They were about to sit separately.
Xiang Di wanted to make one last move and took the initiative to ask him, “Do you want me to help you move your desk?”
Bo Jiangxin refused outright. “No need.”
Late to the party, not interested.
“Alright.” Xiang Di asked again, “So which side are you planning to sit on later?”
As for the seats of Bo Jiangxin and Wang Sicheng, Chen Jinghua arranged it like this: it didn’t matter to him where Wang Sicheng sat—boys were tall anyway, so sitting in the last row was fine—but Bo Jiangxin couldn’t leave the golden area in the middle of the classroom.
As the saying goes, when one person succeeds, even the chickens and dogs follow.
Since Wang Sicheng was paired with Bo Jiangxin as desk-mates, he also naturally got promoted from a seat near the podium to the golden zone for top students.
Too lazy to rearrange seats all over again, Chen Jinghua simply told the students in the adjacent group to move back one row, then slotted Bo Jiangxin into the middle row, which was convenient and efficient.
Xiang Di’s question about which side he planned to sit on was actually asking if he would sit at the seat next to her, separated only by an aisle, or go to the other side.
Of course, she hoped Bo Jiangxin would pick the seat just one aisle away from her.
However, Bo Jiangxin replied, “What’s it got to do with you?”
They’d already changed desk-mates, so why should she care where he sat? No matter which side he sat on, it had nothing to do with her now.
Xiang Di was once again stung by Bo Jiangxin’s cold attitude.
She couldn’t understand what was wrong with him—he’d been unhappy when the teacher wouldn’t switch seats, and now even after switching, he was still unhappy.
But she still wanted to try one more time: “Can you sit in the seat next to mine?”
Bo Jiangxin was stunned, catching her pleading gaze.
He pressed his lips together and asked, “…Why?”
“Because I think Wang Sicheng talks too much, and I’m afraid if he sits next to me, he’ll distract me…”
Since she was talking badly about a classmate, Xiang Di’s tone was a bit guilty. “So it’d be better if you sat on this side.”
Bo Jiangxin said nothing.
So she also knew what it was like to have a chatty desk-mate disrupt you.
After he’d been distracted by her before, she was now relaxed, brushing him off and kicking him aside.
She wanted him to sit near her, to keep her and Wang Sicheng apart.
But what about when Teacher Chen had just arranged for him to sit with Wang Sicheng? Why hadn’t she spoken up for him then?
She was afraid of being affected by a chatty classmate.
But did she know if the mixed-blood boy would be chatty or not? When the teacher paired her with that mixed-blood student, she didn’t refuse.
Wang Sicheng wasn’t good enough, but the mixed-blood boy was.
Clearly, it was because that boy was good-looking.
Even if he was a chatterbox, she’d be happy. Truly double standards and shallow.
Bo Jiangxin tugged at the corners of his mouth and let out a laugh.
She wouldn’t let him go even with the new boy around.
Wanting the best of both worlds—did she really think everything good in this world belonged to her? She sure was dreaming.
While Xiang Di was still negotiating with him, Wang Sicheng had already moved his desk over from beside the podium.
Wang Sicheng lugged his desk across the room. Facing Bo Jiangxin, he flashed a particularly fawning smile and asked, “Which side do you want to sit on?”
Just earlier, Xiang Di had spoken ill of Wang Sicheng. Feeling guilty, she found an excuse to leave the classroom.
She still hoped she could be close to Bo Jiangxin, but if he really didn’t want to and was determined to sit far away, she could do nothing about it.
She casually washed her hands in the restroom and returned to the classroom, full of hope, only to see Wang Sicheng sitting with just an aisle between them.
Her lips pressed together in disappointment.
Sure enough, the heavens weren’t always on her side.
But it was still alright—at least there was only an aisle and a Wang Sicheng between her and Bo Jiangxin. Not too far apart.
The Class Monitor and the new student hadn’t returned yet, so the seat next to her was still empty.
The students in the front two rows were too lazy to wait for the new classmate to move the desks and chairs again, so before the new student arrived, the seats up front were scattered messily.
Unsurprisingly, this drew the teacher’s disapproval.
This period was English class, and the English Teacher entered the room with a waft of perfume, immediately frowning in disdain.
“Aiya, what’s going on in your class? Is this a mass migration?”
A student reported, “Teacher, our class got a transfer student who’s a mixed-blood.”
“I know, I heard from your Class Teacher.” The English Teacher replied calmly.
“He grew up abroad. In a bit, let’s have the new student give you all an English self-introduction, to show off his spoken English and compare it with your Chinish.”
The students silently bristled. What’s wrong with Chinese-style English? What’s wrong with Chinish? It’s not like spoken English is on the gaokao.
After two minutes, the Class Monitor and the new student returned, chatting and laughing, looking much more familiar than when they left.
Ye Minjia had just sat down when Liang Qianqian nudged his arm.
Ye Minjia: “What is it?”
“How did you two get so close just by going upstairs together?”
