Chapter 13: Cheng Xiran’s Club?

Sunset slanted into the academic building, dragging orange shadows across the corridor floor, the window glass reflecting light like red-hot iron sheets.

Lin Zhiyi followed the floor plan on his phone to find the clubroom, recalling his earlier chat with Cheng Xiran.

“Want to check out the club today?”

Cheng Xiran had leaned against the lockers, a cool breeze wafting from the classroom’s back door, carrying her white rose scent to him.

Your hips are on my locker, he’d thought.

“Miaomiao will be there—if you go, you’ll run into her.”

Lin Zhiyi had no interest in who Miaomiao was, but checking it out seemed fine, so he’d agreed.

She’d smiled, waving.

“Then I’m off—I wanted to go with you, but I’ve got something to handle.

If I finish in time, I’ll swing by.”

Now, he’d finally found the room; the door bore neatly written characters: Chat Club.

He knocked, then pushed it open.

The classroom felt vast and empty, most desks and chairs stacked at the back; only four in the center formed a broad cross, and on one chair sat a girl.

She’d glanced up briefly as he entered, then dropped her eyes back to her book, showing no intent to speak.

Her getup was odd: thick bangs veiling half her face, oversized round glasses, a sloppy plait.

But her pointed chin and rosy lips were unexpectedly pretty; judging by the chin, her face was likely oval.

Reminded him of the frumpy girls in some light novels.

In those stories, characters like this often turned out to be disguised beauties, hiding their looks for some reason…

Drifting off a bit.

Lin Zhiyi pulled out a chair and sat, subtly sizing up the girl.

Though her features were obscured, her figure stood out strikingly: full contours at the chest, pleated skirt paired with over-the-knee black stockings that accentuated her even, slender calves—altogether pleasing to the eye.

Lin Zhiyi glanced at her book: Thus Spoke Zarathustra? No—When Nietzsche Wept.

Cheng Xiran had said the club had just three members including him; this must be the Miaomiao she’d mentioned.

He pondered, then broke the ice:

“Hi, I just joined today—Class Monitor Cheng Xiran recommended me; I’m Lin Zhiyi from Class 1.

What’s your name?”

“Xu Miaoyan, Class 3.”

She said flatly, eyes never leaving the page.

An odd name.

Sensing her lack of chatty vibe, Lin Zhiyi naturally wouldn’t force a conversation; he settled in to do his own thing.

Since he’d come, he pulled out his books, planning to knock out some homework before leaving.

Years later, recalling chats with Xu Miaoyan felt like table tennis—her returns always spun with precision—but at the time, he just thought her a peculiar girl.

Uncapping his pen, he remarked idly:

“I figured a Chat Club meant members liked talking.”

“No wives in wife biscuits either.”

“Could be biscuits made by one’s wife, though.”

Xu Miaoyan let out a soft chuckle, then spoke quite earnestly:

“If you joined hoping to chat, you might be disappointed.

Actually, Cheng Xiran and I don’t talk much either.

Often, we just share the room, each doing our own thing.”

“We’ve known each other a while, but we’re not close.

She wanted an empty classroom for some tasks, and I didn’t want to head home right after school, so I’d linger somewhere.

“We hit it off, applied for this club.

That’s it.”

“I see—got it.”

Lin Zhiyi nodded.

Xu Miaoyan paused, then added:

“You don’t have to come to club meetings here—there’s no entry test, no group chat.

Sign up and you’re done; head home, and credits auto-post.”

Lin Zhiyi found the words familiar but couldn’t place from where.

“No, it’s fine.

I actually think that’s better.”

Not a lie.

Lin Zhiyi truly preferred it: a spot to drop in or out freely, no social strings, occasional class monitor sightings for a chat—nothing downside about it.

Xu Miaoyan nodded:

“Feel free.”

Lin Zhiyi couldn’t help eyeing the girl again.

Though her face was hidden, her figure was… no, no.

This time, it wasn’t that; he was pondering her personality, gleaning from their brief exchange.

Language shapes the world; the quickest way to know someone is often casual talk.

From words, you catch their thought patterns, knowledge base, focuses—even value leanings.

Her logic was sharp, phrasing concise and punchy—clearly bright.

Poise neither servile nor aloof, polite without chill: no social anxiety, yet she favored solitude.

So, her circle must be “small but choice”—evident from Cheng Xiran.

Cheng Xiran’s earlier classroom question—“Can’t I be your friend?”—still secretly thrilled him.

Two lives combined, and approval from someone so accomplished naturally warmed him toward her associates.

Lost in thought, his gaze lingered; she noticed, coughing lightly.

Lin Zhiyi snapped back, averting guiltily.

