Ci Ye had no idea what the new transfer student was pondering. He flicked the hair tie on his wrist, hesitated for a moment, but still didn’t take it off. Who said wearing a hair tie meant he was in love? Couldn’t he just want to keep a wolf tail hairstyle?
The hair tie had been worn by Song Fu.
That day, as they walked home together, he’d gotten the idea to tie Song Fu’s hair and had slipped it onto his wrist without taking it off afterward. Later, his aunt dragged him to eat, and after taking off her mask, Song Fu noticed the injury at the corner of his mouth… But this time, her reaction was different from before. It wasn’t a heartbroken refusal to speak. Instead, it seemed satisfied—or pleased?
So weird.
Had something happened, or had her preferences simply changed?
Ci Ye sprawled on his desk and sneakily glanced at Song Fu diagonally in front of him, along with the annoying guy who had appeared at some point. They weren’t from their class. Why did he keep coming over? He claimed to be patrolling morning reading discipline, but every time, he dragged the studious Song Fu into chit-chat.
Ci Ye irritably clicked his tongue.
Song Fu’s desk corner was tapped twice. Her gaze followed the finger upward to a handsome face that wasn’t unfamiliar. From the class next door, he’d earned the nickname “eternal second place” because she always held firm at first. His real name was Lu Qunwen, a character with zero presence in the plotline.
They knew each other because they occasionally teamed up for competitions.
“Studying so seriously—you can’t give this second-place guy a single chance?” Lu Qunwen joked in a negotiating tone. “Find a hobby when you’re bored, or date someone. That works too.”
Song Fu propped her chin, chuckling as she countered, “Are you inciting puppy love?”
“No, no. I’m just suggesting ways for a bored classmate to enrich her school life.” Lu Qunwen had his own theories. He asked if she wanted to take a walk with him or join the student council—flashing a ingratiating smile.
…
“Deserves a beating.” That was the only conclusion Ci Ye could reach. Seeing the annoying guy had no intention of leaving, he simply stood up and headed straight out of the classroom.
The scrape of the chair against the floor was loud. Lu Qunwen couldn’t ignore it even if he tried. Upon spotting that glaring red hair, he instinctively frowned. Another troublemaker—that good-for-nothing young master in the class was such a distraction to studying. “I’ll go ask what he’s up to.”
Ci Ye strolled leisurely, but he was quickly caught up. Facing the accusatory questioning, he adopted a dead pig unafraid of boiling water attitude, drooping his eyelids. “I saw you two chatting and thought class was over. I was just heading to grab breakfast. Oh, it’s not?”
Lu Qunwen was shorter than Ci Ye and had to look up, already losing in presence. “Class isn’t over. You can’t wander the campus freely.”
Ci Ye let out an “Oh.” “You can, but I can’t? At least I’m not talking to anyone and disturbing others. Right?”
The words were barbed. Lu Qunwen saw it as the troublemaker just being contrary. “If you don’t go back and sit down, I’ll deduct points from your class.”
Who cared? Ci Ye didn’t mind—worst case, the homeroom teacher would nag later. He smirked faintly. “The one disturbing others should have points deducted from those affected. Very reasonable. If not for you, would I have thought class was over and left the room?”
Lu Qunwen had a massive headache; he couldn’t get through at all and felt a bit in the wrong. “Fine, my bad. Just go back, okay?”
Ci Ye turned to head back, not forgetting to toss over his shoulder, “Do less to disturb others in the future.”
Lu Qunwen was speechless.
Saying a few words to Song Fu was a grave sin now?
Sigh. When would this eternal second place ever change?
Every class was frenzedly tidying up, clearing out anything unrelated to the exam and taking the chance for a thorough classroom deep clean.
Another weekly exam.
It was also the first exam after the female lead’s appearance where full-subject scores would be ranked school-wide.
The homeroom teacher took this exam very seriously. Last weekly exam, their class had one fewer student passing the key university line than the neighboring class—an unforgivable failure. “Exams are to help you know your level, identify weaknesses. Cheating defeats the purpose. No one will let you cheat on the college entrance exam, got it? Honesty is key. Last time, someone from Class C got caught cheating. Their homeroom teacher got docked a hundred fifty points.”
The teacher watched the students clean while lecturing at length, ending with a sigh. “If only you were all as worry-free as Song Fu.”
Song Fu, about to stir things up: “…” A wave of guilt.
In the plot, starting from this exam, the school-wide first place would change hands. The female lead, Zhu Chenxi, would take the top spot, officially entering the supporting female character’s sights.
