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By the time the official afternoon performance rolled around, everyone was brimming with energy.
Especially… Lin Zhan.
Jiang Qin even remarked before going on stage, “Why do you seem so happy despite your injury?”
Lin Zhan replied sagely, “A loss may turn out to be a gain.”
The audience was packed with Chonggao High students. Judging from the introduction, they could tell this would be a great performance, and anticipation buzzed in the air.
One by one, the performers took the stage.
Lin Zhan was the last to step up, and the moment she appeared, Sun Hong and his friends erupted in cheers from below.
“Lin Zhan! Lin Zhan! Lin Zhan!”
Their shouts drew curious glances from the crowd.
The performance hadn’t even started yet, but as soon as the prelude began—with someone lifting a girl as if she were a guitar—the audience burst into laughter and applause.
“Damn, bro, steady hands! Don’t drop her!”
“Someone’s doing a backbend?! Holy crap, are all the arts class girls this flexible?!”
“Why does the girl on the far end have such a different vibe? Is she playing the goddess?”
“Probably here to anchor the performance. Some are here to be funny, others to be pretty.”
“Honestly, it’s kinda mesmerizing.”
…
Though Lin Zhan’s outfit was elegant, her performance was anything but serious.
While she sang, someone fanned her vigorously with a notebook, while another sprinkled gold glitter over her. The scene was both absurd and spectacular.
The stark contrast between her initial icy allure and the playful performance, combined with her slightly husky voice, sent waves of excitement through the crowd.
Someone in the front row quickly noticed something off: “Hey, girl, stop staring at the first row! There are plenty of handsome guys in the back!”
Shen Xi sat in the front row, leaning back in his chair, watching Lin Zhan quietly.
Zhang Ze was right—she really was popular.
The melody on stage transitioned into the second verse—
Your hands aren’t just hands,
They’re gentle universes.
This little planet of mine,
Spins in your palms.
Perhaps because the scene in the infirmary was still fresh in both their minds, these simple lyrics carried unintended weight.
Lin Zhan felt too embarrassed to sing them properly—no matter how she delivered them, they felt loaded.
Shen Xi shifted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position.
But no matter how he adjusted, nothing felt right.
A sudden, inexplicable restlessness.
The performance ended amidst thunderous applause, with a group of boys pounding their desks in a raucous farewell as Lin Zhan exited the stage.
At the front row, the student council members were also discussing the show.
“That girl is crazy popular. I heard she’s one of the two class treasures in 3-2.”
“Her personality’s great too—she doesn’t cling to her ‘goddess’ image. I really enjoyed it, haha.”
One bold soul turned to Shen Xi: “Chairman, what did you think?”
Someone tugged at his sleeve under the table, whispering, “Are you insane? Why ask the chairman such a dumb question? He’s above this kind of thing—”
Shen Xi nodded. “It was good.”
“…”
________________________________________
Yu Qing’s group performed a dance number, Boombaya, with the main highlight being the girls’ long legs.
Most of the audience appreciated it.
These two performances, along with a comedy skit, became the three biggest highlights of the event.
Following the principle of “from the masses, to the masses,” the school maximized student engagement by deciding the awards through voting.
The voters consisted of class representatives, teachers, and student council members—one vote per person, with no duplicates.
To add excitement, the voting process was completely transparent: one person announced the votes, another recorded them.
The audience watched with bated breath, cheering as if they were electing the next U.S. president.
…
“Boombaya—175 votes, currently in first place.”
“Super Star—169 votes, about to overtake…”
“The comedy skit—130 votes, still in the running.”
“Next up are the student council votes. Who do you think will take first place?”
Opinions flew wildly, with someone shouting over the noise, “I’m number one!”
Laughter erupted.
When it was the student council’s turn to vote, those who finished writing first handed in their ballots for immediate tallying.
Perhaps sensing the unspoken connection between a certain performer and their chairman, and figuring “flattery never hurts,” many voted for Super Star.
Of course, the performance itself was fantastic. Even without Shen Xi, they’d likely have voted the same way.
The tide turned instantly—Super Star surged ahead by over twenty votes.
Just as Shen Xi was about to cast his vote, Lin Zhengping, seated beside him, spoke up.
“Don’t let the dance number lose too badly. Teacher Deng put a lot of effort into it. Give them some encouragement.”
