Chapter 87: To Show Sincerity (Request Subscription!)

Besides collecting the manuscript fee for “Wan Zhu.”

Editor Liao also subtly mentioned Huang Zhaoyi’s letter.

Though extremely indirect, anyone lacking wit might not catch the underlying meaning at all.

Li Heng was puzzled—just a reader’s letter, why should the chief editor himself go to such trouble?

Could this woman be your lover?

Out of a sense of duty to gossip, Li Heng pondered for a long time, but couldn’t figure it out, so he finally comforted himself:

Since they’ve personally reached out, I’ll just squeeze in time to reply—a few hundred words won’t take much effort.

After hanging up, the English teacher asked, “Who is Huang Zhaoyi?”

Li Heng shook his head and shoved the letter into her hands, “You women understand women best—help me analyze this. Is Editor Liao hopelessly in love with her?”

Wang Runwen brushed her long hair aside, “You’re a famous writer—why are you still so nosy?”

Li Heng stretched lazily: “It’s not that I’m nosy—love never comes without reason. Everything has its cause and effect, doesn’t it?”

Wang Runwen suddenly said, “Could it be that she’s powerful? Is Editor Liao afraid of offending her? Or trying to curry favor?”

Li Heng turned to look at her for a moment: “You’re still sharper than I am, Teacher. Shanghai’s full of hidden dragons and tigers—this possibility isn’t out of the question.”

“Dang dang dang dang. Dang dang dang dang.”

The old-fashioned bell rang. Li Heng immediately stopped talking, hurried out of the faculty housing, and ran back to class.

The vice principal’s mouth seemed blessed—he’d barely spoken a few days ago, and now Li Heng was truly standing on the podium, at the crucial college entrance exam rally.

Of course, he wasn’t alone.

The boastful Room 215—ten of them, neatly lined up—were each called by name before the entire school.

The reason was nothing special—just the usual tradition: noise.

They argued for no reason, driven by impulse and relying on their good grades to believe the school wouldn’t truly punish them, acting with reckless abandon.

Imagine at two a.m., the boys’ dormitory blasting synchronized singing—Ye Liyi’s “Shanghai Beach”—that bold, thunderous energy—who wouldn’t go mad?

That night, the vice principal arrived, frost on his coat and moonlight on his shoulders.

Zhou, the dorm supervisor, and Zhao, the dorm teacher, arrived.

Homeroom teacher Wang Qi was so furious his teeth clenched; after learning the full story, veins bulged on his temples, his gaze burning with the desire to flay them alive.

What stunned Room 215 most was that even Principal Sun himself showed up.

Seeing the principal arrive, Liu Yejiang, Zhang Zhiyong, Zou Ai, and others let out desperate wails—they knew this time there was no way out.

And indeed, it was true.

The next morning, after morning exercises, all faculty and students brought small stools to gather on the main playground, seated in orderly rows by class.

This assembly had two purposes:

First, to distribute the delayed scholarships.

Why delayed?

They were supposed to be handed out by the end of February—but now it was nearly the end of March.

The school offered no explanation, fully displaying its arrogant stance: “All final interpretations belong to the school.”

Second, the college entrance exam motivational rally—a yearly ritual.

Once everyone was seated, the vice principal grabbed the megaphone and shouted:

“Quiet! Please be quiet! Now, let’s welcome our broadcast station’s old friend to meet you all.”

Everyone was confused—what broadcast station?

What old friend?

Only when the vice principal looked down from the podium and started calling out names from Class 204 did they realize—and then erupted in laughter.

Thousands of laughs drowned out the entire No. 1 High School, carrying over a mile away.

Heh! They really thought some big guest was coming.

It was just Room 215—the dorm that got publicly criticized five times a week. Of course they were the broadcast station’s old friend.

Almost daily, they were blasted over the loudspeakers!

The vice principal began calling names based on his internal reputation score: “Liu Yejiang, Zhang Zhiyong, Zou Ai—come up here!”

Under the stares of school leaders and their homeroom teacher, the three dared not resist. Heads down, they were led by Zhou and the discipline director, ears pinched, to the flagpole.

Once they reached the stage, the vice principal immediately began his tirade through the megaphone:

“Attention! At ease! Attention! Turn around! Raise your hands, chest out—face the crowd!”

