When did the turning point happen?
Oh, right—it was that day.
During self-study period, most students buried themselves in homework, though a few rebels pursued other interests. Like Lin Si Tian.
Her bestie Yang Xuelin had sent her a... special fiction site. Even as a seasoned reader, Lin Si甜 was dazzled by its kaleidoscopic content—a vibrant celebration of being alive. She'd stayed up half the night reading, and now, with Mr. Li absent, she'd fished out her phone again, devouring the "literary masterpiece" under her desk.
She wasn't reckless. Zhou Sheng sat beside her, so she'd draped her open uniform jacket like a tent, shielding the screen's glow. To outsiders, she just looked asleep.
But curiosity killed the cat. Lin Si Tian soon proved the adage.
Engrossed in a climax, her grip slipped. The phone clattered to the floor—then bounced thud into the aisle beside Zhou Sheng's feet. Its screen blazed upward, illuminating... graphic text for all to see.
Disaster. Lin Si Tian's head snapped up. Worse—Mr. Li stood two rows ahead, eyes locked on the offending device as he bent to retrieve it.
Panicked, she shoved Zhou Sheng's arm. "Zhou Sheng! Your phone!"
Jolted mid-calculation, he turned just as Mr. Li's fingers grazed the phone. Their gazes collided on the screen—where pink banners screamed more vividly than the words beneath.
The Scream twisted in Lin Si Tian's mind. We're dead.
Yet as Mr. Li reached down, Zhou Sheng—quicker, closer—snatched the phone away. Three movements fused into one: fast, precise, ruthless.
Mr. Li straightened, empty-handed, eyes narrowing at Zhou Sheng. "Yours?"
A beat of silence. Zhou Sheng nodded.
"Hand it over."
Lin Si Tian's heart hammered against her ribs. Under the desk, her fingers clawed Zhou Sheng's shirt hem. Do something!
Zhou Sheng's knuckles whitened around the phone. He lifted his gaze to Mr. Li, throat tight. Three agonizing seconds passed.
"Sir," his voice strained, "I have a question about this problem."
"..." Lin Si Tian wanted to bang her head on the desk. That's your diversion? Just end the world now.
"Zhou Sheng." Mr. Li wasn't fooled.
"Truly, sir. I've been stuck for ages." Zhou Sheng's ears burned crimson, but his tone rang earnest.
Mr. Li scrutinized him, some unspoken understanding dawning. "Which problem?"
Lin Si Tian gaped. It worked? She pretended to memorize vocabulary, ears straining. Their murmured math discussion sounded like alien code. Does Zhou Sheng even have unsolvable problems?
Six minutes later, Mr. Li stood, patting Zhou Sheng's shoulder. "Zhou Sheng, I know studying hard brings pressure. Relaxation is fine—but mind your methods. School is for learning."
Zhou Sheng nodded stiffly, pencil gripped bone-white. "Yes, sir."
The moment Mr. Li turned, Lin Si Tian hunched low, beckoning under the desk. "Phone! Quick!"
Zhou Sheng looked at her.
Flushed, she dropped her voice to a sugary whisper. "Thank you... my hero~"
The sudden sweetness made him shiver.
Their arms brushed, spring uniforms rustling, warmth bleeding through thin fabric. The closest they'd ever been.
Zhou Sheng flushed deeper, edging away. But he didn't return the phone.
"Why read that here?"
"I wasn't!" Lin Si Tian's denial was pure "stubborn duck" energy—defiant yet flustered.
He'd never seen her so jumpy, like a startled rabbit. He slid the phone between them under the desk, fingers locked tight.
Lin Si Tian lunged.
"You want it to fall again?" His low warning froze her.
She raised surrendering hands. "You—you hold it. Tight, Zhou Sheng!" As if cradling a bomb.
"Mn." His eyes dropped to the still-lit screen.
Why didn't I set auto-lock?! The chapter title glared back: The Cold Prince's Pursuit.
As his gaze scrolled down, guilt propelled her closer. She blocked the aisle gap, their heads nearly touching under the desk. "...Don't read it," she breathed.
He'd already scanned half the chapter—not fiction, but Lin Si Tian's scarlet letter of shame. Mortification burned up her neck.
"You said you weren't reading." He kept scrolling.
Unable to endure the live execution, she slapped her hand over the phone—trapping his fingers beneath hers. "Okay, I was! Just... please stop?" Her plea frayed into a whimper.
