Chapter 163

After school, all the desks in the class were pushed backward, leaving a chaotic mess.

Dusk, in the hallway.

Jiang Nian and the others leaned against the railing, watching girls pass below, chatting aimlessly. Farther off, the sky darkened, barely revealing the silhouette of Qingmu Ridge.

Li Hua scratched his head and pulled at his ears, frantic.

"Nian, what do you think Old Liu's waiting for? Why hasn't he shown up yet?"

Ma Guojun picked up the thread: "Maybe he's waiting for the scores."

"What scores?"

"Of course the big joint exam scores—Chinese hasn't been released yet, so what can Old Liu do?" Jiang Nian said. "Once the scores come out, Old Liu will have room to maneuver."

"Won't the Chinese answer sheets be distributed before evening self-study, or during evening reading?" Li Hua asked.

"Maybe." Jiang Nian said.

"Based on Old Liu's style, I think he might switch classes," Ma Guojun predicted. "Back when Yu Zhiyi was antisocial, Old Liu switched her class."

"There was that?" Jiang Nian asked, curious.

"They said she was antisocial, but I don't know the specifics," Ma Guojun said. "But after she switched, she seemed to get along well with everyone."

"Where to? There are only four Olympiad classes total," Jiang Nian said.

"Definitely not Class Two—the homeroom teacher next door isn't a garbage collector," Li Hua said. "I bet Old Liu's negotiating with the homeroom teachers of Class One or Class Four."

Class Four was the Olympiad Class Four, Xu Qianqian's class—hmm… hard to evaluate.

"Tsk, probably not Class Four," Jiang Nian blurted out.

"Huh? Why?" Li Hua and Ma Guojun turned to Jiang Nian in unison. "Do you know some insider info?"

"Not really insider info— their new homeroom teacher is a middle-aged woman with a short temper," Jiang Nian said casually. "She looks impossible to reason with. She won't even acknowledge Old Liu."

Li Hua rubbed his chin, frowning.

"Then if Old Liu wants to switch someone, he can only go to Class One."

"Class One's full of idiots," Ma Guojun commented. "Back then, someone from their class stole sodium from the chemistry lab and threw it into the toilet drain."

"Holy shit, was that Class One Olympiad?" Jiang Nian remembered. "I heard a pea-sized piece of sodium blew out the pipe— the whole toilet was filled with white smoke."

"Yeah, they thought a pea-sized piece wouldn't do anything," Li Hua said. "But sodium ignites first, you know? Then it hit the flush and exploded."

"Damn, don't actually swap in Sodium Brother," Jiang Nian stared, dumbfounded.

"Whoever gets swapped in won't be any good—if it's a guy, he's definitely a weirdo," Ma Guojun adjusted his glasses, smiling.

Another weirdo.

Jiang Nian didn't care—whoever came, it didn't matter. He hadn't done anything; it was Yuan Zhengchuan and Ji Jiayu who started their own drama right outside the cafeteria.

He just pushed things along, went with the flow.

If they stayed in love, they'd eventually end up together—enter the same university, get married, have kids, live a beautiful, happy life.

Love can overcome all difficulties except the bride price! Whether Yuan Zhengchuan could afford the bride price? That had nothing to do with Jiang Nian.

Anyway, this place had too many traditional customs—old rules outweighed heaven itself.

Once you win the heart of a girl from Zhennan, you'll find her and her parents' possessiveness peaks—your money and the bride price included.

After chatting a while, Jiang Nian went off alone to urinate. When he returned from the toilet, he found both boys gone.

Suddenly, he realized something and hurried into the classroom.

Sure enough, every desk was covered in white answer sheets. Just as they'd guessed—the Chinese answer sheets had been distributed early.

But strangely, Li Hua and Ma Guojun weren't there.

Jiang Nian glanced at his own score: Chinese 103. He flipped to the essay—sure enough, 38.

Fortunately, every subject he'd worked hard on had given feedback.

First, the math he'd drilled every lunch break without fail—finally, his joint exam score hit 120. No talent or technique, just pure repetition.

Second, biology—he hit 80, worth it for Qingbao.

If he were to replay it, adding back every physics point he shouldn't have lost? No way—that'd be too Li Hua.

Like adding back careless mistakes, counting every slip-up, clinging tightly to luck points. All totaled, he'd mentally scored six hundred—spiritual victory.

How tragic—a Gao San A-Q.

He glanced around: Baby Zhizhi 118, Li Hua Chinese 100, Empress Fangfang Chinese 110, Wu Jungu 107, Ceng You 99.

Class monitor 126—insane.

But to be fair, Chinese scores really didn't vary much.

Jiang Nian finished reading, about to check his total score, when he noticed another answer sheet on his desk—looks like the comprehensive science answer sheet.

Hmm… the class monitor's comprehensive science answer sheet?

What's going on?

Jiang Nian slapped his face—his heart suddenly lurched. He didn't remember ever developing a stalker instinct—how did he end up with the class monitor's comprehensive science answer sheet?

Whatever, maybe just sneak a peek first.

