Chapter 25: Since It’s Come to This, Let’s Eat Bread
The sports festival loomed near, and the sports field gradually buzzed with activity.
More and more students appeared on the track, by the sand pit, preparing for the upcoming competitions.
Sunlight bathed every leaping figure, sweat dripping silently onto the plastic track, a wordless ode to youth.
Lin Zhiyi leaned alone against the window on the third-floor west corridor of Mingde Building, nibbling half a pork floss bun leisurely, his gaze fixed below.
I hereby declare the pork floss bun the best bread—who’s with me, who’s against?
The one holding his attention so rapt could only be Lin Yingyuan.
At that moment, by the trackside below, she crouched behind the starting line, eyes locked ahead; the previous runner in the relay sprinted closer.
Lin Yingyuan, usually loose-haired, had tied her locks into a ponytail today for ease of movement—but Lin Zhiyi thought his sister looked endlessly captivating no matter the style.
The instant the baton hit her palm, she bolted without hesitation, accelerating around the bend, overtaking a rival.
Her ponytail whipped side to side behind her, face expressionless, but eyes laser-focused.
Only after crossing the finish did she ease her pace, taking a few more steps, panting as she wiped sweat.
A nearby classmate thumbs-upped her; she nodded, soon jogging back for another go.
“Damn impressive—not my sister for nothing.”
Lin Yingyuan outshone him in athletics; he wondered if she’d volunteered or got roped in as filler.
At Ninghai High, the sports fest required each class to field a quota—collective event, after all.
But to this “adult,” so-called sportsmanship and team glory often rang hollow, mere performative fluff.
For most kids, the fest meant sun-baking, boredom, shitty signal, and reluctant participation.
Ultimately, the stage for a few; most mere runners-up, or spectators.
If optional, how many’d show?
“Hey, Le… Lin Zhiyi, what’re you doing here?”
A crisp voice piped from behind.
A hand patted his back; he turned to see neat shoulder-length hair, lively pretty face beaming: Zhao Qingning, grinning ear to ear at him.
“Got events?”
“Nope—sports fest ain’t my holiday.”
She arched a brow, face screaming ‘what’re you on about?’
“Playing aloof why, dummy—anyone can sign up?”
“Tying sports to ranks and prizes corrupts pure athletic spirit—so I boycott such events.
I’m pure; I’m good.”
He deployed nonsense mode: claim moral high ground, unbeatable.
Zhao Qingning cracked up.
“Pfft… nuts, hahahaha…”
“So yeah—sports fest’s that; count me out.”
He jabbed a thumbs-down mid-gibberish.
“Kid, spouting what?”
Someone cut in sharp; Lin Zhiyi froze stock-still, turning robotic: Old Ma glowered at him.
“…”
Lin Zhiyi inhaled deep, dry-laughing:
“Wrong, Teacher Ma—kid stuff, joking.
You know—I’m sports fest’s diehard.”
Old Ma rolled his textbook into a baton, bopping his head.
Zhao Qingning howled louder.
“So you got roped into the men’s 400m?”
“Yeah—teacher’s word is law; who am I to defy, the pious one?”
“Lame excuse,”
Xu Miaoyan said.
“Your ramble was lame squared.”
“Sorry sorry—trashed everyone’s fave fest; sorry you saw such a dark soul—I’ll bounce ^^.”
Lin Zhiyi smiled.
Saying leave, but zero intent—snagging a snow crisp from her snack bag, popping it in.
How’d she always stock his faves— Xu Miaoyan, true treasure.
“I mean—you aired that in school, got overheard.”
She clarified.
“Just focusing energy where needed.”
He penned away on white paper: tailoring problems for Xu Xiangyang, to bring this weekend.
Xu Miaoyan watched his quizzing quiet a spell, shoving a biscuit bag: Very Six Plus Three.
“New flavor—try.”
“Thanks, milady!”
Crispy bite: chestnut-pine nut mash.
“Tasty enough,”
Lin Zhiyi didn’t hate.
“Yeah?
I’ll stock more.”
Xu Miaoyan even-toned.
Behind Lin Zhiyi, clubroom door creaked open then shut, footfalls nearing.
Xu Miaoyan glanced the newcomer, silent.
