MM | Chapter 59

Changing Classes

The entire physics class, Class A was shrouded in a gloomy atmosphere. Of course, it wasn’t just because of Sheng Wang, but he was certainly the main reason.

He Jin, who usually told a few not-so-funny jokes in class, was serious from start to finish today. She deconstructed ideas on the podium while the students scribbled notes below. Sheng Wang barely took any notes because his phone screen kept lighting up with new messages.

Gao Tianyang and Song Sirui, the two chatterboxes, were the most frequent senders. Sheng Wang switched between their chat windows until he couldn’t keep up and simply created a group chat for them.

Gao Tianyang: No way!!! I still can’t accept this!!!

Gao Tianyang: Why…

Song Sirui: I can’t accept it either.

Song Sirui: It shouldn’t be like this.

Song Sirui: Even Old Gao made it.

He was deliberately provoking, and normally, Gao Tianyang would argue with him for half an hour, and the atmosphere might lighten up. But today, Gao Tianyang accepted it.

Gao Tianyang: Yeah, even I made it.

Sheng Wang typed, repeating what he had explained before: I already said I didn’t do well.

Gao Tianyang: Wasn’t that just being modest!!!

Gao Tianyang: After an exam, if you ask ten people, ten will say they didn’t do well. Isn’t that just a polite thing to say???

Sticker: I never sugarcoated my words.

Gao Tianyang: …

Song Sirui: …

Song Sirui: Seems true.

Gao Tianyang: You’re really something.

Sheng Wang never spoke empty words. When he said “okay,” it meant he wasn’t satisfied. When he said “good,” it meant he did well. When he said “great,” it was truly excellent.

This was already modesty. He was even more boastful with Jiang Tian.

Once, while organizing notes in the next room, he boldly declared, “Just wait, within a semester, I’ll touch the tiger’s butt.”

Jiang Tian was stunned for a moment and asked what he meant.

Sheng Wang said, “The first place is the mountain king, the tiger. Second place is close enough to touch.”

The tiger might have never encountered someone so audacious. It took two seconds to process the joke. He looked at Sheng Wang with a complicated expression, then kicked him out of the room with his books, saying, “Dream on.”

Gao Tianyang and Song Sirui continued chatting. Sheng Wang’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, lost in thought. Those conversations were just a month or two ago, yet now they seemed distant.

His “study” hadn’t been entered for a long time, and they’d already moved. He wouldn’t make such carefree jokes anymore.

Because he felt guilty.

Changing classes wasn’t a big deal, just moving from upstairs to downstairs. Gao Tianyang and Song Sirui, with their comedic backgrounds, quickly lightened the mood with a few jokes.

Song Sirui: Next class change is at the end of the semester. Sheng Wang will definitely come back strong.

Gao Tianyang: Absolutely!

Sticker: Old Gao, I suggest you make the most of your time.

Gao Tianyang: Why should I make the most of my time?

Sticker: If you’re still at 45th place, when I come back, you’ll be the one crying.

Gao Tianyang: ????

The dummy finally realized, sending a series of confused emojis, then quietly put away his phone to take notes. The consolation ended with a counterattack and encouragement to study.

Sheng Wang exited the small group chat to find over twenty unread messages from various classmates. Some said it was okay, that many people came and went in Class A. Others said with his progress, he’d be a regular next time. Some weren’t good at comforting, sending only a few emojis.

And this was just a portion.

After replying to all the WeChat messages, he looked up to find several folded sticky notes on his desk, all with comforting words, different handwriting. Sheng Wang didn’t even know who sent them, but he felt a bit touched.

These were the silly, simple friends unique to teenage years.

He also saw Xiao Lajiao crumple a light pink sticky note and toss it backward while He Jin turned away, accidentally landing it on Gao Tianyang’s desk.

And that dummy didn’t realize, using sign language to chat with her, like a chicken talking to a duck.

Sheng Wang chuckled.

He lowered his head, laughing softly, then slowly stopped. He suddenly wondered if Jiang Tian looked at him like he looked at Xiao Lajiao, knowingly keeping a distance, neither awkward nor misleading.

But that was impossible.

Most people wouldn’t be on the same wavelength as him, naturally missing the opportunity to understand. And Jiang Tian, being family, couldn’t keep a distance like ordinary classmates.

