After school, more than half the classroom had emptied out.
The setting sun slanted in through the windows, stretching the shadows of the desks and chairs long across the floor.
“Want to hit the net cafe, Old Jiang?”
Dong Ziyang slung his nearly empty backpack over his shoulder and placed his chubby hand on Jiang Yueming’s shoulder, looking eager.
“My treat. They just upgraded the graphics cards at the place near the school gate. The boss says you can play Chicken Dinner on max settings now. Tonight, us bros will team up like twin stars and wipe the floor with everyone!”
Jiang Yueming remained slumped over his desk, motionless.
“Not going.”
“Not going?”
Dong Ziyang paused.
“Since when did you change? You’re turning down even my treat? Are you still the Jiang Yueming I know?”
“I have something to do tonight.”
“What is it, a date?”
Dong Ziyang said.
“I’m telling you, you can’t forget your bro just because you have Xia He now…”
“I have something to discuss with him.”
A voice came from behind them.
Dong Ziyang turned around and saw Wen Xiaoyu standing there.
He had no idea when she had approached.
She was holding books in her arms.
She naturally walked around Dong Ziyang, pulled out the chair beside Jiang Yueming, and sat down.
Dong Ziyang’s words cut off abruptly.
His gaze landed on Wen Xiaoyu as she lowered her head and took out several workbooks from her bag, laying them neatly on the desk.
His expression froze. His eyes lingered on Wen Xiaoyu for a moment before snapping back to Jiang Yueming, then back again.
His eyes gradually widened.
“You two…”
“What about us?” she asked calmly.
“We’re just doing some tutoring. The homeroom teacher arranged it.”
“Tutoring?”
Dong Ziyang stammered. “When did the teacher arrange that?”
“This afternoon.”
“But—”
“Do you need something?”
Wen Xiaoyu finally looked up and gave Dong Ziyang a glance.
Dong Ziyang read a clear “you should leave” signal from her eyes.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Finally, he patted Jiang Yueming’s shoulder—harder than usual, as if saying good luck, bro.
“I’ll head out first then,” he said while backing toward the door. “You two… study hard, study hard.”
At the doorway, he poked his head back in, winked at Jiang Yueming, and mouthed two silent words: “Badass.”
Then the door closed, and the classroom fell completely silent.
Jiang Yueming was still wondering what Dong Ziyang meant by “badass” before leaving. He had a feeling the guy had misunderstood something.
He turned to look at Wen Xiaoyu’s side profile. The setting sun cast a soft, fuzzy glow around her silhouette, giving it a beautiful feel.
Her movements as she organized the workbooks were gentle, and Jiang Yueming found himself mesmerized without realizing it.
“Seen enough?” Wen Xiaoyu turned her head and met his gaze.
Jiang Yueming looked away and slowly sat up straight.
“Why are you here?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“Didn’t we agree to do tutoring after school?” Wen Xiaoyu opened one of the workbooks.
“You didn’t forget, did you?”
“I didn’t forget,” Jiang Yueming rubbed his eyes.
“I thought you were just saying it casually at noon.”
“I don’t speak casually,” Wen Xiaoyu said.
She pushed the workbook toward him. Jiang Yueming looked down—it was the same one where he had written “Can’t do it.”
“Finish today’s homework first,” she said. “Then I’ll go over last week’s wrong questions with you.”
“Last week’s?” Jiang Yueming frowned. “That’s way too many.”
“The more there are, the more you need to review,” Wen Xiaoyu said without changing her expression.
“The final exams are in three weeks. If you want to pass Chinese, you need to start reviewing for an hour every day from now on.”
Jiang Yueming opened his mouth, wanting to say I never said I wanted to pass, but seeing Wen Xiaoyu’s serious eyes, he swallowed the words.
After all, she was helping him. It would be ungrateful to refuse.
“Fine.” He sighed and picked up his pen.
The setting sun outside sank a little lower.
He didn’t know how much time had passed, but for once Jiang Yueming was fully focused on the questions.