For the supporting female character, who’d never placed anywhere but first, even one failure was unbearable. Only her friends’ comfort let her barely accept it, vowing to reclaim her honor in the more official monthly exam. Of course, the end result wasn’t great.
Song Fu packed her exam supplies and asked the System a question:
‘With my skills, do I need to deliberately throw it to the female lead?’
She meant no comparison—just considering if the task could go smoothly. If her real abilities couldn’t beat her anyway, no need to overthink.
Sadly, the System couldn’t give a definite answer. [How about you take it first, and I’ll help tally the score?]
Song Fu agreed: ‘Sure.’ No choice.
During the exam, the System stayed silent until the final subject. As Song Fu switched pens to fill in the answer sheet’s multiple-choice, the familiar mechanical voice finally sounded:
[Host, if you turn this in as is, your score will be a bit higher than the female lead’s. Otherwise, change two—no, three wrong?]
Grading for essays and subjective questions had too much leeway; two changes weren’t safe.
Song Fu had no reason not to. She paused the pen tip, then marked the last three multiple-choice as wrong.
The proctoring teacher circled around, glancing here, tsking there. “Class, ten minutes left. Check your multiple-choice for blanks or errors. Don’t make silly mistakes.”
Song Fu, staring at sparrows outside the window, snapped back. Why did it feel like the teacher was targeting her?
…
Their school was legendary for grading weekly exam papers fast. Morning tests had subject scores out by evening, and overall rankings posted the next afternoon during class meeting.
The class monitor fetched the scoresheet but got swarmed by eager students before posting it. They crowded the front. “Who’s second this time?”
First was always Song Fu’s lock, so second-place battles were fiercer, and everyone guessed that. But this time… “…It’s Song Fu.”
“I asked for second, not first.”
“Yeah, second—Song Fu.”
“Real or fake?!” The class exploded. Everyone shared the same shock. “Then who’s first?”
“Seems like the new transfer student.”
All eyes turned to the back row, expressions complicated. They’d competed so long, only for a transfer student to win. It felt like the whole school had lost.
And that was how Song Fu returned to the classroom.
Her cup was empty; she’d just refilled it. Spotting the group at the podium, she paused. “Scores out?”
The class monitor held the sheet like a hot potato, face twisted in dilemma. “They’re out, but…” How to say it?
Song Fu’s front-desk classmate looked equally troubled. “Really, one weekly exam doesn’t matter. Ups and downs are normal. This paper was unprofessional—the diagram was blurry, and multiple-choice had duplicate options…”
“It’s okay to be off once.”
She rattled on, but a spectator cut in bluntly. “Song Fu, you didn’t get first this time.”
Song Fu parted her lips, feigning disbelief, and reached out. “Let me see the scoresheet.”
The class monitor handed it over instantly.
Close to the System’s tally: Song Fu and Zhu Chenxi differed by just three points—nothing major, enough for the same university or even major on the college entrance exam. But the ranking was real: one spot apart.
Song Fu held the thin paper, lowering her long, dense lashes. She softly read the name above hers: “Zhu Chenxi.”
One syllable at a time.
“Who’s that?”
“The one sitting next to Ci Ye now.”
“Got it.”
Song Fu’s face was expressionless, her light brown eyes shadowed by dense lashes. She stared fixedly at Zhu Chenxi, aiming for an ‘I’ve got you marked’ vibe. Zhu Chenxi looked up, meeting her gaze.
Zhu Chenxi shifted her eyes first—because Ci Ye beside her, deep in sleep, stirred awake.
By the time Ci Ye noticed Song Fu’s stare, she’d sat back down. Baffled, he asked the person next to him, “Why’s she looking at you?”
The tone all but called it nonsense. Zhu Chenxi tucked her graded papers into a folder, casual as ever. “Probably because I got first this time.”
Ci Ye asked, “What first?”
Zhu Chenxi answered, “First in this monthly exam.”
Ci Ye froze, glancing at Song Fu again. His angle only caught half her fair, serene profile—no negative vibes readable.
This was Song Fu’s first time not taking first.
She cared so much about first—fixating it as her birthday wish. What now that she’d lost it? Ci Ye’s brows furrowed unconsciously, his slender index finger tapping the desk in an irritated rhythm.
“Zhu Chenxi, right? That’s your name?”
Someone sidled over. “I haven’t asked which school you transferred from. So impressive—first place right away. Got any special study tips?”
“Wow, thought about seats for next swap? Be my desk mate?”