Chapter 7: Walking Home with the Class Monitor

When she lifted her face, the amusement in her eyes hadn’t fully faded.

“So, any ideas?”

Her voice was soft, the ending note lilting upward just a touch.

To be honest, none.

Lin Zhiyi recalled how, in his previous life, Old Ma had made the same suggestion, and he’d silently lamented “A teacher’s orders are hard to defy; I must comply.”

Truth be told, the main reason was Old Ma’s consistent care for him, so Lin Zhiyi wanted to put the teacher’s mind at ease.

Though he doubted joining a club would change much, he’d still honor that expectation.

In the end, he’d joined the “Library Reading Club”—mainly because he’d heard it was the laziest option.

Word was, members barely interacted; the president’s motto was “Laziness is the ladder of human civilization’s progress,” so everything should be done the simplest way possible.

No entry barriers: show up and you’re welcome; join and bam—credits unlocked.

Rumor had it the enigmatic president had only said three things when founding the club:

“Form? Fill it out however.”

“Group chat? Nobody talks anyway.”

“Credits? The system auto-adds them.”

“Sign up and we’re done—disband on site.”

The president put it like this: Some call this total abandonment of activities for pure credit-grabbing a shameful club scam; we call it efficiency.

Lin Zhiyi had thought, upon hearing this: These are my long-lost kin!

His heart cried out “End the siege at Weizhang, and I vow eternal loyalty to the Cao clan”—signing up on the spot.

The joining process was pure idealism too.

He’d added the group chat; the president asked for his student name and ID, and soon after said it was done—no face-to-face with anyone.

From then on, through all three years of high school, Lin Zhiyi never interacted with other members.

Later, the club organized a group meal; he skipped it, and apparently so did the president—very consistent.

Word was, “Who is the president of the Library Reading Club?” became one of Ninghai High’s “Seven Great Mysteries.”

Lin Zhiyi meant it sincerely:

“I’ll probably just pick one at random—something low-effort.”

Cheng Xiran nodded, falling silent; the room quieted at once, a brief hush settling between them.

Lin Zhiyi wiped the blackboard while Cheng Xiran sat nearby, reading.

“Which way are you headed later?”

She asked.

Lin Zhiyi named a direction:

“My place is over by Taoyuan Complex.”

“Then we’ve got an overlap.”

Cheng Xiran said.

“Mm…”

Lin Zhiyi hummed, suggesting,

“Walk together, then?”

“Sure, I’ll wait for you.”

Lin Zhiyi pressed on with duty, thinking: Did I just make plans to walk home with the class monitor?

With Cheng Xiran?

In his past life, this never would’ve happened; hearing her say they overlapped, he’d have played dumb.

He knew his seventeen-year-old self all too well.

That kid was dead set on solitude—not truly choosing it, but turning away first with a preemptive “I don’t need it” to dodge rejection.

But really, are we even on the same route?

I saw that car pull up from the other side of the street this morning.

Lost in whimsy, his hands didn’t slow; soon, duty was done, and he turned to her.

The girl sat quietly in the seat by the door, legs together and slightly angled, skirt smoothed under her hips, hem draping naturally to reveal slender, lovely calves.

Sensing his gaze, she gently closed her book.

She cradled her bag in her lap, posture prim and proper, every gesture exuding fine upbringing.

The same uniform looked exceptional on her.

The fitted blouse traced her graceful figure perfectly; the deep autumn colors made her skin gleam porcelain-fair.

What drew the eye most inescapably remained those serene, tranquil eyes.

One might think Artemis herself had descended; Lin Zhiyi muttered the cheesy line in his head, feeling once more why his past self always shied from her gaze.

Cheng Xiran locked the classroom door, and they descended side by side.

A faint white rose scent lingered around him.

On the first floor, a boy was at the shoe lockers, swapping out what looked like post-basketball kicks.

Spotting Lin Zhiyi, he called out:

“Still here?”

Lin Zhiyi recognized him as a classmate—name something Huang (couldn’t recall)—though he kept to himself at school, a casual greeting was normal.

Yeah.

Lin Zhiyi nodded back.

The guy seemed about to say more, but noticed a stunning girl pausing at Lin Zhiyi’s shoulder, her deep eyes regarding him indifferently.

The words caught in his throat; he choked.

Cheng Xiran’s aura had floored him, swallowing whatever he’d meant to say.

“Oh, bye, bye…”

The boy coughed dryly, words unfinished as he fled in haste, nearly tripping over his own laces in reverse.

They exited the school gates; under the trees at the entrance, a few girls whispered, seemingly debating some viral shop.

As Cheng Xiran passed, the chatter dipped low—recognizing her, perhaps.

Lin Zhiyi caught their curious glances flicking his way.

Cheng Xiran paid no mind, walking calmly beside him.

They strolled shoulder to shoulder, chatting idly now and then.

Passing faded-sign grocers, a tabby cat dozing on the pavement, assorted passersby.

To Lin Zhiyi, it was just an everyday street, but Cheng Xiran peered about with evident curiosity.

Rounding a corner, a small shop came into view; Lin Zhiyi pointed.

“The red bean buns here are killer.”

The place had been around at least a decade—he’d eaten there since childhood.

It was a plain little spot, humble facade, steam rising from stacked bamboo baskets.

Through the haze, the owner bustled inside.

Cheng Xiran nodded.

“Then I’ll try one.”

Before the words settled, she headed in, ponytail swishing behind, baring a stretch of pale nape.

“Impressive initiative,”

Lin Zhiyi praised.

“Fitting for our top-scorer class monitor.”

From his angle behind and to the side, he saw her cheek twitch, as if smiling.

The class monitor ordered two red bean buns; Lin Zhiyi pondered, then got two pork ones to go—Lin Yingyuan was surely dinner-less by now, and she loved these too.

Cheng Xiran handed him one; she nibbled hers in tiny bites.

Lin Zhiyi wolfed his in two or three; he waited for her.

“Tasty?”

“Mm.”

She nodded, a speck of filling at her lip; she dabbed it away with a tissue.

Cheng Xiran had just swallowed her last bite when her body quivered lightly, a small, animal-like sound escaping.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, but another hiccup followed, sharper and shorter.

Her face stayed cool as ever, but her earlobes flushed pink, a faint blush tinting her pale cheeks.

Lin Zhiyi unscrewed a mineral water bottle and passed it over.

“Sip slow—swallow in sevens.”

Cheng Xiran’s eyes blinked rapidly, her gaze a bit dazed.

She took the bottle, sipping cautiously—but before she could swallow, another hiccup bubbled up, spraying droplets onto her lashes, sparkling.

She pressed her lower lip, her usual composure now rippling with a flow of emotion in her eyes.

Lin Zhiyi’s mood lifted unbidden; so she had sides like this too?

Walking with someone meant parting ways eventually.

They reached the crossroad; the crosswalk light shifted from green to red—a perfect cue to split.

Lin Zhiyi raised a hand naturally, waving.

“See you tomorrow.”

With that, he turned lightly.

“Lin Zhiyi.”

The girl behind called his name.

He looked back, meeting those mirror-clear eyes fixed on him, his reflection shimmering within.

“What’s up… class monitor?”

She raised her gaze slightly, voice even, as if discussing the mundane.

“Want to join my club?”