"Qingqing, is something going on between you and Cheng Xing?" Chen Shi asked as he stepped into the house, his gaze lingering on his daughter.
"No," Chen Qing replied with a slight shake of her head, her tone calm but distant.
"Then why hasn't he been over lately? And during dinner just now, I barely saw you two exchange a word," Chen Shi pressed, concern evident in his voice.
"How would I know?" Chen Qing frowned, her irritation flickering beneath her otherwise composed demeanor.
"They're almost adults now," Zhang Qiu, Chen Qing's mother, chimed in, setting down the laundry she was folding. "They're not little kids anymore. It's normal for them to have their own thoughts and not talk much." She gave a dismissive wave. "Besides, it's a relief that he's stopped hanging around Qingqing so much. If it weren't for the close relationship between our families, I'd have said something long ago. It's obvious to anyone with eyes that Cheng Xing likes Qingqing. If he keeps clinging to her, how will she find a proper husband in the future?"
"Also," Zhang Qiu continued, her voice growing sharper, "they're in their senior year now. This is a critical time for studying. Without him distracting her, Qingqing's grades might finally improve. Remember how she used to always be first in her grade? But since high school started, she's barely stayed in the top ten." Her frustration was palpable. "In elementary and middle school, she never once fell from first place, and now look at her."
"You can't put it like that," Chen Shi countered, his brow furrowed. "You were the one who suggested Cheng Xing take Qingqing to school back then."
"If I could go back, I'd rather walk her there myself every single day than make that mistake again," Zhang Qiu snapped, her eyes narrowing. "Who would've thought Cheng Xing's grades would be so terrible? He's been a bad influence on Qingqing, dragging her down with him."
Chen Shi sighed heavily but said nothing.
Zhang Qiu wasn't done. "And did you hear his excuse when you asked why he hasn't been coming over? He said he's 'woken up' and wants to focus on studying now. What nonsense. He's so far behind. The college entrance exams are next year—how could he possibly catch up? He's just saying that to brush us off."
Chen Shi didn't respond right away. Cheng Xing's words had struck him as evasive, too, though he wasn't sure how much of it was genuine.
"Alright, Mom, Dad, please stop arguing. I'm going to bed," Chen Qing said, standing abruptly. She turned and walked to her room without waiting for a reply.
Her parents exchanged glances but stayed silent as the sound of her door clicking shut echoed in the house.
The Mid-Autumn Festival came and went, leaving National Day just around the corner. After their brief Mid-Autumn break, the students faced seven consecutive school days before they could enjoy the three-day National Day holiday.
"This Mid-Autumn break was pointless," Zhou Yuan grumbled as he leaned against his desk after lunch. "If we didn't have it, tomorrow would've been the weekend, and we'd have two extra days off. Now we have to slog through seven straight days!"
"I'm so jealous of Zhao Long," he continued, his voice dripping with envy. "That guy's living the dream. Took a seven-day leave to hit the internet café and game nonstop. And he's got the National Day break too—that's ten days in a row! Plus, if you count the Mid-Autumn break, it's thirteen days of doing nothing but gaming!"
"Why don't you take leave, too?" Cheng Xing asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No way. If I asked for leave, my dad would kill me," Zhou Yuan said with a bitter laugh.
"Then stop whining," Cheng Xing replied with a shrug.
Zhou Yuan let out an exaggerated sigh. "Man, when will this end? School is exhausting."
Cheng Xing chuckled, shaking his head. He understood that feeling all too well. Not long ago, he had spent most of his time waiting for holidays just to escape to the internet café, gaming through the nights. Back then, school felt like a prison.
In the afternoon, their homeroom teacher, Zheng Hua, entered the classroom, his usual stern expression in place, a small wooden stick tapping lightly against his palm.
"National Day is coming soon," Zheng Hua began, scanning the room. "As you all know, every year our school holds a bulletin board competition during National Day and New Year. This year, however, there's a twist. Instead of just competing within our school, the district education bureau is organizing the event."
Murmurs rippled through the classroom.
"This means that it's not just our school participating. Second High and Third High are in it too," Zheng Hua continued. "And here's the catch: it's not just about neat writing or artistic skills anymore. Creativity will play a major role. Additionally, your presentation skills will be assessed."