“Class monitor—you’re here.”
Lin Zhiyi, back-turned, knew sans looking—third who’d show here this hour; plus white rose scent wafted from nowhere, enveloping him gentle.
“Mm—downstairs, everyone’s prepping the fest.”
Cheng Xiran replied soft.
“Events?”
She tossed casual, sliding into the seat opposite Xu Miaoyan natural.
Lin Zhiyi at table’s far end, framing both girls’ profiles in view.
But focus mostly on his problems; their chat drifted in one ear, out the other.
He wrote a bit, vaguely catching the turn: “Ideal day look like?”
“…Perfect day?”
Xu Miaoyan stated sure:
“For me: solo overcast afternoon, full-battery gear.
Morning Stellaris grind, afternoon Steel 4 bout, evening… tough pick.”
All games.
Lin Zhiyi looked up, snaring Cheng Xiran’s gaze—drawn in by her amused smile.
He pondered:
“Me?
Nothing fancy—hope friends and fam stay safe and happy, no bad breaks; me watching over, that’s plenty.”
“You, class monitor?”
Cheng Xiran smiled gentle:
“Quiet ordinary day with someone important—no need for specials.”
Xu Miaoyan baffled:
“Y’all going all values now?
Friendship bonds—what, for scores?
Makes my answer sound dumb.”
Her line sparked laughs from both.
Cheng Xiran lifted a hand absent, veiling lips with palm; mirth rippled from eye-corners still.
Adorable.
Like tender green sprout piercing winter’s melt, post-frost.
High ponytail neat at nape, exquisite profile haloed in ethereal light: lashes long, subtle under-eye puff soft; eyes between clear and bright.
White uniform blouse set her skin snow-fair; skirt hem smoothed under hips, wrinkle-free.
Lin Zhiyi snapped to—realizing he’d zoned staring again; they’d shifted topics.
Xu Miaoyan’s voice crisp:
“Sometimes think: people’s meetings—pretty random.”
She paused, phrasing careful, pace unhurried.
“Like two mini-universes in separate systems, orbiting per own rules and paths.
Sudden day, some unpredictable variable—like class reshuffle, shared club, or wrong-room wander—orbits brush brief.”
She nudged her round glasses light.
“That brush: each’s mass—or ‘existence’—tugs the other’s gravity.”
“Subtle: tweaks speed or angle a hair.
Intense: reshapes terrain, atmospheres outright.”
“So, meeting someone: letting their rules breach your universe, willingly reshaped.
Endgame: both universes better, or gravity-rips chaos…
Who knows.
That’s meeting’s risk and thrill, I guess.”
“Recent ramble of mine.”
She flicked quick to Lin Zhiyi, then past—like casual scan.
“Miaomiao thinks deep.”
Cheng Xiran sighed soft, then polled them:
“Anyone super important to you?
Or hugely influential?”
“My aunt,”
Xu Miaoyan said.
“’Cause her, I started loving books.”
Lin Zhiyi quieted a beat, mulling earnest.
First: Lin Yingyuan.
She: warm breeze in sunny day, honey-drop on tongue—thought of her promised life’s joys.
Then: Xia Mingli.
She: elusive drifting shade, weaving bliss-misery illusions, sorrow-love ecstasies.
But Lin Zhiyi named neither; instead, something never shared.
Lin Zhiyi spoke of his third-year cram school.
“Junior year—grades tanked.
Cram class, met a girl…”
Sophomore year, top student; Dad’s accident crushed him, scores plunged.
Plus harassers targeting sister Lin Yingyuan; fights, demerits—questioned school’s point, skipped.
Dad’s pal Uncle Zhao visited often, urging finish studies.
Uncle Zhao’s pitch simple direct: pointed at Lin Yingyuan—quit school, no good life for sis.
Desperate catch-up, he scrimped for cram; teacher learned his plight, waived fees.
Past-life decades on, he still messaged that teacher Teacher’s Day; success later, visited to fund the cram—but teacher refused.
As kid, many kind souls helped; able now, he aided many students—passing the torch.
But what he told the girls wasn’t that—rather, the girl from junior cram.
Amnesia blurred her details; voice gone.
