Chapter 2: “Excuse Me, Could You Move?”

[“I bought too much. Here, you can have it.”]

As Zhou Leqi raised her head, she met the gaze of the tall boy standing at the doorway.

Straight and unwavering, his stare was unreadable.

She didn’t like being stared at like that, so after furrowing her brows slightly, she quickly lowered her head again, turning her attention back to her desk—where an ant was struggling to crawl toward her mechanical pencil.

She could still hear Teacher Pan continuing to scold the boy. After about five minutes, he finally stopped, gruffly relenting with a wave of his hand: “All the class’s precious time has been wasted because of you—now hurry up, find a seat, and sit down!”

By this point, only one seat remained in the entire class: front and center in the first row, right under Teacher Pan’s hawk-like eyes, next to the student who had scored dead last on the exam.

...Only the unluckiest of unlucky souls would end up there.

The entire class watched as the 185 cm Hou Zihao—their godlike “Hou Shen”—sat down in that very spot. The poor soul sitting behind him was utterly doomed, unable to see the blackboard and left staring at the motivational slogan hanging above: “Build a solid foundation, accumulate strength for a breakthrough.”

The students in the second and third rows looked visibly disgruntled, but Teacher Pan’s expression was even darker—and Hou Zihao’s was the darkest of all.

Hou Zihao’s mood remained foul well after Chinese class ended.

Yan Lin, seated behind him, was equally fuming. He kicked Hou Zihao’s chair and slapped his back repeatedly, saying: “Let me copy your notes.”

Yan Lin, ranked third in the mock exam, was the epitome of the classic overachiever archetype—focused solely on academics, with basketball as his only other interest. He’d befriended Hou Zihao on the court during their sophomore year, though they hadn’t been in the same class back then.

This entire class, Yan Lin had been blocked by Hou Zihao’s towering frame, leaving him practically blind. But when he complained, the culprit merely tossed over a dismissive remark without even turning around: “I didn’t take any notes. Ask Ge Ao.”

Ge Ao, ranked 37th, had been blessed with the luck of the draw during seat selection, landing a cozy spot in the second-to-last row by the wall—a prime location for zoning out during class. He’d shared two years of classes with Hou Zihao during their freshman and sophomore years and was also one of his basketball buddies.

At that moment, Ge Ao was leisurely heading out to fetch water when he heard his name called. He sauntered over, picked up Hou Zihao’s test paper from the desk, and whistled: “Damn, you really didn’t write a single word.”

Ge Ao let out a low whistle of admiration, then sized up Hou Zihao’s gloomy expression. Assuming it was because of Teacher Pan’s earlier scolding, he patted him on the shoulder and said: “Don’t worry about it. That’s just how Old Pan is. A couple of jabs don’t mean much.”

Hou Zihao brushed his hand away irritably: “It’s not because of that.”

Ge Ao’s eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at Zhou Leqi, seated by the window in the third row. A mischievous grin spread across his face, revealing his dimples as he teased Hou Zihao: “What’s the matter? Can’t handle not being first? It’s not a big deal, though. She’s already repeated twice.”

That only made Hou Zihao’s expression darken further.

He turned his head briefly, catching a glimpse of Zhou Leqi bathed in the bright morning sunlight. She was tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her fair skin glowing softly in the light…

...Damn, she was stunning.

Hou Zihao was getting increasingly irritated. He turned his head and whispered to Ge Ao: “Why is she even in our class?”

Ge Ao shrugged, placing Hou Zihao’s test paper back down: “How should I know? Probably bombed the exam again.”

Hou Zihao fell silent, his brows furrowed deeply.

Meanwhile, Yan Lin’s temper was reaching its limit. He glared at the two chatting boys and slammed his desk: “Notes! Can someone give me their notes to copy, please?”

No one responded. Frustrated, he kicked Hou Zihao’s chair again and said: “Why don’t you talk to Old Pan about switching seats? Sitting here makes it impossible for me to focus in class.”