The students exchanged puzzled glances.
"Yes, you heard that right," Zheng Hua said. "You'll need to verbally explain the concepts behind your bulletin board's design. The words, the images—everything must have meaning."
"And you'll need to articulate that meaning clearly. So, prepare yourselves. This isn't just an art competition. It's a test of your teamwork, creativity, and communication skills."
The room fell into silence as the weight of the announcement settled on them.
"Jiang Luxi, you're the class monitor, so this task is on you," Zheng Hua said, his voice steady but firm. "Find classmates who are good at writing, drawing, or have creative ideas. Use anyone in our class."
The bulletin board competition had already been discussed in a school meeting. The principal had made it clear: teachers would not participate. It was entirely up to the class monitors to select and organize their teams. This approach aimed to foster leadership skills and promote teamwork among students.
In essence, this competition wasn't just about creativity—it was a test of leadership and collaboration.
"We've got a lot of students in this class," Zheng Hua continued. "Everyone can contribute something to the bulletin board. If anyone has a good idea, they can talk to the class monitor. I'm leaving this in your hands. I'm not expecting perfection, but we absolutely cannot embarrass ourselves in front of the other schools," he said, his tone sharp.
"Teacher," Jiang Luxi raised her hand hesitantly.
"Yes?" Zheng Hua responded, meeting her gaze.
"I don't think I can do it," Jiang Luxi said, her voice steady but laced with apprehension.
The class fell silent. Jiang Luxi's honesty was unexpected. She had never managed a bulletin board before; in the past, the teacher had always assigned the task to someone else. Now, faced with the responsibility, she felt lost. What should she write? What should she draw? She had no idea where to begin.
"If you don't think you can do it, get help from others in the class," Zheng Hua said without missing a beat. "Chen Qing, for instance, is good at drawing, and Wang Yan has excellent handwriting. Ask them or anyone else. If anyone refuses to help, come directly to me."
Jiang Luxi nodded, but her expression remained troubled.
"Alright, it's settled. Let's begin today's lesson," Zheng Hua concluded, tapping his wooden stick against the desk.
As soon as the teacher turned to the blackboard, Zhou Yuan leaned toward Cheng Xing, his voice a hushed grumble. "We're doomed. Before, when it was just a school competition, our class always ranked near the bottom. Now, with this three-school event, we'll definitely end up last."
Zheng Hua's words stirred a memory in Cheng Xing.
In the past, Zheng Hua never cared much about the bulletin board competitions. To him, as long as the class's academic performance stayed strong, bulletin boards were a waste of time. He often handed the responsibility to students with lower grades, viewing it as a distraction from real studies.
Back then, Cheng Xing had been one of those students. He hadn't cared either. Rather than spend time on the board, he preferred gaming at the internet café. His efforts were minimal—writing basic phrases like "Happy New Year" for the New Year or "Happy National Day" for National Day. On ordinary days, the board served as a space for teachers' handwriting exercises.
As a result, their class consistently ranked near the bottom in these competitions. They never placed dead last but hovered around fourth or fifth from the bottom. At No. 1 High School, academics were the top priority, and many teachers treated the bulletin board as an afterthought, assigning it to weaker students.
But this time was different. The district's education bureau was involved, and the event now included Second High and Third High. It wasn't just an internal school matter anymore—it was a district-wide competition.
In his past, their class's bulletin board had ranked dead last among the three schools. On the first day back after the National Day holiday, the school publicly criticized their class during the morning assembly. Worse, the principal had personally scolded Zheng Hua for their poor showing.
The memory was vivid. After that humiliating reprimand, Zheng Hua had stormed into the classroom, furious. Without warning, he struck Jiang Luxi's palms several times with his wooden stick. She hadn't cried, but her face had been pale, her lips pressed into a tight line. It was the first time she had ever been physically punished by a teacher. That scene stayed with Cheng Xing for years.
Though there were many talented students in their class—those who excelled at writing, drawing, or coming up with creative ideas—Jiang Luxi wasn't the type to ask for help.
In that previous timeline, she had taken on the entire bulletin board project alone, while other classes had teams working together.
In comparison, what could one person achieve against a team's collective effort? The bulletin board Jiang Luxi created, though earnest, had been lackluster. It was no wonder their class had ended up at the bottom.