The Hallway. Red Star Primary School.
The corridors echoed with the high-pitched chaos of hundreds of children. To Xiao Tian, it sounded like a stock exchange floor, but with less money and more mucus.
He walked with his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed and indifferent, cutting through the sea of blue and gray uniforms like a shark through a school of minnows.
"Xiao Tian, wait up!" Xiao Wan shouted, trying to keep hold of his hand.
"I know the way, Sister," Xiao Tian said, gently detaching himself. "Class 1, Ground Floor."
As they turned the corner toward the classroom, the crowd suddenly parted. It wasn't a physical force that pushed them back; it was the invisible, heavy pressure of status.
A girl was walking down the center of the hallway.
She was small, the same age as Xiao Tian, but she carried herself like an Empress Dowager inspecting her summer palace. She wore a pristine white dress with lace trimmings—completely impractical for a dusty school—and shiny black leather shoes that likely cost more than a teacher's yearly salary.
Her hair was tied in two perfect pigtails with red silk ribbons. Her chin was tilted up at a 45-degree angle, ensuring she looked down on everyone, even those taller than her.
Ye Qing. The daughter of Deputy Mayor Ye. The "Little Princess" of the district.
Xiao Tian recognized her immediately. In his past life, he had dealt with thousands of women like her—heiresses, queens, CEOs. They all wore the same armor of arrogance to hide their fragility.
Their eyes met.
Xiao Tian offered a polite, faint smile. "Good morning, Xiao Qing."
Ye Qing stopped. She looked at him. Her big, doe-like eyes narrowed slightly.
"Hmph!"
She let out a loud, theatrical snort, whipped her head away so violently her pigtails smacked a passing boy in the face, and marched past Xiao Tian without a word.
The surrounding children gasped. Being ignored by Ye Qing was the social equivalent of a death sentence in this school.
Xiao Tian blinked, standing there in the wake of her lavender-scented arrogance.
Hostile, he noted. Why?
The answer drifted up from his memory like smoke. It wasn't just that he was a restaurant kid. It was the incident three months ago.
He remembered the Lunar New Year Banquet at the Golden Pavilion clearly. The main hall had been noisy with toasts, and bored by the adults, he had wandered into the back storeroom to check the inventory.
He recalled opening the door and finding Ye Qing there.
She hadn't been looking like a princess then. She was squatting on a sack of rice, holding a stolen bowl of Red Braised Pork. The sauce was smeared all over her face. She was stuffing a massive piece of fatty pork into her mouth with her bare hands, moaning in delight, looking like a starving chipmunk.
In public, Ye Qing constantly bragged that she only ate "refined food" and hated "greasy peasant meat."
When the door opened, she had frozen, a piece of pork belly hanging from her lip. Xiao Tian had simply stared for three seconds, then quietly closed the door, leaving her alone with her shame and her pork.
Xiao Tian's lips curled into a smirk as the memory faded.
"Ah," he whispered. "She's not arrogant. She's terrified. She thinks I'm holding onto her 'dark history' as leverage."
Which, of course, he was. He just hadn't bothered to use it yet.
Class 1.
The classroom was already buzzing. Mrs. Zhang hadn't arrived yet.
There were thirty wooden desks arranged in rows of two. Most were already claimed, children fighting over who got to sit near the window.
But in the center of the room, the best spot, there was a zone of silence.
Ye Qing sat there, her back straight, her hands folded perfectly on her desk. She looked immaculate.
The seat next to her was empty.
It wasn't that no one wanted to sit there. Every boy in the class was stealing glances at her. She was, objectively, the most beautiful creature they had ever seen. But she radiated such an intense aura of "Do Not Approach" that the other six-year-olds were physically intimidated.
A boy named Fatty Wang (the son of a factory director) approached her desk, drooling slightly.
"Can I sit—"
"No," Ye Qing said without looking at him. "You smell like sweat."
Fatty Wang retreated, crushed.
Xiao Tian walked into the room. He scanned the layout. The back row was good for sleeping, but the center row offered better acoustics for when he inevitably took over the lesson.
And the best seat was the one with the most space.
He walked straight to Ye Qing's desk.
