Zhou Zhuoyuan didn’t notice it himself—he was frowning, one hand rubbing his temple.
After a moment of rubbing, his frown deepened even further. His English wasn’t great, and morning reading sessions were crucial for him. But the harder he tried to memorize, the worse his headache got. The worse it got, the more anxious he became, and the more anxious he got, the worse the pain throbbed…
“What’s the matter with you now? I just don’t get it—what are you grinding away at every single day? Can’t you get your health sorted first? Or do you think pulling a sickly beauty act like your brother will win you any friends?” Ji He suddenly sneered.
His abrupt voice startled Zhou Zhuoyuan. His hand jerked, dragging a long streak across the paper.
Spoiled rotten since childhood, Ji He was only ever a little gentle with Zhou Zhuoyi. Otherwise, he never minced words. In his mind, this comment counted as a well-meaning heads-up for Zhou Zhuoyuan.
But Zhou Zhuoyuan was already on edge, and the interruption only fueled his irritation. His face darkened as he snapped back, “Shut your mouth! What I do is none of your damn business! Not everyone wants to scrape dead last like you!”
Ji He nearly choked on the comeback. His grades really were that bad.
Damn it—what was he even sticking his nose in for? This guy didn’t know gratitude if it bit him!
If he ever butted in about Zhou Zhuoyuan again, he’d be nothing but a mutt!
~~~
Perhaps it was the two fever reducers he’d swallowed that morning finally kicking in, or maybe the headache was just a fleeting thing that would fade with time. Either way, by noon, Zhou Zhuoyuan felt much better. He stuck to his original plan and made a quick trip to the campus supermarket.
He Qinglan returned from lunch to find a neatly packaged towel sitting on the desk.
Zhou Zhuoyuan was already seated there, deep into his studies. Every day at noon, he put in a solid half hour of review before all his roommates settled down for their naps.
He Qinglan didn’t disturb him. He unpacked the towel on his own. Unlike the two beige ones that matched theirs, this was a soft light blue.
Zhou Zhuoyuan really seemed to have a thing for blue.
“Sorry, they were out of beige, so I just grabbed this one,” Zhou Zhuoyuan said, noticing his pause. He turned his head to explain, and the few stray hairs sticking up from the top swayed gently with the motion.
They swayed right in He Qinglan’s heart, too.
When there was no immediate reply, Zhou Zhuoyuan asked, puzzled, “You don’t like it?”
He Qinglan’s heart lurched. A faint sheen of sweat beaded at the tip of his nose, but he kept his expression perfectly composed. “No, I love it. Thanks.”
His eyes flicked across the desk and landed on a box of pills that hadn’t been put away yet. Tension spiked in his voice. “What’s this? Is your fever still not gone?”
Zhou Zhuoyuan glanced over casually. “Nah, it’s all good now. I didn’t blow-dry my hair last night, so my head was aching a bit this morning. Took two more just to be safe.”
He Qinglan’s tone sharpened with concern. “You can’t just pop pills like that!”
Just then, Guan Qi walked in, and Pei He finished washing up and returned to his own desk.
Zhou Zhuoyuan blinked, caught off guard by the reprimand. Embarrassment crept over his face, and he shot back defensively, “How is that ‘popping pills’? I stuck to exactly what the doctor prescribed. Thanks to taking them on time, I’m fine now.”
He Qinglan didn’t know quite what to say to that.
They were all high schoolers—Zhou Zhuoyuan wasn’t clueless; he was just willful and hated the hassle.
He fell silent for a moment, then softened his approach with good humor. “I shouldn’t have put it like that. Next time you don’t feel well, will you tell me? I’ll go with you to the hospital.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan hadn’t seen that response coming. He blinked in a daze. “Uh, sure.”
Guan Qi had overheard the exchange and wanted to chime in with some concern of his own, but Zhou Zhuoyuan promptly turned his head away.
~~~
That weekend, He Qinglan headed out of province with his teacher for a competition. He’d earned his spot on the fast track through academic contests—in his previous life, that path had gotten him recommended to the capital city’s top university, though something had gone wrong and kept him from going after all.
On Sunday afternoon, He Tiaosheng invited Zhou Zhuoyuan out to the basketball court. The girl was a social butterfly, always rallying classmates for activities during free periods.
When he arrived, Zhou Zhuoyuan realized she’d roped in pretty much every boarding student from their class and the one next door—enough to split into 5v5 and 3v3 games.
He ended up teamed with Guan Qi, while Pei He landed on the opposing side.
Someone suggested the losing teams treat everyone to dinner at the cafeteria. The school cafeteria had a whole floor dedicated to group meals, way cheaper than eating out. It was a fair bet—not too extravagant, but enough to get everyone fired up. No one objected.
Zhou Zhuoyuan didn’t play basketball all that often, but he’d lived five extra years and rubbed elbows with all sorts on the streets. He had more experience than your average high schooler, so handling a casual scrimmage should be no sweat.
Out loud, he played it cool with a “probably.” In his head, though, he was already picturing himself putting on a show in front of these kids—flexing big time.
Zhou Zhuoyuan didn’t have many things he took pride in, but his basketball talent was one of them. Every older guy who’d played with him praised how quickly he picked it up and his natural knack for the game.
Being back in high school had somehow rejuvenated his mindset, making him feel young again. He was itching to get out there, barely suppressing the grin tugging at his lips while putting on a show of false modesty.
