Lin Si Tian suddenly began studying seriously.
Young love is simple: liking someone makes you want to improve. And improvement, to a student, means good grades. Only later would she learn that no path to success is straighter than acing exams.
Lin Si Tian hadn't yet defined her feelings for Zhou Sheng. She just wanted to be better—to stand beside him without feeling like a joke. That day he'd given her hope: if she committed, she could catch up. So she made schedules, copied notes, bought reference books. English podcasts filled her commute; even bathroom breaks became doing-questions time.
But extremes rebound. Within a week, she crashed.
The final straw was a mini-quiz score: 78. Only 5 points higher than last time. The extra correct? A multiple-choice question.
The very type Zhou Sheng had taught her.
Lin Si Tian buried her face in her arms. The math rep placed Zhou Sheng's paper on his desk: still a perfect 150.
Lovers betray. Friends deceive. But math? Math won't betray you—because when you don't know, you just don't. Other subjects had wiggle room; math was absolute. Zhou Sheng didn't just solve problems—he reinvented them.
Nothing like her.
Zhou Sheng returned to his seat, glanced at his paper, and slid it into his drawer. Noticing her hunched posture, he asked, "Get yours back?" (Teachers sometimes mixed up papers between classes.)
Lin Si Tian turned away, hiding her test deeper.
I quit.
I'll never be good enough.
I'm just stupid.
Ugly ducklings become swans because they were swans. She was no academic swan.
Zhou Sheng? The teachers' golden boy. How had she ever thought she could match him?
Her shoulders trembled silently—crying into her sleeves.
The bell rang. Amidst classroom chaos, Zhou Sheng sat down.
She felt something pressed into her fingers: a tissue.
"Class is starting, Lin Si Tian," he said, eyes fixed on his textbook as if speaking to himself.
The kindness stung. Her fingers—a timid mouse—snatched the tissue back into her hiding place.
Convinced she'd seen the "truth," Lin Si Tian embraced full delinquency. She scrolled novels and anime under her desk, vanished after class, dragged friends to snack streets.
Her divorced father, a construction foreman, worked remotely. Money flowed; supervision didn't. Her mahjong-obsessed grandma was her only guardian.
Midterms loomed. Her scores plummeted. Mr. Li summoned her: "Reign in the fun, or I call your dad." Then he called Zhou Sheng.
Lin Si Tian burned with curiosity. What did he say about me? But she wouldn't ask. They were different species.
After school, they were on duty duty.
Lin Si Tian half-heartedly swept, eyes tracking Zhou Sheng wiping the blackboard.
Don't ask…
She sighed. "Zhou Sheng."
He turned.
"Did Mr. Li… talk about me?"
He set down the eraser. "Want to know?"
So it was about her.
"He asked about your study habits."
"And you…?" (What did it matter? Mr. Li knew her slacker resume.)
"Said they're the same." A generous lie—she'd worsened.
"Oh."
"Asked if I ever tutored you."
"Well, you—"
"Said no." (He'd tried after "The Cold Prince" incident. She'd tuned out.)
"Then he asked if you distracted me."
Zhou Sheng faced her fully from the podium. "'Helping is useless if someone's heart isn't in it,'" he quoted Mr. Li's exact words.
Lin Si Tian looked down. Sunset gilded her lonely figure amid empty desks.
"He's considering moving me. So I don't waste time. Someone else might need me more."
Her head snapped up, panic flashing.
"What… what did you say?"
He's leaving.
My deskmate… will be someone else's.
Sourness flooded her chest. This felt like goodbye.
"Zhou Sheng looked at her. "Lin Si Tian."
"Yeah?"
"Have you ever truly wanted to study?"
I did.
Then gave up.
Three-minute teen passion. The cruel gap between genius and… her.
"Not hard. Just take it slow."
—Not hard.
He'd said it again.
But last time, he'd meant it. She had learned.
A dead ember sparked.
"What if…" she whispered, "What if I want to try? Would you… help?"
Zhou Sheng smiled—that same heart-stopping smile from their tutoring session.
"I will."
Making studying a duo… helped. Mostly.
Lin Si Tian's schedules were useless. Zhou Sheng set targets:
"Ten problems. By afternoon."
"Ten? Breaks are only ten minutes!"
"Plenty of time."
She sulked into silence.
Or:
"Memorize the 30 words I circled?" (His first question each morning.)
Lin Si Tian's nod wobbled.
"Notebook out. Test time."
"...Can I review first?"
"Sure."
She grabbed her textbook—
"If you get it wrong after reviewing? 30 copies per word. Without reviewing? 10."
—Unfair!After school, the emptied classroom held just them.
Lin Si Tian secretly loved this. Even drowning in doing questions, Zhou Sheng's presence filled the hollow space.
Outside, sunset blazed gold-pink. Wind slipped through curtains. Lin Si Tian breathed in—someone's woodsmoke dinner.
The room dimmed. A janitor's whistle echoed: time to leave.
"All correct." Zhou Sheng marked her last answer, a faint pride curling his lips. "Did well today."
"Teacher's good." Even the weakest student improves with a dedicated tutor.
"No. You studied." His ears glowed red—sunset or something else?
He packed up. "Go home."
Lin Si Tian stayed, chin propped on folded arms, watching him.
"Little Teacher… can I have a reward?"
He paused. "What?"
She stared—long enough to make him fidget. He pressed a hand to her head. "Spit it out."
"Can you… take off your glasses?"
From his angle, he saw only her lips—soft, glistening—parting with the request.
Zhou Sheng's hand flew to his own mouth, voice muffled. "...Why?"
"No reason. Just wanna see." She grinned. "Please?"
The sunset's blush seemed to bleed onto his cheeks.
He didn't agree. Didn't refuse.
Lin Si Tian acted first. Her fingers grazed his temples, lifting the frames—
And paused.
The last light vanished. His features melted into shadow, the classroom now a dark box streaked with gold.
She waited. For him to stop her. If he hated it.