Liu Yejiang, Zhang Zhiyong, and Zou Ai had a thousand objections, but they had no choice but to obey.

After all, the school was serious this time—they couldn’t afford the consequences of open defiance.

The vice principal stepped in front of them and announced to the crowd: “These three—I call them the Living Yama, the core members of this criminal gang. Every disturbance involves them; every time they argue, they’re the loudest.”

Look closely, memorize their faces—if you see them on the street, avoid them. Bad luck.”

“Hahaha!”

Thousands of faculty and students laughed themselves into hysterics.

The only ones who didn’t laugh were Room 215 and homeroom teacher Wang Qi.

Wang Qi stood behind them beneath a osmanthus tree, eyes half-lidded, appearing calm—but anyone who knew him knew he was on the verge of explosion.

After introducing the three top offenders, the remaining seven—Li Heng, Liu Hui, Li Tuanming, Liu Li, and others—were also mercilessly summoned to the podium.

But their treatment was slightly better—they weren’t dragged by the ears, nor ordered to stand at attention or turn around.

Looking down at the sea of black heads, Li Heng felt deeply wronged—he hadn’t even sung much last night, just hummed a few lines when the mood caught him, and now he’d been punished indiscriminately.

But then again, even if he’d said nothing, the school wouldn’t have spared him.

In the leaders’ minds: anyone from Room 215—kill them all! Even if they didn’t argue this time, they must have argued before—no doubt about it.

Seeing the ten men lined up on the podium, the vice principal spoke into the megaphone: “Don’t underestimate Room 215—they’re full of hidden talents, each with unique skills, especially in singing—I admire them. Don’t believe me? Let them sing for you!”

“Good! Very good! Clap clap clap!”

The crowd cheered, eager for entertainment, clapping enthusiastically.

Seeing this, the vice principal turned to the ten: “Among you ten, who sings best? Point them out.”

The line looked at each other—then nine hands pointed in perfect unison to the far right.

What the fuck!

Seeing the bastards point at him without hesitation, Li Heng froze, instinctively stepping back.

But the next second, the vice principal locked eyes on him.

The vice principal waved him over: “Come here—don’t look around, it’s you, Li Heng!”

Under the gaze of thousands, Li Heng trudged reluctantly to the vice principal’s side.

The vice principal sized him up and asked, “You’re a good singer?”

Li Heng said, “No, they’re just pointing randomly.”

The vice principal asked, “Why not point at anyone else? Just you?”

Li Heng replied innocently, “Teacher, kind people get taken advantage of—I’m the kindest.”

The vice principal chuckled, then draped his arm around Li Heng’s shoulder: “Let me introduce you to this extraordinary, elegant, Pan An–level heavyweight guest—Li Heng, from Class 204.

By day, a model student and recipient of the top scholarship; by night, a singer, a midnight spirit, king of the pathless night.

Last time, his ‘Spring Water Tinkling’ left me spellbound; last night, I listened outside his door to ‘Shanghai Beach’—he sang it best. Applause for him—let him show you his voice!”

“Clap clap clap!”

Waves of applause rolled in continuously.

Among them was Xiao Han—this girl had become a devoted spectator, smiling as she clapped for him.

Fuck!

Li Heng wanted to die right then.

When the vice principal handed him the microphone, Li Heng said, “Teacher, I have a request.”

The vice principal asked casually, “What request?”

Li Heng pointed at the other nine: “Singing alone feels too dull—I can’t show my full talent. I need backup dancers. I think they’re perfect.”

“Hahaha!”

The crowd laughed until their stomachs hurt—what is this if not mutual destruction? What is this if not kicking someone while they’re down? This is it!

One moment they’d betrayed Li Heng, the next he’d betrayed them all—this plastic brotherhood was priceless.

“Teacher, I can’t dance,” Liu Yejiang said, face drooping, raising his hand.

The vice principal ignored him: “If you can’t dance, just shake your ass. You—stand in the front row!”

“Hahaha!”

The crowd laughed harder.

The vice principal warned: “I’m watching. Anyone who refuses to dance will stand here all day.”

At those words, every last shred of hope vanished.

