Chapter 270: Share a Little, Let Me Have a Taste

Click—the window shut, and Jiang Nian continued solving problems.

The phone on the desk vibrated softly; he walked over and saw a solution image from Chen Yunyun, sent half an hour ago as requested.

"Not necessarily correct, take a look first."

He instantly replied "OK," then saved the image.

Lately he'd been chatting with Chen Yunyun often—maybe because their seats were far apart, or maybe because daytime studies kept him busy, turning their talks into sporadic online exchanges.

It was like a fixed messaging partner, with seven or eight messages daily.

Jiang Nian could keep up easily, since few people messaged him normally. Le Zhi occasionally asked about study methods; otherwise, he was quite quiet.

Xu Qianqian and Jiang Nian went home together every day, and online they had nothing to say. Zhang Ningzhi got headaches from him daily and didn't want to chat online either.

After all, online chatting only let you send a few emoji to protest—but if you met him in person when he was being an idiot, you just punched him straight into orbit.

Huh? Why isn't Jiang Nian breathing while sleeping?

He checked—turns out the guy downstairs is dead.

Seems like we can pop the champagne again?

In comparison, Chen Yunyun was much softer; Jiang Nian kept going out of his way to annoy her, but no matter how angry she got, she'd just ignore him—so damn soft.

The road's flat, no pebbles at all.

He kept grinding the question bank until four a. m., used one fatigue exemption, then kept going till dawn, also doing several rounds of mock exams.

Didn't sleep all night—felt amazing.

This was thanks to his daily consistent physical training, diligent routine, and little to do with the system.

In short, it felt incredible.

What's the difference between this and having thirty-six hours in a day?

Jiang Nian imagined himself joining a big internet company later, outworking colleagues and outlasting bosses, helping the boss earn a few more sister-in-laws—and immediately wore a proud grin.

He sent several perfect-score screenshots to Coach Lao Tian, who instantly replied with a voice message.

"Jiang Boss, you're this good?"

No wonder he runs a driving school—replying to Jiang Boss at six a. m., calling him "Jiang Boss" every time, never mentioning students at all.

Forget students—if you're over eighteen and a VIP client, even a dog walking in gets called "Boss."

Jiang Nian was stunned, replied with a question mark.

"Coach Tian, up this early?"

Swish—he got another instant voice reply from Tian Yongsheng.

"Training VIP clients—morning's best for driving practice. Client's highly motivated, doesn't interfere with work."

In his room, Jiang Nian listened, dumbfounded.

Coach Lao Tian talks this well—has a knife been held to his throat?

And "highly motivated"? Unbelievable. In this tiny town of Zhenan, where could you possibly rise? Could he be some out-of-towner grinding like a dog?

That'd be terrifying indeed.

He sent Tian Yongsheng a message, asking him to schedule his Theory Test appointment.

The other party readily agreed and asked when he'd be free for driving practice.

Jiang Nian thought a moment, replied: "The day after tomorrow, noon."

The day after tomorrow was PE class—he could just skip morning run. Even though he couldn't clock in until passing Theory Test, nobody cared.

Coach Lao Tian was practically hinting—he could handle the clock-in.

Rules are rigid, people are flexible; he clearly had wide connections in Zhenan. Most important was the driving practice itself—everything else didn't matter.

Tian Yongsheng replied: "Understood, Boss."

Jiang Nian wasn't a boss—he was just an ordinary high school guy, nearly floated to heaven by being called "Boss" every second.

Fuck, no driving school coaches should read tyrant CEO novels.

After finishing everything, Jiang Nian pulled back the curtains.

Watching the faint dawn light, he exhaled deeply. He thought: the system was useless except for giving money and two tiny skills.

Since he wasn't sleepy at all, he might as well go wash up.

North Zone—the internal path connecting dorms to classrooms.

Zhou Haifei walked forward, head down, clutching a red-sugar steamed bun. She woke early—always among the first customers at the cafeteria's steamed bun stall.

She had little money, but her meal card had funds.

Zhenan never stinted on meal subsidies for poor students ranking high in exams; each month, varying amounts were automatically deposited into their meal cards.

Even the most destitute students, with not a single cent on them, would never go hungry as long as they were still in high school.

She was deeply grateful, and studied harder to maintain her ranking, earning her meal card balance through honest effort.

Zhou Haifei had just reached the stairs when she suddenly heard footsteps around the corner.

She instinctively turned back and saw a tall figure rounding the corner—his back straight as a line.

Sharp jawline, soft black hair, the vibrant energy of youth made her heart flutter.

Why is he here so early?

He clearly noticed Zhou Haifei too, and raised his head to greet her.

"So early?"

Zhou Haifei instinctively looked away, looking flustered.

"Ah, yes."

She naturally felt grateful for Jiang Nian's earlier kindness, but more than that, she still felt an unspoken "inferiority" before someone so lucky.

This inferiority came not just from material lack, but from spiritual sources too.

