Chapter 10: “Buy One, Get One Free”

[Hou Zihao snorted and, without much logic, declared, “Her homework is only for me to copy.”]

Yesterday was the weekly test, and Zhou Leqi had handed in her paper early. As a result, she caught the bus at least fifteen minutes earlier than usual. If this man were a regular commuter or someone with a fixed daily schedule, he shouldn’t have been on this bus at this time today.

Hou Zihao grew wary. From swiping his card to sitting down, he silently observed the man, but didn’t notice anything unusual—aside from the fleeting glance the man gave their direction when they boarded, there was no other suspicious behavior.

Still, Hou Zihao deliberately guided Zhou Leqi to sit further back, keeping some distance from the man. Once seated, he asked her, “Have you often run into him before on your rides?”

He had only started taking this bus this week and wasn’t familiar with the route, so he assumed Zhou Leqi might know.

To his surprise, Zhou Leqi was also unfamiliar with this bus.

Her parents had recently divorced, and she had only started taking the bus last semester. Back then, she took the bus near the school gate, not this 301 route. So she didn’t know if the middle-aged man was a regular passenger on this bus either.

She shook her head and said, “I don’t know.”

Hou Zihao didn’t realize there were more complex reasons behind her response. He assumed that Zhou Leqi’s lack of knowledge about the man stemmed from her naturally unobservant personality, so he didn’t press further. Instead, he mentally reminded himself to keep an eye on the man in the future.

Once they settled into their seats, Hou Zihao pulled out two bowls of shaved ice from the plastic bag and handed one to Zhou Leqi: “Here.”

This particular shaved ice was famous among No. 1 High students, especially popular during the summer. It featured finely crushed ice at the bottom, topped with refreshing fruits like watermelon and pear, and drizzled with soft, glutinous red bean paste. Depending on personal preference, customers could add extras like raisins or crushed peanuts.

Zhou Leqi hadn’t expected Hou Zihao to buy her one too. Surprised, she tried to decline, but before she could say anything, he preemptively added, “It’s a promotion—they’re doing buy one, get one free.”

…Buy one, get one free?

Zhou Leqi had always thought such promotions were exclusive to big supermarkets, never expecting roadside stalls to offer them too.

She wasn’t sure, but Hou Zihao had already been holding the bowl of shaved ice out to her for a while. After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted it and said, “Thank you… I’ll give you the money tomorrow.”

Hou Zihao casually dismissed her thanks, saying, “No need,” and the two began eating their shaved ice.

Zhou Leqi scooped up a spoonful of crushed ice soaked in red bean paste, along with a small piece of watermelon. The sweetness spread to the tip of her tongue, accompanied by a cool, refreshing sensation.

Delicious.

After nearly a week of sitting together as desk partners, Hou Zihao had gradually picked up on some patterns and began to understand Zhou Leqi’s subtle expressions. He couldn’t pinpoint specific examples, but through her eyebrows, eyes, lips, and profile, he vaguely sensed her mood improving.

His own mood brightened accordingly.

They quietly enjoyed their shaved ice for a while before Hou Zihao seized the opportunity to bring up the issue of homework.

He had already thought about it: there was simply too much homework in their final year to finish it all on time. Rather than copying from others with ridiculously low accuracy rates, it would be more efficient—and yield better results—if he and Zhou Leqi collaborated. They could divide the workload, each tackling a few subjects per day.

Zhou Leqi found the plan reasonable, but Xue Jun’s lecture the previous day made her nervous. She was hesitant to copy homework again, yet she also worried about potential unforeseen circumstances preventing her from completing her assignments. Her expression turned conflicted.

Hou Zihao gently encouraged her: “It’s fine. We just weren’t prepared this time, which is why Teacher Xue noticed. Next time, we’ll be more careful—it’ll be fine.”

To bolster his argument, he added, “Look at me—I’ve been copying for three years, and nothing’s happened.”

Zhou Leqi was momentarily speechless after hearing this.

She turned her head to look at Hou Zihao and sincerely asked, “Your grades are so good—why do you still copy homework?”

Zhou Leqi had long felt that Hou Zihao was quite different from the other top students she knew.

How to put it? He seemed… too laid-back.

He played games, basketball, and during class, he didn’t appear overly invested, giving off an easygoing vibe. Typically, high-achieving students were known for their relentless dedication, squeezing every minute to study. Some even carried a sense of deep resentment toward their workload—like herself and her former classmates who had secured spots in top universities.

Who else treated their final year like freshman year?

When Hou Zihao heard her question, he seemed touched. A smile appeared on his face, casual and carefree, yet somehow making him even more handsome. He looked at her, his prominent brow bones accentuating the depth of his eyes.

“It might be a bad habit,” he said. “I wasn’t exactly a model student back then.”

Zhou Leqi was surprised by this revelation. “You didn’t have good grades before?”

Hou Zihao shrugged. “Average, I guess. In my first year, I ranked around six or seven hundred in the grade.”

Six or seven hundred?

Zhou Leqi was shocked.

Generally speaking, there was a clear divide between top-tier students and average ones. While someone ranked six or seven hundred might work hard enough to break into the top fifty, achieving and maintaining the number one spot was rare—it required mindset, habits, and a strong foundation.

“Really?” Zhou Leqi sounded skeptical.

“Why would I lie to you?” Hou Zihao smiled, casual and sincere. “Back then, I didn’t take studying seriously. When I buckled down, my grades improved.”