Zhou Sheng stilled.
Inches apart, her whisper feather-soft, she'd deployed the ultimate weapon: a girl's pained, hushed begging.
Desperate times. He could spare her—he had just saved her skin.
But... why so close?
Their foreheads almost touched now. She saw her phone's glow reflected in his glasses, text shimmering over the lenses. His unspoken breaths filled the space between them.
Her gaze snagged on his lips.
The dimness under the desk magnified the tension.
His throat bobbed. He was looking back.
"So..." He broke the thick silence. "Why here?"
Lin Si Tian cleared her throat. "Basic human instinct."
"Did you fail Chinese Lit?" His brow furrowed.
"What do you want me to say? Why do you even care?"
"..." Why did he? Her business wasn't his. Yet he'd taken the blame.
Only then did he notice: their hands still pressed together, separated only by the phone's edge. Her fingertips, cool from the spring air, brushed his skin—a contact that sent faint, electric sparks up his nerves.
"Zhou Sheng?"
Her lips moved, soft and glistening, shaping his name like a plea.
He thrust the phone into her palm as if scalded. "Study. Now." He snatched up his pen, retreating into textbook sanctuary.
Lin Si Tian fiddled with her phone. "Okay."
"Not that one!" He didn't look, yet tension spiked his voice.
"Just closing the tab~" she chirped, embracing her shame with naked defiance.
// Afterath //
Post-phone rescue, their thaw accelerated. Lin Si Tian initiated "tribute": tea eggs on his desk, candies spilling from her pocket—"offerings of love," she declared.
Gratitude for a lifesaver.
They were still worlds apart. She craved novels and dramas; his world was equations. To her, he was a doing questions robot—born to solve problems.
Other girls disagreed.
Zhou Sheng's popularity bloomed.
His new haircut unveiled potential—no longer just a buzz-cut scholar. Behind those thick frames, a sharp profile emerged. Soon, his desk became a magnet, especially between classes. Boys wrestled problems alone; girls flocked for "guidance."
Lin Si Tian fumed. Her sanctuary overflowed with admirers. Zhou Sheng's patient explanations, punctuated by gasps of feminine epiphany, grated on her nerves. Worse—he reveled in it. The pride when someone grasped his logic was palpable.
To her, he'd become a peacock. His tail feathers? Knowledge points. He'd lecture anyone—human or not.
As the latest girl departed, Lin Si Tian propped her chin, watching him. Peacock, folded.
"Question?" He sensed her stare instantly.
Unfazed, she tapped a random exercise. "This one."
Of course. Anyone qualifies. Even her.
Zhou Sheng adjusted his glasses, leaning in. "Ah. This."
"But... you got it right?"
"Guessed." Multiple-choice luck. True—she'd solved it in three seconds flat.
He paused, then pulled scrap paper, sketching a solution.
Lin Si Tian tried to focus—he was helping. But soon, her head slid from her hand, resting sideways on the workbook, eyes tracking his pen.
His handwriting's beautiful.
His fingers too.
"Lin Si Tian?"
Not a bass voice, but warm. Comforting.
"Lin Si Tian."
Her eyelids drooped. His call roused her.
"Listening! Totally listening!" She overcorrected. He'll be furious. I—
"Did I explain poorly?" No mockery. Pure concern.
She bit her lip, cheek still pressed to the workbook. Her arm nudged his. "Zhou Sheng."
"Hm?"
"You're... not good at this."
Confusion flickered in his eyes.
"Your method's too hard..."
He stiffened. Wounded.
"I don't get it. Is this only for geniuses? Are us dummies doomed? Doctor Zhou... how long do I have?" She fake-sobbed into her sleeve.
He patted her head—twice—like calming a child. "Not hard. Wait."
Lin Si Tian froze.
His palm's warmth lingered on her brow.
Warm.
Her chest tightened. She watched him re-examine the problem, galaxies of concentration swirling in his eyes. His uncharted universe.
[Not hard. Wait.]
He hadn't mocked her.
No condescension from the rank-one king.
Just wait. He'd bridge their gap.
Lin Si Tian clenched her fist. A nameless tremor surged within her.
He did bridge it.
Patient. Methodical. He rebuilt the solution—her way.
Fifteen minutes.
Unraveling a single multiple-choice mystery.
When she wrote the correct answer, Zhou Sheng smiled.
But in Lin Si Tian's heart, an equation had formed.
One she could never solve.