That classroom was pure chaos on a good day—and this morning? Mayhem cranked up to eleven. Everyone buzzing, the air thick with gossip about that stupid assembly nobody actually wanted to go to. Those desks—man, you'd think they were ancient ruins, the way every inch was covered in battle scars. If desks could talk, they'd scream about all the initials, doodles, curse words, and little cartoons bored kids had gouged into the wood over who-knows-how-many years. Also? There was so much dust floating around that if you had allergies, you'd be sneezing yourself into orbit. Sunlight made it all seem pretty, sure, but it wasn't hiding anything.
Li Wei—he lives in the back row, and trust me, it's not some mysterious rebel thing. The dude just likes fading into the background, looking like he might be trying to nap through life if he could get away with it. Today, he kinda drags himself to his desk. Backpack thuds down—totally louder than he meant—and right after, Zhang Jie makes his entrance. He's pretty much the opposite of subtle: full drama. You'd think he was starring in a soap with all his moaning.
"Wei, you do realize you've set the world on fire, right?" Zhang mutters, face hidden in his arms like he's melting into the table. "Chen Guang isn't screwing around. Behind the gym? Dude, people disappear back there. Straight up gone."
Li Wei, not even phased, stretches out—couldn't be more chill if he tried. "Trust me, nobody actually disappears. They just crawl back with some new bruises for the collection."
Zhang snaps, "Exactly! And guess who's next in line to become tomorrow's vegetable? My best buddy! How am I supposed to explain that to your mom?"
Li Wei just grins, super cocky, "Chill, man. I'm not exactly helpless."
But Zhang's not buying it. He leans in, all urgency, "Yeah well, Chen's been training—like, expensive martial arts gym, real kung fu movie stuff. You sure you know what you're doing, or should I just get ice packs ready now?"
Li Wei shrugs it off and starts staring out the window, like he's too cool to even care. "Punch is a punch. You just gotta learn to dodge, right?"
Zhang sighs so hard you'd think the roof was caving in. "I swear you're nuts. Totally, clinically, out-of-your-mind."
Before the drama can hit level ten, the door creaks—and in comes Lin Xinya. And this is where the vibe in the room shifts. She walks in, and the noise doesn't exactly die, but it softens, like everyone's suddenly pretending to be good kids. Her uniform's perfect, but in a "didn't even try" way that makes everyone else look like they got dressed in the dark. She's got her books hugged to her chest—a total mix of cute and classy. I mean, dudes sit up straighter. Girls notice too; suspicious side-eye and whispers start bouncing from row to row.
Li Wei? He tries to play it cool, but everyone catches him glancing up—just in time for Lin Xinya to lock eyes with him.
"Good morning, Li Wei," she says—quiet, but there's this vibe that comes with it. Like warmth cutting through a cold fog. No one else's "good mornings" land like that, trust me.
He shoots back a nervous, "Morning," but it comes out rough, like he swallowed a frog. Classic.
Zhang elbows him—hard. "Look at you, acting all bashful. Dude, you're practically glowing!"
Li Wei just mumbles, "Give it a rest," trying to hide the blush. Spoiler: he fails, and a smile slips out anyway.
Lin Xinya finds her seat up front, but Li Wei's eyes keep sneaking back. You know the type—calm in the middle of chaos, soft little half-smiles when she says hi to someone. Almost like she exists on a totally different frequency from the rest.
Honestly? It's like she doesn't belong in the thick of all this high-school nonsense, the yelling, the fights. Yet, somehow, out of all people, she sees Li Wei. Not just a throwaway glance, but with this real, quiet understanding that sticks. No joke, it helps—the world feels just a stitch brighter every time she glances back and he catches her.
When the bell finally rings, Mr. Huang shows up. That guy looks like he eats nails for breakfast—thick, blocky, glasses always drooping, voice sharp enough to cut glass.
"Li Wei!" he barks—a sound that pretty much sours everyone's mood.
Li Wei jerks up, already bracing for trouble. "Yes, sir?"
Mr. Huang pounces, "Late again, I see! What, you think the planet spins for you? Rules don't count for folks like you, huh?"
Li Wei's about to shoot something smart back, but Zhang steps in, urgent as ever, "Please don't. For the love of everything, just—don't."
Pride swallowed, Li Wei mutters, "Sorry, Teacher. Won't happen again."
Huang snorts—pure, Olympic-quality disrespect. "Sorry doesn't wipe floors. You're staying after to scrub this dump. Might help you respect the clock."
Someone laughs—oh, look, it's Chen Guang. He's practically basking. Huang never gives him crap, and everyone knows why: dude's parents have money pouring out their ears.
Li Wei grinds his jaw but pastes on a polite face. "Yes, Teacher."
Look, it's less about cleaning floors and more about the double standards here. Any rich kid can stroll in late and somehow get a free pass. People like Li Wei, though? Different story. And yeah, it stings.
Zhang leans in, low: "Let it slide, man. Huang loves stacks of cash, not us regulars."
Li Wei just scrawls notes, voice sharp. "One of these days, someone should make them eat those rules of theirs."
Still, through all the monotony, Lin Xinya keeps tossing quiet glances his way—tiny reminders that he's not totally invisible, not swallowed up by this warped system. It makes a difference, honestly, having someone in his corner, even if it's just a smile.
When class is over, everyone basically runs for freedom. Zhang Jie slings his bag over his shoulder, sends one last look of sympathy his way, "Don't let the mop kill you, yeah?"
Li Wei waves him off. "I'm not made of glass. Go home."
He grabs the cleaning stuff from the closet. Not gonna lie, it's tragic—splintery old mop, a rusted bucket, rags that are probably older than a few teachers. As he pushes the mop over stubborn, ancient grime, every swipe feels like he's being punished for something bigger than just being late. Feels like it's about not having the right family, or the right wallet size.
Still, Li Wei keeps at it; stubbornness runs deep with him. Sweat on his brow, hands sore, yeah—but he doesn't quit. Somewhere in all that scrubbing is a kind of hope—one that says, maybe, just maybe, the world doesn't get to decide his story for him. And even on the roughest days, there's a little bit of comfort knowing someone out there (hi, Lin Xinya) is rooting for him.