MM | Chapter 58

Exile

Teacher Zhao Cai once gave advice to the big shots in the class who struggled with lyrical essays. She said if you really can’t squeeze out a word, leave the emotional part for the evening. She mentioned that people tend to be more sentimental at night, unlike during the day.

Sheng Wang found this quite reasonable. Standing at the school bus stop, the northwest wind at 6 a.m. made him realize that the things keeping him up last night weren’t really a big deal.

Sheng Mingyang knew his son well. Sheng Wang had a carefree nature and took small steps. If trouble blocked his path, he’d just walk around it. If something uncomfortable pricked him, he’d simply discard it.

Like that city merit award from long ago—if it didn’t bring joy, then it wasn’t worth having.

He always had an open mind.

Big Mouth Xu once said that it’s normal for sixteen or seventeen-year-olds to be a bit restless. Sheng Wang just had a slightly skewed direction for his restlessness.

He recalled how in middle school, he often stayed up late playing games on the living room sofa, with no lights on, only the flickering glow of a phone or TV screen.

By the time of the physical exam in his third year, his eyesight had dropped to 4.8. Later, he skipped the high school entrance exam and was directly admitted, enjoying a period of vacation.

By the time he started high school, his eyesight had recovered—it was just pseudo-myopia, easily corrected.

It’s the same now. Just a little correction and everything will be fine.

As long as he cools down, everything will be fine.

The autumn rain wasn’t as sudden as summer’s; it lingered for days. Water droplets mixed with the wind, splashing everywhere, fierce and cold.

Yang Jing was on duty this morning, pointing at a few students as she arrived. “Wearing so little in this cold weather, who are you trying to impress? Some boarding students?”

There were only two boarding students in Class A, so it was as good as pointing directly at them.

She glanced at Jiang Tian and Sheng Wang, saying, “Didn’t the school send a mass text about the temperature drop last night? Is wearing an extra sweater such a big deal?”

Jiang Tian replied, “Didn’t see the text.”

He always sounded like he was talking back, and the teachers were used to it. Yang Jing unceremoniously exposed him, “How could you not see it? You’ve been on your phone all morning, scrolling diligently.”

Gao Tianyang chimed in, “Report, Sister Jing, he was checking WeChat. Who checks texts for verification codes these days?”

Yang Jing pointed at him, “Shut up.”

Gao Tianyang obediently closed his mouth.

Jiang Tian hadn’t asked for his help. After his explanation, Jiang Tian put away his phone and glanced at Sheng Wang. He noticed Sheng Wang’s school jacket was half-open again, revealing the thin long-sleeve T-shirt underneath.

No wonder Yang Jing was scolding.

Sheng Wang was lost in thought when a flash of white caught his eye. He looked up, surprised, to see Jiang Tian reaching out from his pocket, zipping Sheng Wang’s jacket all the way up from a step away.

The collar of the jacket stood high, enough to encircle his neck. Jiang Tian’s fingers accidentally brushed Sheng Wang’s chin, making him lift his head slightly.

Jiang Tian’s gaze swept over Sheng Wang’s face. He released the zipper and lowered his hand, saying, “If you’re hot, why not wear short sleeves? It’s easier.”

Here he goes again, this snarky bastard.

Sheng Wang obediently pulled down the sleeves he’d rolled up to his elbows and defended himself, “I didn’t unzip it.”

“Did I unzip it?” Jiang Tian asked.

“The zipper slid down on its own. Ask it if you don’t believe me.”

“…”

The snarky bastard turned his head, chuckling in exasperation, or maybe genuinely amused.

The girls around them began to giggle softly, whispering among themselves. Judging by their reactions, Jiang Tian’s smile must have been quite charming.

Sheng Wang, feeling both challenged and smug, raised an eyebrow at him, then lowered his eyes and tucked his chin into his collar. He pulled the sleeves of his jacket down to his wrists, turned his back to Jiang Tian, and stood in a less windy spot, habitually biting the zipper pull.

A moment later, he suddenly realized he was biting the zipper Jiang Tian had just touched.

…

This was driving him crazy.

Sheng Wang was silent for a few seconds, then released the zipper from his teeth.

The school bus arrived soon. Sheng Wang didn’t like crowds, so he boarded last.

He thought there wouldn’t be many seats left, and he and Jiang Tian would naturally be separated. Unexpectedly, Gao Tianyang, that dummy, patted the seat in front of him and said, “Come on! Saved you two seats. Am I not a thoughtful little jacket?”

If Sheng Wang had a lighter, he might have set that little jacket on fire right there.

The ride from the Affiliated High School to Nan High School took nearly 40 minutes. Sheng Wang hadn’t slept well and intended to “cool down,” so he plugged in his earphones to catch up on sleep as soon as he got on the bus.

The school bus wasn’t very new, and the rubber seals on the windows were a bit worn, so it wasn’t well-insulated. A draft seeped in through the gaps. Sheng Wang closed his eyes and leaned back for a while, feeling a bit cold from the breeze.

He pulled his collar up, burying the lower half of his face in it, and adjusted to a position less exposed to the wind to continue sleeping.

A few seconds later, he felt Jiang Tian shift, the fabric of his clothes rustling softly, and that annoying draft suddenly disappeared.

In his drowsiness, Sheng Wang half-opened his eyes and saw Jiang Tian looking down at his phone. Jiang Tian’s right hand was propped on the narrow edge of the window, supporting his head, his arm perfectly blocking the draft.

Sheng Wang’s heart skipped a beat, then gradually calmed down.

Most of the students on the bus were asleep, while some were cramming at the last minute. There were faint snores, the rustle of pages, and soft murmurs of recitation, but none were louder than the rain outside.