Now came Room 215’s collective punishment: Li Heng sang, the other nine danced around him.

Dance? Pfft!

“Chaos of demons dancing” fits better.

The worse someone was at dancing, the funnier their movements became.

Soon, no one was listening to the song—everyone watched the nine dance. Even teachers, even the principal—no one held back laughter; several female teachers collapsed giggling onto the ground.

Li Heng found it hilarious too—if the setting weren’t so wrong, he’d have kept singing forever—song never stops, dance can’t stop—trapping these bastards.

You think you can betray me!

After the song ended, all nine sat with flushed faces, heads bowed—they knew they had made a complete fool of themselves, lost all dignity, and would never dare show their faces again.

The vice-principal asked: “Will you still dare to argue in the future?”

One time in this situation is enough for a lifetime—I’m terrified, the whole dorm is scared, who’d dare argue again?

The vice-principal gave a stern warning: “From now on, I’ll be watching you 215 closely. If I catch you again, it won’t be as simple as today—think carefully.”

After the lively prelude, the teacher-student assembly finally got to the main agenda.

During the scholarship award ceremony, Li Heng received special treatment—the vice-principal no longer made him stand in punishment, but let him bring a stool and sit with the other scholarship recipients in a designated area.

Special staff took photos of them, and the principal personally handed them cash.

Watching this, Liu Li, still standing on stage, grew envious, burning with jealousy, and muttered weakly to the side to Zou Aiming:

“Ugh, school leaders are so biased—always giving Li Heng big talk but small punishment. When will we ever get to stop standing?”

Zou Aiming, long used to it, shrugged: “You just saw this for the first time? Isn’t it always like this? If you could get into Qingbei, they’d treat you the same.”

“Just wait. What’s this punishment now? Look at the Nine Thousand’s face—he might swallow us whole soon.”

Hearing this, the nine turned to look at their homeroom teacher, Wang Qi. As soon as they met her icy gaze, they fell silent as frozen insects, already sensing the horror to come.

In the scholarship award zone, Xiao Feng had learned her lesson. When Li Heng approached, she quickly shifted her stool, making space for him and Song Yu to sit together.

Li Heng sat beside Song Yu and whispered softly: “How was my singing?”

Xiao Feng: “...”

Xiao Feng had seen shameless people, but never one this shameless—he was punished by the school, yet had the nerve to show it off.

But to be fair, he sang pretty well—just those dancers were too circus-like, stealing his spotlight.

Song Yu glanced at him, a faint smile in her eyes: “Very nice. No surprise—you’re the best singer.”

Li Heng, shameless as ever, pressed: “So were you listening to the song, or watching the dancing?”

Song Yu unconsciously brushed a strand of fine hair behind her ear, paused, then said: “Listening.”

She meant it sincerely.

Because her mother was a professional music teacher, and since childhood she had been immersed in music—she had a keen ear for tone quality. Li Heng’s rendition of “Shanghai Beach” had real feeling; she had listened intently.

As for the chaotic, demonic dancing, her naturally quiet temperament found it merely noisy.

While the two whispered closely, Li Heng felt his right sleeve gently tugged. He turned to see Yang Yingwen subtly gesturing toward the back row where Xiao Han sat—the meaning was unmistakable.

Li Heng glanced back at Xiao Han. She reacted half a beat faster, her peripheral vision flicking toward the sky, treating him like air, acting as if they weren’t even acquainted.

The principal began awarding scholarships, starting with the six first-class recipients, each receiving 200 yuan in cash, a large red flower pinned to their chest, and a few words of encouragement.

The first was Xiao Feng, the second was Song Yu.

When it came to Li Heng, Principal Sun smiled and teased: “You’re impressive—good at both literature and martial arts.”

Literature—no need to explain.

Martial arts? Clearly a double entendre: referring to his noise, his ability to maneuver, and praising his freedom and excellent singing.

Only forty scholarships total, awarded quickly. What followed was a long-winded college entrance exam pledge ceremony.

After speeches from the principal and teacher representatives, it was student representative Yang Yingwen’s turn to speak.

Li Heng, along with the entire school, solemnly recited the pledge along with Yang Yingwen.

