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Chapter 5: The Reflection in Her Eyes


The dismissal bell rang, and the homeroom teacher, Old Ma, walked into the classroom with a form in hand, passing it to the first student by the window so they could fill it out and pass it back.

“This week… it’s our class’s turn for the campus cleaning duty week.”

Old Ma announced as he handed out the sheets, only to be met with a chorus of groans; he frowned.

“Settle down, all of you—no fussing, no messing around.”

This was a collective activity every class at Ninghai High had to endure, grandly called moral education, but really just campus sweeping that hijacked their PE period.

The PE teacher: [facepalm laughing crying][OK]

By the time Lin Zhiyi received the form, most students had already filled it out; it listed various tasks like cleaning the sports field, inspecting dorms, unclogging basketball court drains, and so on.

He instinctively glanced at Cheng Xiran; she sat in the second row by the window, so logically, she’d have been second to get the sheet, but he didn’t see her name on it.

Did the class monitor fill it out last?

Whatever—he’d just pick something.

Lin Zhiyi’s pen hovered over the sports equipment room cleanup slot, marked (max 2 people), which was still blank.

Without further hesitation, he wrote his name there.

Afternoon, the commandeered PE class.

Students lined up in the corridor, grouped and waiting to receive their manuals, murmuring in low voices.

Lin Zhiyi couldn’t spot his partner.

“Who’s with me? Sports equipment room.”

He called out loudly.

The crowd quieted for a beat, but no one responded.

“Sweeping the equipment room solo? That’s living the dream.”

A tall, skinny guy chuckled.

“Mind your own, Yellow Dog—always gotta yap.”

A chubby kid shot back.

“The hell? I’m your dad—what’d you call me?”

“Quiet.”

Cheng Xiran returned from the office, arms full of manuals; her voice, devoid of emotion, commanded silence, and the chatter died instantly as she began calling roll by group.

Once the other groups were named, they dispersed to their assignments one by one.

The corridor emptied out quickly, leaving Lin Zhiyi waiting left and right, seeing no one join him—or any other stragglers.

His group was supposed to be two people.

Looks like no one else picked the same; he’d be cleaning the equipment room alone.

He approached Cheng Xiran.

“Class monitor, hand me the manual—seems like it’s just me in my group. I asked around; no one’s with me.”

The girl looked up, meeting his eyes, and said something that left him momentarily stunned.

“I’m your partner.”

She smiled lightly.

“Let’s go.”

“Oh… alright.”

Lin Zhiyi mumbled in response.

Was it an illusion?

He vaguely recalled no such scene from his previous life.

Butterfly effect or whatever—he didn’t get it.

Whatever; teaming with anyone beat solo.

The sports equipment room was at the far end of the first floor of the old academic building.

The iron lock on the door had seen better days, surrounded by dark red rust; the key had to be jiggled upward on the handle to turn with a gritty scrape.

He pushed the door open with a creak.

A wave of stale, musty air hit them; sunlight streamed in, making the dust motes sparkle, and Cheng Xiran coughed lightly, raising a hand to cover her mouth and nose.

Lin Zhiyi swung the door wide to let in more light and air.

Then he stepped inside to open the windows for ventilation; the school had been weeding lately, so the breeze carried the fresh scent of grass.

A quick scan showed most equipment was neatly arranged—after all, other classes had cleaned here before—but recent messes were obvious: balls huddled in nets, some scattered on the floor, and a deflated basketball in the corner.

“Tch, this dust.”

Lin Zhiyi picked up a volleyball by his foot, his hand coming away grimy.

“Feels like archaeology.”

Cheng Xiran, bending to gather stray shuttlecocks, glanced up at him and teased,

“Then be careful—don’t damage the artifacts.”

Her voice was light and clear, her mood seeming good.

“No worries—pro technique.”

Lin Zhiyi feigned solemnity as he eyed the volleyball, then pointed to the flattened basketball in the corner.

“I won’t let you end up like that.”

“Hahaha…”

Cheng Xiran laughed again but didn’t reply, carefully placing the shuttlecocks back in the plastic bin by the wall.

Lin Zhiyi set down the volleyball and grabbed a broom to sweep the loose dust from the floor.

In the brief silence, only the swish of bristles on concrete and the occasional birdcall from outside.

After clearing a small patch, he straightened, his gaze idly sweeping over Cheng Xiran’s back as she tiptoed to wipe a high shelf, sunlight dancing on her hair tips.

Not much work left; they’d be mostly done soon.

Lin Zhiyi thought this while sorting the metal cabinets when suddenly, he heard Cheng Xiran call his name.

He turned.

“What’s up, class monitor? Need help…”

In the next instant… his pupils contracted.

Cheng Xiran had tackled him.

Tight, firm—her whole body crashing into his arms.

His brain short-circuited; he stared at her blankly, not understanding what she was doing, forgetting to even speak.

The girl’s arms tensed, locking around his chest; she let out a soft huff, pulling him sideways with her.

They toppled onto the soft mats; a basketball tumbled from the high rack, thudding heavily where Lin Zhiyi had just stood, a dull boom echoing.

Half a second slower, and it would’ve smashed right onto his head.

In the fall, Lin Zhiyi instinctively wrapped his arms around her.

An indescribable softness pressed against him, enveloped by a faint, fresh scent like white roses after rain, soaking through.

The mat beneath was plush; the girl in his arms warm, soft, and fragrant.

As they landed, she let out a muffled grunt.

In the tumble, her leg slipped, wedging perfectly between his slightly bent calves.

Their eyes met.

So close, breaths mingling.

Warm puffs from her lips brushed his neck.