A wealthy boy had once pursued her, intending to flatter her, so he sincerely remarked that she studied hard.

If it had ended there, it would have been an ordinary compliment.

But the boy casually added, unlike our classmate XXX—he wasn't from a good family either, so why didn't he study harder?

At the time, she thought: if your family was destitute, everyone was a burden; getting a job early was the only way to survive, even to live decently.

Studying helps with life planning, but some people simply have no life to plan.

Zhou Haifei also knew his pursuit of her might have stemmed from the idea that she'd be easier to win over than other girls, so she gradually distanced herself from him.

Closing off one's heart was sometimes just self-preservation.

She couldn't tell whether his kindness carried other motives.

Tap-tap-tap.

On the stairs, Jiang Nian quickened his steps and stepped in front of Zhou Haifei.

"You only ate red sugar steamed buns for breakfast?"

Hearing this, she snapped back to attention—she'd been staring down, lost in thought, and hurriedly hid the half-eaten red sugar steamed bun behind her back.

"Mm-hmm."

Zhou Haifei felt embarrassed; the red sugar steamed buns in the cafeteria looked unappetizing.

The boarding students in her class didn't eat them—they all went to another cafeteria to buy three-yuan mixed noodles. She bought them to save money and effort.

Jiang Nian glanced at her, puzzled.

"Whoa, you guarding your food?"

"No…" Zhou Haifei thought this guy had a strange way of thinking.

"I'm a student—give me a bite." Jiang Nian had already extended a hand.

"Huh?" Zhou Haifei froze, looking up at him.

Seeing he wasn't joking, she was stunned and speechless—she'd never heard such a bizarre request; it was just an ordinary-tasting bun.

The atmosphere froze for about three seconds.

Zhou Haifei didn't know what she was thinking—perhaps afraid someone might walk in and see this—so, half-heartedly, she broke off a tiny piece and gave it to him.

The moment she broke the bun, her face flushed crimson.

She thought she must be insane, and he was clearly mentally questionable—even though the piece she broke off was untouched, just a tiny corner.

But still, she felt ashamed, reminded of the tattered backpack, the shorts too short, the soy-sauce-mixed rice, the cold, hard school lunch.

These images flashed through her mind, and finally, her heart pounding, she handed it over.

Jiang Nian didn't hesitate—he swallowed it whole.

"Damn, where'd you get this red sugar bun? The vendors here are total scammers."

Zhou Haifei hadn't meant to laugh, but hearing Jiang Nian's comment, she burst out laughing and couldn't help whispering,

"You have to soak it in water."

"It's clearly poor craftsmanship—this damn school cafeteria is heartless!" Jiang Nian pounded his chest twice, the sound echoing like a drum.

"Damn, fine—I give up. Where'd you buy it?"

Zhou Haifei felt shy. "Dorm cafeteria, second floor."

"Alright, next time I'll buy some for my desk mate." Jiang Nian unzipped his backpack and shoved a pack of small breads into her hand. "Here, don't say I stole your breakfast."

Zhou Haifei was flustered—when she looked up, he was already upstairs.

She wanted to say something, but couldn't bring herself to speak.

She shook her head, suddenly feeling guilty, and went upstairs too. Back at her seat, she dared not move, hiding the bread deep in her desk drawer.

She couldn't help thinking… he was strange. Wasn't he dating Xu Qianqian?

6:35 a. m., North Dormitory, Boys' Wing.

A shrill whistle blared from the bottom floor, piercing all the way to the sixth.

Huang Cailang jolted awake, staring at the wooden ceiling above his bed. His head flooded with blood—he sat bolt upright in one instant.

"Shit!! Overslept!"

He shouted, but the bunk across from him groaned.

"What's wrong?"

Huang Cailang froze—he realized Yang Qiming was still in bed. His earlier panic vanished instantly.

He rolled out of bed, forgot to put on clothes, and walked over to Yang Qiming's bunk.

"Brother Yang, wake up! The grade team's checking late risers!"

Yang Qiming was half-asleep, barely hearing him.

"Wait—I gotta pee. Let me sleep a bit longer."

"No way, Brother Yang, get up!" Huang Cailang panicked.

Yang Qiming finally woke up—when he realized the trouble, the grade team teachers were already on the fourth floor, checking dorms one by one.

A deep voice echoed down the fourth-floor corridor:

"You two guard the stairs—I'm going up to the fifth."

At that moment, Yang Qiming and Huang Cailang, both wearing only underwear, stared at each other. Everyone else had left the dorm—only they remained.

Locking themselves inside wouldn't work—the teachers would keep knocking, or call their homeroom teachers.

Only dorms locked from the outside could escape inspection.

Several teachers climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, blocking both sides—planning a full sweep, leaving no student uncaught.

The rooftop at dawn.

Two boys, each wearing only underwear, shivered in the cold wind, clutching a silver key.

Staring at the hazy red sun at the edge of the rooftop, he felt like crying but had no tears left.