He just wanted to correct his path, not sever ties with Jiang Tian.

Sheng Wang laughed at himself, thinking this was really frustrating.

What was more frustrating was that he’d received messages from most of Class A, except for one person who remained silent.

He looked at the pinned chat on WeChat, feeling a bit anxious.

The physics class passed surprisingly quickly, as if in the blink of an eye, the bell rang. Sheng Wang snapped back to reality, glancing at the back desk just as He Jin stepped off the podium, meeting Jiang Tian’s gaze.

For some reason, Sheng Wang wanted to run. And he did.

Are you scared?

He cursed himself inwardly. He followed He Jin into the office, offering himself up for a scolding. As expected, his “report” was like a sheep entering a tiger’s den, instantly surrounded by five teachers.

“Just in time, I was looking for you!”

Language teacher Zhao Cai pulled out a paper, shaking it in front of Sheng Wang, “What did you do with these two reading passages? I’ve told you many times, for reading comprehension and poetry appreciation, focus on points, points, points! An 8-point question usually has four key points. A 6-point question has three. Missing one is definitely wrong. To be safe, you can make up eight or six points. You should be familiar with this routine. How did you mess up this time?”

“And the dictation, how many times have I told you, don’t just recite, write it down. One wrong character ruins everything, no matter how well you memorize it.”

As soon as Zhao Cai finished, Yang Jing slapped her paper in front of him, pointing to marked multiple-choice questions, “Were you out of your mind or just too cold those days? Making such basic mistakes?!”

No matter how much she liked a student, Sister Jing was never polite when scolding. The more she liked them, the harsher she was.

Seeing Sheng Wang obediently bow his head, Zhao Cai felt a bit sorry for him. She softened, “Forget about English, he did get first place.”

“Is first place such a big deal?” Yang Jing said, “I’ve seen first place before, hasn’t he?”

Zhao Cai: “…”

“Don’t pretend to be good!” Yang Jing tapped the table, “Tell me, wouldn’t these questions be correct with just one more look?”

Sheng Wang mumbled, “Yeah.”

“Yeah, right!” Yang Jing said, “Just thinking about it gives me a headache.”

Old Wu and the others were flipping through papers, their expressions mild, unlike Yang Jing, who seemed ready to poke Sheng Wang’s forehead. But their feelings were similar—

You couldn’t say Sheng Wang was writing nonsense. Most of his answers were good, only a few were below his level, and his score wasn’t bad, just within the fluctuation range.

Looking at each subject individually, Sheng Wang’s scores weren’t poor. Each mistake could be called a small slip, but combined across five subjects, it was unfortunate.

They thought about it and could only say it was a pity.

“If these questions were right, you’d have at least five more points in English! Do you know what five points mean?” Yang Jing said, “Five more points and you wouldn’t have to change classrooms, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Sheng Wang said.

He knew if those questions were right, he wouldn’t have to change classrooms. It was because he knew that he made the mistakes. He didn’t regret it. As long as it was his decision, no matter how crazy, he rarely regretted it. But he did feel very, very sorry.

“Alright, alright, luckily it’s just a midterm, there’s still a chance later.” He Jin had taught many students over the years, each outstanding in their own way, but each had their own way of causing concern.

Adolescence was a mix of impulse and surprise, both captivating and infuriating. As the homeroom teacher, she was used to it.

Compared to subject teachers, He Jin focused on more, like a different kind of parent.

She pulled out a chair and said to Sheng Wang, “You’ve been scolded, sit down.”

“You twisted your ankle before, missed a few small tests.” He Jin had a neatly clipped stack of forms, marked in red with each student’s progress, setbacks, and points of attention. Sheng Wang’s column was particularly full.

“Your grade rank this time is 49, 147 among the four schools. Compared to the exam before your ankle injury, it’s actually progress. But whether that progress took a week or a month makes a difference.” He Jin said gently, “I’m not saying you’re not excellent, but because you are, I hope you can perform at your level. At least not 49 or 147.”

“I feel like you’re not in a good state this time. Is there something on your mind?” He Jin looked into his eyes.

Sheng Wang lowered his gaze, then calmly looked back, smiling, “No worries, it won’t happen next time, teacher.”

