Chapter 88: Weekly Test, the Desk Next to Mine Is the Monitor

"Why are you staring at me?" Jiang Nian felt a twinge of guilt.

Wait, why the hell am I feeling guilty?

I've got nothing to be ashamed of.

It's just normal mutual help between classmates—I only exchanged coupons for homework with Chen Yunyun.

The more I explain, the more tangled it gets.

Zhang Nizhi didn't answer right away; she paused for several seconds, her gaze dipping slightly, then whispered softly, "Did you copy someone else's homework?"

"Huh?" Jiang Nian was stunned.

Is copying homework the only possible explanation? Baby, we're just friends.

"I didn't mean it like that—I just assumed you'd copy mine, since we made a deal." Zhang Nizhi sensed her tone sounded odd and quickly added in a hushed voice.

"Now you suddenly copy someone else's—it makes it look like my homework has a really high error rate."

"Ah, no, you've misunderstood," Jiang Nian said, pointing to the pile of books. "I didn't copy theirs—they helped me copy the answers. It's mutual help."

"They?" Zhang Nizhi spotted the blind spot.

"Haha," Jiang Nian felt sweat beads forming—he stood up abruptly. "Ma Guojun's here. I'll go ask him where Li Hua is—see if he's buried somewhere."

As he rose, his sleeve was tugged.

"You really hate my homework and don't want to copy it," the girl said, voice tinged with sorrow, as if her efforts had vanished into thin air. "I spent two days writing it."

Jiang Nian had no choice but to sit back down and explain everything clearly. Once he confirmed he didn't think her homework was bad, the girl's mood improved slightly.

"Oh oh, I thought…" Zhang Nizhi looked embarrassed.

Jiang Nian decided it was better to break through some barriers now, to prevent future misunderstandings. Zhang Nizhi seemed to crave approval—yeah, better not hurt her feelings.

"I like copying your homework—I've copied others' before too. But yours has the highest accuracy rate, and your handwriting is really neat. Still, I occasionally copy others'."

"Because you're my desk partner—I've copied yours for so long, the teacher would notice. So I copy yours mostly, and occasionally others', so the teacher won't catch on."

"Oh oh." Zhang Nizhi seemed to understand.

Jiang Nian sighed in relief, got up, and went to find Ma Guojun. The fat guy had just entered and was scanning the room; his gaze lingered on Jiang Nian for a moment before asking.

"Big Brother Jiang, has Li Hua shown up?"

"Not yet, but there's an exam tonight—he'll definitely come," Jiang Nian muttered, then lowered his eyes. "Did you pick up that stick on the way too? It's just as good as mine last time—let me play with it."

"Sure." Ma Guojun was generous—he handed over the stick, then added cautiously, "Don't let Li Hua see it."

"Relax, you know I've got this," Jiang Nian thought. A guy's favor is sweeter than a girl's—giving it to me but not to Li Hua? Perfect.

The classroom slowly filled up, and the sky outside darkened. Someone carried a bucket out to dump trash; someone else went to fill a water cup.

There was a water dispenser in the back, filtering pure water. Whether it was actually clean? The elders decided. Students only cared if it tasted slightly sweet and had no odd flavor. You had to swipe a card to fill up—about one fen per bottle.

At the end of every corridor was a water heater; students needed another card to fill water. Filling a thermos cost about three fen—way too expensive.

Lin Dong, Chen Yunyun, and Wang Yuhe's group stood by the water dispenser.

Chen Yunyun was bored, turned her head, and saw Jiang Nian playing with the stick—she blurted out without thinking.

"Hey, Jiang Nian, let me play with your little stick."

Instantly, the classroom remained noisy, but multiple glances fixed on Jiang Nian. Most were just curious onlookers; they looked away after a moment.

Lin Dong looked up, puzzled—why had his own group member defected?

When did Chen Yunyun get so close to Jiang Nian? Had they added each other on social media? Damn it—Chen Yunyun doing this would shatter Tom Cheng.

Wang Yuhe kept her head down, refusing to even glance at her overly bold friend. The ambiguity in that phrase was too obvious—she wanted to pretend she didn't know her.

In the first row, Luo Zhongping looked up, gazed calmly at Chen Yunyun's direction, then briefly scanned Jiang Nian holding the stick, before returning to his homework.

Got close in just one afternoon?

Zhang Nizhi turned her head, glanced at Jiang Nian and the stick in his hand, then silently turned back.

So he's gotten close to another girl.

Tom? No—Sun Zhicheng had just entered the classroom. Hearing Chen Yunyun's remark and catching the keyword "Jiang Nian," his world collapsed instantly.

What the hell? Why is Jiang Nian everywhere?!

Jiang Nian thought Chen Yunyun was nuts too—how could a girl say something so crude? "Let me play with your little stick"? My stick isn't small.

After thinking it over, Jiang Nian decided to mirror her—shouted loudly.