A few loose strands of soft hair fell, tickling his cheek.

This time, he couldn’t escape her gaze.

Those beautiful eyes stared unblinking, so near he could see the tiny flecks in her irises—and his own reflection.

The girl’s stunning face held no expression, calm as a deep pool, as if her actions were the most trivial thing.

Time froze in that instant.

Years later, Lin Zhiyi would still recall this moment: her eyes, the touch of her hair on his face, the white rose scent filling his nose, her slight, soft body nestled in his arms—so small.

His heart hammered like a drum, threatening to burst from his chest; he thought: just nearly getting beaned by a basketball had him this rattled.

How long did they hold that gaze? Five seconds? Ten?

It felt like a light-year, yet briefer than a lightning strike.

Somewhat flustered, he released his hold on her, propping himself on the soft mat and sitting up a bit awkwardly.

“…Thanks.”

His voice came out muffled as he extended a hand to Cheng Xiran.

Her pale fingers rested lightly in his palm; she borrowed his pull to rise, brushing dust from her clothes with unhurried grace.

“You okay?”

She asked softly while retying her hair.

“Yeah… thanks.”

Lin Zhiyi eyed the scattered basketballs, helpless.

“But our workload just doubled.”

Cheng Xiran smiled faintly, saying nothing more, and crouched to silently gather the fallen balls with him.

Soon after, they finished up and made their way to the stepped spectator stands at the sports field edge, sitting side by side.

A breeze wafted from behind, cool and pleasant, playfully tousling Cheng Xiran’s hair and wafting her pleasant scent toward the boy beside her.

Lin Zhiyi turned his head, gaze falling on the girl at his side; just then, Cheng Xiran turned her face too.

Their eyes met.

The wind scattered the fine strands at her forehead and temples, a few even grazing her cheek.

The girl raised slender fingers, gently tucking the hair behind her ear, revealing her smooth forehead and elegant features.

Her eyes were clear, quietly regarding him.

Lin Zhiyi looked away.

He gazed into the distance; on the empty field, a boy and girl in uniforms chased and laughed, their giggles faint.

Probably worn out from running, they collapsed in a giggling heap under a tree at the field’s far corner, their figures blurred and intimate in the dappled shade.

Suddenly, thunder cracked from nowhere—a furious bellow blasting from the broadcast speaker.

“Who’s that under the tree? What the hell are you doing!”

It was their dean of discipline, Liu Jianjun—a towering 1.9-meter bear of a man.

Liu’s smiles were jolly, but his stern face was terrifying, commanding respect without effort; even Ninghai’s toughest delinquents shrank before him.

The young couple jolted apart, scrambling hand-over-fist toward the academic building; their frantic gait screamed the psychological weight of Liu Jianjun.

Lin Zhiyi and his companion caught the whole scene, sharing a quiet laugh.

Lin Zhiyi thought: the way we’re sitting now is pretty close too—from up high, we might look like a pair of cuddly lovebirds.

Would Liu yell at them next?

He pondered with mild worry.

From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Cheng Xiran; her face was serene, hands propping her chin, elbows on her folded knees as she stared afar, eyes distant, lost in thought.

The girl’s profile was exquisite in the sunlight, her lips curving softly, beautifully.

Even the world’s sternest principal would turn a blind eye to this girl’s minor indiscretion, right?

In the end, the broadcast fell silent again.

He sat quietly; she did the same.

Neither spoke, yet he felt utterly relaxed, utterly at ease.

Many years later, you’d suddenly realize that afternoon shoulder-to-shoulder with the girl was one of your life’s rare treasures: the sky clear, the breeze just right, you oblivious in your youthful haze.

Back then, you thought it ordinary.

After some unknowable stretch, the girl’s voice broke through.

“Let’s head back—next is Teacher Ma’s class.”

Cheng Xiran said gently.

“Mm.”

Lin Zhiyi rose at her cue.

They descended the concrete steps of the stands one after the other, ambling toward the academic building.

Lin Zhiyi trailed behind; just before entering, he inexplicably glanced back at where they’d sat.

Empty, silent steps—no trace of anyone’s presence.

He spoke up suddenly.

“Class monitor…”

“Hm?”

The girl responded instantly, pausing to turn toward him.

“You think Teacher Ma will go off on some tangent this period?”

Lin Zhiyi asked, then mimicked Old Ma’s tone on purpose.

“Let me tell you, back in my day…”

Cheng Xiran let out a puff of laughter, her voice bright.

“I bet he will—and he’ll definitely brag about his old students and how successful they’ve become.”

“Right, right…”

The girl’s eyes crinkled into crescents, her smile revealing a glimpse of teeth—playful, endearing.

His breath hitched.

It was like two little figures brawling in his mind, high as kites.

His seventeen-year-old self booted the future version away, crowing triumphantly,

“Screw you!”

Next class, Old Ma stood at the podium and started with,

“Get out your workbooks.”

But his second sentence had Cheng Xiran glancing back, a smile in her eyes as they met his.

They’d both guessed right.

Class ended, but Old Ma lingered at the podium, stacking books while eyeing the kids.

The students clustered in groups of three or five; only Lin Zhiyi sat alone, gaze out the window.

“Lin Zhiyi.”

Old Ma called the boy’s name.

“Come to my office after school.”

The words dropped, and the room hushed; classmates turned curious eyes his way.

An upside-down question mark popped in Lin Zhiyi’s mind: What’d I do?

Had Old Ma somehow caught him mimicking him…?

He thought guiltily.

…Or maybe he saw me sitting with Cheng Xiran and thinks we’re dating early…?

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