It felt like forever. At first he didn’t care, but by the end, he was swept up by the grand atmosphere—his tone lost some of its indifference, gaining solemnity and sincerity.

As soon as the “country girl” finished, Li Heng praised: “Your speech draft is great—spent a lot of time on it, right?”

Yang Yingwen didn’t humble himself: “I spent a week researching for it.”

Li Heng nodded, turned back to the stage—and wow, he felt sorry: Zhang Zhiyong and the other nine were still standing rigidly in punishment.

Even Liu Hui and Zou Aiming’s scholarships were collected by their homeroom teacher, Wang Qi—strict punishment, no mercy.

The college entrance exam pledge ceremony lasted over an hour. Had it not suddenly turned from cloudy to light rain, then heavy rain, it might have dragged on longer.

Just moments ago pitying the clueless Li Heng, they now pitied no one. As the entire school dispersed back to classrooms, Teacher Wang Qi bellowed:

“215, everyone—stand still, don’t move!”

Seeing this, Teacher Yang from the neighboring 205 class kindly warned: “Old Wang, don’t joke—this rain’s heavy, you’ll catch cold.”

Teacher Wang Qi remained unmoved, face blank, and issued another order:

“All of you—turn right, run forward. First, run fifteen laps around the track. If you don’t finish, no dinner, no class, no participation in next month’s college entrance exam mock test.”

No dinner, no class—these old hands weren’t scared. It wasn’t the first or second time.

But “no mock exam participation” sent them into panic. Every one of them snapped to attention, pushing themselves to run harder.

No mock exam meant no eligibility for the real college entrance exam—was over a decade of studying all for nothing?

As the top students of the city, the 204 class had never cared about the mock exam—it was a trivial matter for them.

But not caring didn’t mean indifference. This was their lifeline, their future. No one dared gamble that Old Wang wouldn’t make an example of them.

After all, every point deducted from class conduct meant a deduction from the Nine Thousand’s bonus.

Many teachers joked: because of Room 215, Teacher Wang Qi hadn’t received the school’s bonus for several semesters—it had all been deducted, even turned negative.

Tell me, who wouldn’t have a headache dealing with a group like this? Who could hold their temper? Who wouldn’t fly into a rage?

Fifteen laps seemed a lot, but for students of this era, it wasn’t deadly.

Most came from rural villages, used to helping with farm work—physically strong as oxen.

In one phrase: thin, thin, thin—but muscular, with excellent endurance.

Of course, fifteen laps weren’t easy. By the end, everyone was drenched in sweat, gasping, mouths wide open for air.

Teacher Wang Qi was determined today to settle old and new accounts—he had no intention of letting them off easy.

He bellowed: “Line up from tallest to shortest!”

The ethnic minority boy, Ma Ji, was the tallest—187 cm, towering above everyone else.

Li Heng, 178 cm, came second; third was Zou Aiming at 176 cm.

The shortest was Li Tuannam, estimated at no more than 160 cm.

After running, it was already second period’s end. The corridors of both four-story teaching buildings were packed with people.

All came out to watch the spectacle.

Including every subject teacher, countless students.

Teacher Wang Qi was furious—so furious he didn’t care who was watching—he began beating them one by one.

He really beat them!

First victim: the short boy Li Tuannam. Teacher Wang stood before him, squinted, and kicked him three times—piapia—until Li Tuannam collapsed to the ground, then moved to the next.

Next was class monitor Liu Hui, around 169 cm—three kicks, knocked down!

Seeing Teacher Wang going all out, nearby Teacher Luo from 206 class couldn’t help but plead:

“Old Wang, enough, enough. They’re just kids, it’s normal to be foolish. Running laps is punishment enough.”

But Teacher Wang ignored him, carried on as if alone—even when the vice-principal arrived, he kept kicking.

When kicking Zou Aiming, first kick: thigh. Second kick: same thigh spot. Third kick: stomach. Zou Aiming’s eyes filled with tears, he clutched his thigh with his right hand, curled up on the ground, grimacing.

When it came to Li Heng, Xiao Han on the second floor gripped her small hands tightly, lips pressed shut—nervous, worried, heartbroken!

But to hide her unusual reaction from classmates, she still feigned indifference, leaning on the railing, staring blankly.