Nie Qiqi had taken over.

After the panic, Jiang Nian calmed down—just put it back. The class monitor's seat was right behind him; it was no big deal to slip it back.

Suddenly, Nie Qiqi walked in from the classroom door, glancing at him.

"Jiang Nian, what's your Chinese score?"

Gulping, Jiang Nian swallowed hard.

"N-not much."

Holy shit—why does everything come at once?

In his panic, he immediately covered Li Qingrong's comprehensive science answer sheet with his Chinese answer sheet.

No joking— who the hell put their answer sheet on their own desk? Who the hell? Are they trying to frame themselves?! I haven't even licked it once!

So you admit this is your desk?

Damn, they're really making "The Class Three Official Story." Then I'm the first one caught—charged with being a creep, hoarding the monitor's answer sheet.

Fuck, stop mocking each other, guys. Help me out.

"Still shy? Let me see." Nie Qiqi, effortlessly familiar, leaned over and peeked. "103? Not bad. Low score, but kinda cute."

Cute your mom! Your whole family's cute! Red Stone! Red Stone! Red Stone!

Jiang Nian was about to break. Were all these people in class mentally ill? This toxic culture of comparing grades and mocking classmates—when would it ever stop?

"Ha, yeah, not as high as yours."

"Of course not. I've never scored below 110 in Chinese." Nie Qiqi, under five feet tall, beamed. "I'm warning you—don't touch the monitor's stuff. You hear me?"

"I didn't touch it."

Nie Qiqi snorted twice, perhaps addicted to showing off, then added further.

"Don't judge me by my size—I'm a smiling tiger. On the surface, I'm innocent, pretty, and pure. But if you cross my line, I'll—!"

Mid-sentence, her peripheral vision caught the monitor, Li Qingrong, and Cai Xiang entering through the door. She instantly changed her tone.

"... I'll lower my line a bit, because I'm just a pretty cowardly smiling tiger. Don't tell the monitor what I just said. Pretend I never came."

Nie Qiqi slipped away, returning meekly to her seat.

Jiang Nian was baffled. He turned and saw the real person arrive—alongside Cai Xiang (Right Chancellor), stone-faced. His soul nearly fled his body.

How the hell do I slip it back? Pretend I picked it up off the floor?

Hey, good idea.

Jiang Nian stared at the answer sheet, hearing footsteps behind him as someone sat down. He prepared to surge forward, turn around, and deliver his rehearsed lie.

Unbelievable. This time, I'm truly innocent.

Three. Two. One!

Just as he turned, someone poked him from behind.

"Huh?" Jiang Nian had already turned. His prepared words stuck in his throat—he forgot them entirely. "You—"

Li Qingrong looked at him and spoke first.

"Did you see the answer sheet?"

"I saw it. I—" Jiang Nian organized his thoughts, ready for another assault.

But Li Qingrong nodded.

"It's for you."

For me? Jiang Nian swallowed the words already on his tongue. What's going on? Why give him an answer sheet—this weird thing?

"Don't you like it?" Li Qingrong asked, puzzled.

"Not that," Jiang Nian said honestly. "You're really giving it to me?"

No way. What use is an answer sheet? Don't be this pathetic. Show a little restraint—I'm not Nie Qiqi, some brainless fangirl!

"Mm." Li Qingrong nodded. "For you."

Jiang Nian stared into the monitor's clear eyes and almost wanted to confess.

Playing with abstract nonsense too long had given him a touch of perversion—this damn collecting habit. Taking the answer sheet wasn't impossible. After all, he couldn't refuse the monitor's goodwill.

Screw it. Let it be.

"Alright, thanks, monitor." Jiang Nian finally accepted it. He had no answer sheet folder—just clipped each one individually, tucking this one in with his own.

Li Qingrong stared directly at him as he "treasured" the answer sheet she'd given him. Though her face showed no expression, her eyes visibly brightened.

By the time Jiang Nian turned back, she was already lowering her head and writing her test.

Near evening reading time.

Students gradually returned to the classroom. Yu Tongjie sat down and saw his Chinese answer sheet on his desk. He froze, then burst into ecstatic joy.

Finally! No need for six hundred points—lower the bar. Just need five hundred seventy total.

If my Chinese score hits 120, my total will easily cross five hundred seventy. Then I'll ask Old Liu to switch groups under the guise of studying.

Hehehe.

"120, 120—my composition alone can give me over fifty points." Yu Tongjie whispered, rubbing his hands, ready to witness a miracle.

This composition topic was ridiculously simple: a line from Qu Yuan's poem. 【The road ahead is long and arduous; I shall seek high and low.】

The theme? Perseverance, obviously.

No one understands perseverance better than me. Since transferring classes, I've endured countless hardships—complaining nonstop yet still pushing through studying.

This AV-level life! Will I win this time?

He flipped open his Chinese answer sheet. The first thing he saw was a blinding number: 95.

Yu Tongjie froze. His smile vanished instantly. The name was his. His student ID matched. He turned it over—composition: 38.