Although it was uncertain how much he could understand, Ci Ye did indeed start paying attention in class, and all the teachers in Class A had seen it with their own eyes. The one who felt the most gratified was naturally their homeroom teacher.
The homeroom teacher specially called him to the office again, praised his serious attitude toward studying once more, and then asked where exactly he felt the difficulties lay. The whole spiel flowed smoothly.
Ci Ye met the homeroom teacher’s inquiring gaze and fell silent for a moment.
The homeroom teacher smiled. “Come on, speak boldly.”
Ci Ye said sincerely, “It’s all difficult.”
Succinct and to the point.
The homeroom teacher touched his shiny bald head, momentarily unsure of how to respond appropriately. Upon careful thought, this answer was entirely reasonable. High school knowledge connected tightly now, with heavy tasks. Ci Ye had been sleeping through classes before, so catching up would require considerable time and effort.
He nodded. “One step at a time. Difficulties must be tackled one by one. No rushing. Like this—your teacher will study it first and recommend some tutoring books to you later.”
They had to start with the basics, without dampening Ci Ye’s hard-won enthusiasm for learning.
“How about you dye your hair back first?”
That head of red hair was too flashy. The grade director’s eyes blazed with fire every time he saw it.
“Oh.” Ci Ye gave a dry response. “Got it.”
Now it was the homeroom teacher’s turn to be surprised. He had mentioned it more than once before, but Ci Ye had always let it go in one ear and out the other, not even bothering to nod. Now he was actually being compliant. He probed, “How about your teacher gives you a leave slip, and you go off-campus to dye it at noon?” Strike while the iron was hot, lest he back out later.
Unfortunately, Ci Ye’s response this time was a refusal. “I’ll go on the weekend.”
The homeroom teacher asked why, and Ci Ye said he had no money right now. He didn’t believe that.
A family with the means to donate a building to the school, talking about having no money? But there was no need to call him out. Educating students was like studying—progress had to be gradual. “Alright then.”
Ci Ye returned to the classroom. His first reaction upon reaching his seat was to flop down for a nap, but he lifted his head again just as it touched his arms.
Close call. He had almost forgotten he needed to study.
But figuring out where to start was also a question worth pondering.
“Why did you suddenly decide to study?” Zhu Chenxi, as his desk mate, naturally hadn’t missed this obvious change, though she couldn’t pinpoint the reason.
Ci Ye flipped through his textbook twice without taking in a single word. He lifted his eyelashes dejectedly and glanced at Song Fu’s empty seat, not answering the question directly. “Is it a bit too late to start studying now?”
Zhu Chenxi shook her head without thinking, afraid that a slow response would make Ci Ye give up outright. She tossed out a famous quote from her previous homeroom teacher. “As long as you take action and start working hard, it’s never too late.”
She pushed over several of her own notebooks. “If you don’t know where to begin, you can look at the papers from our previous monthly exam. Go through the knowledge points for each question from first to last, sort them out slowly, and you’ll definitely see progress.”
This was experience Zhu Chenxi had gained tutoring her younger cousin—not a sea-of-questions approach, but effective for poor students, since exam knowledge points repeated endlessly. “If there’s anything you don’t understand, you can ask me.”
And so Ci Ye began searching for the exam papers he had no idea where he had stuffed. “Thanks.”
…
Song Fu returned to the classroom with her friend. As she walked from the back to the front and reached her seat, she noticed Ci Ye frowning at his papers. His desk, usually cleaner than anyone’s, now had several books and notebooks on it.
He had really started studying.
If there were no deviations from the plot, the male lead’s grades would improve steadily with help from all sides, eventually even getting into the same university as the female lead.
But even the most effective methods couldn’t produce a qualitative leap in just one or two days. The latest weekly exam results were out, and Ci Ye still firmly held the last place in Class A.
However, compared to his own rock-bottom score, Ci Ye’s gaze lingered longer on Song Fu’s second-place result.
Always just a few points short.
At this level, their skills were about equal—it came down to individual performance and luck, right?
Ci Ye had nothing to say about his own scores. Expecting a qualitative leap after just two days of study was no different from daydreaming. He looked toward Song Fu and saw her eyelashes drooping, her pink lips pressed flat…
Ah, she was clearly unhappy.
While Ci Ye agonized over whether going over to comfort her would just get him snapped at again, Song Fu lifted her head from the papers and curved her lips at him.
Ci Ye: ?
