To win over Chen Ling, Yaxi had already requested a week's leave, pretending to be ill. The physics teacher seemed sympathetic to her condition, and upon her return, her application to change seats was approved.
Lu Ziyang's antics drew everyone's attention. He zipped up his backpack, then tossed it like a basketball toward his new seat. The "basketball" was too heavy to soar through the air gracefully; instead, it traced a low, long curve, narrowly missing the head of the class monitor.
The monitor jumped to his feet, puffing out his slight frame:
"Lu… Lu Ziyang, you're disrupting class discipline! You almost hurt someone!"
With a smirk, Lu Ziyang kicked a chair leg, sending the chair skidding across the floor with a sharp screech. "What I do is none of your business. Always strutting around because your dad's the dean? Shut up if you don't want trouble."
Hands in his pockets, he sauntered lazily, kicking the chair all the way to the back corner—next to the trash bin.
Before high school, Lu Ziyang had been the star swimmer of the provincial team. Later, during a soccer match, he got into a fight that injured his arm, ending his competitive career. In protest, he went on a two-day hunger strike against his parents' decision, eventually sneaking out to compete in a league race. Halfway through, he collapsed from exhaustion and had to be pulled out of the water.
His mother often joked about him: "A swimmer who didn't get hurt swimming ends up injured playing soccer. And what's worse—he didn't even break his leg, just his arm. All because he doesn't think before acting."
Everyone in school knew this story. On the surface, they teased him relentlessly, but privately, they admired him. Despite his privileged background and fame, he remained humble and loyal. For instance, now, as he put the usually overbearing monitor in his place, whispers of approval rippled through the classroom.
But Lu Ziyang wasn't finished yet. After dealing with the chair, he came back for the desk.
He put on a show, first flipping his hair dramatically, then nudging Yaxi's stool with a mischievous grin. Next, he reached into his pocket, ready to flip the desk—but Yaxi, who had kept her head down the entire time, softly called out, "Lu Ziyang."
Lu Ziyang chuckled. "What do you want?"
Using his arm as cover, Yaxi quickly slipped a small note into his palm. As her pinky brushed past, it left a feather-light tickle across his skin.
Instantly, much of his anger melted away. No wonder she had ignored his constant barrage of messages—she must have been planning this all along.
But then his thoughts turned to her teasing manner, and he imagined how she might have used far more provocative tactics to pressure Chen Ling in the fitting room that day…
His temper flared again. Turning to the class, who were studiously avoiding eye contact, he shouted, "What are you looking at?! Stop staring!"
With one swift motion, he lifted the desk onto his shoulder and carried it to his new seat by the trash bin.
As soon as the desk hit the ground, he eagerly sat down, pulling the note from his pocket and unfolding it discreetly.
Written in neat, delicate handwriting were five simple words: 6 PM, infirmary.
Glancing at his own messy scribbles on the desk, he carefully refolded the note and tucked it into a metal box.
The infirmary was tucked away on the quiet western side of the school, nestled beside a secluded bamboo grove. At six o'clock, when everyone else was busy having dinner, this area lay deserted.
When Lu Ziyang pushed open the door, an unexpected thrill coursed through him.
To his surprise, the clinic was empty. He noticed the door to the innermost sickroom slightly ajar and made his way toward it.
The milky-white curtains fluttered gently, casting shadows that hinted at the curves of a human figure. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, Lu Ziyang felt a knot of tension tighten in his stomach as he approached. With a sudden jerk, he yanked the curtain aside.
"Yaxi, what are you up to? Why did you ask me to come here?" His tone carried a sharp edge of accusation from the start.
The person on the bed stirred, sitting up lazily and stretching with a languid grace.
The blanket slipped down her body, and Lu Ziyang swallowed hard, a flicker of anticipation rising within him—only to see the girl wearing a simple sweater, not what he had imagined.