Ge Ao’s dimples reappeared as he chimed in: “I think switching would be a good idea. Sitting in the front row must suck. Since Old Pan assigns seats based on scores, why don’t you chat with him? Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky.”

Hou Zihao, who had been quiet until now, suddenly perked up at this: “Assigning seats based on scores?”

Ge Ao and Yan Lin nodded.

He let out a nonchalant “Oh,” then subtly glanced in Zhou Leqi’s direction before asking: “What rank am I?”

Ge Ao and Yan Lin: …?

Ge Ao noticed Yan Lin’s face darkening—he knew how much Yan Lin disliked Hou Zihao’s laid-back attitude and consistently higher rankings. Quickly playing peacemaker, he interjected: “Second place, second place! Don’t you even check your scores?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Ge Ao realized what he’d said—right, as if Hou Shen needed to check. First place was practically a given.

Just as Ge Ao finished processing this, he saw Hou Zihao abruptly stand up and stride toward the door, completely ignoring Yuan Jiahui, who had been cautiously trying to strike up a conversation with him.

Tsk, tsk.

In the final two minutes of break, Wang Chuanzhi tried once more to start a conversation with Zhou Leqi.

She was beautiful, smelled amazing, and excelled academically… Why not ask her a question?

Wang Chuanzhi pulled out the physics test paper for the next class, cleared his throat, and prepared to say hi—but before he could even utter the “H,” a voice cut through from above: “Sorry, could you move?”

Wang Chuanzhi looked up to see none other than their Hou Shen.

Stunned, he hastily put down the physics paper, adjusted his glasses nervously, and stammered: “Th-this… this is my seat.”

Though his tone was timid, his reasoning was sound.

“Is that so?” Hou Shen merely shrugged. “Well, it’s mine now.”

…Wasn’t that a bit bullying?

Despite being only 171 cm tall, Wang Chuanzhi bravely stood up to confront the 185 cm Hou Shen—only to immediately start packing his bag and silently shuffle toward the first row.

The entire class: …Uh, what?

Wait, what did Hou Shen mean by that? Did he specifically go to Old Pan to request this? And insist on sitting next to Zhou Leqi?

…This was truly clashing.

Right at that moment, the bell rang for the next class. Everyone hurried back to their seats, but their eyes remained glued to Hou Shen as he sat down emotionlessly, placed his bag neatly, and pulled out his physics test paper just as Teacher Zhao Yingmei walked into the classroom.

Whoa, cold.

Teacher Zhao wasn’t as talkative as Old Pan. Her opening greeting consisted of a curt “Hello, everyone,” before she turned around to grab some chalk and began writing on the board.

She started with the multiple-choice questions from earlier, covering topics like impulse and momentum. For Zhou Leqi, who was on her third round of senior year, these concepts were etched into her DNA. So instead of listening, she continued staring intently at the ant crawling across her desk.

The ant’s original goal had been to climb onto her mechanical pencil, but now Zhou Leqi had picked it up and drawn a small circle around the insect. The circle itself had no physical barrier, yet no matter how hard the ant tried, it couldn’t escape. Each time it approached the edge of the pencil line, it seemed to hit an invisible wall and was forced back, repeating the cycle endlessly.

It was kind of pitiful.

Zhou Leqi watched as the ant ran in circles, feeling a pang of pity. She considered saving it but rummaged through her pencil case only to find she hadn’t brought an eraser that day. Moreover, her stomach was starting to ache.

It wasn’t an illness—just hunger. She hadn’t eaten anything that morning.

She pressed her hand gently against her stomach, trying to soothe the discomfort. At that moment, a distinct, well-defined hand suddenly appeared before her, holding an eraser.

It was her new desk mate.

His eyes were still fixed on the blackboard, his right hand busy jotting down notes, while his left casually extended the eraser toward her. Zhou Leqi didn’t know how he’d noticed she needed it.

