The classroom was chaos.
Laughter and chatter bounced off the walls, as though the whole class had been waiting for this very moment. Xu Haoran stood in the center like he was born for it, his smile cocky yet disarmingly charming. Xiao Yuxi clung to his arm, face glowing as if she had swallowed the sun.
"Finally!" someone shouted from the back. "One day they're cold, the next they're found kissing in the rehearsal room. Pick a side already!"
The class roared. Books were slapped against desks in mock applause, girls squealed with half-jealous, half-dreamy voices, and a few boys whistled exaggeratedly.
"The good thing," another added, "is that they've finally officiated their relationship. Both Xu Haoran and Xiao Yuxi are off the market now."
Cheers rose higher. Someone tossed a crumpled paper like confetti. It landed on Haoran's shoulder, but he only smirked, sliding his arm more firmly around Yuxi's waist as if to declare ownership.
She basked in it. Every compliment, every envious stare, every sharp breath of awe. And when she noticed a few girls looking at her with veiled bitterness, she leaned in with a daring tilt of her head and pressed her lips against Haoran's.
The class erupted.
Haoran didn't resist, he kissed her back, deep and unashamed, making the hails and whistles grow deafening. For a moment, it seemed like no one else existed.
•••
The door creaked.
An Ran stepped inside.
Her presence barely registered at first, the noise too overwhelming. But to her, the sound pierced her skull like needles. She flinched at the brightness, at the way everyone's eyes seemed to glow with joy.
She slipped quietly to her seat. Her bangs, normally neat, now fell heavy across her forehead, hiding the swollen bruise left from Lin Ruoyi's hand slamming her down earlier. Her glasses dangled uselessly in her hand, cracked and bent. Without them, the world blurred, maybe mercifully.
But the laughter… the laughter was sharp, clear.
She clenched her fists under the desk. Was this all she would ever be? Just an extra in the background of someone else's story? A burden who could be shoved, slapped, dragged like trash, while the world cheered for others?
Her throat tightened. She forced herself to look up.
There they were: Xu Haoran and Xiao Yuxi, the new crowned couple. The way the class looked at them, admiration, envy, awe, was a gaze she had never once received.
Would anyone ever look at her like that? With that much longing, that much certainty?
The thought stung. She blinked hard, but her eyes remained watery, blurring the golden glow of the classroom even further.
A laugh too loud cracked the air, and she flinched. Lowering her head again, she whispered to herself: I don't want to be alone forever.
Earlier, after the fight, the principal's verdict had been swift. Both she and Lin Ruoyi suspended for a day.
But Ruoyi had left with triumphant strides, her laughter echoing with friends in tow.
An Ran had left with silence.
Now, as school ended, she dragged her body out of the building. Each step felt heavier than the last. Her eyes were cast down, watching her shoes scuff against the pavement. The letter of suspension was crumpled tightly in her hand.
She stumbled once, vision betraying her. Her swollen forehead throbbed with each beat of her heart.
Outside the gates, Jiang Cheng leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching. His expression softened the moment he caught sight of her.
She looked utterly defeated, hair messy, shoulders slumped, clutching that letter like it was a death sentence.
He pushed himself off the wall and walked toward her.
Before she could even react, his hand reached out and plucked the letter from her grip. He unfolded it, scanning the words with calm eyes.
"That's good," he said finally, voice steady. "That way we'll have time to see your father tomorrow."
Her heart skipped.
Her father.
Guilt slammed into her chest. She and her mother had left him behind years ago. She didn't even know what kind of man he was anymore. Would he be angry to see her? Cold to her? Would he even want to see her? The thought made her chest ache until going to see him felt pointless.
Her lips trembled. She forced herself to look up at Jiang Cheng. "That means… you'll also be missing school tomorrow. You shouldn't worry about me."
But he only slipped the letter into his pocket like it was nothing, ignoring her protest.
"Come on," he said, gentle yet firm. "Let's get that gash treated first."
Before she could object, his hand hovered near her back, not touching, but guiding, steadying her wavering steps.
The school clinic was hushed, a world away from the chaos outside. The faint sting of antiseptic lingered in the air, sterile and cold.
An Ran sat stiffly on the small metal stool, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. The nurse muttered as she dabbed at the wound on her forehead, but every touch sent a jolt through her skull.
She winced.
"Careful," Jiang Cheng's voice cut in from beside her. It wasn't loud, but it carried enough weight that the nurse slowed.
An Ran's eyes flickered sideways. He stood close, arms crossed, watching with the kind of intensity that made her chest flutter uncomfortably. His jaw was tight, brows furrowed, as though every wince of hers was his own.
The nurse clicked her tongue. "It's just a surface gash. Nothing too deep. She'll be fine."
But Jiang Cheng wasn't satisfied. "Don't just say she'll be fine. Make sure it doesn't scar."
An Ran blinked. Scar? Her fingers trembled as she reached up instinctively, but Jiang Cheng caught her wrist before she could touch the wound.
"Don't," he said softly. "You'll make it worse."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to argue, to say it didn't matter, that nothing about her mattered, but the firmness in his voice left no room.
When the nurse finally stepped away, Jiang Cheng moved without hesitation. He crouched slightly in front of her, lifting his hand toward her bangs.
"Let me see," he murmured.
She froze, every muscle stiff. But he was patient, fingers brushing gently against her temple as he pushed her messy strands aside. His touch was feather-light, almost reverent, as though he feared she might shatter if he pressed too hard.
For a moment, their eyes met, his gaze sharp but unbearably gentle, hers wide and trembling.
Heat rose unbidden in her cheeks. She looked away quickly, but not before noticing the faint crease of worry between his brows.
"You should've defended yourself better," he said quietly, though his tone lacked blame. It sounded more like regret. "If I had been there earlier... " He cut himself off, jaw tightening again.