Zhou Leqi found this intriguing. She sensed there must be an inspiring story behind it—something that had profoundly motivated him.

She scooped another spoonful of red bean ice while asking, “What motivated you to start studying seriously?”

At that moment, her attention was entirely on the ice, so she didn’t see the look in Hou Zihao’s eyes as he gazed at her: a mix of nostalgia, reminiscence, faint brightness, and gentle warmth.

He was watching her.

Even when she didn’t notice, he was always watching her.

After a while, when Zhou Leqi realized he hadn’t responded, she looked up at him. By then, Hou Zihao had already averted his gaze, munching on a piece of watermelon as he casually replied, “Nothing special. I just thought that putting in effort, regardless of the outcome, is pretty cool in itself.”

Zhou Leqi’s heart fluttered slightly, and her hand paused mid-scoop.

She suddenly felt this statement was both familiar and strange.

And the version of herself who once firmly believed in such ideals… felt equally distant and close.

She remained silent, her spoon motionless for a while before resuming its movement. Head bowed, she softly murmured, “It is cool, but reality isn’t always so simple.”

The sky grew darker.

“Only persistence with results can truly be called persistence. As for those without results… well, they’re probably just jokes.”

Her voice trailed off.

At that moment, Zhou Leqi didn’t know why she had spoken those words, nor did she realize how unusually talkative she had been that day. She merely voiced what came to mind, unaware of the hidden reasons behind her actions.

But Hou Zihao noticed the subtle shift. He felt a slight stirring in his heart, his brows furrowing slightly.

Perhaps because, at that moment, he had faintly begun to sense…

…that she was falling.

________________________________________

The next day was Friday, the last day of the week.

When Zhou Leqi walked into the classroom, she immediately sensed something unusual in the atmosphere. At first, she thought it was just excitement over the upcoming weekend, but then she noticed everyone’s gazes lingering on her, making her uneasy.

This unease persisted until Hou Zihao entered the room.

It was strange—she wasn’t particularly close to him, yet his presence brought her a sense of calm. Perhaps it was because they had been commuting home together recently, slowly building familiarity.

He looked like he had stayed up late again, and as soon as he sat down, he asked to borrow her math homework. She handed it over and couldn’t help asking, “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

He looked perpetually unrested.

Hearing her concern, Hou Zihao felt a flutter in his heart, though he maintained his cool demeanor. With a nonchalant shrug, he replied, “No, I just work on homework slowly and stay up late—it’s fine.”

A reassuring tone.

Zhou Leqi hummed in acknowledgment, contemplating whether to share some tips for improving efficiency. But just then, she heard him muttering complaints while copying math problems: “Having to write out steps for multiple-choice and fill-in-the-blank questions is ridiculous… Why not just make everything a big problem…”

He was griping about Xue Jun’s new homework rules.

Zhou Leqi found it amusing and decided not to interrupt him.

At that moment, Ge Ao approached, also looking to borrow homework—math, coincidentally. Hou Zihao immediately waved him off. Ge Ao protested, pointing out, “Monkey, don’t burn bridges after crossing the river! Who lent you homework yesterday? Do you even know reciprocity?”

Without looking up, Hou Zihao shot back while continuing to copy, “With your accuracy rate, you dare talk about reciprocity? That’s not a peach—it’s not even a decent date palm seed!”

Ge Ao was left speechless, unable to come up with a clever retort. Standing there fuming, he waited for Hou Zihao to flip the workbook and attempted to snatch it when the page turned.

Hou Zihao quickly slapped his hand away, muttering, “Back off, back off,” thoroughly infuriating Ge Ao, who accused him of being ungrateful. Then, noticing that Hou Zihao was copying Zhou Leqi’s work, Ge Ao decided to try a different approach.

Thick-skinned, he struck up a conversation with Zhou Leqi, tentatively asking, “Classmate… could I borrow your homework later?”

Zhou Leqi, indifferent, nodded in agreement. To everyone’s surprise, Hou Zihao interjected, “No, you can’t borrow it.”

Ge Ao glared. “Why not? She’s the one who agreed—what are you interfering for?”

Hou Zihao snorted and, without much logic, declared, “Her homework is only for me to copy.”

Ge Ao was dumbfounded, unable to believe Hou Zihao could say something so shameless. Just as he was rolling up his sleeves, ready to fight, Hou Zihao added, “Wait until I’m done, then you can copy mine.”

Ah.

…What’s the difference?

Ge Ao frowned deeply, glancing at Hou Zihao and then sneakily at Zhou Leqi, who sat quietly to the side. Suddenly, he remembered the photos and messages circulating wildly online yesterday and couldn’t help but wonder: Could it be…

Before his suspicions could fully form, Old Pan walked into the classroom, causing chaos as everyone hastily stowed away the homework they were copying and pulled out their Chinese textbooks for morning reading.

Old Pan stepped up to the podium, cleared his throat, and announced, “There are a few class matters to address. Everyone, especially the class committee members, listen carefully.”

He rattled off a list of tasks: a big cleanup, collecting membership fees, signing up for an essay competition. Hou Zihao let most of it pass through one ear and out the other—except for the very last item, which left a deep impression.

“Finally, this month’s blackboard newspaper needs to be completed,” Old Pan adjusted his glasses, his gaze sweeping across the crowd before landing on Hou Zihao. “Cultural and sports committee members, pay attention—you’ll find the theme requirements in my office after class.”