After a brief hesitation, she murmured a soft “thank you” and took the eraser from him. At that moment, she failed to notice that this already handsome boy had somehow become even more attractive—his slightly messy hair from earlier that morning was now neatly styled, giving him a clean-cut appearance.

She used his eraser to erase the circle, then returned it to him. He might not have realized; he was still engrossed in taking notes. Zhou Leqi glanced at them briefly and noticed his handwriting was large but legible, likely the result of formal training. Even when hurried, his penmanship remained pleasing to the eye.

She didn’t linger on it, simply placing the eraser back on his desk before returning her attention to the ant.

But the ant was gone.

…It had finally escaped.

By the time the third class ended, Zhou Leqi felt even worse.

For one thing, the physics lesson had lulled her into drowsiness. The content of the mock exam review was too basic for her, offering little value, and she found herself growing increasingly sleepy. Additionally, her stomachache had worsened. As soon as Teacher Zhao stepped out of the classroom, she slumped onto her desk, curling inward slightly, which provided some relief.

There was a convenience store on campus—it was located on the first floor, while their senior year classrooms were on the fifth. She didn’t feel like making the trek. Lunch was only one class away, so she figured she could hold out until then.

She rested her head on the desk, surrounded by the chatter of her classmates. Everyone seemed to have friends to talk to, except for her. Her new desk mate had left the classroom as soon as class ended, leaving her corner feeling even emptier. But that was fine—last year had been the same way, and she was used to being alone.

She didn’t need anyone to keep her company.

As long as she could sit by the window and soak in a bit of sunlight, that was enough.

Zhou Leqi faced the window, watching the bright, radiant sunshine spill across the landscape. Gradually, her mood began to improve. She even broke into a light sweat, and sleepiness washed over her more intensely.

Just then, a sudden sound startled her—a thud on her desk.

She looked up.

…It was a loaf of bread.

A popular type of meat floss bread sold at the convenience store, shiny with oil and generously coated with meat floss. Bite into it, and you’d find a mildly sweet filling inside. It was the kind of bread Zhou Leqi had loved since her freshman year.

Though slim, she was actually quite fond of meat.

She sat up and turned to look at the owner of the bread—her desk mate. He was surrounded by several classmates, both boys and girls, all happily rummaging through the plastic bag he’d brought back from the store. A dimple-faced boy teased him, saying: “Wow, Hou Shen is so diligent today, personally running to the convenience store?”

Zhou Leqi saw her desk mate shoot the boy a sidelong glance and retort: “Keep talking, and you won’t get any.”

The boy chuckled and snatched a few packs of snacks before running off.

Once everyone dispersed, her desk mate finally seemed to notice her gaze. Without much expression, he glanced at her and said: “I bought too much. You can have this.”

Zhou Leqi looked at the bread. She did feel tempted, but after a moment’s thought, she declined: “No, thank you.”

Her desk mate shrugged nonchalantly, a hint of mischief in his tone: “If you don’t want it, just throw it away.”

Then he lowered his head and started rifling through his notebook, clearly not interested in further conversation.

Zhou Leqi pursed her lips, hesitated, and finally said: “…Alright, thanks. I’ll pay you back tomorrow.”

She hadn’t brought any change today.

Hou Zihao looked up at her, and for the first time, they locked eyes directly. Only then did Zhou Leqi realize just how tall he was—even seated, he towered over her, his deep-set features strikingly handsome.

“Fine,” he said with a faint smile. “My name’s Hou Zihao.”

With that, he extended his hand.

The introduction felt natural enough, though the handshake gesture came unexpectedly. Zhou Leqi wondered if shaking hands was a trend among students two years younger than her. Unsure of what else to do, she accepted the handshake and replied: “Nice to meet you. I’m Zhou Leqi.”

By then, the sun had risen high in the sky. The brilliant, dazzling noonday light of midsummer shimmered, easily dazzling the eyes.

Hou Zihao watched Zhou Leqi introduce herself succinctly, her words calm and measured. His heart wavered slightly as he thought:

I know your name.

Of course I do.