He silently watched Jiang Tian for a while, suddenly feeling that Zhao Cai’s words weren’t entirely accurate. Daytime wasn’t always rational.

“Ge,” he called softly.

Jiang Tian’s finger slipped, surprised, and he turned to look at him.

“Just letting you know, wake me when we get close,” Sheng Wang said, yawning and sleepily slumping down.

Jiang Tian snapped out of the momentary surprise from being called that, frowning at Sheng Wang’s complexion. “Are you sick?”

“No,” Sheng Wang drawled, hesitating. He took out his phone and typed in the WeChat chat box to Jiang Tian: The driver’s style is a bit wild, I get carsick.

Jiang Tian’s gaze lingered on the nickname. Last time he saw it, it was Sheng Wang’s full name. He didn’t know when it suddenly changed to “Ge.”

He was momentarily stunned. By the time he snapped out of it, Sheng Wang had already put away his phone and gone back to sleep. Once those bright eyes closed, the mischievous or sly smile at the corners of his mouth faded, leaving a plain, straight line. The sense of listlessness instantly grew heavier.

He seemed a bit down, uncomfortable, and not very happy.

*

The midterm exams lasted two days, and the English, math, and physics papers were tough. The corridors were filled with complaints and lamentations. After each exam, a group would feel defeated, and by the end, everyone was pretty much done for.

The school bus drivers felt like they were transporting students to a wake when they took them back to the Affiliated High School.

For Sheng Wang, the difficulty of the papers didn’t really matter, nor did the lack of sleep, or who he liked or disliked. He wouldn’t suddenly become stupid and unable to solve problems just because he was restless.

The only thing that could affect his grades was himself—not whether he could, but whether he wanted to.

When getting off the school bus, half of Class A was busy comparing answers, while the other half was busy lamenting, “I bombed this subject, how about you?” “I did terribly on that one, how about you?” “I almost didn’t finish that question, how about you?”

Sheng Wang used to say, “I’m okay,” but this time it was all “Not great.”

When they first heard this response, Gao Tianyang, Song Sirui, and the others were genuinely surprised, but that was all. No one took it seriously.

It wasn’t until the papers were cross-graded among several schools that everyone understood what he meant.

That day was a Wednesday.

Jiang Tian suddenly woke up around 5 a.m., realizing the balcony door had been blown open by the wind. A bird, flapping its wet wings, had crashed in, leaving a muddy mess and knocking over a water cup before it fled in panic.

The mess was on Jiang Tian’s freshly hung clothes, and the cup was his, soaking the nearest book—Jiang Tian’s chemistry competition workbook.

He cleaned up the chaos on the desk, rewashed the dirty clothes, and completely lost his sleepiness. He tucked Sheng Wang’s dangling hand back under the covers and stood by the bed for a while before sitting down.

He had a strange feeling that this day wouldn’t go smoothly.

Old He entered the classroom right at the 7 o’clock bell, carrying several stacks of physics papers and a complete score sheet.

The noisy room fell silent instantly, and everyone sat up straight, eyes fixed on the sheet with a corner fluttering in the wind.

Old He didn’t look too happy. But she almost always looked like this after major exams, so everyone was used to it.

“Our class performed normally overall this time. We ranked first among the four major schools in physics and math, second in chemistry, third in language, and fourth in English. Teacher Yang Jing isn’t too pleased, so be prepared for a scolding later.”

The class didn’t dare breathe, fearing Yang Jing’s wrath.

“There are things to commend,” He Jin said, glancing around the class before focusing on Jiang Tian. “Our class ranked first again, with a 21-point lead over the second place in the 480 total score.”

This was a bigger gap than the last joint exam, setting a new record. Class A erupted in cheers, with Gao Tianyang clapping and turning to Sheng Wang, saying, “He’s not human, right? My Tian-ge isn’t human!”

Sheng Wang laughed and echoed, “Exactly, a monster!”

Jiang Tian’s mood briefly improved, and he tapped Sheng Wang’s shoulder with the pen between his fingers.

“Ow, that’s harsh,” Sheng Wang said, clutching his shoulder and pretending to be in pain. “Can’t even state the facts?”

He Jin tapped the podium, and the class quickly quieted down again. She continued, “Another commendable point is that more students made it to the top ranks this time. Previously, about ten students would be outside the top 45, but this time only five are.”

The students instinctively wanted to cheer, but then remembered those five would be transferred, and the cheers caught in their throats.

“I’ll have the group leaders distribute the individual score slips,” He Jin paused before adding, “Those who don’t receive one, please come to the office during the break for a chat.”

Everyone understood what that meant—those who didn’t receive a slip were likely outside the top 45.

The group leaders moved through the classroom, and within minutes, all the score slips were distributed. Gao Tianyang nearly cried tears of joy when he got his slip.

He was lucky. The two subjects he struggled with were difficult this time, and except for the top students, everyone’s scores were close, saving him. His total score was just on the edge of the 45th place.

He kissed his score slip twice, flicked it, and turned to share his joy with Sheng Wang, only to freeze when he saw Sheng Wang had no score slip on his desk.

The noise finally died down in an instant, and everyone realized the result of this “class shift.”

The five students to be transferred were Zhang Xin, Zhou Sitian, Zhao Rui, Wang Zelin… and Sheng Wang.

At that moment, the classroom fell silent.

Sheng Wang turned his head slightly, catching a glimpse of his brother’s fingers no longer spinning the pen, which dropped heavily onto the paper with a “thud.”

He blinked lightly, thinking he really lived up to that saying, acting just like Zhao Xi when going crazy. But he wasn’t being reckless, just exiling himself to cool down.

It was a bit uncomfortable now, but it would soon be fine.