The noodle shop buzzed with voices.
He Siheng bristled like a cat with its fur standing on end, nearly jumping up from the table. “Who said I care about you?”
He explained vehemently, “I was just listening in for the gossip!”
Tan Jing chuckled. “Then should I tell you I got hit pretty badly back then, with my head busted open and blood everywhere? Would that make you happy?”
He Siheng pursed his lips. “I’m not that low.”
Tan Jing paused, his teasing smile fading. “Sorry.”
He Siheng wasn’t actually angry about the joke. What he really wanted to ask was why Tan Jing had specifically told Lady Shu Qiu not to mention this to him.
He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the boss came over with the noodles. “Your usual three specials: beef noodles with extra beef, an egg, and chicken feet.”
The boss spotted Tan Jing and lit up with surprise. “Isn’t this Little Tan? It’s been ages since I last saw you two together. I was just talking about you with Little He.”
In the boss’s mind, they were still on friendly terms, the kind who could drop by for noodles together.
Tan Jing gave a reasonable excuse. “We weren’t at the same school before, so we didn’t run into each other much.”
The boss said, “Friends should keep in touch. Come by the shop together more often when you have time.”
He Siheng cut in at that moment. “Boss, business been slow lately? Pulling customers like this?”
The boss laughed and cursed. “What’re you saying, you brat.”
He turned back to Tan Jing. “Yours is the usual three specials too.”
Tan Jing hummed in affirmation.
He had arrived a bit late, so his noodles would take a little longer to come up. He Siheng wasn’t so polite as to wait and dug right in.
He took a few bites, his slender fingers tightening around the chopsticks. Finally, he couldn’t hold back. He looked up and tsked. “You’re starving or what?”
He had noticed from the first bite that Tan Jing was staring at him—and kept staring. Was he trying to give him indigestion?
Tan Jing’s tone was casual. “Not really.”
He Siheng said, “Then why are you staring at me eat?”
Tan Jing didn’t bat an eye. “I’m just appreciating how you—”
He Siheng interrupted. “I know I’m handsome. Can’t help it if you’re jealous.”
Tan Jing finished, “—look like a starving ghost reincarnated.”
He Siheng: “…”
If it weren’t for all the people in the shop, He Siheng really would’ve wanted to kick this damn guy out.
Because of this ill-fated encounter with his nemesis, He Siheng’s meal was anything but enjoyable.
Once he finished, he stood up. “This bowl’s on me. Consider it payback for today’s favor. Still owe you one—we’ll settle it next time.”
He Siheng went to scan the code and pay. Tan Jing watched him leave the noodle shop without looking back, his figure dashing and decisive, settling the debt clean and clear.
The boss brought over the freshly cooked beef noodles and set them in front of him. He glanced at He Siheng’s empty spot, just an empty bowl left. “Little He left already?”
Tan Jing hummed, saying nothing more.
The shop bustled with customers coming and going. The boss hurried off to greet others. Tan Jing glanced at the bowl in front of him, then turned his head to the photo wall beside them.
His gaze landed on one spot where there had once been a photo of them together—the one He Siheng had dragged him into taking on their first visit here.
Later, that photo had disappeared.
Tan Jing lowered his eyes and looked away.
*
The first monthly exam arrived fiercely.
He Siheng was a veteran of exams and hadn’t thought much of it at first.
That was until break time, when he absentmindedly opened that arm-wrestling bet group he hadn’t quit.
Well, damn. These guys were at it again.
This time, they were betting on whether he or Tan Jing would take first place.
These idiots didn’t care at all that the two parties involved were still in the group.
Well, there was a little consideration—the group admin had kindly enabled anonymity. A bunch of fruit-named gamblers argued hotly over whose bet to take.
Banana: Betting on Heng Bro! Last diagnostic proved it.
Watermelon: Jing Bro just didn’t try hard last time.
Pear: Exactly. Former North Middle folks here to educate you on Jing Bro’s strength: three years junior high, one year high school, never lost year-first.
Sugarcane: Our Heng Bro’s the same!
Apple: Quit arguing. Data speaks: Analyzed their full first high school year scores. Total scores close, but single-subject stability Tan Jing > He Siheng. Betting on Tan Jing!
Honeydew Melon: Data squad rocks. 100 kuai on Tan Jing!
…
Because of this so-called data-driven Apple, everyone in the group piled on bets for Tan Jing to take first.
He Siheng ground his teeth. He was about to go anonymous and bet on himself when someone else beat him to it.
Strawberry: 2000 kuai, He Siheng.
Banana: Holy crap, whale alert!
Apple: Brother Strawberry, I see you love Young Master He, but small bets for fun. We max at 100.
He Siheng raised a brow. Finally, someone with taste.
He went anonymous and followed with 100, plus a like for the discerning Little Strawberry.
The bell rang, and students trickled back into the classroom from outside.
Tan Jing came in from the hallway too, sat back down next to He Siheng, put his phone on the desk, looking every bit the model student ready for class.
He Siheng glanced at him and sneered inwardly.
This guy had probably just been anonymously betting in that group too. Who knew, maybe that data-spouting Little Apple was him.
This was Chinese class, and He Siheng never paid attention in it—Chinese was his biggest weakness. Especially reading comprehension; he had no idea where all these implied meanings came from in a single sentence.
Bored out of his mind, he glanced sideways at Tan Jing with his peripheral vision. The guy who’d looked like such a good student moments ago was slacking off too.
Tan Jing was working on the math quiz from last class. His thin eyelids drooped lazily as he propped his chin, long fingers pinching a pen and slowly working through the steps on scratch paper.
Without hesitation, He Siheng pulled out an identical math quiz from his desk and started on it too.
As he solved problems, he kept an eye on Tan Jing’s speed out of the corner of his eye, refusing to fall behind.
Tan Jing quickly noticed the competition. He subtly curved his lips, put down the hand propping his chin, sat up straighter, and picked up his solving pace.
He even made a slightly louder rustle than usual when flipping pages.
He Siheng ground his teeth and sped up his writing too.
A smokeless war quietly unfolded in the back row of the classroom.
He Siheng’s pen tip flew across the scratch paper. He was just about to crack the final fill-in question when someone lightly knocked on his desk.
He ignored it and kept calculating.
The person knocked again.
He Siheng tsked impatiently. “Quit it, I’m solving problems here.”
“Solving math during Chinese class?”
A woman’s voice came from overhead.
He Siheng’s pen stopped. His body stiffened, and he mechanically raised his head.
Sure enough, there was Teacher Li, her face brimming with anger.
Chinese class had stopped at some point, and the whole class stared at them. The classroom atmosphere hung as quiet as the calm before a storm.
He Siheng instinctively looked at Tan Jing, hoping for someone to take the fall with him. But Tan Jing sat perfectly straight, with only his Chinese textbook on the desk—no trace of the math quiz.
Meeting his gaze, Tan Jing’s lip corner curved, flashing a tiny arc before he turned back around.
He Siheng: ?
This bastard?
Playing him!?
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