“Alright.” He Jin finally relaxed and joked, “Director Xu from the Political and Educational Office said you benefit from your looks, looking obedient, a good student, but actually quite mischievous. I’ll trust you this time, okay? Let me see you in the top 45 next exam, alright?”

“Okay.” Sheng Wang nodded.

“The classroom might change by noon today. If you have any questions in the second half of the semester, you can ask your class teachers or come upstairs to ask us. Don’t hesitate. We’ve always said this, any student in the grade can consider us their teachers. As for the competition tutoring class, it’s voluntary now, but privately, I hope you attend every session. There’s plenty of space, not lacking a chair.”

“Okay,” Sheng Wang said.

“If I find out you skipped—” He Jin pointed at him, humming, “Expect a meeting.”

Yang Jing gestured around, adding, “See? Five teachers, a relentless round of meetings.”

Sheng Wang laughed.

*

After the talk, the ten-minute break was just about over. Sheng Wang returned to Class A with He Jin, entering the classroom as the bell rang.

He hurried back to his seat, surprised to find the desk behind him empty.

Unable to resist, Sheng Wang tapped Gao Tianyang’s shoulder.

“Huh?” Gao Tianyang turned, puzzled.

Sheng Wang gestured behind him with his thumb, “Where is he?”

“You mean Tian-ge? Went to the convenience store,” Gao Tianyang said.

As soon as he finished speaking, Jiang Tian opened the front door of the classroom, saying, “Report,” without looking up.

He Jin nodded towards his seat, signaling him to sit down. Her gaze swept over his hand twice before curiously calling, “Jiang Tian.”

Jiang Tian paused by Sheng Wang’s desk, turning to look at the podium.

He Jin asked, “Buying ice water on a day like this? Aren’t you cold?”

“Not cold.” Jiang Tian’s gaze briefly swept over Sheng Wang’s face as he returned to his seat behind him. His clothes brushed Sheng Wang’s shoulder, bringing a chill.

Sheng Wang didn’t turn around. He heard the sound of a bottle cap being unscrewed behind him. Though it was Jiang Tian drinking, he felt like he swallowed a few gulps too.

Ice water in late autumn must be chilling.

For the rest of the morning, Jiang Tian didn’t speak. Only at the end of the last class did he stand by Sheng Wang’s desk with an umbrella, tapping it with his finger, “Let’s eat.”

Road No. 3 was still long. The two walked side by side under an umbrella, not fast, but neither spoke. Passing a trash can, Jiang Tian tossed the empty bottle in.

The bottle was still dripping, his fingertips pale and bloodless, looking icy. Sheng Wang suddenly wanted to test the temperature but couldn’t find a reason.

The scene reminded him of the first time at Xi Le, where Jiang Tian was silent the whole way. Back then, it seemed natural; now it felt unsettling.

“Ge,” Sheng Wang called.

If Sheng Mingyang heard this, he’d be deeply moved. After all, no matter how he coaxed back then, Sheng Wang never called him that.

He wasn’t used to it now either, but he was trying.

He was inherently lazy, rarely putting in such effort, even if it wasn’t a happy effort.

Jiang Tian’s jawline shifted slightly, his face expressionless, before he finally looked at him.

“Are you mad at me?” Sheng Wang asked.

Jiang Tian’s gaze lingered on his face before he looked away, “No.”

Sheng Wang nodded, and after a while, responded, “Oh.”

They turned the corner of the alley, stepping over the threshold of the old courtyard. Old Man Ding greeted them with a spatula, “Early today, not dawdling.”

“Yeah,” Sheng Wang said, “I’m starving.”

Starving to the point of stomach cramps.

“Just in time, I made chopped pepper fish head today.” The old man said proudly, “I heard the cafeteria made it too? See which is better.”

The old man was in a good mood, not only making chopped pepper fish head but also stewing black chicken soup and stir-frying three dishes. The red and green peppers and green vegetables were neatly arranged. Uncle Mute was there too, happily setting the table.

“Weren’t you starving? Eat more.” Old Man Ding served them full bowls of rice and soup, eagerly awaiting feedback.

Sheng Wang praised him, making the old man beam with joy.

He then asked Jiang Tian, “How is it, better than the school cafeteria?”