The class went silent. They watched the "Restaurant Boy" approach the "Princess."
Ye Qing saw him coming out of the corner of her eye. She stiffened. She grabbed her pencil case and slammed it onto the empty desk next to her, claiming the territory.
"Occupied," she announced icily, staring straight ahead.
Xiao Tian stopped. He looked at the pencil case. Then he looked at her.
He didn't ask. He didn't argue.
He reached out, picked up her pencil case with two fingers as if it were contaminated, and placed it gently on top of her own desk.
Then, he sat down.
The class gasped.
Ye Qing turned slowly, her face flushing pink with indignation. "I said it was occupied! Are you deaf? Or just stupid?"
Xiao Tian arranged his satchel comfortably. He leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs—a posture far too relaxed for a first grader. He turned his head and looked her dead in the eye.
"The desk belongs to the State, Xiao Qing," he said calmly. "You don't have the property rights."
"You!" Ye Qing grit her teeth. "My father is the Deputy Mayor! If I say you can't sit here, you can't!"
"Your father is Uncle Ye," Xiao Tian corrected her, his voice dropping to a whisper only she could hear. "And Uncle Ye is a man of culture. He hates bad manners."
He leaned in closer. The scent of soap and confidence wafted toward her.
"And he definitely hates... grease."
Ye Qing froze. Her pupils dilated.
"I wonder," Xiao Tian mused, looking at the ceiling casually. "If I told the class... or maybe your father... about how much the Little Princess loves fatty pork? About how she eats it with her hands? Like a little piglet?"
Ye Qing's face went from pink to bright red. Her arrogance shattered instantly, replaced by pure panic.
"You... you wouldn't!" she hissed, her voice trembling.
"Why not?" Xiao Tian smiled. It was a charming, handsome smile to the rest of the class, but to Ye Qing, it was the smile of a predator. "We are desk-mates now. Neighbors should share secrets, right?"
Ye Qing stared at him. She bit her lip. She looked at the door, then back at him. She realized she was trapped.
She slowly slumped in her chair, defeated. She pulled her pencil case back, hugging it to her chest.
"Fine," she whispered, her eyes watery. "You can sit here. But don't cross the line. If your elbow touches my side, I'll... I'll pinch you."
Xiao Tian chuckled, leaning back. "Anything for my lovely piglet."
Ye Qing turned scarlet and buried her face in her book, utterly defeated.
At that moment, the classroom door creaked open.
"Sit down! Everyone, sit down!"
A woman marched in. She was in her late forties, wearing a faded grey tunic suit that had been washed so many times the fabric was thinning at the elbows. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, held together by a cheap plastic clip. She carried a wooden triangle ruler and a stack of textbooks that looked older than the students.
Mrs. Zhang. The Homeroom Teacher.
Xiao Tian watched her walk to the podium. He didn't see a teacher. He saw a balance sheet.
Subject: Mrs. Zhang.Attire: Shoes are scuffed at the heel—she walks to work to save bus fare. Tunic is patched neatly but visibly. No watch. Demeanor: Shoulders slumped, brow furrowed. She slammed the books onto the desk with unnecessary force. That's frustration. That's the body language of someone who feels overworked and underappreciated.
Assessment: She is underpaid. In 1979, teachers have high social status ("The Soul Engineers") but abysmal liquidity. She likely has a family to feed and is struggling with the rising cost of living.
Control Strategy: She doesn't need an apple on her desk. She needs rice in her bowl.
"My name is Teacher Zhang," she announced, her voice sharp and grating. "I do not tolerate laziness. I do not tolerate noise. In this class, you are not 'Little Emperors'. You are students. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Teacher Zhang!" the class chanted in fear.
Xiao Tian didn't chant. He observed her eyes scanning the room. Her gaze lingered for a fraction of a second on Ye Qing's expensive dress, a flicker of envy and resentment passing through her eyes before she hid it.
Ah, Xiao Tian noted. She resents the wealthy students, yet she fears their parents. A classic inferiority complex mixed with bureaucratic authority.
He smiled.
She will be easy. I don't need to be a good student. I just need to be a profitable one.