"Big Brother Ma! Chen Yunyun wants to play with your little stick!"

"What the—?" Ma Guojun nearly jumped out of his skin, blushing slightly as he turned to them. "Wait, are you two crazy?!"

"Hahaha." Now it was Jiang Nian's turn to laugh.

Chen Yunyun realized the double meaning in her words—she was outgoing, not a pervert. Girls still had modesty; her face flushed red, and she buried herself in her seat, silent.

As evening reading neared, the classroom glowed brightly, bustling with activity. Most students had arrived, but Li Hua still hadn't shown up.

Only when the class bell rang did Li Hua sneak in through the front door—his eyes darting, left foot stepping in first—clearly hiding something.

Before he even reached his seat, Ma Guojun and others dragged him out, stick in hand.

"Monitor, we're going to the restroom!"

The evening reading subject was biology. Li Qingrong held her biology textbook, reading quietly. She glanced at them once, then returned her gaze to the page—calm as a still well.

After evening reading, everyone cleared their desks.

The Chinese class representative and study committee member went to the office to fetch the exam papers, then arranged everyone by student ID, starting from the door and proceeding backward—a single-file line, the exam seating arrangement.

"Remember your seats," announced the study committee member Tao Ran loudly. "No switching seats. Violators will have their scores canceled."

The three students promoted to this class inherited the student IDs of the three who were demoted.

Zhang Nizhi inherited ID #13—it didn't sound lucky. But this is ancient China, not some Western backwater—only #4 is unlucky.

Everything else is fine.

Jiang Nian inherited ID #28, assigned to the central group. Yu Tongjie inherited #52, forced to squeeze into the back row near the water dispenser to take the test.

When changing seats, Jiang Nian turned his head and saw the student beside him, Number 34.

"Class monitor?"

"Mm." Li Qingrong nodded.

The classroom was noisy, the air stifling; the long fluorescent tubes lit every corner brightly. Some students replied to messages on their phones, others wore headphones listening to music.

Insane—someone was digging a hole in the wall with a pen refill!

Fuck, Li Hua?

This fucking kid's been brain-damaged by Aruba.

In the Olympiad class, discipline is lax.

Teacher Liu once said during class meeting something like this: the school implements streaming because expectations differ for each tier of class.

For key classes, the expectation is to keep them from going bad, and maybe get them into junior college.

For parallel classes, the goal is to get as many as possible into undergraduate programs, preferably a second-tier university.

For Olympiad classes and above, expectations are different: a non-"Double First-Class" first-tier university is the baseline, a regular first-tier is average, and "Double First-Class" is the target. Top-tier is the sprint goal.

Popular universities and popular majors are dreams; Tsinghua and Peking University are fantasies.

Teacher Liu has always sold this line, but actual data from past years shows few Olympiad students make it into "Double First-Class" universities—only about a third.

Most end up at non-"Double First-Class" first-tier schools; occasionally, a few unlucky ones scrape into second-tier.

Jiang Nian learned this while sitting in the office, overhearing Teacher Liu chatting with other homeroom teachers.

But the others in class didn't know.

Senior year is stressful; Teacher Liu deliberately instilled pride in them, making them feel like entering this class made them different from other students, with goals aimed squarely at Tsinghua and Peking University.

Seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds love to show off—they'd never seen a tactic like Teacher Liu's.

Senior year is stressful; Class 403 is pressure squared. Teacher Liu really used his brain for that bonus money: building pride while enforcing academic rankings.

Give top performers a few privileges, dazzle them, and they'll study like their lives depend on it.

This created a very peculiar phenomenon in Class 403: first, overall academic performance ranked first among Olympiad classes; second, everyone loved putting on airs, each top student had a distinct personality.

The ones listening to music, pretending to be deep, into niche interests, telling dirty jokes, being abstract, cursing, from Nantong, cold and aloof, dating, sucking up, fishing for attention.

That's just the tip of the iceberg—everyone in this class was a deity, each showing their own magic.

Teacher Liu, you're a master manipulator!

The evening self-study bell rang—the Chinese weekly test began.

Jiang Nian looked up again two hours later; putting down his pen didn't mean he was done—it meant he refused to write more. The essay was eight hundred characters; once he crossed that line, he stopped.

He half-assed the whole thing, felt nothing.

Half an hour remained until the end; he was bored and wanted to pull out his phone, but this time was sensitive—the grade coordinator patrolled outside.

Besides, there was a class monitor beside him.

County high schools are boring, especially Olympiad classes. Nothing like the dramatic campus life of movies—no fighting, no school bullies, no delinquents from outside.

In reality: "Dude, you smoke? So cool."

No spring or autumn outings, no beach trips, no museum, natural history, or oceanarium visits. Plainly put, the county didn't even have a library—just mountains of books and endless problem sets.

