The sunlight filtered through the windows of Class 2A, casting a golden hue across the students' desks. Yan Xiyan sat in her usual seat by the window, her back straight, eyes lowered at her textbook. Her long lashes cast faint shadows on her pale cheeks. On the surface, she was the very image of a quiet, diligent student. But beneath the facade, her body ached from last night's grueling sniper stance drills.
Qiao Zeyan, seated two rows behind her, wasn't reading. His eyes were locked on her reflection in the glass.
She had flinched.
It was subtle—barely noticeable to the untrained eye—but when the teacher slammed a thick pile of books on the podium, she'd reacted. Her fingers had twitched. Her shoulders tensed just slightly before returning to calm. Too fast. Too conditioned.
He narrowed his eyes. Normal students didn't move like that.
"Qiao Zeyan, please recite the theorem." The teacher's voice cut through his thoughts.
He stood up with practiced indifference, rattled off the answer perfectly, and sat back down. But his mind remained on Yan Xiyan.
Ever since the sparring match in P.E. weeks ago, something about her had been gnawing at him. No background, transferred suddenly, and somehow managed to beat Li Cheng in hand-to-hand combat. Li Cheng had trained in taekwondo since elementary school.
She didn't win by luck. She'd disabled him.
That wasn't something you forget.
Across the classroom, Yan Xiyan turned a page in her notebook, her handwriting flawless. But her fingers were wrapped in athletic tape, hidden beneath her sleeves. Her wrists bore faint bruises—faded purple trails from the recoil of a training rifle.
Last night, Grandpa Yan had handed her a disassembled Glock and timed her with a stopwatch. Sergeant Zhang had made her run ten kilometers blindfolded with only her hearing to guide her. Every part of her body screamed in exhaustion. Yet here she was—top of her class, calm and perfect, like none of it existed.
She wasn't pretending. She had to be both.
As the final bell rang, students began to trickle out. Yan Xiyan remained in her seat, slowly packing her bag. Qiao Zeyan lingered by the door, pretending to tie his shoelace.
"You're staying behind again?" he asked casually.
Yan Xiyan looked up, a practiced smile forming. "Reviewing for the physics quiz."
"Hm. You're always reviewing." His gaze held hers. "Strange… you don't seem like the kind of person who needs to."
Yan Xiyan's smile didn't waver. "Better safe than sorry."
But her heart thumped—just once—too loud. Danger.
She left the room with smooth steps, heading toward the rooftop instead of the library. She needed air. She needed to remind herself who she was. Xu Xiyan died. You're Yan Xiyan now.
And she would survive.
Even if it meant lying every day. Even if it meant hiding from Qiao Zeyan's piercing gaze.
She wasn't ready for him to know the truth.
Not yet.