Jiang Tian replied, “Yeah.”

“Oh, you think it’s good?” Old Man Ding squinted at him, “I thought I poisoned it.”

Jiang Tian finally looked at him, puzzled.

Old Man Ding pointed at his face, “Why the grim look if it’s good?”

Jiang Tian lowered his gaze, swallowing his food, and after two seconds, said, “If I ate with a smile, you’d ask what’s wrong.”

The old man found it reasonable, shivered at the thought, “Enough, eat.”

Sheng Wang’s stomach hurt, so he couldn’t taste much. But since he said he was starving, he ate more than usual. The old man and Uncle Mute ate quickly, finishing half a bowl in a few gulps, then went to the kitchen to wash the morning’s vegetables.

The hall was left with just the two of them.

Sheng Wang ate slower and slower, finally putting down his chopsticks.

Jiang Tian’s spoon clinked against the bowl, and he suddenly asked, “Stomachache?”

Sheng Wang was stunned for a few seconds before realizing Jiang Tian was speaking to him, feeling slightly better, and instinctively said, “No, just full.”

Jiang Tian didn’t respond, taking a few more sips of chicken soup before he couldn’t help but ask, “Did you lie to Old He like this too?”

Sheng Wang froze, genuinely stunned.

Maybe fearing his tone was too cold or aggressive, Jiang Tian didn’t look up, silently waiting for an answer. He held a white porcelain spoon but didn’t take another sip. Yet, even so, those sharp edges still showed.

Like that bottle of ice water in late autumn, wrapped in a gentle mist but still cold to the touch.

Sheng Wang shifted, wanting to change his position, but the pain in his stomach made him too lazy to move.

“What lie to Old He?” he asked.

Jiang Tian: “About deliberately messing up the exam.”

Sheng Wang’s stomach twinged, the needle-like pain spreading quickly. He bent slightly, unable to speak for a while.

This stomachache came at just the right time, he thought sarcastically, probably looked like he was faking it.

He pressed the painful spot hard and said to Jiang Tian, “I didn’t do it on purpose. Why would I deliberately mess up a big exam? There’s no benefit.”

The whole class comforted him, thinking he performed poorly, unlucky. All the teachers scolded him, thinking he was off, careless. Only Jiang Tian knew he wasn’t off or careless, just deliberate.

He couldn’t find a reason or evidence, but he just knew.

Jiang Tian’s lips pressed into a line, frowning slightly, as if wanting to say something but unsure what.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” Sheng Wang’s gaze lowered, his voice soft.

His face was pale, whether from lack of rest or the stomachache. The old house had poor lighting, the hall was dark, and it was pouring outside, rainwater streaming down the sloped roof, hanging a curtain of water along the eaves.

Jiang Tian suddenly remembered the first time Sheng Wang got drunk, sitting sullenly in the car, his face the same, occasionally looking out the window. The lights outside slid past his half-lowered eyes, sometimes bright, sometimes just a faint star.

He didn’t say much, yet always seemed a bit lonely.

Maybe that’s when he started wanting to be nicer to him. Then, unknowingly, it became a habit.

Jiang Tian stood up from the table, and the person who had been arguing suddenly grabbed his wrist.

“What?” Sheng Wang asked, looking up.

“…”

Jiang Tian moved his fingers, “Getting hot water.”

Sheng Wang “oh”ed, lowering his gaze and releasing his hand.

Jiang Tian went to the kitchen, found a glass, washed it, poured half a cup of hot water, added some cooled boiled water from the old man, and returned to the hall, placing the cup in front of Sheng Wang.

“When are you moving?” he asked.

“Hmm?” Sheng Wang didn’t react.

Patiently, he asked again, “When are you changing classrooms?”

“Noon.” Sheng Wang paused, then added, “Before the end of lunch break, I guess.”

There wasn’t much time left, but neither of them mentioned leaving. The hall fell into a long silence, Sheng Wang sipping the warm water slowly.

After a long while, he suddenly said, “I really didn’t do well, lots of mistakes in every subject.”

Yeah, right.

Jiang Tian thought, but said, “Okay.”

Sheng Wang drank a few more sips, and maybe the stomachache eased a bit, his complexion improved.