Beside her, Yang Yingwen whispered only loud enough for her to hear: “He’s tough as leather—he’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

The two teaching buildings faced each other across the playground—everyone could see Teacher Wang Qi’s grand punishment of Room 215.

Mai Sui had been quietly watching Song Yu. When Teacher Wang Qi stood directly in front of Li Heng, Song Yu suddenly turned and quietly walked into the classroom.

One minute later, the entire school erupted in noise. Mai Sui followed her inside.

She sat in Li Heng’s seat and muttered to herself: “Li Heng wasn’t beaten. Teacher Wang just stood face-to-face with him for a minute, then kicked Ma Ji.”

Song Yu looked up at her.

Mai Sui smiled sweetly: “Expected, right? Over the past two years, Teacher Wang beat every boy in class—except him. I don’t know what you’re worried about?”

Song Yu slipped her pen into the gap of her book and smiled faintly: “I wasn’t worried about him. My leg just went numb.”

Just as Mai Sui was about to speak again, Sun Manning returned to her seat, bringing fresh news:

“My dad intervened—he disbanded the line immediately.”

…

Li Heng caught a cold.

On Sunday morning, third period—Li Heng, fresh from a shower and changed clothes, felt his head grow heavy from the start, but still propped his head with his left hand and struggled through class.

As time passed, by mid-fourth period, his head drooped—he could no longer hold on, slumped onto the desk and dozed off.

“Song Yu, Mai Sui, Lijun—don’t leave yet. Come to my place for dinner. Today’s my birthday,” Sun Manning called out right after fourth period ended.

Song Yu, Mai Sui, and Chen Lijun already knew it was Manning’s eighteenth birthday. The three had secretly prepared gifts and handmade birthday postcards—they naturally didn’t rush to leave.

After a rare half-day break in a week, whether top or bottom student, as soon as the bell rang, everyone tossed their books and rushed out of class. With the college entrance exam looming, months of relentless, overloaded review had stretched their nerves to the limit—they craved relaxation, craved fresh street snacks to satisfy themselves.

“Huh? Everyone left—why hasn’t Li Heng left?” Sun Manning, stretching her waist, finally noticed Li Heng slumped on the desk.

Now only Li Heng and the four girls remained in the classroom.

Zhang Zhiyong and Liu Li had gone to play basketball. They’d invited him, but seeing him sleep so soundly, they gave up—after all, the court was right downstairs; he’d see them when he woke.

“He’s been asleep half a period,” Song Yu said.

Hearing this, the four girls glanced at him again, lowered their voices in unison, moved their seats closer, and huddled together to congratulate Sun Manning on her birthday.

They exchanged wishes, handed out postcards, discussed where to go after.

As the girls chattered excitedly, Li Heng drifted into a dream.

The place in his dream was Jingcheng.

The surroundings were the scene of his second proposal to Song Yu.

“Song Yu, I love you. Marry me.”

Proposing to Song Yu twice had become an obsession in his memory, leaving an indelible impression—he often dreamed of it even in his next life.

As soon as he spoke, the classroom fell utterly silent, not even a pin could be heard.

Mai Sui, Sun Manning, and Chen Lijun stopped talking, staring at Li Heng, who was asleep with his arms on the desk.

They stared at Li Heng, still murmuring softly.

They stared at his lips, moving slightly as he spoke.

They strained their ears to catch his fluctuating, half-formed dream words.

After a long while, Sun Manning exclaimed in surprise: “He doesn’t seem awake—he’s talking in his sleep.”

Chen Lijun, the farthest away, asked instinctively: “What did he say after ‘I love you’? Did anyone hear?”

After asking, Chen Lijun shyly stuck out her tongue and turned to look at Song Yu.

Hearing this, Mai Sui and Sun Manning shifted their gaze to Song Yu as well.

Actually, Mai Sui, sitting directly in front of Li Heng, had caught a fragment—but she said nothing, believing Song Yu, who was closer, had heard more clearly.

Facing the three girls’ gazes, Song Yu felt an inexplicable, unprecedented tension rise within her—even though it vanished in an instant, it had been real.

The four girls stared at each other in silence, their minds flooded with tangled thoughts; time passed unnoticed.