Was this anger turning into a smirk or what?
“Ci Ye, for the holiday, do you want to go…” Song Fu’s words trailed off midway.
But it wasn’t a problem, because Ci Ye had already eagerly agreed. “Sure.”
Song Fu: “…”
[Couldn’t he hesitate even a second?] The System felt a headache over the situation.
“No, I haven’t even said what yet.” Song Fu shook her head, trying to come up with an activity Ci Ye wouldn’t like. “Want to go to a concert together?” She remembered he always yawned through them, called them boring, and never went again.
Ci Ye nodded again, completely unaffected by the activity. “Okay.”
Joking aside, this was the first time since high school that Song Fu had invited him to hang out in front of classmates. Refusal was absolutely not an option.
Though the inviter, Song Fu, didn’t seem very enthusiastic. After he agreed, it took her a good while to reply with an “Oh.”
Was the response too perfunctory?
In fact, contrary to Ci Ye’s guess, what Song Fu wanted was a reluctant reaction. According to the plot, her logic in inviting him was that, seeing her score still hadn’t beaten Zhu Chenxi’s, she felt frustrated and wanted to act close to Ci Ye to make the female lead Zhu Chenxi equally upset.
Ci Ye’s expected reaction was a baffled look, followed by a frowning refusal.
Song Fu chose to lower her head again and continue staring at the papers, pretending to be pensive.
But this time, it wasn’t an act.
She was genuinely worried the newbie task would fail.
Back then, she and the System hadn’t discussed what the punishment for task failure would be. Would she just die again?
[The male lead’s grade improvement is pretty significant, showing the main plot hasn’t been affected.] The System analyzed and comforted her. [Our center is very humane. Task failure just means learning a lesson, deducting some points, and trying harder next time.]
‘Points?’ Song Fu had checked. Ci Ye’s total score had improved by over a hundred points—probably the difference between trying and half-assing it. Though his class ranking hadn’t budged, his school ranking had risen noticeably. She wasn’t surprised by that, but the latter half was news to her. ‘How many do I have now?’
[0.]
Song Fu: “…” Done for.
Was this why she hadn’t heard about it before?
[The newbie task is for accumulating initial points. Even if it fails, the character portrayal portion guarantees a baseline. Don’t worry.] The System went on to explain the mechanism in detail and encouraged its host again. [I believe in you, Host.]
Song Fu hoped she could pull it off too.
The only consolation now was that the male and female leads’ relationship warming hadn’t been affected. One red head and one black head huddled together studying, getting along harmoniously—
As if.
They looked utterly like they bore a deep grudge. If Song Fu watched two more seconds, she would have seen Zhu Chenxi clutching her head in pain and Ci Ye knocking his own forehead.
Zhu Chenxi had always thought she had some talent for teaching and liked kids. She even wanted to try being a teacher someday. But after attempting to explain problem-solving steps to Ci Ye, she realized her future plans were too naive.
“Wouldn’t it be clear if you draw the auxiliary line here?” Zhu Chenxi said matter-of-factly.
Ci Ye stared at the diagram for three seconds. “Clear on what?”
Zhu Chenxi decided to start from basic concepts, not forgetting encouragement. “Your handwriting is nice. Subjective questions get initial impression points. Did you practice specially as a kid?”
“Mm.” Ci Ye responded.
When Song Fu entered elementary school and learned most characters, the Song Family immediately arranged a special calligraphy teacher.
He went to play with Song Fu, and Mother Song, seeing him bored while waiting, added a spot for him, saying it would temper his temperament. So both their handwriting was similar—fairly standard regular script. Nothing distinctive, but clear at a glance, the type graders liked.
In the evening, it was time for the fixed score analysis session.
The homeroom teacher displayed the score table via multimedia, first analyzing the high scorers’ mistakes, then praising those with improvements, mentioning Ci Ye among them. “The essay was well-written. I said before, for language arts, we don’t need your handwriting to be super pretty—just neat and clear, stroke by stroke. No connected scribbles. You think graders have that much patience?”
He went on repetitively for a full fifteen minutes before getting to the point. “I plan to set up a study mutual aid group system in our class. Top scorers help bottom ones. We’ll add up their ranking improvements and compete. Teacher has prizes.”
“What prizes?” Some cooperative students showed anticipation.
The homeroom teacher teased. “You’ll find out then.”
He also posted the groupings. Nothing much to see—the class had an even number of students, so it was top with bottom, shifted inward.
