, he immediately noticed the fresh writing on the blackboard.
"Chen Qing, should we help Jiang Luxi?" Wang Yan asked, her eyes on the board. "The school's taking this blackboard competition seriously. My dad stayed up all night brainstorming ideas for his class's board, even searching online."
Wang Yan's father, a language teacher and homeroom teacher at a neighboring school, had made her practice her handwriting from a young age, resulting in her beautifully refined script.
"No need. The teacher assigned it to her, not us," Li Dan replied dismissively.
"But it's about our class's honor," Wang Yan argued.
There was another reason she wanted to help. Rumors said this year's judging panel was prestigious, featuring leaders from several schools and district education officials. Her father had hinted he might be one of the judges, with some language teachers involved. Wang Yan saw this as her opportunity to shine.
"Let's help if she asks. If not, forget it," Chen Qing said coolly.
Wang Yan hesitated, then nodded. "Right, we shouldn't impose."
"Well, there goes your chance to show off," Li Dan teased, seeing through Wang Yan's intentions.
"I wasn't trying to show off!" Wang Yan huffed. Then, after a beat, she added, "Besides, Jiang Luxi rarely asks for help... except from Cheng Xing."
She trailed off, glancing at Chen Qing.
Cheng Xing used to be around them all the time, but recently he had distanced himself, even clashing with them on several occasions.
Chen Qing smiled faintly. "True. Looks like your chance is gone."
Wang Yan scoffed. "She may be smart, but I doubt she can pull off the best blackboard alone."
That evening, as Jiang Luxi headed to the blackboard, several students, hoping to offer their help like Mu Yang, approached her.
"Class monitor, need any help?"
"Class monitor, I have an idea for the blackboard competition."
"Class monitor, do you need help with the lettering?"
For many classmates, this was perhaps the only chance in their three years of high school to approach Jiang Luxi under the guise of helping with the blackboard newspaper. It gave them a legitimate reason to speak with her.
Everyone knew she would most likely refuse their help, but that didn't matter. Just getting close to her, exchanging a few words, was enough to leave a memorable mark on their youth.
Those hidden crushes and unspoken affections remained buried deep in their hearts. One day, when reminiscing about their youth, they would pull out these moments and smile with quiet contentment.
Yet, despite summoning the courage to approach her, most were consumed by shyness and self-doubt. Some, too timid, would blush furiously and retreat after managing a single sentence—long before Jiang Luxi could even respond.
Such was the nature of youthful crushes—those heart-fluttering, uncontrollable moments that made cheeks burn and hearts race.
Most of the students in this school had endured countless late nights of rigorous study, unlike Cheng Xing. He had the boldness to openly confess or hand out love letters without caring about the consequences.
For them, liking someone meant hiding it, afraid to show their feelings. In their world, ordinary affections seemed cheap—so cheap that after years of silently admiring someone, they might be the only ones who ever knew. Cheap enough that they didn't dare express their feelings, burying them in the deepest corners of their hearts.
Cheng Xing put down his pen. With the last boy now gone after another polite rejection, the classroom finally fell silent.
"I didn't expect you to be this popular," Cheng Xing said, turning around with a grin.
"Why are you still here?" Jiang Luxi frowned.
"If I leave, what will you do? Do you really think you can handle the entire blackboard by yourself?" Cheng Xing asked.
"That's none of your business," Jiang Luxi replied coldly.
"It kind of is," Cheng Xing said, leaning casually against a desk. "You know how much the homeroom teacher cares about this competition. If it weren't important, they wouldn't have assigned it to you instead of me. Since it's a district-wide event, the school is taking it seriously.
If you do well, great. But if not, and the principal gets mad, do you think the teacher will let you off the hook?"
He reached for the chalk in her hand, his tone softening. "I don't mean anything by it—I just don't want to see you getting your palms smacked with that stick. I've been through it. It hurts. If you had a solid plan, I wouldn't be bothering you.
But right now, all you've written is 'Happy National Day.' That might work for a regular contest, but not this one. If you keep it that simple, punishment is inevitable."
"And the sooner we finish, the sooner you can go home. Staying late every night isn't good. Your grandma will worry," Cheng Xing added.
Jiang Luxi froze for a moment, her lips pressed together, then remained silent.
Cheng Xing erased the words on the blackboard and began sketching.
His drawing skills? He owed those to Chen Qing.
In seventh grade, Chen Qing's parents had enrolled her in an art class. Cheng Xing, eager to follow her around, had begged his parents to enroll him as well. Though he hadn't been as diligent as Chen Qing, that year of art lessons left him capable of handling simple drawings.
He had spent the previous night thinking about how to approach the blackboard competition. By morning, he finally had a plan.
His advantage over the others? He read more than they did. There were things you couldn't learn from textbooks.
Cheng Xing started sketching curved lines across the blackboard. Soon, the chalk he had borrowed from Jiang Luxi was worn down.
"Hand me another piece of chalk," he said, extending his hand.
Jiang Luxi pursed her lips but handed over a fresh stick.
Cheng Xing snapped it in half, giving one piece back to her.
The smooth tip of fresh chalk lacked grip, making the lines faint and producing an unpleasant screech—like nails on a chalkboard. Teachers often broke chalk before using it to avoid this.
Jiang Luxi watched him draw, unable to discern the shapes. All she saw were a series of curved lines.
"What are you drawing?" she eventually asked.
"A map," Cheng Xing replied.
"Oh," she nodded. A map of China for National Day seemed appropriate.
"Did you just come up with this?" she asked.
"I spent half the night thinking about it," Cheng Xing admitted.
Jiang Luxi said nothing more.
"I'll handle the drawing. The lettering will be up to you. My handwriting is a mess right now," Cheng Xing confessed.
In his past life, as an author, he had practiced writing diligently for book signings. But in this life, his handwriting was far from presentable. Writing wasn't something that could be perfected overnight; it required constant practice.
"Okay," Jiang Luxi agreed with a nod.
Cheng Xing finished sketching the final line. "That's it for today. We'll continue tomorrow."
The map was intricate, but at this pace, he could complete it in four days. Jiang Luxi would need just one day to finish the lettering.
"Do you need me to prepare anything? I can draft it at home," Jiang Luxi offered.
"No need. I'll tell you on the final day," Cheng Xing said.
"Oh." She paused before adding softly, "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Cheng Xing clapped the chalk dust from his hands. "Let's head home."
Jiang Luxi nodded. Cheng Xing turned off the classroom lights, and she locked the door behind them.
As they walked down the hallway, Cheng Xing pressed the light switch with his foot before descending the stairs.
"Ride safely," he reminded her at the entrance.
With a wave, he walked off.
Jiang Luxi stood still for a moment, watching him disappear into the distance. Then, she retrieved her bicycle from the shed and rode away.
The moon hung bright in the sky, stars twinkling like scattered diamonds. Though the morning had been foggy, the night was clear and serene.