“What else did you expect?” Ye Minjia raised an eyebrow smugly. “With my social skills, I can even handle Bo Jiangxin, let alone a foreigner. Easy win.”
Liang Qianqian curled her lip, looking at the way his eyes were crinkling with joy—it seemed more like he was the one who’d been conquered by the foreigner.
Once the desks and chairs were set up, the English Teacher took the Little Bee and spoke into the mic a few times, finally starting class.
At this point in the term, teachers didn’t teach new material anymore.
Every day was just endless gaokao past papers and mock exams.
The English Teacher was no exception and told everyone to take out last week’s test paper, check answers, then discuss.
Seeing her new desk-mate’s spotless desk, Xiang Di helpfully slid her test paper over. “Let’s look at it together.”
Zhōu Línxiāo smiled at her. “Thanks, you’re really nice.”
She’d done the test at home over the weekend, but she wasn’t sure if her answers were right.
It was fine to check her own work, but if she got too much wrong, she worried her new desk-mate would look down on her.
Just like the English Teacher said—he grew up abroad, so his English level wasn’t even in the same league as hers.
But, as fate would have it, this test was really hard—especially the cloze section: twenty questions, and she got seven wrong—almost half.
While marking with a red pen and seeing all her mistakes, Xiang Di could barely lift her head.
She gave an awkward laugh, trying to save face with some self-mockery: “I got so many wrong, haha.”
“Did you?” Zhōu Línxiāo’s tone was sincere. “But you got thirteen right—doesn’t that mean you did a lot right?”
Xiang Di froze. When doing practice, she always paid attention to how many she got wrong, never how many she got right. The ones she got correct, she just skipped right over.
“And I think these answers are really strict.” Zhōu Línxiāo propped his chin on one hand and pointed to one of the questions with the other.
“Here, you could use ‘at,’ ‘in,’ or ‘on’ as the preposition, right? If you’re speaking with foreigners, you can use whichever and people will understand.”
Xiang Di replied: “……………But this is the gaokao, so there’s only one correct answer. Can’t help it.”
“True.” Zhōu Línxiāo said, “But when I took the SAT, my teacher taught me a really good method for these grammar questions. I can share it with you.”
Xiang Di’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Of course. But I can’t teach you for free—after all, I paid my teacher to learn it.”
“Huh?” Xiang Di thought that wasn’t unreasonable, but, “How much do you want? I’ll say upfront—I’m pretty poor.”
“I don’t want your money.” Zhōu Línxiāo said, “Is there anything good to eat at school? After class, can you show me around?”
That’s it? Xiang Di nodded. “No problem.”
Zhōu Línxiāo smiled at her again. “Thank you, you’re really nice.”
Xiang Di’s ears got hot. Getting complimented twice in such a short time made her feel a bit embarrassed.
But Zhōu Línxiāo really did know how to praise people—and always picked out little details.
When it came to reading comprehension, he said: “Wow, you got this whole section right.”
For the translation questions, he said: “Your Chinese handwriting is beautiful.”
And for the essay, he said: “Your English is beautiful, too.”
After checking answers for the whole test—excluding the 30-point listening section—the full score was 120, and Xiang Di gave herself 100 points.
Not a super high score, but Zhōu Línxiāo said, “That’s 100 points without counting listening. You’re amazing.”
And when he praised people, there wasn’t the slightest bit of perfunctoriness—his tone was honest, his lips slightly curved, and his olive-green eyes full of genuine appreciation.
For the first time, Xiang Di experienced what it felt like to be praised so much she couldn’t lift her head.
Once they finished going through the test, class was almost over. The English Teacher asked Zhōu Línxiāo what he thought of the difficulty.
Zhōu Línxiāo: “It was pretty tough.”
“You’re being modest, aren’t you? You grew up abroad. Are these tests really hard for you?” The English Teacher smiled, “How did your desk-mate score?”
Xiang Di answered honestly, “One hundred, not counting listening.”
“If you can get twenty in listening, that’s 120—not bad at all.” The English Teacher was fairly satisfied, and then added, “But I heard you recite an English composition before, and your Chinese accent is pretty strong. Practice when you have time.”
It was the first time she’d been called out by a teacher for her spoken English. Xiang Di felt a bit at a loss but nodded obediently.
Class was about to end, so the English Teacher stopped teaching, handed the Little Bee to Zhōu Línxiāo, and let the new student introduce himself in English.
Even though the Class Teacher had already made him introduce himself once, now he had to do it again—and in English. It felt a bit like being forced to perform at a family gathering. Fortunately, Zhōu Línxiāo wasn’t stage-shy and agreed to the request directly.
The sound quality of the Little Bee speaker wasn’t great—there was a crackling current noise—but the English Teacher loved to use it.
Still, when the mic was handed to Zhōu Línxiāo, his voice was low, not too fast, and he didn’t slur or swallow his words when speaking English.
It sounded surprisingly good.
In Zhōu Línxiāo’s self-introduction, there were neither complicated grammar structures nor obscure vocabulary.
Xiang Di originally thought she wouldn’t understand, but to her surprise, she understood everything.
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