Only milk tea shops, rented apartments, riverside parks, hiking. Student conversations always revolved around dorms, studying, dating, morning runs, self-study, and holidays.

But fighting wasn't entirely absent—if you got close to those idiots and trash people, you'd see it.

Like Zhou Yuting's toxic little circle—teenage pain literature, fish-tangling and emotional manipulation. Liu Feipeng was another idiot, always playing his damn "youth courtyard" drama.

Staying away from trash was the smartest choice he'd ever made.

Hmm? You think I'm harsh?

So what? I'm even harsher.

He was zoning out.

Li Qingrong beside him caught his attention—the class monitor seemed done too. She put down her pen, eyes fixed straight ahead, checking her Chinese test paper.

Jiang Nian propped his chin in his hand, staring at her profile.

If the class monitor turned and confronted him, Jiang Nian would answer he was just looking out the window.

Li Qingrong didn't seem to notice; her cold eyes stayed locked on the paper. Every few minutes she flipped a page, stared for a long time, and Jiang Nian shifted his posture to keep watching.

Rip.

The faint sound drew Jiang Nian's attention. He leaned forward and offered a kind reminder.

"Class monitor, your test paper's torn."

Li Qingrong turned her head, glanced at him, and said "Mm."

Twenty minutes remained until submission; some had finished. With no proctor on the podium, more and more people started talking.

The Chinese class representative, Tao Ran, shouted for silence—the room fell quiet for a few minutes. Then, whispers crept back, then rose into a murmur.

Jiang Nian blended into the noise, propped his chin, and turned toward Li Qingrong to compliment her.

"Class monitor, you changed your hair tie again?"

Under the light, Li Qingrong was reviewing classical poetry analysis; her thumb pressed against the paper, leaving faint creases that immediately smoothed out.

"Mm."

Jiang Nian had habits from his first and second years—surviving in a toxic, warped circle, learning useless trash skills.

Like complimenting people: focus on tiny details. Build from detail to whole, using small things to imply greatness—this was his most common tactic, and it came easily to him.

"That white cream-colored bubble hair tie suits you, class monitor." Jiang Nian was bored—couldn't sit at his own desk, couldn't play with his phone, so chatting was his only escape.

Too bad the class monitor ignored him.

No surprise—class cadre, doesn't talk during self-study, leads by example.

Conversation failed. He started spinning his pen—click, click. It fell several times, but finally, the exam ended.

The language class representative Tao Ran stood up, walked to the podium, and told everyone to pass the test papers forward. A group of people rose with a rustle and began returning to their original seats.

In the instant he brushed past Li Qingrong, he seemed to hear a clear "thank you."

"Hmm?"

Jiang Nian froze for a few seconds, and when he looked again, Li Qingrong had already walked far away. He thought to himself that the class monitor really had principles—even saying thank you had to wait until after class, so disciplined.

After returning to his seat, only twenty minutes remained in evening self-study, almost time for school to let out.

Zhang Ninzhi seemed to be catching up on some homework, sprawled on the desk, writing and doodling.

Jiang Nian had already finished copying all his homework—in fact, he'd hired someone else to copy it for him—and was happily sprawled out resting. The little girl at the next desk saw him lying on the table and couldn't help puffing out her cheeks.

When the bell rang, Lin Dong couldn't wait to pull out his phone and reply to a message.

To his pleasant surprise, Yaoyao turned out to be an art student.

Damn, art students were rare indeed—this time he had to hold on tight! He was going to add Yaoyao to his achievement folder, the place where he kept photos of his online romances.

He!

Was going to build an online-dating Hall of Heroes!

Real-life romance could wait—this was an extremely rare art student. If he could get her to join his Hall of Heroes, he'd have no more sorrows or joys in this life.

Skinned Liuli?

Forget dark-skinned Skinned Liuli—Lin Dong had already banished her to the realm of the ownerless. Actually, afterward, just to be safe, he even hired a junior from the year above to go to B203 and confirm things for him.

To be safe, he kept his distance. From afar he watched the junior get locked in a bear hug by dark-skinned Skinned Liuli, unable to move, slammed straight against the wall by her massive weight.

The dark-skinned girl let out a wail of ghosts and wolves, shouting the name Shen Cong (Lin Dong's alias) while smearing snot and tears all over the junior—no matter how others pulled, they couldn't separate them.

Sigh, pitiful indeed.

The junior's terrified, despairing expression was something Lin Dong could never forget.

Lin Dong was glad he hadn't gone to scout the grass in person, otherwise the one left with psychological trauma would have been himself. Feeling too guilty, he afterward took the initiative to add ten yuan to the junior's errand fee.

But after taking the money, the junior cursed so filthily that Lin Dong couldn't take it and blocked him on the spot.

So, dark-skinned Skinned Liuli was a no-go—she didn't deserve to touch his Hall of Heroes.

Buzz buzz—Yaoyao replied.

"(Hehe) What kind of movies do you like?"