Jiang Tian was silent for a moment, then nodded, saying, “Okay.”

*

The Mingli Building was usually quiet during lunch break, but today it was noisy. You could hear the sound of desks and chairs moving from downstairs, lively yet bittersweet.

When Sheng Wang returned to the classroom, the other four students who needed to change classrooms had packed their bags, one already having run downstairs.

“Sheng-ge, you’re in Class B, right?” one asked.

Sheng Wang nodded. The boy grimaced, “Well, at least it’s just downstairs, only a ceiling apart.”

“You’re not?” Sheng Wang asked.

“I have to go to Class 1,” he said, “Not sure if I can make it back.”

“What are you thinking? Of course, you can!” Gao Tianyang comforted.

The boy was clear-headed, saying gloomily, “They probably say that to everyone who leaves, but how many actually come back?”

Gao Tianyang was at a loss, patting his back, “You have to prove them wrong!”

He bumped fists with Sheng Wang, “Sheng-ge, you too… wait, don’t overdo it and scare us.”

After speaking, Gao Tianyang glanced at Jiang Tian, expecting to be glared at like last time when he said “passing by,” but Jiang Tian didn’t look up.

He sensed a subtle change between the two but couldn’t articulate it with his simple mind.

So he chose to stay quiet, as silent as a chicken.

Sheng Wang stuffed some things into his bag, ready to pick up another stack of books, when Jiang Tian bent down, picked them up for him, and headed towards the stairs.

Rankings were private matters for each class. Before changing classrooms, no one knew the situation in other classes.

Class B was cleaning empty desks, waiting for the upstairs students to descend. They didn’t expect Jiang Tian to be the first, startling the duty student, who nearly wiped another’s face with a cloth.

“What’s going on?” someone whispered, “Is Jiang Tian switching classes?”

“In your dreams,” another sneered, “He’s helping someone move.”

“Who has such a big presence?”

As they spoke, Sheng Wang followed him into the classroom, and everyone was dumbfounded.

A few seconds later, someone whispered, “Look, there he is.”

There were several empty desks. Jiang Tian asked Sheng Wang, “Where to sit?”

“Over here!” A dark hand suddenly stretched out in front of an empty desk. Sheng Wang looked over to see Shi Yu pointing to the seat in front of him, “Sit here.”

“Alright.” Sheng Wang nodded.

Jiang Tian asked, “Is he taller than you?”

Shi Yu: “…Let’s not worry about that, Tian-ge. About the same.”

Jiang Tian didn’t say more, placing Sheng Wang’s books down. The other students changing classrooms arrived, occupying the remaining desks. Sheng Wang stuffed his bag into the desk, ready to unpack when Jiang Tian said, “I’m going up.”

He paused, looked up, “Okay.”

He watched Jiang Tian walk out the back door, quickly disappearing down the corridor. At that moment, he suddenly remembered seeing the suitcase in the next room and a certain break when Jiang Tian said, “You’ll have to move eventually.”

But this time, he was the one going downstairs.

You chose to walk away, to go downstairs, so don’t pretend to be reluctant.

Sheng Wang told himself.

There were still ten minutes left of lunch break. The students moving into Class B were settled, and the classroom gradually quieted. The arrangement of groups was different, unfamiliar gaps, unfamiliar faces, and the scent of unfamiliar cleaning agents lingered.

But it didn’t matter. He had transferred schools many times, changed classrooms many times, and this was just one of them.

He was highly adaptable, could thrive anywhere, and would get used to it in minutes, just like when he transferred to Class A.

The stomachache lingered, so Sheng Wang lay on the desk after organizing his things.

He planned to rest his eyes for a bit during the end of lunch break but accidentally fell asleep. Just like sometimes, no matter how well you plan, some people and things fall outside the plan.

*

Class A was a place of envy and intimidation in the grade, so some students who made it into the top 45 hesitated to enter the classroom.

Class B and Class 1 had mostly switched, but the desks in Class A remained empty. When Jiang Tian returned to the classroom, he saw a few people peeking at the door.

Gao Tianyang, once again the social butterfly, waved at them, “What are you doing, friends, standing at attention? The desks are ready, come in, or should we line up to welcome you?”

“No, no, no,” the students blushed, awkwardly entering with their bags.

