In the bright, sun-drenched corridors of No. 3 Senior High, students moved about in a lively buzz, their voices echoing with the chatter of daily school life. Yan Xiyan sat quietly by the window in Class 2-A, flipping through her math textbook. Her gaze, however, wasn't on the formulas—it was distant, her mind still lingering in the scent of gun oil and the sound of clicking rifle parts from the night before.
"Xiyan, you coming to P.E.?" Chen Jia, her desk mate, leaned over, her voice casual.
Yan Xiyan offered a small nod and closed her book. "Yeah, just a bit tired."
She moved with a kind of practiced grace, one that had not gone unnoticed.
Qiao Zeyan watched her from the other side of the room, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. There was something about her that didn't sit right with him. Her reflexes during last week's dodgeball match—inhumanly quick. He remembered how the ball had shot toward her head, and she'd tilted just a centimeter, letting it skim past like she had known its trajectory before it moved.
She was hiding something.
That Evening – Training Grounds
Sweat dripped down her temple as Yan Xiyan balanced on one leg while holding a rifle in firing position. The lights in the underground shooting range were dim, shadows cast long and eerie.
"Focus!" Sergeant Zhang's voice echoed like thunder. "The gun is part of your body. Move as one."
She exhaled slowly. Her heartbeat was steady. Her mind was calm.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three clean shots.
"Not bad. You're faster than last week." He jotted something in his notebook, glancing up. "But not fast enough. You're still a second behind your mental calculation. Again."
Yan Xiyan didn't flinch. "Yes, sir."
She reset her stance, lungs burning but eyes glowing with purpose. There was no room for failure.
Back at School – The Next Day
"Class, today we'll be sparring in pairs," the P.E. teacher announced, holding up a clipboard. "Yan Xiyan, you're with Qiao Zeyan."
A ripple of curiosity ran through the class. It was rare for the two to be paired.
As they stood face-to-face on the mat, Qiao Zeyan's eyes narrowed.
"Try not to embarrass yourself," he said, tone half-teasing.
Yan Xiyan smiled faintly. "I should be the one saying that."
The whistle blew.
Zeyan lunged—fast, deliberate. But the moment his foot shifted, Yan Xiyan moved like water, flowing past him, her hand poised to strike his back. He twisted away at the last moment, barely dodging.
Gasps filled the gym.
Yan Xiyan's foot had stopped exactly an inch from his shoulder.
Zeyan straightened slowly, meeting her gaze. "Who are you?"
She tilted her head, smile unchanged. "Just a normal student."
But her eyes… they burned like someone who had seen war.