Chapter 43: Bad Learning

“Then I’ll accept your kindness,” Wu Xin Yu said, scooting closer to avoid getting her arm or bag wet.
She hated waiting for rain to stop—too uncertain—and didn’t want her parents worrying.
Plus, she was hungry.

“Let’s go,” Chen Qiao said.

They stepped into the rain, drops pattering on the umbrella like a steady rhythm.

The umbrella was small, but so were they.

He tilted it toward her, his exposed skin chilling in the rain.

They tried keeping distance, but their arms brushed, rubbing back and forth.

He rinsed chalk dust off his hand in the rain; she copied him.

His sandals ignored terrain—he loved splashing in puddles alone but restrained himself with her around.
Dirty water on her would spark her temper, and their bond wasn’t ready for that level of teasing.

Her white sneakers, wet and muddy, turned grimy.

“Didn’t expect you to bring an umbrella.
Don’t boys hate carrying them?” she asked.

“My bag’s light—barely anything in it.
An umbrella doesn’t add much,” he said, shrugging his bag.

She resolved to lighten her bag tomorrow, subtly influenced by his “bad” habits.

Nearby, a residential complex was fenced with iron sheets, only the first floor’s ornate sales office built, displaying a model with grand promises: retirement community, riverside park, a luxe kindergarten up the hill.

The developer later went bankrupt, but most units and all ground-floor shops sold out, businesses thriving initially.
As the town’s population dwindled, the area grew quiet, shops and units up for sale or rent.

Those promises later materialized, likely from insider tips to the developer.

The riverside park was funded by the town’s family planning office, bloated with pilfered funds from past policies.
Facing audits, they funneled dirty money into “charity” projects to lighten sentences.

The kindergarten, state-funded, rivaled big-city ones but charged steep fees.

Through the rain, the middle school gate loomed faintly.

The LED screen by the electric gate scrolled “Welcome,” eerie in the downpour.

Before dismissal, only a side door by the guardroom was open.

Seeing Wu Xin Yu and another kid, the old guard on his bamboo chair barely glanced, closing his eyes—pure leisure.

Inside, iron tree planters greeted them, a favorite rendezvous for junior high couples.

Past the guardroom were sports storage sheds, then the school toilets—girls left, boys right.
A historic soapberry tree by the boys’ side dropped fruits they’d rub into foam post-bathroom.

Toilets were added to each classroom building floor by Chen Qiao’s third year.

The field was vast but bare—cement basketball courts circled by a muddy track, now puddled.
Years later, it’d become rubber tracks and a soccer field, off-limits to outsiders.

That’s why, pre-rebirth, he never streamed from the school—old teachers were unreachable, and climbing walls on live would get reported.
His junior high homeroom teacher, ousted by politics, ended up a guard at the elementary.

On the field’s right were a sandpit, parallel bars, and a climbing frame like the elementary’s.
The indoor ping-pong room was the best facility, packed weekends with kids to seniors.

They took the leftmost tree-lined path, leaves rustling, falling in the storm—trouble for cleaners.
The drainage ditch roared with water.

At the classroom building, Wu Xin Yu stepped out, wiping rain from her arm.
“Chen Qiao, you can stop here—thanks.”

He knew the teacher dorms were a trek with no shelter.

She could dry off and change, avoiding a cold, but ending his escort here felt lame.
He didn’t half-ass tasks.
Plus, checking the girls’ dorms and boosting her favor—why not?

He pulled her back under the umbrella.

“Gotta finish the job.
My sister’s not out yet.”

“Whatever,” she said, secretly pleased—she didn’t want to get soaked.

But she wondered: Does he like me?

Boys weren’t alone in such delusions; girls, especially confident ones like her, fell into it too.

No, he can only like Lin Na!

Yet, she didn’t hate the idea of him liking her as much as she thought.

Behind the classroom building were the boys’ dorms, a fake rock pond with goldfish, then teacher dorms and a row of kitchen bungalows.

The girls’ dorms and bathhouse, built two years ago near the hill, faced that incident.

Before, when dorms were scarce, boys and girls shared buildings—boys low, girls high.
Some boys slept in converted classrooms.

At the kitchen door, Wu Xin Yu saw a woman in an apron and ran, yelling, “Mom!”

Chen Qiao followed, shielding her with the umbrella.

“Was about to ask your dad to drive and pick you up—didn’t expect you back so soon,” Qi Huan said.

She eyed Chen Qiao, calm outside, stormy inside.

Her daughter asked about puppy love yesterday, and today brought a boy home under an umbrella.
She knew Wu Xin Yu’s nature—she’d rather run through rain than accept help from a casual friend.

She’d done it before.

Qi Huan sized him up: decent face, delicate, cute, a bit short—but boys grew later, normal for early middle school.

“Hello, Auntie,” he greeted politely.

“My classmate, now desk mate, Chen Qiao—Fei Fei’s brother,” Wu Xin Yu introduced.

“Oh,” Qi Huan nodded, recalling.

Mentioning his sister often overshadowed him, sparking resentment pre-rebirth, leading to fights with Fei Fei over trivialities.

Now, when Fei Fei was praised, he beamed—his issue was how to “wrestle” her in bed, sneaking more closeness.

“Stay for lunch?” Qi Huan offered.

“No, thanks, Auntie.
Here to pick up my sister.
See you, Auntie, Wu Xin Yu,” he said, leaving.

“Walk safe,” Qi Huan called.

“Bye, Chen Qiao,” Wu Xin Yu added.

Once he turned, Qi Huan took her daughter’s bag, hugging her.
“Baby girl, what’s with you and Chen Qiao?”

“Classmates—maybe friends.”

His “like” and “good friend” words warmed her cheeks.
She felt their closeness under the umbrella, his touch and scent lingering, making her squirm.

“How’d you become desk mates?
Wasn’t yours a girl?”

“Chen Qiao did great—double 100s, amazing essay, 99 in English.
Teacher wants us to push each other, so we swapped.”

“Wow, as excellent as you.”

That jerk Chen Qiao made her lie to Mom—her first lie, self-inflicted, and just the start.

Next door, Lian Shu Mei, eating from a bowl, peeked out, catching the whole scene.