Besides, Lin Zhan had been pouring all her energy into this performance lately, even neglecting her art.
He didn’t want to encourage this behavior—a little discouragement wouldn’t hurt.
One vote might seem insignificant, but at least it would keep her from getting too full of herself.
________________________________________
Unsurprisingly, Super Star took first prize.
Backstage, the group celebrated wildly. Lin Zhan pulled out her phone, about to message Shen Xi, when Jiang Qin grabbed her wrist.
A second later, Jiang Qin asked, “Zhanzhan, do you know who Shen Xi voted for?”
________________________________________
The student council members noticed that their chairman had been in a foul mood all day.
Compared to the arts festival, it was like night and day.
Council meetings were usually held during the break after first period on Mondays.
Having just wrapped up the arts festival last Friday, everyone was running on fumes.
Before the meeting started, Li Jiang was the only one missing. As they waited, someone observed Shen Xi checking his phone repeatedly but doing nothing else.
“Chairman, are you… anxious about something?”
Shen Xi didn’t respond.
The council member pressed on, “That girl who usually messages you nonstop hasn’t been texting much lately, huh?”
Shen Xi: “How do you know she messages me often?”
The member: “I just have sharp eyes, okay? I glance and see things—not on purpose! I swear I never read the content!”
Besides, the messages were painfully mundane—breakfast, lunch, dinner. It was like researching for A Bite of Chonggao.
Changing tactics, the member asked, “Can I… uh, ask if you gave Boombaya your vote because that girl annoyed you?”
Shen Xi’s gaze turned icy. “Who said I voted for the dance?”
The member: “…”
Damn, the chairman’s glare is terrifying.
Someone else chimed in, “Everyone thought so. Didn’t Director Lin tell you to vote for Boombaya?”
Shen Xi spun his phone once, his tone cool and unyielding.
“Since when do I blindly follow orders? Do I not have my own opinions?”
________________________________________
The meeting wrapped up quickly after a brief rundown of upcoming tasks.
The moment it ended, Shen Xi grabbed his things and left.
The remaining members exchanged bewildered looks.
“Did we say something wrong?”
“Not wrong—just spread the wrong info.”
“Wait, you started the rumor?”
“People asked me and Li Jiang! We really didn’t think the chairman would defy the director, so we both said he voted for the dance… Ugh, regret.”
“Understandable. I wouldn’t have expected it either. If it were me, I’d have caved immediately.”
“Which is why you’re not the chairman.”
“Shut up!”
________________________________________
First period was the sleepiest class. The moment the bell rang, students succumbed to the Chinese teacher’s hypnotic drone and collapsed onto their desks.
The classroom fell silent.
Lin Zhan’s desk held a canned drink Sun Hong had bought for her. She reached for it, then hesitated—carbonated drinks made a loud noise when opened, and most people were asleep.
Quietly, she pushed back her chair and slipped out of the classroom.
She’d just trimmed her nails yesterday, and now the tab refused to budge. All her strength was useless here.
Mid-struggle, a hand appeared out of nowhere, startling her so badly she nearly dropped the can.
At her eye level was a pair of pale, slender fingers—the kind described in martial arts novels as belonging to refined, scholarly gentlemen.
Shen Xi, whether through skill or sheer competence (in Lin Zhan’s eyes, he excelled at everything), hooked the tab and pulled.
The can hissed as gas escaped—a tiny explosion in its own world.
The sound startled Lin Zhan again.
Shen Xi handed the drink back.
Hesitant, she peeked at him.
…Something felt off about his mood.
Shen Xi wrestled with how to casually ask, Why haven’t you texted me lately?
Watching Lin Zhan take a sip, he feigned nonchalance. “I forgot my umbrella yesterday.”
Lin Zhan: “Huh? Oh…”
It had rained yesterday.
He’d forgotten his umbrella.
Usually, Lin Zhan would send him the next day’s weather forecast the night before. Rain, temperature drops—she reminded him of everything.
But yesterday…
No, for days now, she hadn’t sent a single message.
Lin Zhan coughed. “My dad confiscated my phone. I didn’t bother getting it back.”
Shen Xi saw right through her. “Why not?”
She scratched her neck. “Didn’t seem necessary…”
What difference did it make, anyway?
When no further explanation came, Shen Xi stepped closer. “Li Jiang asked me to apologize to you.”