Finally, Song Yu steadied herself, chose not to answer her friends’ questions, and suddenly reached out, placing her hand on Li Heng’s forehead.

Just one touch—and her hand burned!

Immediately, Song Yu rose from her seat, leaned over, placed her hand on his forehead again, then tested her own.

She frowned and said: “He’s burning up—Li Heng has a high fever.”

Hearing this, Mai Sui in the front row also reached out, touched Li Heng’s forehead, then her own, and nodded softly:

“Definitely burning hot—he’s running a high fever. We need to wake him up and take him to the infirmary right away.”

Then Sun Manning and Chen Lijun both felt his forehead. Sun Manning said: “No wonder he was mumbling in his sleep—he’s sick.”

The four girls abandoned their birthday feast, shook Li Heng awake, and called down Liu Li and Zhang Zhiyong, who were playing basketball downstairs, to come help carry him.

From the classroom to the infirmary, down the stairs, across the playground—Li Heng was dazed and unsteady until the doctor measured his temperature: 39.6°C.

The doctor shook the thermometer and pointed to the cool bed: “Lie down there. With a fever this high, you need an IV. We’ll also put ice packs on you to bring it down.”

Sun Manning asked: “Can we bring it down that fast?”

The doctor, preparing the medicine, replied: “Ideally, yes. If it doesn’t drop soon, we’ll have to transfer him to the People’s Hospital.”

Liu Li touched his own forehead: “Doctor, can you check my temperature too? My head’s pounding and I feel weak all over.”

The doctor handed him a thermometer—the reading was 38.4°C. He was feverish too.

The doctor took back the thermometer and said: “Your homeroom teacher punished you too harshly. Such heavy rain, so cold—you were soaked for nearly two hours. If more of you in the dorm get a fever later, he’ll regret it.”

Liu Li asked: “Do I need an IV?”

The doctor said: “No. Take some medicine, drink plenty of water, and go lie down in your dorm. Rest well.”

Liu Li left—he’d sweated from playing basketball and needed to shower and get into bed quickly.

Song Yu sat beside Li Heng, thought for a moment, and said to Sun Manning: “Manning, go home first. Your family’s waiting to celebrate your birthday—don’t keep them waiting.”

Sun Manning looked at the weak, lying Li Heng, then at Song Yu: “Alright. I’ll go home for dinner, then come back to check on you.”

For certain reasons, Mai Sui and Chen Lijun also left, saying they’d return later.

Zhang Zhiyong couldn’t sit still anymore and blurted out: “If you’re all leaving, should I leave too? Am I the third wheel?”

The doctor laughed: “If you don’t want to be the third wheel, sit outside by the door. I’ve got copies of ‘Story Magazine’—take one and read. Honestly, you leaving wouldn’t matter—Song Yu’s here with him.”

Zhang Zhiyong scratched his head and actually took a copy of ‘Story Magazine’ to sit outside.

His clueless earnestness made the girls laugh again.

As Mai Sui reached the door, she turned back and asked kindly: “Song Yu, Li Heng—anything you’d like to eat? I’ll buy it for you.”

Li Heng’s face was pale; he had no strength to speak, barely able to lie still, feeling as if he were floating, everything before him unreal, shaking like a fever chill. He shook his head weakly.

Song Yu shook her head too: “No, go celebrate Manning’s birthday. If he wants something, I’ll buy it later.”

Outside the infirmary, Sun Manning turned to Mai Sui: “Mai Sui, you heard what Li Heng said earlier, didn’t you?”

Mai Sui hesitated, then said: “No. His dream words came suddenly, and the later part faded—he spoke too softly. I didn’t catch it.”

Sun Manning looked disappointed: “Too bad. But ‘I love you’ alone is explosive enough—I saw Song Yu was briefly stunned.”

Now that Song Yu is staying here as if she’s the one in charge, it’s a big step forward for Li Heng.”

Chen Lijun spoke calmly: “I really want to know—how did Song Yu feel when she heard ‘I love you’?”

Even though he said it in his sleep, we all know it was sincere.”

Mai Sui fell silent for a long while, then offered: “Only Song Yu herself knows. But she stayed—I’m surprised, yet not really.”

(End of Chapter)