Her lips parted, a whisper escaping. "It wouldn't have mattered. I… I can't win against someone like her."
Something flickered in his expression, frustration, sadness, something unspoken. He straightened slowly, but his hand lingered near her shoulder, hovering as if to steady her.
"You don't have to win," he said at last. "You just have to endure... For now."
The words sank into her like a strange kind of comfort, heavy yet grounding.
She glanced up at him again, unthinking. Is this what real love looks like? Not grand gestures, not public kisses… but this, someone who worries about scars I don't even care about?
Her chest tightened, and before she could stop herself, her voice came out small, almost fragile. "Why do you care so much?"
The silence stretched. Jiang Cheng's lips parted, then pressed into a line. He didn't answer directly, instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out her crumpled suspension letter, and set it gently on her lap.
"Because tomorrow matters," he said simply. "And you're not going alone."
Her heart stuttered.
For the first time that day, she felt the faintest spark of warmth beneath the weight of everything.
•••
An Ran claimed a headache that morning, retreating beneath her blanket while her mother left for work. It wasn't entirely a lie, her temples still throbbed from yesterday's clash with Lin Ruoyi... but mostly, it was an excuse. She couldn't tell her mom of the suspension, without the need to explain her broken glasses, she could breathe easier.
She pulled on a simple white top, light pink three-quarter trousers, and white Converse. The face cap she chose, a soft pink, cast her features in shade, a small comfort against the world's scrutiny.
The taxi jolted through the morning streets before halting at the familiar intersection Jiang Cheng had texted her. She climbed out, adjusting her bag, nerves fluttering in her stomach.
It wasn't hard to spot him.
The car was different today, darker, sleeker. And there he was... not inside, but standing near the hood, scrolling through his phone. The pale sunlight slipped over his figure: crisp white shirt rolled at the sleeves, dark trousers, clean lines that made his casual look impossibly sharp. Even standing still, he had that quiet gravity, the kind that pulled every gaze without trying.
An Ran's steps slowed. For a heartbeat, she considered turning back. But then her voice, small but steady, escaped:
"Good morning."
His eyes lifted, cool and dark, before the faintest nod curved his lips. "Morning."
He didn't offer more, but moved instead to open the door for her. The gesture, so smooth, so natural, made her ears burn. She slipped inside, her bag tight against her lap.
"Location?" the chauffeur asked.
An Ran recited the countryside address. For a split second, the man's eyes flickered in the mirror, skeptical, almost startled, but he quickly masked it with the professionalism of someone who had long served. She wondered if it was strange for Jiang Cheng, the untouchable "school prince," to head into the suburbs.
As the car pulled away, Jiang Cheng's attention shifted from his phone. "What's it like there? The countryside."
The question caught her off guard. His gaze wasn't mocking or distant, it was steady, genuinely curious.
An Ran blinked, fumbling for words. "It's… great, I guess. Dry, sometimes. A lot of dust in summer. But, um… quiet too." She chuckled awkwardly. "I don't really know what else to say."
He tilted his head, studying her. "Friends there?"
Her smile dimmed. She shook her head. "No. Not really."
He didn't press. The silence that followed was heavy, but not suffocating, more like an invisible space she could rest in. Gradually, the rhythm of the road lulled her. Her head grew heavy, her lids drooped.
She didn't notice when sleep finally claimed her.
Jiang Cheng did. He glanced sideways, saw her slumped awkwardly, her cap tilted, neck bent at an angle that would ache later. A sigh left him. Gently, carefully, he lifted the pink cap from her head and shifted closer. His hand brushed her shoulder lightly, guiding until her head rested against him. Her breath evened out, soft against his shirt.
The chauffeur's hands twitched on the wheel. His eyes darted once to the mirror, then quickly away. He had never... never... seen his young master allow someone this close. Yet Jiang Cheng's face remained calm, unbothered, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
The road stretched on. For once, the silence felt warm.
When An Ran stirred awake, the first thing she noticed was the warmth beneath her cheek. She jerked upright, eyes wide. "I... I'm sorry! I didn't mean to..."
Jiang Cheng only hummed, eyes back on his phone, screens of charts and numbers flashing across it. "Sleep if you want."
Her cheeks burned. She hugged her bag tighter, turning to the window where the scenery had changed. Dusty roads. Low houses. The humid, familiar air that clung to her skin. Her chest squeezed.
Jiang Cheng noticed. "Stop here," he instructed the chauffeur.
He stepped out and returned minutes later, two roasted maize in hand. He offered one to her.
An Ran blinked. "You bought this?"
He arched a brow. "You don't eat in the countryside?"
She accepted it, nibbling quickly, the nervous energy pouring out in each bite. "You should take one too," she mumbled.
"I should've brought something proper. For your father," he said instead, regret in his tone.
She swallowed, shaking her head. "It's fine. Really."
The rest of the ride passed with only the crunch of maize between them.
Finally, the car pulled into a cramped, noisy neighborhood. Children shouted in the distance, music spilled from a neighbor's open window. The air smelled of fried oil and earth.
An Ran's pulse quickened as she stepped out. She led Jiang Cheng up the narrow path to a small bungalow. The paint peeled, the steps cracked. She raised her hand and knocked.
No answer.
Her heart dropped. She knocked again. Still nothing.
No one is home.
Then, laughter. The sound of bikes scraping the ground, middle-school uniforms scuffed with dust. A small group of boys rounded the corner, loud and rough.
At their center walked one taller than the rest, eyes sharp, posture brimming with a fire that marked him as their leader. His laugh cut through the air, until his gaze locked on her. Surprise flashed, then hardened into something colder, sharper.
He scoffed, waving off his friends with a careless, "Later."
"An Zhihao," she whispered, breath catching.
Her little brother.