“The observatory?” That was the only word Lin Weixia retained.
Liu Sijia let out a short, scornful laugh. “You heard it from those girls in the restroom, didn’t you? The school’s observatory belongs to him — because his family donated two laboratory buildings to the school.”
“A person like him — who wouldn’t want to get close to him?”
When the dismissal bell rang, Lin Weixia looked up to find several girls crowding around Liu Sijia’s seat so tightly that Liu Sijia’s face was completely hidden. She sat there leisurely chatting with them, seemingly having forgotten about the arrangement between the two of them.
Lin Weixia looked away, picked up her bag, pushed back her chair, and prepared to go buy her textbooks.
Fang Mo was just getting ready to leave when she noticed the textbook list in Lin Weixia’s hand, and her eyes lit up. “Hey, let me come with you to buy your textbooks — I was heading out of school anyway.”
“Sure.” Lin Weixia smiled.
As she thought back over everything that had happened, her expression turned curious: “Why doesn’t that person want a deskmate?”
Fang Mo’s expression shifted slightly and her words came out haltingly: “He had one before. Maybe he just finds it troublesome.”
The next morning, Lin Weixia changed into the Shengao school uniform, pinned her name badge to the left side of her chest, and looked at herself in the mirror. She managed, with some effort, to pull out a small smile.
Putting on the Shengao uniform made the transfer feel real for the first time.
After morning reading period, Lin Weixia sat at her desk and took out a book. She had barely read two pages when she felt a shadow falling repeatedly across the edge of her book. She looked up and caught Fang Mo’s face right in the act.
She looked a little embarrassed.
Ning Chao, lounging against his desk, had also noticed. He swayed idly and gave Fang Mo a sideways glance, launching into commentary: “It’s been a whole morning and you keep turning your head back and forth like a QQ penguin logging in. What’s up — you’ve got a crush on me?”
“I absolutely do not!” Fang Mo’s face went bright red, then she looked back at Lin Weixia. “She looks so good in the uniform, I just couldn’t help it…”
Ning Chao turned to take stock of Lin Weixia beside him. She had a cool, reserved quality about her, but her features were pleasant and easy on the eye, and she sat still and quietly. He turned to look squarely at Liu Sijia in the row ahead, then made a dismissive sound through his nose:
“Fair enough. She’s a lot better than that witch.”
When the morning reading bell rang, Lin Weixia and Fang Mo went to fetch hot water.
There were a few girls already queuing at the water dispenser. Lin Weixia walked over, her shadow falling alongside her. Once the girls in front had filled their cups and turned around to find Lin Weixia there, they registered a flash of admiration upon taking in her features — but when their gaze moved to the school uniform bow at the front of her collar, the admiration cooled at once. They raised an eyebrow:
“F-student?”
“Hmm?” Lin Weixia’s eyes held a flicker of puzzlement; then she nodded, catching up: “Yes, I suppose so.”
The taller of the girls withdrew her gaze and walked away with her companion. They glanced back at Lin Weixia and murmured something in low voices — their expressions held a note of appreciation, alongside a thread of condescension.
Lin Weixia turned the lid of her cup and asked Fang Mo beside her, “What is an F-student? What’s the criterion?”
“This school divides students into A-students and F-students based on the bow tie on the uniform. Our bow ties — the F-students — are deep navy blue. The A-students’ bow ties are a lovely bright red,” Fang Mo explained.
Lin Weixia glanced ahead to her left. A group of students stood in the corridor, the girls in school-issued uniforms, their blazers a uniform dark navy blue, beneath their plaid skirts a pair of straight, fair legs. Most importantly, their bow ties were a flamboyant red that added a touch of playfulness to the otherwise formal, serious uniform.
The girls were like fresh, beautiful peaches.
The F-students’ bow ties, by contrast, were deep navy — paired with the blazer in its near-black dark navy, the overall effect was oppressive and faintly stifling.
Through Fang Mo’s explanation, Lin Weixia learned that Shengao’s student body was broadly divided into A-students and F-students, the distinction drawn according to a tiered point system.
“The total is 20 points. At this school, strong academic performance earns points. Specialized skills and talents also earn points — for instance, the girl who just spoke to you has passed the piano at Level 10. The girl relaxing in the corridor over there is a ballet dancer. Competition prizes earn points too — recently, the school’s team won first place at the national VEX Robotics Competition.”
These cumulative scores represented a student’s overall standard. Upon graduation, students received a detailed record of their achievements, and those ranked near the top also received priority recommendation rights when applying to overseas universities.
Those in the upper rankings of the comprehensive score were called A-students, and the majority of them had been born into privilege. Intellectually sharp from a young age, raised in comfortable circumstances, their education had focused not only on academic results but also on developing modes of thinking. Trained and nurtured under conditions of extraordinary advantage, they had long since distinguished themselves in whatever area they excelled.
In a colloquial image: they were the finest display models behind the window of the most prestigious boutique.
Placed in the most central position.
Basking in the best light from every angle.
Among the F-students the range was broader and more varied — some were students transferred in as part of an educational ministry quota from weaker middle schools; others had worked hard to gain admission but struggled to keep pace with the curriculum; and some had been admitted under social welfare provisions, like Ning Chao.
Of course, there were A-students from ordinary families too. There were — just very few. These were the birds who had learned to fly through sheer effort, faithfully following the principle that the early bird catches the worm. They walked on eggshells, studying diligently, continually broadening themselves, never daring to slacken for a moment, terrified of slipping from the first tier.
Over time, “A-student” had become synonymous with excellence, intelligence, and strength, while “F-student” conjured associations with slow learners, weakness, and average family backgrounds.
So A-students were arrogant, looked down on F-students, and considered themselves superior in every respect.
“Weixia, you’re a transfer student, and it’s already the start of Year Two — beginning the cumulative score from zero puts you at a disadvantage. And the midterm exams haven’t happened yet.” Fang Mo considered this for a moment, then asked, “Do you have any particular skills or strengths?”
“No.” Lin Weixia shook her head. She freed one hand, holding her cup in the other, and patted Fang Mo on the shoulder with a small smile. “Isn’t it perfectly fine being with you?”
“Absolutely.” Fang Mo agreed.
Their footsteps gradually faded away. The first two periods were Liu Xiping’s consecutive Chinese language classes, and near the end of the final class, he explained that the previous class representative had “for personal reasons” resigned from the position, and a new one needed to be selected.
At the words “for personal reasons,” laughter rippled through the room. In the high-pressure environment of Shengao, everyone essentially focused their energy exclusively on their own affairs.
In the view of A-students, being a class representative — collecting assignments and carrying out tasks assigned by teachers — was a waste of time.
In the end, Liu Xiping appointed Lin Weixia as class representative.
At noon, Lin Weixia went to the convenience store, bought two rice balls and a sandwich, and returned to the classroom. Liu Sijia had finished lunch and was walking back, passing Lin Weixia’s seat on the way.
Lin Weixia tore open the packaging, picked up her phone, and logged into Shengao’s internal school network. That morning, Liu Xiping had asked Lin Weixia to follow up on a few students in the class who had been persistently late submitting their assignments.
One name on the list had been absent for three days on leave, but had an entire week’s worth of work left unsubmitted.
Lin Weixia tapped on a black profile picture to send a friend request — but a message popped up saying the other party had configured their account to block all friend requests. She then got the student’s number from the class committee, and typed out a message:
【I’m the Chinese language class representative for Class One. Your essay from last week and two test papers still haven’t been submitted.】