“Wondering how Cheng Xiran’s friend turned out such a gloomy girl?”

Lin Zhiyi blinked, shaking his head.

“No.

I don’t know the class monitor that well, and I don’t pry into her friendships.

Besides, from our short chat, I doubt you’re gloomy at heart.”

He smiled, half-joking to tease:

“I was just thinking—with bangs that thick blocking your eyes, can you even read clearly?”

“Clear as day,”

She replied lightly.

“Sharper than before, even.”

Playing at riddles? Lost in translation.

“Your words are too profound—like philosophy; is that the book’s vibe too?”

Xu Miaoyan hummed affirmatively, but veered off-topic with something baffling:

“You’re nothing like how Cheng Xiran described.”

Lin Zhiyi perked up curiously:

“She mentioned me?

How’d she put it?”

“Mum’s the word—girls’ secrets.”

“Tch, starting something and dropping it—tease.”

“You care that much about her view of you?”

She smiled.

“Uh… not really, just asking.

You brought her up first, didn’t you?”

She pressed:

“Since entering this room—bar the intro—you’ve called Cheng Xiran ‘class monitor’ every time, not her name.

Why?”

Lin Zhiyi froze, pausing before answering:

“I… hadn’t noticed.

Habit, I guess.

Doesn’t mean anything.”

“You like her?”

Her voice rang clear and crisp, words cutting straight.

“This… where’d that come from?

Just a personal quirk—doesn’t prove a thing.”

Xu Miaoyan eyed him deeply, letting out a knowing chuckle without reply.

What was that supposed to mean?

Lin Zhiyi narrowed his eyes, irked:

“What’s so funny?”

Xu Miaoyan turned to him, lips curving faintly, rephrasing:

“So, you don’t like her?”

“I… what’s that got to do with you?”

“Nothing—I was just asking; no need to overreact.”

Her gaze returned to her book, tone even.

Lin Zhiyi bristled at her demeanor, unsure why it grated so.

That “I see through you but won’t say” air—you’re a mind reader now?

He drew a deep breath, coolly retorting:

“You enjoy this?

Profiling psyches through observation—profiling, right; want me to call you a master profiler?”

“Sorry—analyze as you like; I can’t control that, but your takes aren’t gospel.”

“I don’t care what you think, and my business is mine.”

Besides, I don’t like her anymore.

He reaffirmed it—yes, I’d moved on; I’m not really seventeen.

With that settled, the tension eased.

He hadn’t fired back bluntly earlier because he owed her no proof.

A scene flashed: the equipment room, eyes inches away, softness in his arms.

He shuddered faintly, ducking his head in silence.

Xu Miaoyan paused, then said:

“You mad?

Sorry—my bad.”

Her voice was truly lovely; soft pleas like that made it hard for a boy to stay upset.

Lin Zhiyi hadn’t expected the direct apology.

“No, it’s fine…

I was out of line too.”

True—he’d jumped the gun; explaining sounded like hiding.

What’s wrong with me—I’m no kid.

Whatever; maturity’s overrated.

A thirty-year-old still skipping stones at the riverbank—how grown-up could he be?

Their talk halted; the room filled only with the clock’s steady tick.

After a while, Xu Miaoyan spoke again, voice lilting melodiously.

She didn’t turn, as if addressing the air, but clearly meant for him:

“Cheng Xiran thinks… you’re pretty lonely.

Like her—always solo, never reaching out first.”

So that’s how she saw me?

He responded slowly:

“That was my old mindset, but people change.

Now, I think making more friends is good.”

A habit from his adult past life.

Xu Miaoyan nodded in realization:

“No wonder you kept chatting me up—nearly thought your tastes were unique.”

Lin Zhiyi hummed, then puzzled:

“Tastes?”

“Most folks see my frumpy look and don’t bother approaching.”

Self-deprecating, yet calm—no hint of insecurity.

Lin Zhiyi thought: if not a light-novel-style beauty in disguise, then she didn’t judge herself by looks.

“Maybe ’cause I can’t see your eyes,”

Lin Zhiyi said.

“No biggie—I’m different; I like hanging with uggos.

Makes me look better by contrast.”

He tossed out the corny line as petty payback for her earlier jab.

She burst out laughing—not polite fakery, but genuine delight, her clear, bell-like peals enchanting.

What an enigmatic girl.

The clubroom door swung open; Cheng Xiran entered, catching Xu Miaoyan’s laughter, a flicker of surprise in her steady eyes.

“I had something— you’ve met already?

Getting along?”

“Not good.”

They chorused.

Cheng Xiran paused, then smiled:

“So… good or not?”

They exchanged a glance.

“Not good.”