Surprisingly, ideas came to him like a flowing spring.
When he finally looked up, the classroom had already grown dim.
“I don’t understand this one.” He pushed the workbook toward her.
Wen Xiaoyu put down her own book and leaned over to look.
She was very close—her shoulder almost touching his arm.
The scent of her shampoo drifted over, clean and light like mint.
“Which one?”
“This one,” he pointed at a classical poetry appreciation question.
“It asks what kind of thoughts and emotions the author is expressing. I’ve read it three times, and all I can see is ‘he misses home.’”
Wen Xiaoyu looked down at the poem, then raised her eyes to him.
“You’re not wrong. This poem does express homesickness.”
“Then isn’t that it?”
Jiang Yueming spread his hands.
“The answer is he misses home.”
“But you have to be more specific,” Wen Xiaoyu pointed at lines in the poem.
“For example, here—the image of the ‘lonely lamp’ expresses loneliness. ‘Hearing the flute’ uses the sound of the flute to convey melancholy. The ‘moon’—”
“What about the moon?”
“In classical poetry, the moon usually symbolizes homesickness,” Wen Xiaoyu explained.
“‘Raising my head to gaze at the bright moon, lowering my head to think of home.’ You know that one, right?”
Jiang Yueming nodded. “I know that one.”
“Then combine these layers. Don’t just write ‘he misses home.’ You should write something like ‘Through images such as the lonely lamp, the sound of the flute, and the bright moon, the poet expresses his loneliness while living away from home and his deep longing for his hometown.’”
After speaking, Wen Xiaoyu took out a red pen from her pencil case and wrote the sentence neatly in the blank space of his workbook.
Her handwriting was neat and orderly, every stroke careful, even the punctuation perfectly placed.
Jiang Yueming watched the line appear on the paper, but his gaze unconsciously drifted to her fingers holding the pen.
“Focus on the question,” Wen Xiaoyu said without lifting her head.
“I am focusing,” Jiang Yueming replied.
“You’re looking at my hand.”
Jiang Yueming was rendered speechless.
He obediently moved his eyes back to the workbook.
The classroom fell quiet again.
The only sounds were the soft scratching of pen on paper and occasional bird calls from outside the window.
Wen Xiaoyu sat beside him.
Instead of looking at her own book, she rested her chin on her hand and watched him do the questions, occasionally leaning over to check his answers.
“This one is correct,” she said.
“Really?”
Jiang Yueming was a little surprised and leaned over to look at the question she was pointing at.
“Really,” Wen Xiaoyu said.
“Even though your handwriting is still ugly, the answer is right.”
The corner of Jiang Yueming’s mouth lifted slightly before he quickly pressed it down and continued writing the next question.
After two more questions, Wen Xiaoyu suddenly spoke.
“Jiang Yueming.”
“Hm?”
“Have you ever thought about which university you want to attend in the future?”
Jiang Yueming’s pen paused.
“University?” He looked up, his expression somewhat blank. “Never thought about it.”
“Not even once?”
“Not even once.” He spoke frankly.
“You know what my grades are like. I’d be lucky just to get into any university. I don’t have the right to be picky.”
Wen Xiaoyu looked at him.
Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but she held back.
She lowered her eyes, her gaze falling on the back of her hand resting on the desk. Her fingers unconsciously stroked the pen barrel.
“I want to go to Linxiang University.”
Jiang Yueming blinked. Linxiang University was a local 211-tier university. With Wen Xiaoyu’s grades, it wouldn’t be difficult for her.
“Your grades are so good, you’ll definitely get in,” Jiang Yueming said.
Wen Xiaoyu shook her head.
“I’m not worried about myself.”
Jiang Yueming was taken aback and turned to look at her.
Wen Xiaoyu’s gaze remained on the desk, on the spot next to his messy handwriting.
Her fingers continued gently stroking the pen, as if hesitating about something.
Then she looked up and said to him seriously:
“I want you to get in too.”
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