It didn’t take long for him to realize he’d underestimated these vibrant, full-of-energy students—especially Pei He, whose blocks were ruthless and unrelenting. His team managed only a single three-pointer and nothing more.
After weaving past the power forward and shooting guard for another score, Pei He shot him a look of utter disdain. Long-dormant competitive fire surged through Zhou Zhuoyuan.
Blood pumping hot in his veins, he immediately turned to his teammates. “Let me take him one-on-one.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan was only average height among this group of boys, but he made up for it with speed. He’d taken first place in the 100-meter dash at his junior high sports festival, and he’d picked up a few slick street-ball crossover moves along the way. They helped him claw back a few points.
The sixth time he swiped the ball from under Pei He and dished it to the small forward, Zhou Zhuoyuan wiped the sweat from his face. The feverish intensity began to ebb as he caught his breath.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his teammates’ cheers grated like static. He drew in several deep breaths. It was just a pickup game—no need to take it so seriously.
They switched assignments, with Guan Qi now tasked to guard Pei He. Zhou Zhuoyuan visibly eased off the gas, ready to coast for a while.
But midway through, someone who clearly wasn’t reading the play passed him the ball. Zhou Zhuoyuan caught it and froze for a split second, about to fire it off, when the guy marking him—who was equally clueless—snatched it away.
Talk about a blind squirrel stumbling on a nut. Pickup teams were always like this: skill levels all over the map, zero chemistry.
He chased after the steal on instinct, only to hear frantic shouts.
“Zhuoyuan!”
“Don’t just stand there!”
The guy who’d intercepted wasn’t much of a player—Zhou Zhuoyuan could tell. But he never saw the interceptor’s next move coming. It was bizarre.
He tried to sidestep, but his vision suddenly went black. Then the 1.9-meter brute barreled into him sideways, slamming him to the ground.
His knee stung where it scraped the court—not a big deal in basketball terms, just the usual bumps and bruises. Zhou Zhuoyuan pushed up to stand, but his head started buzzing, and darkness swallowed his sight again.
He blacked out for a moment.
When consciousness returned, he found himself cradled in Guan Qi’s arms in a full princess carry. The crowd around them was in an uproar. “Get him to the school infirmary—quick!”
The sheer embarrassment nearly knocked him out again. He sucked in a deep breath and summoned every ounce of strength to shout over them. “It’s just low blood sugar. I’ll be fine after a rest.”
Guan Qi heard and halted at the edge of the court. “Don’t push yourself.”
The others stopped too when they saw him pause.
Mortified, Zhou Zhuoyuan clamped a hand on Guan Qi’s arm, his tone brooking no argument. “I’m not. Put me down.”
Guan Qi knew him better than anyone there. One listen, and he could tell Zhou Zhuoyuan was furious.
He figured it was twofold: first, Zhou Zhuoyuan’s pride couldn’t handle passing out in front of everyone and getting carried like a damsel; second, the one carrying him was Guan Qi himself.
Guan Qi thought wryly that ignorance might’ve been bliss.
Reluctant as he was, he gently set Zhou Zhuoyuan down on the bench along the court’s sideline.
Head bowed, Zhou Zhuoyuan avoided everyone’s eyes, mumbling awkwardly. “Low blood sugar flare-up. I’ve got candy in my pocket. Just need to sit for a bit.”
He even reassured the brute who’d bowled him over. “Not your fault. It’s an old problem for me.”
A pile of jackets had been draped over the bench. He Tiaosheng was rummaging through them to find his, drawing his focus there. He didn’t notice Guan Qi grip his ankle.
“Let me see your knee,” Guan Qi said, swiftly rolling up his pant leg.
His skin prickled in the cool air, and Zhou Zhuoyuan flinched.
The knee was scraped raw, a few thin blood streaks visible but no real bleeding. It was the kind of scrape that would heal on its own without a trip to the hospital.
He opened his mouth to say it was nothing—only for He Tiaosheng to gasp softly. “Oh! It’s bleeding!”
Zhou Zhuoyuan fell silent.
Any budding irritation at Guan Qi’s high-handedness evaporated, replaced by profound exasperation toward the girl.
She didn’t give him a chance to respond, shoving a piece of candy into his hand before digging into her own backpack. “Good thing I brought iodine, gauze, and juice.”
She handed the juice to Zhou Zhuoyuan and passed the iodine tincture and gauze to Guan Qi. “Hurry and put some medicine on him. We’ll skip practice today.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan waved his hand listlessly. “No need—that’s overkill. It’s almost healed. Give me a few minutes’ rest, and I can still play.”
He Tiaosheng, however, was deadly serious. “No way—you passed out! Do you have any idea how worrying that is?”
It’s not like I’m going to die. What’s there to worry about? Total overreaction. Zhou Zhuoyuan pressed his lips together and shifted his gaze away from her, but he didn’t raise any more objections.
Just then, he caught sight of a skinny boy behind He Tiaosheng. The boy was frowning as he mouthed to the person next to him, “What a drama queen.”
Zhou Zhuoyuan couldn’t tell if the jab was aimed at him, at her, or both.
The boy got nudged by his companion and realized Zhou Zhuoyuan was staring right at him. He turned beet red with embarrassment, forced a stiff smile, and shrank back into the crowd.
Some people were just like that—too cowardly to keep their grudges bottled up or speak them plainly. They were so pathetic, you didn’t even know where to start cursing them out.
Pei He wasn’t one of them. His face darkened, and he said bluntly, “Total buzzkill.”