Lin Zhan was puzzled. “Apologize for what?”
Shen Xi: “He said he gave you the wrong information.”
Lin Zhan thought hard but came up empty. “What information?”
Shen Xi: “…”
“He said it was about the arts festival.”
Then it clicked. During the festival, she’d asked Li Jiang about Shen Xi’s vote.
Had he been wrong?
Shen Xi: “What did you ask him?”
Lin Zhan clamped her mouth shut. “Nothing important. Just asked if our performance was good.”
Shen Xi leaned down, almost interrogating her. “Are you upset?”
“You know what happened, yet you’re asking me?” Lin Zhan forced a laugh, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not upset…”
What right did she have to be upset?
What was she to Shen Xi, anyway?
If he’d voted for her, it might’ve been out of kindness. If he hadn’t, it just meant he preferred another performance.
Like a friend sharing a piece of bread—greedily wanting jam on top was too much.
She knew it was wrong, emotionally and logically. She had no right to question or sulk.
When it came to raw emotions, less said, the better. She wanted to move on, to let it go before facing Shen Xi again.
Her evasive look told Shen Xi everything.
She’s upset.
At least it wasn’t the worst outcome.
Shen Xi relaxed slightly. “If it was about me, why didn’t you ask me directly?”
Lin Zhan smiled. “It wasn’t important enough to bother you.”
Besides, asking Why didn’t you vote for me? would make her seem petty.
One vote meant nothing to Shen Xi. She couldn’t overreact.
Shen Xi said, “But they were wrong. There might be more misunderstandings like this. If you’d rather believe others than ask me, how do you think that makes me feel?”
Since he’d laid it out, Lin Zhan decided to be honest.
“You barely reply to my messages. I didn’t want to annoy you with this.”
Shen Xi frowned. “I replied to every one.”
Lin Zhan: “You did, but it always felt reluctant.”
Not wanting to argue, Shen Xi unlocked his phone and handed it to her.
Lin Zhan: “Why are you giving me your phone?”
Scrolling down, she noticed his obsessive organization—only today’s chats were visible.
She opened his conversation with Zhang Ze.
Scrolling up:
Zhang Ze: Wanna play ball?
Shen Xi: Mm.
Zhang Ze: Saved you a spot in the fourth row, near my bag.
Shen Xi: Ok.
Zhang Ze: No more codfish rice. Getting you something else.
Shen Xi: Sure.
Lin Zhan: “……”
“How has Zhang Ze not ditched you yet?”
Realizing she’d derailed the conversation, she steered it back.
“Compared to this, my treatment’s practically VIP.”
Shen Xi was about to respond when she added, “Can I get a membership card? Upgrade my status?”
Shen Xi: “…”
Lin Zhan returned his phone. “My bad this time. I’ll try to ask you directly from now on.”
Shen Xi said flatly, “You don’t always have to ask. Like with the cake incident, I never asked you.”
When Yu Qing had framed her, Shen Xi hadn’t needed to ask—he’d never doubted her.
His point was… she shouldn’t have doubted him either?
Lin Zhan: “That was different. The cake thing was about character—the truth was obvious. Voting isn’t a moral issue…”
“For me, it is.” Before the bell rang, Shen Xi added meaningfully, “I had a lot of compliments prepared that day.”
Lin Zhan: “Huh? What compliments?”
But Shen Xi was already walking away.
________________________________________
“Lin Zhan, why are you still out here?” Qi Lijie called from the window. “Get inside!”
“Oh, coming.”
Lin Zhan hurried back in.
This period was history class.
Still puzzling over Shen Xi’s words, she replayed their conversation in her head.
What had she said to him?
“How about writing a review? Or just praise me?”
“...”
“It has to include keywords like ‘Zhanzhan is the prettiest’ or ‘Zhanzhan is the coolest.’ ‘The reincarnation of Hepburn’ would work too.”
That was it.
Her heart leapt, every cell tingling with giddiness.
Her highlighter streaked across the textbook as she pressed a blue dot at the end of a sentence, murmuring to herself, “I get it now.”
The classroom was silent. Her mutter sounded like an answer to the teacher’s question.
The history teacher brightened. “Excellent! Lin Zhan, please explain the impact of the Enlightenment!”
Lin Zhan: “…”
She shot Zheng Yimian a pleading look. Zheng Yimian gave her a disdainful glance but pointed to the relevant passage in the textbook.