“Choose your seats.” Gao Tianyang pointed to a few empty desks, about to point to Sheng Wang’s when Tian-ge spoke up, “Wait.”

Gao Tianyang looked at him, puzzled.

Jiang Tian didn’t sit down when he returned to the classroom. Instead, he took out his bag, pencil case, and papers from the desk, reached over, and moved a few books to the front desk. Then he sat in Sheng Wang’s seat with his bag.

Gao Tianyang had never seen such a move, watching with a head full of questions, “Tian-ge, what are you doing?”

“Changing seats, can’t you see?” Jiang Tian said.

“No, I can see that. But—” Gao Tianyang scratched his crew-cut hair, “Why suddenly change seats?”

Jiang Tian placed his things in the desk, not looking up, “I originally sat here, any problem?”

Gao Tianyang remembered that before Sheng Wang came, Jiang Tian indeed sat here. Now that Sheng Wang had moved, he returned.

He felt a bit emotional, quickly snapping back, “No problem, moving back is good. Saves me the awkwardness of leaning back to chat with the new student who ignores me.”

Jiang Tian put his things away, glanced at him, “I won’t talk to you either.”

“I know, you not only ignore me but tell me to shut up and turn around.” Gao Tianyang shook his head, “Compared to that, Sheng-ge gives face.”

Jiang Tian pressed his lips, silent. He casually pulled out a book, picked a pen, and didn’t look up again. Gao Tianyang sighed, turned back to banter with Song Sirui, then started on practice sheets.

Most students took the chance to nap, the class monitor quietly turned off two big lights, dimming the classroom. Outside, the wind and rain raged, water sounds everywhere, but inside was quiet, like every lunch break before.

The competition questions were long and convoluted. Jiang Tian stared at them for several minutes without absorbing a word, realizing he was distracted.

He leaned back in his chair, one hand hanging by his side, the other holding a pen on the desk, spinning it four or five times, still unable to focus, finally giving up and raising his eyes.

The back leaning against the desk was now Gao Tianyang, not the one who liked to pull his jacket off his shoulders, lazily airing his T-shirt. No one dared to rock the chair, occasionally bumping his desk, then turning with a smile to apologize.

He lowered his eyes, lost in thought, suddenly feeling like he’d come full circle, back to the start, as if the transfer student had never been there.

If he didn’t look back, didn’t see the new students in class, he might have the illusion that he merely napped during lunch, dreaming a short, light dream.

When he closed his eyes, it was midsummer; when he opened them, it was late autumn.

His phone screen lit up in his bag, Jiang Tian instinctively took it out, opening WeChat, but there were no new messages. He paused, realizing it was a midday news alert from an app.

He closed the dropdown menu, silently staring at the top of the WeChat interface, where a flat Wang Zai sticker lay quietly in the avatar frame.

Jiang Tian had always had a habit of changing contact names, simple and boring, just full names or titles. The top one was his first exception.

He briefly changed it to “Sheng Wang,” but a few days later, in the middle of the night, he inexplicably changed it back. At the time, he couldn’t explain why, but now he could—he just wanted to see the changes, whether the avatar changed, or if he was happy.

He suddenly remembered a rainy noon years ago, when a cat named “Captain” lay in its nest, passing away.

Before that, there were signs, it stopped eating, stopped moving. He visited many stores, searched many websites, tried many methods, hoping it would stay a few more years.

Old Man Ding said, “It’s an old cat, time’s up, can’t keep it.”

In the end, he couldn’t keep it.

…

It seemed it was always like this.

As a child, he tied Jiang Ou’s sleeve band to his finger, but never saw her when he opened his eyes. Later, he made paper strips with his name and photo, tied them to his grandmother’s wrist, but she still couldn’t remember him.

Later, he took many photos and videos of Captain, but the cat that accompanied him for so long still ended up buried.

He was never good at keeping things, never kept anything.

Recently, Sheng Wang started calling him “brother” frequently, but he wasn’t happy. Instead, he frequently recalled these old memories. He knew the person who said, “Let’s live together,” was walking away, but he didn’t know how to keep him.

After all these years, he still hadn’t learned to keep things, only knowing some rigid, stubborn, foolish ways.

They never worked, but he still wanted to try.