SW - 50

Not only were the school leaders on the stage stunned, but many students below were also left speechless.

No one would have expected Lu Chi to be capable of such a thing. He always appeared so cold and composed, the epitome of a model student—was it true that appearances could be deceiving?

However, these thrill-seeking students quickly snapped out of their daze and became incredibly excited, wishing they were the ones standing on the stage.

The most uproar came from Class Zero, who already knew everything.

When Tang Yin had read her self-criticism draft to Lu Chi earlier, everyone nearby had been eavesdropping intently, fully aware of how electrifying its contents were.

But there was a world of difference between cracking jokes in private and boldly declaring such things in front of the entire school.

The act of breaking boundaries and the tension accumulated over countless days transformed into pure excitement instead of lethargy.

Senior year had been unbearably tense—nothing but exam papers and problem sets day in and day out, making everyone feel numb and robotic.

Yet Tang Yin and Lu Chi were like two ice cubes dropped into a still glass of water, instantly stirring up ripples that gradually grew into waves.

“Good heavens, I never imagined our school’s flag-raising ceremony could become this sensational—it’s beyond words.”

“This is unbelievable. If I tell my friends from other schools about this during the holiday, they’d never believe me, no matter what.”

“I was prepared for Tang Yin to do something outrageous, but who would’ve thought Lu Chi would deliver such a shocking surprise? For the discipline director, though, it must’ve been more of a horror show.”

“Thinking about it, those two are so lucky. They’re deeply in love, both academically gifted, and don’t need to worry about their future—they live in a completely different world from us.”

The playground buzzed with chatter.

Lu Chi had already stepped down from the podium, seemingly undisturbed by the cheers and whistles echoing around him.

Tang Yin, who had been standing nearby ready to take the microphone from him, couldn’t help but ask, “How did you dare?”

So that glance Lu Chi had given her before going on stage meant this? She hadn’t understood at all.

A shy, stuttering boy had actually dared to publicly announce his feelings for her in front of the entire school.

But this version of Lu Chi made her heart race.

A faint blush spread across Tang Yin’s cheeks, making her appear even brighter and more enchanting, like peach blossoms swaying in April, exuding an intoxicating fragrance.

And Lu Chi was the one captivated by that very scent.

Lu Chi simply looked at her calmly, his narrow eyes behind his glasses slightly curved. When his fingertips brushed against hers, an inexplicable flutter arose in his chest.

“Wait!”

The discipline director finally snapped back to reality and shouted.

He strode over, snatched Lu Chi’s speech script, and examined it closely for several seconds. Sure enough, he saw content completely different from what Lu Chi had just said.

Instantly, he trembled with anger.

“Lu Chi, you… you… are you following Tang Yin down the wrong path? Do you remember who you were before coming to this school?” he lamented bitterly.

Lu Chi had been so obedient when he first arrived. Several teachers praised his self-discipline, confident he was destined for top universities.

And now, this happened.

He was absolutely livid. What was supposed to be a proper self-criticism had turned into this—a blatant violation of school rules.

But considering Lu Chi’s grades and promising future, disciplinary action was out of the question. Sending him home for reflection wasn’t feasible either, especially with the college entrance exam just two months away.

Ultimately, they couldn’t impose a harsh punishment.

Lu Chi looked at him, his voice soft: “I… I criticized my mistake.”

He had indeed reflected on his error; his method was just unconventional.

The discipline director: “...”

Lu Chi’s words left him speechless for a long moment. If not for the crowd of students, he might have pushed Lu Chi aside in frustration.

Seeing him made his blood boil. He probably wouldn’t be able to eat lunch today.

Taking a few deep breaths, he turned and saw Tang Yin suppressing a smile. His momentarily calmed mood surged again. “Tang Yin, why are you still laughing?”

Tang Yin instantly adopted a blank expression.

She simply found Lu Chi adorable today—adorable enough to want to keep him hidden away so no one else could discover him.

Of course, with so many people already aware, no one could snatch him away from her.

This was confidence she had always possessed.

It was also her trust in Lu Chi.

Lu Chi gazed at her, his ears subtly reddening, unnoticed by anyone except Tang Yin.

The discipline director continued: “You don’t need to give your self-criticism. From today onward, you two are forbidden from sitting together. If I hear of any further intimate contact, expect severe consequences!”

Tang Yin interjected: “Please, Director, I promise I’ll stick to the script. Otherwise, may I be struck by lightning.”

The discipline director was momentarily stunned by her declaration. Even Lu Chi glanced over.

Tang Yin winked at him and then addressed the discipline director: “Director, this time I’ll definitely recite the script flawlessly. If I don’t, you can punish me as you see fit.”

The discipline director glanced at the principal behind him.

Principal Tang was conversing with several leaders, likely discussing this unfortunate incident.

Still uneasy, he asked: “Are you really going to follow the script?”

Tang Yin nodded: “Absolutely. Not a single word will be omitted.”

Recalling the previous two incidents, the discipline director remained skeptical. Her track record spoke for itself—he couldn’t ignore it.

A stalemate formed.

With so much idle time, the students on the playground grew impatient, starting conversations—all revolving around the recent event.

Many eyes were fixed on this side.

The discipline director looked at Tang Yin. Her multiple assurances this time should mean she wouldn’t renege, especially since teachers often remarked that she kept her word.

“If you don’t follow the script, I’ll separate you into different classes,” he threatened.

He felt separating seats wasn’t enough. If they misbehaved again, he’d split them into different classes entirely, letting them misbehave as much as they wanted.

Tang Yin replied: “Director, if I don’t recite the entire script today, you’re free to separate us.”