Lin Zhan picked up the book and read: “1. The Enlightenment’s critiques and propositions laid the ideological and theoretical groundwork for capitalism’s rise to dominance. 2. The Enlightenment…”
The teacher nodded. “Good, you may sit. Everyone, learn from Lin Zhan—excellent in both academics and class participation. No wonder she’s always praised. Now, take notes…”
As the teacher turned to write on the board, Zheng Yimian whispered, “What were you thinking about earlier?”
Lin Zhan smoothed her short hair. “Preparing for praise.”
Zheng Yimian: “…”
Lin Zhan, still floating, asked, “My performance was good, right?”
“Weren’t you the one asking me ‘Was I really that bad?’ over and over yesterday?” Zheng Yimian saw right through her. “What did Shen Xi say to you?”
Copying notes, Lin Zhan said, “He told me he voted for us. Must’ve been a mix-up in the student council.”
Zheng Yimian shrugged. “I knew it. Did you notice how many girls started wearing anklets after your performance? Just like yours.”
She added, “If you became a celebrity, you’d be a walking trendsetter.”
The mention of anklets reminded Lin Zhan.
“Oh crap, I never took mine off. I meant to, but Jiang Qin tied it too tight.”
Zheng Yimian: “Just keep it. Most people can’t pull it off, but your ankles are slim and fair, and the design suits you. It looks good.”
Lin Zhan: “No way. I only wore it for the performance because they said it fit the theme. I’ll ask Jiang Qin to undo it after class.”
When the bell rang, the calisthenics music blared. Lin Zhan turned to call Jiang Qin: “Jiang Qin!”
Jiang Qin, about to leave, turned back. “Huh? What’s up?”
Lin Zhan: “The anklet—you tied it too tight. How do I get it off?”
Jiang Qin paused. “You want it off? Just cut it.”
Lin Zhan: “Can I? Wasn’t it borrowed?”
Jiang Qin: “Some props were borrowed, but not this one. Go ahead.”
Lin Zhan: “Fine. Do you have scissors?”
After asking around, no one had scissors.
The P.E. monitor yelled from the doorway, “Lin Zhan, Zheng Yimian, what are you still doing here? Hurry up for calisthenics!”
Lin Zhan asked Zheng Yimian, “What now? If the inspectors come, wearing accessories means point deductions.”
Zheng Yimian nudged her. “Relax, they haven’t checked in years. Besides, dyed hair’s against the rules too, and half the school has it. You’ll be fine.”
With that, Lin Zhan left for the calisthenics grounds.
Along the way, weaving through the crowd, she spotted several girls wearing similar anklets.
This only strengthened her resolve to cut it off after class.
The P.E. monitor led them to their class’s spot.
Before the exercises began, a group marched past the stage, heading straight for the sea of students.
Lin Zhan hissed at Zheng Yimian, “I thought you said they wouldn’t inspect today?!”
Zheng Yimian: “Prediction failed. I’m not psychic…”
Lin Zhan covered her face. “Pray for me.”
Zheng Yimian scouted ahead, then reported, “Good news—the guy in front is Shen Xi.”
Lin Zhan’s heart sank. “How is that good news? Shen Xi’s ruthlessly impartial. No exceptions.”
Zheng Yimian shrugged. “Let’s see how this plays out.”
The situation was unclear.
Starting with the nearest class, Shen Xi scanned the students.
Earrings? None.
Necklaces? Three.
Anklets? Ten.
His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Seeing the near-identical copies of Lin Zhan’s anklet, he didn’t hesitate to mark it down.
*Class 10-2: 2-point deduction.*
He said nothing, and the members behind him recorded silently.
Every class held its breath, fearing public shaming.
His silent approach to the next class confirmed it: deductions were happening.
Low scores meant teacher reprimands.
And if the teachers got scolded, the students wouldn’t fare any better.
From Class 10 onward, not a single class was spared—necklaces here, anklets there.
The student council marched like an army, a wave of unyielding authority sweeping across the field.
Their silence meant no class had scored perfectly—a disheartening realization.
With each step, tension mounted.
Then they reached Class 3-2.
For some reason, Shen Xi, who usually stayed at the class borders, walked further in.
Oh no. Lin Zhan’s heart pounded. Please keep going, please keep going…
Shen Xi stopped beside her.
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