But he remembered her patient step-by-steps on problems, night walks side-by-side, encouragements: future’d brighten.
Yet even her voice escaped him.
“I’m forever grateful—if no her, even wanting to study, might not catch up.”
“Still in touch?”
Xu Miaoyan asked.
“Nope.
Lost her contact… forgot name, face.”
Xu Miaoyan browed up:
“So you’re admitting hit-and-run?”
“…”
Lin Zhiyi smiled, mood tangled; he eyed Cheng Xiran, stiff-shifting:
“You, class monitor?”
Cheng Xiran’s face oddened, lips parting like words stuck:
“I… I…”
He’d never seen her so.
“Sorry—bathroom break.”
She rose abrupt, fleeing classroom hasty.
Xu Miaoyan glanced her back, silent.
Post-exit, quiet fell; each to their tasks.
Moments later, both phones chimed tandem.
Lin Zhiyi opened: Cheng Xiran in club group—ran into teacher en route, roped for help; this slot’s a no.
Lin Zhiyi looked up: Xu Miaoyan eyed him too—she’d seen.
Phones down, same thought synced: Cheng Xiran acted weird today.
Lin Yingyuan fresh off relay drill, forehead beaded sweat, two-stepping stairs to classroom for her water bottle—nearly colliding at the landing.
Cheng Xiran.
The other headed down, head slightly bowed, steps rushed—like fleeing some spot.
Narrow stair platform, face-to-face; recognizing, both halted wordless.
Then, tacit, brushed past.
Lin Yingyuan climbed slower, musing: her eyes rimmed red?
Like fresh tears.<|control12|>Chapter 25: Since It’s Come to This, Let’s Eat Bread
The sports festival loomed near, and the sports field gradually buzzed with activity.
More and more students appeared on the track, by the sand pit, preparing for the upcoming competitions.
Sunlight bathed every leaping figure, sweat dripping silently onto the plastic track, a wordless ode to youth.
Lin Zhiyi leaned alone against the window on the third-floor west corridor of Mingde Building, nibbling half a pork floss bun leisurely, his gaze fixed below.
I hereby declare the pork floss bun the best bread—who’s with me, who’s against?
The one holding his attention so rapt could only be Lin Yingyuan.
At that moment, by the trackside below, she crouched behind the starting line, eyes locked ahead; the previous runner in the relay sprinted closer.
Lin Yingyuan, usually loose-haired, had tied her locks into a ponytail today for ease of movement—but Lin Zhiyi thought his sister looked endlessly captivating no matter the style.
The instant the baton hit her palm, she bolted without hesitation, accelerating around the bend, overtaking a rival.
Her ponytail whipped side to side behind her, face expressionless, but eyes laser-focused.
Only after crossing the finish did she ease her pace, taking a few more steps, panting as she wiped sweat.
A nearby classmate thumbs-upped her; she nodded, soon jogging back for another go.
“Damn impressive—not my sister for nothing.”
Lin Yingyuan outshone him in athletics; he wondered if she’d volunteered or got roped in as filler.
At Ninghai High, the sports fest required each class to field a quota—collective event, after all.
But to this “adult,” so-called sportsmanship and team glory often rang hollow, mere performative fluff.
For most kids, the fest meant sun-baking, boredom, shitty signal, and reluctant participation.
Ultimately, the stage for a few; most mere runners-up, or spectators.
If optional, how many’d show?
“Hey, Le… Lin Zhiyi, what’re you doing here?”
A crisp voice piped from behind.
A hand patted his back; he turned to see neat shoulder-length hair, lively pretty face beaming: Zhao Qingning, grinning ear to ear at him.
“Got events?”
“Nope—sports fest ain’t my holiday.”
She arched a brow, face screaming ‘what’re you on about?’
“Playing aloof why, dummy—anyone can sign up?”
“Tying sports to ranks and prizes corrupts pure athletic spirit—so I boycott such events.
I’m pure; I’m good.”
He deployed nonsense mode: claim moral high ground, unbeatable.
Zhao Qingning cracked up.
“Pfft… nuts, hahahaha…”
“So yeah—sports fest’s that; count me out.”
He jabbed a thumbs-down mid-gibberish.
“Kid, spouting