Her decisiveness finally reassured the discipline director.

Beside her, Lu Chi sensed something amiss. Meeting Tang Yin’s gaze, he detected mischief in her eyes.

The discipline director handed the microphone to Tang Yin and turned to glare at Lu Chi: “Come with me!”

Lu Chi’s thin lips pressed together as he followed silently.

As soon as Tang Yin stepped onto the podium, cheers erupted from the playground.

They still vividly remembered her last two speeches—she never followed conventional scripts. Though they didn’t know why the discipline director let her give another self-criticism, hearing something unexpected still thrilled them.

Tang Yin glanced at the discipline director.

Lu Chi stood opposite him, likely being scolded, but he paid little attention, instead locking eyes with her.

Tang Yin gave a faint smile.

She straightened up and unfolded the prepared script. This script, written by Lu Chi, was the most formal and normal, exactly the style the discipline director favored.

Below, the students craned their necks, hearts racing.

Tang Yin had better deliver something sensational, allowing them one last wild moment before the college entrance exam—a story to share later.

Their school life was extraordinary, anything but dull, filled with dramatic highs and lows—even if they weren’t the protagonists themselves.

“Dear teachers, dear fellow students, good morning. I’m Tang Yin from Senior Three, Class Zero.”

Hearing this boring opening, though somewhat disappointed, everyone patiently endured, remembering that Lu Chi had taken an unconventional route after a similar introduction.

Tang Yin cleared her throat: “Today, I feel deeply remorseful. Last week, my actions violated school rules, disregarding the teachers’ advice. Afterward, I realized my behavior not only affected myself but others, severely damaging the school’s reputation...”

Her tone was measured, rising and falling appropriately.

The discipline director finally exhaled in relief.

Finally, Tang Yin was behaving normally.

At this thought, he glared angrily at Lu Chi: “With such excellent grades, why must you learn these disruptive behaviors from Tang Yin? What if it affects your future? Have you even considered this?”

Lu Chi listened quietly. Hearing this question, he didn’t refute the discipline director but lowered his gaze.

He wouldn’t let anything affect his grades, nor would he let his grades affect other aspects of his life.

Otherwise, how could he face Tang Yin?

Unbeknownst to him, the discipline director was satisfied with his silent response.

Students should respond this way—showing contrition under their teacher’s admonishment and focusing solely on studying afterward.

On the podium, Tang Yin continued diligently reciting her self-criticism: “Regarding my actions, I’ve identified the root cause, recognized the consequences, and am delivering this self-criticism...”

The students from Class Zero and Class Fourteen watched Tang Yin’s formality with mixed emotions—both astonished and amused.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen Sister Yin work so hard to memorize a script. Clearly, this self-criticism wasn’t written by her.”

“So this time, they’ve swapped roles? Her giving the normal speech while Lu Chi shocks everyone?”

“Though Sister Yin’s voice is pleasant, this self-criticism is so boring.”

They had heard countless repetitive speeches every week, with students frequently delivering self-criticisms school-wide.

They could practically recite a generic self-criticism on the spot.

Tang Yin’s speech failed to capture their interest.

Faint sunlight peeked through the clouds, crossing heights, and bathed the crowd on the square in a pale glow.

Tang Yin’s voice grew increasingly ethereal, lulling everyone into drowsiness.

“May the school teachers and discipline director consider my deep reflection and usual conduct, supervising me strictly...”

So boring, so tedious—why was Tang Yin’s self-criticism so long?

“The self-criticism ends here, but I have a few more words to say to everyone.”

It’s finally over? And she has more to say?

Wait—what does she mean by having more to say after the self-criticism?

In an instant, all the dozing students woke with a start, heads snapping up in unison, creating a striking scene.

Tang Yin’s voice continued: “First, study hard and improve daily. Don’t let anything leave you with regrets. You owe it to the family supporting you.”

Nothing special yet.

After a pause, Tang Yin spoke again: “Previously, I noticed many classmates gathering on the third floor to watch. So many romantic words were said, but now I’ll say just two.”

The students who had secretly gathered to watch blushed.

They had merely come to see the commotion, but who would have thought they’d overhear such blush-inducing romantic words from Tang Yin teasing Lu Chi?

No one cared about their embarrassment, instead shouting loudly:

“Woah woah woah!”

“Hurry up and say it!”

“What words? Hurry, I can’t wait!”

“Damn, if I had a phone, I’d have recorded this already—it’d go viral for sure!”

On the podium, Tang Yin raised her hand slightly, and everyone immediately fell silent, though their excitement betrayed them.

Tang Yin turned toward the leadership platform.

The discipline director, supported by Lu Chi, was red-faced, clearly enraged. But if she didn’t speak now, she’d never get another chance.

Sorry, Director, Tang Yin thought.

She suddenly leaned toward the microphone and shouted: “Lu Chi!”

“Hmm?” Lu Chi turned to look at her.

His faint response cut through the noise, easily caught by Tang Yin.

He stood tall and graceful, his silhouette sharply defined against the backlight, casting distinct shadows. Even from afar, his lips appeared irresistibly inviting.

Tang Yin’s heart raced. She crumpled the script, grabbed the microphone, and ran off the podium, leaving the students below confused, their necks still craned upward.

Someone suddenly yelled: “Two words? Lu Chi?”

The voice broke through the commotion, reaching everyone’s ears.

In an instant, the entire playground rippled like autumn wheat fields swaying in the wind, erupting into a tidal wave of excitement.

Wasn’t Tang Yin’s meaning clear enough?

His name, Lu Chi, was exactly two characters.

It surpassed all romantic words.