Zhu Chenxi and Ci Ye were grouped together.
Song Fu got second-to-last, a cheerful, grinning boy who said to take good care of him.
Ci Ye took a strong dislike to him. After evening self-study, he even went specially to the homeroom teacher. “Can’t I be grouped with Song Fu?”
The homeroom teacher shot him down. “Now you’re being picky. You two need to keep a low profile. Group together for what, so you can date?” He didn’t forget to remind him. “Holiday at noon tomorrow. Don’t forget to dye your hair back.”
Once the person left, the homeroom teacher sighed. He really needed to find a chance to talk to both families’ parents. So eager—waiting till graduation wouldn’t kill them.
This was a critical phase.
Even half a holiday day should be seized.
Concert.
Where was there a concert these two days? On holiday at home, Song Fu hadn’t forgotten her appointment with Ci Ye, but after searching around, she found no recent ones… She couldn’t pretend to forget either, because Ci Ye had eagerly asked for the time and place.
In the System’s words, when the female lead wasn’t around, Song Fu’s attitude toward the male lead—Ci Ye—should be cold, curt, and casual. Being hated would be even better.
So after hesitating, she replied in the chat: No concert.
Ci Ye: Then let’s do something else? [Honest little penguin.jpg]
Song Fu: I have stuff to do.
On the other side, Ci Ye, lying supine on his bed, looked at those three icy words and pursed his lips: Oh.
Communication ended. He sat up from the bed and gathered the clothes strewn all over it into a little hill.
He had dithered for ages, originally planning to flirt with Song Fu properly, but it had just wasted time. When Song Fu answered whether she liked him, even if no, she didn’t need to be so decisive, right? As if liking him was utterly impossible.
Not to mention, his face was still decent.
Ci Ye used his darkened phone screen to check his face—the one Song Fu had complimented.
Tomorrow, dye the hair back to black first. The card was preloaded, no extra cost. High school good students mostly had black hair, though Song Fu’s wasn’t black but natural linen light brown, looking very soft.
…
The next day, during the holiday, Ci Ye unusually got up early. He spent three hours dyeing his hair back, then had to take the homeroom teacher’s little note to buy tutoring books.
The note was crammed with seven or eight titles. When handing it over, the homeroom teacher said it had taken tremendous effort—losing several hairs—to select them. He added that as long as Ci Ye worked step by step, he would definitely get good results.
Effort guaranteeing success only worked in fairy tales. Ci Ye wasn’t inspired at all anyway.
But he did hope it applied to winning Song Fu’s favor.
The current situation was that he and Song Fu would become a couple in the future. Having an emotional foundation would be good for both—
“Song…” Ci Ye walked out of the shop with his books and, as he approached the traffic light at the crossroad, spotted the person he had been mumbling about. His eyes had just lit up when an obnoxious guy blocked the view, forcing him to swallow the rest of his words.
The person standing with Song Fu was Lu Qunwen.
He pursed his lips.
So, the “sudden errand” Song Fu had mentioned was just hanging out with Lu Qunwen?
Lu Qunwen was frowning tightly, his face serious as he spoke. “Song Fu, are you really going to accept your family’s arrangement and be with Ci Ye just like that? Ci Ye has poor grades and loves stirring up trouble. He doesn’t deserve you at all. He’s just a—”
“Lu Qunwen.” Song Fu’s voice was unusually icy as she cut him off. “Are you that familiar with Ci Ye?” She had thought his long hesitation meant something important, but it was just baseless, subjective nonsense.
It was the first time Lu Qunwen had seen Song Fu with such a stern little face. He froze for a second, his momentum deflating. “But his poor grades are a fact, right? I’m just saying he’s not suitable for you. Someone like that will eventually become…”
Still going on? Song Fu and Ci Ye had known each other for over ten years—they were close, after all. Every time someone badmouthed him in front of her, she felt irritated. “My engagement to Ci Ye isn’t just the Ci family’s one-sided decision. He absolutely won’t turn into the kind of person you imagine.”
She turned her head to the side and added, “My business has nothing to do with you.”
Lu Qunwen opened and closed his mouth, his face flushing pale then red. He clenched his fists. “B-but he doesn’t even like you! If you end up living in a relationship based on interests, can you really be happy?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Who says?!”
Two responses rang out one after another. Song Fu and Lu Qunwen turned their heads simultaneously and saw Ci Ye, his face displeased—the black-haired version.