Chapter 17: She Always Carries Lemon Candy (Part 1)
Arriving early at school today, Lin Zhiyi spotted a crowd at the gates, checking students’ belongings one by one.
Normally handled by the disciplinary committee girls, but for some reason, a teacher stood among them now.
Lin Zhiyi’s gaze swept the group, landing on a familiar face: the girl with her crisp short hair, tips brushing her shoulders, chatting and laughing with a friend nearby, lashes fluttering.
An armband marked her as disciplinary too.
She happened to look over; their eyes met, and Zhao Qingning winked at him.
He smiled back.
“Lin Zhiyi.”
A faint white rose scent curled at his nose; he turned to meet those indifferent eyes.
They exchanged greetings; Cheng Xiran stepped beside him, joining the queue for inspection.
The sudden teacher, surnamed Xun, had a reputation—students tweaked his name privately, swapping the middle “ri” for “kou.”
Students cleared checks and headed to class; Lin Zhiyi and the others edged forward until first in line.
Xun obviously knew Cheng Xiran; he cracked a stiff smile, crow’s feet bunching.
“No need to check Cheng Xiran, right?
Top grades—I trust her; she’d never bring a phone.”
Before the words settled.
Ding-dong!
A chime rang out.
Everyone instinctively glanced at Cheng Xiran’s bag—the sound came from there.
Lin Zhiyi nearly cracked; talk about undermining.
Cheng Xiran pressed her lips, stealing a glance at him; in her eyes, he caught a rare flicker— the ice-queen beauty, embarrassed now.
Xun pondered, then cleared his throat:
“Next!”
You… ignoring it?
Come on— that loud?
Teacher Gou, look at the round-faced girl’s face beside you—utter disbelief.
She spoke up—the disciplinary girl:
“Te-teacher… there’s a message… sound…”
Xun hummed quizzically.
“A little stream?
Nice—babbling brook, nature’s rhythm.”
Lin Zhiyi was floored.
WHAT?
A pun… now?
“No… a phone rang…”
“A chicken woke?
Good, good—chickens benefit mankind, urging rise with the sun, rest at dusk.
Alright, Cheng Xiran—head to the building.”
You can’t wake someone pretending to sleep.
Xun tacked on:
“Top ten every time—teachers trust such students; no check needed!
If you all scored like that, I’d trust you too!”
Cheng Xiran slipped silently into the building; Lin Zhiyi advanced.
His heart raced a bit—his phone was in his bag.
School rules banned phones, but everyone sneaked them in.
The rule was tacitly ignored: unseen, no issue; classmates didn’t snitch.
Disciplinary girls usually gave it a pass—not too thorough; hide it, and they’d look away.
Or make it unsayable…
Like Huang Dog.
Huang Zhouxu always stuffed his in his crotch—a suspicious bulge—but those pretty disciplinary girls, spotting it, couldn’t call it out, faces burning.
So he strutted in daily.
Lin Zhiyi wasn’t that gross; his phone hid in a bag compartment.
Not obvious unless searched hard.
Meaning: determined, they’d find it.
He noticed Zhao Qingning had quietly swapped spots—now checking him.
Eyes met; she smiled, winking.
Heh, relief washed over.
Old Ma was right: friends pay off.
But then Xun—no, Gou—pointed at him abruptly:
“I’ll check him.”
Bad sign.
Lin Zhiyi tried:
“Teacher Xun, I’m top ten too—skip me?”
No dice!
Xun flipped fast—side gig in Sichuan opera?
“Top ten means nothing—off day, and ranks drop!
Excuses hide things—you’re suspicious; let me see!”
You @#$%…
“What’s this?”
Xun jabbed the phone.
“See? Knew you hid something—hand it over.”
He ranted criticism before waving him through.
Lin Zhiyi fished out the phone; Zhao Qingning stepped up:
“Teacher, I’ll hold it for you.”
Xun grunted approval, gesturing her to take it, still scolding:
“Office after school to claim it!”
Lin Zhiyi nodded, skirting him; behind, chatter rose.
Next was his deskmate—the watermelon-headed kid, Wu Xigua.
Watermelon Boy had no phone, no worry; Xun’s thorough frisk found zilch, earning a “Good job!”
“Of course!
I-I’m the rule-following-est!”
Wu Xigua beamed, a slight stutter.
“See, everyone—learn from Wu Xigua!”
Lin Zhiyi shrugged, entering the building.
Zhao Qingning’s whisper echoed in his mind.
—“Lunch, usual spot.”
Wu Xigua trailed him into class, still dazedly chatting:
“L-Lin L-Lin Zhiyi.”
Sounds like a Japanese name.
“?”
“N-Next time, n-no phone…
G-Getting it after school m-means w-writing a reflection.”
He seemed terrified of reflections—or rather, teacher scoldings.
“Thanks for the tip.”
Lin Zhiyi said, thinking: Next time, still bringing it.
…
Noon.
He sat by the flower bed, waiting, musing: only met Zhao Qingning here once, and now it’s the “usual spot”—funny how that sticks.
A short wait, then pattering footsteps.
Zhao Qingning’s cheeks flushed pink, full chest rising and falling with pants, damp bangs clinging to her forehead.
“Here!”
She thrust his phone at him.
“You’ve no idea—sneaking this out was spy-level.
Felt like 007.”
“Thanks, thanks!
My friend—you’re the real hero.”
Lin Zhiyi pointed at her, thumping his chest.
She giggled, watching him fiddle with the phone.
“No prob, bro.”
Her stare made him fidget.
“Cafeteria’s packing soon…”
“Eat together?”
She asked casually.
The day before—when Lin Zhiyi returned her clip, hearing he’d skipped lunch—she’d wanted to invite him, hemmed and hawed, but chickened out.
This time, it slipped out.
Lin Zhiyi agreed offhand.
“Sure—let’s go.”
Zhao Qingning beamed, tiger teeth flashing, turning ahead of him.
“Which cafeteria?
One’s under reno.
Two?
Three?
Or 2.5?”
“Three.
Two’s auntie’s got full Parkinson—every scoop, I lose two chunks of meat.”
“Hahahahaha!
Yes yes!”
Zhao Qingning laughed heartily.