Chapter 13: A Small Step in Development

The slope’s left side was lined with white walls and red-lettered slogans, dripping with nostalgia.

At the school gate stood this week’s courtesy team, wearing red sashes like welcoming staff, usually one boy and one girl.

Their job: check for red scarves.
No scarf?
They’d note your name and class, docking points.
Some sly kids gave friends’ names to take the fall.

Small shops sold scarves, but not everyone could afford them or wanted to—better to spend on snacks.

Docked points made you the teacher’s target.
Missing the “civilized class” title and red flag hurt the班主任 most—no bonus.

Next week was Chen Qiao’s turn to stand guard.
This week, it was Class 6-1 kids, his old pals from kindergarten.

The boy, Tian Zhen, nicknamed Innocent, was Class 1’s vice-monitor.
His dad was a minor town official.
They’d played Three Kingdoms card games, swapped game cartridges and discs, but drifted apart in middle school, their hobbies diverging.

The girl, Zheng Hui Jun, Class 1’s monitor, lived near school.
Fairly mature, decent-looking with neat features, she knew how to dress up—cute hair accessories, stylish ponytails.

Rumors said she started dating in fourth grade, cycling through boyfriends—different types, maybe one per year or semester, definitely switching with class changes.
Tian Zhen was briefly one, now split, yet they worked together fine.

Her grades were once strong, now decent, her focus elsewhere.
Sharp-tongued and proactive, she was tight with teachers.
In middle school, her boyfriends fought, causing a stir—born troublemaker vibes.
By high school, she vanished, likely not advancing normally.

Years later, at Tian Zhen’s wedding, Chen Qiao saw her with her husband, an outsider, seemingly a rebound catch.
Tian Zhen’s wife was a blind date, not an ex.

“Chen Qiao, cover my shift?
Stomachache—ate something bad,” Tian Zhen said, hunched, face pale, legs fidgeting, ready to bolt.

“You’ll be fine stepping away.
Zheng Hui Jun can handle it.”

She’d better, or that’d be pathetic.

“But if a teacher sees me gone, they’ll think I’m late.
The monitor won’t let me explain.
No Children’s Day award, no pocket money.
Please, next new anime, we’ll watch together.”

Tian Zhen shoved the sash into Chen Qiao’s hands and ran.

“That punk…”

Chen Qiao shook his head, no choice but to stay.
Not his job, but no big deal—just delayed seeing his desk mate, Lin Na.
He was curious about her study progress.

The sash looked dumb, but standing idly at the gate felt dumber.

Grudgingly, he wore the wrinkled, dirty sash, unlike diligent Zheng Hui Jun, slouching with hands behind his head, scanning around.

Behind was the nearly finished new teaching building, surrounded by unused sand and materials—a student playground.
Kids dug holes, played sand games, or role-played, yelling “Thunder Half-Moon Slash” or “Battle Tyrano”—a hyped-up tag game where no one wanted to be the villain, all vying for hero roles.

Last year’s earthquake exposed shoddy school buildings nationwide, collapsing from poor quake-proofing or age.
A national audit followed, rebuilding dangerous structures.
Chen Qiao’s old building was one; the new one had a modern frame, yellow single desks, and backed chairs.

No accidents hit the elementary, built on a leveled hill.
But the middle school, at a mountain’s base, faced a landslide from heavy rain, burying the bathhouse and girls’ dorm, killing one, injuring four.
Chen Qiao couldn’t recall the exact day, only that it was this month, during a downpour when his sister didn’t come home for dinner.

The news terrified him and his parents.
Though not a boarder, what if she’d been at the dorms?
Phone lines to her teacher and school were dead.
They rushed to confirm her safety.

She came home somber, crying at night, masked by rain.
The next day, she skipped school—a rarity for his iron-willed sister.

Was the victim her friend?
Young Chen Qiao hadn’t thought much, assuming she was scared.
Her desk mate?
Did she keep charging boarders’ phones after?
He vaguely recalled she did, but details were fuzzy.

He’d do what he could—give her a reason not to grieve, if nothing else.

“Chen Qiao, heard you held hands with Wu Xin Yu yesterday?” Zheng Hui Jun asked, hand over mouth, gossiping.
Her info was quick.

“I fell, she helped me up.”

No surprise Class 2 knew—everyone was connected.
Wu Xin Yu, a standout, drew eyes.
Yesterday’s class meeting already buzzed with their gossip.

It was her first real rumor—before, it was just confessions or love letters.
People loved seeing a “perfect girl” fall to earth.

“You ran into the girls’ bathroom?”

“Who spread that?
I had a nosebleed, washed it at the bathroom entrance.
It was urgent—I didn’t think.”

“Oh… got it.”

“Chen Qiao, it’s not your shift today, right?” a clear, sweet voice asked.

He looked up.
Wu Xin Yu, backpack on, held her straps, twin braids neatly draped, candy-colored hair clips, slightly parted bangs showing a bright forehead—fresh and gentle.

“Covering for a friend.
He’s got a stomachache.”

“Phew, thought I mixed up the schedule,” she said, patting her chest.

Chen Qiao spotted a familiar small figure hurrying past, head down.
“Lin Na, morning!” he called, waving.

“Sis, someone’s calling you,” a short-haired girl said, tugging Lin Na’s hand.

“Uh, morning, Chen Qiao…” Lin Na stopped, turning back, nodding awkwardly at Wu Xin Yu and Zheng Hui Jun—acquaintances, not close.

Her face showed unease.
Seeing Wu Xin Yu and Zheng Hui Jun, both beauties, she felt inferior, wanting to flee, especially with her sister there, fearing embarrassment.

Her sister resembled her—pointy chin, fairer skin, thin arms and wrists, cuter.
Noticing Chen Qiao’s gaze, she hid behind Lin Na, peeking from her armpit.

“You’re Lin Na’s sister?
What’s your name?” he asked, crouching.

“Lin Yu, forest Lin, lush Yu.”

Digging in his pocket, he found yesterday’s leftover lollipop and offered it.
She hadn’t shown diabetes symptoms yet—sugar was fine.
Once diagnosed, she’d need strict control.

“Want a lollipop?” he asked.

“Chen Qiao, got any courtesy team spirit?” Wu Xin Yu asked, biting her lip.
Rules banned snacks at school, and he, a team member, was breaking them.

“Just pretend you didn’t see,” he said, slipping the lollipop into Lin Yu’s pocket.
“Eat it at home with your sister.”

“Oh, Lin Na, take my bag to class.”

Though light, this was to build trust with Lin Na.
He needed her help, balancing their dynamic so she and her sister could accept his gift without suspicion.

Otherwise, his one-sided giving might make her think he had ulterior motives.
He did, in a way.

Next, he’d boost her grades and confidence—step one of his plan, a big leap for her.

“Sure,” Lin Na said, slinging his bag over her chest.

“I’ll go with you,” Wu Xin Yu said, following, leaving Chen Qiao and Zheng Hui Jun at the gate.

The morning music stopped, shifting to daily classic recitals and literature appreciation.
Ten minutes until class.