After the monthly exams, the long-awaited sports festival arrived hot on its heels.
However, in He Siheng’s eyes, this was yet another competition with Tan Jing.
In every sports festival, each class sent out one student as the placard holder. To rack up as much attention as possible for their own class, everyone defaulted to picking the best-looking one in the class for the role.
In short, it was a disguised popularity contest for the class heartthrob.
The day before the sports festival, Class 1’s students predictably debated whether He Siheng or Tan Jing was more suitable for placard holder, which naturally escalated into an anonymous class-wide vote.
He Siheng had been Class 1’s placard holder the previous year and hadn’t cared much about it at the time. But this year, he was determined to win.
Not for the spotlight or showing off—he just wanted to prove he was handsomer than Tan Jing and more popular.
He treated this as a contest even more important than exam scores and naturally assumed Tan Jing would compete with him just as fiercely.
Yet when the votes came in, He Siheng glanced at Tan Jing’s paper and saw it didn’t have his own name on it.
Thinking he’d misread, He Siheng snatched Tan Jing’s vote and checked it up close. He was even more shocked. “Why’d you write my name?”
Tan Jing replied candidly, “So you’d be the placard holder.”
He Siheng was a bit stunned, but a certain guess made him secretly thrilled.
Did this mean Tan Jing felt inferior to him and was indirectly admitting he was handsomer?
He Siheng suppressed the grin tugging at his lips, cleared his throat, and asked casually, “You know placard holders are usually the class heartthrob or class beauty, right?”
Tan Jing’s tone was calm and indifferent. “I know.”
With that confirmation, He Siheng was already flying high on smugness.
Who would’ve thought this guy had such good self-awareness!
As He Siheng basked in his glee, Tan Jing added, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in a suit.”
Placard holders were required to wear formal attire—suits for boys, dresses for girls.
He Siheng lifted his chin slightly and huffed lightly. “Tomorrow, I’ll suit up and look so sharp you’ll drop dead.”
Tan Jing eyed his tail-wagging smugness, a faint, barely perceptible amusement flickering in his eyes. “Good. I’ll be looking forward to it.”
Out of the class’s forty students, He Siheng won with twenty-one votes, securing his spot as Class 1’s placard holder.
He wasn’t thrilled with the margin at first, but knowing those twenty-one included Tan Jing’s personal admission that he was handsomer made him ecstatic. He didn’t even care about the nineteen votes Tan Jing had apparently snatched.
The school provided formal wear for placard holders, but He Siheng found theirs ill-fitting and casually picked a custom-tailored basic black suit from his own closet.
On the morning of the sports festival, He Siheng groomed himself meticulously. He tied his bowtie in front of the mirror, slicked back his neat bangs, and spritzed them with styling spray for a sharp, effortless hairstyle.
He paused, then reinserted the black stud earring he’d removed a while back.
“Perfect!”
He Siheng nodded in satisfaction at his reflection, then headed to the restaurant feeling refreshed for breakfast.
At the table, He Yunlang looked up from his financial morning paper, glancing at him repeatedly, words on the tip of his tongue.
“What’s up, Boss He? Blinded by my handsomeness?” Young Master He was as smug as he looked sharp that day.
He Yunlang’s mouth twitched. “Are you heading to school or a blind date?”
He Siheng choked. “I’m going to the sports festival—as placard holder!”
He Yunlang still didn’t get it, his tone laced with disdain. “You were placard holder last year too. Never saw you primping like this.”
Shu Qiu seemed to catch on, her gaze turning ambiguous. “HengHeng must have a crush in class, right?”
He Siheng nearly spat out his milk, coughing until his face turned red. “…Mom! What are you saying?”
Shu Qiu looked innocent, but her logic was ironclad. “Then why dress up so sharp if not to catch someone’s eye? What else could it be for?”
“It’s to look so sharp…” He Siheng suddenly realized “to slay Tan Jing” sounded childish, so he dropped it. “Whatever. Think what you want.”
Under He Yunlang and Shu Qiu’s gossipy, meaningful stares, He Siheng wolfed down breakfast, steeling himself. As he headed out, he heard Lady Shu Qiu cheering him on from behind.
“Go get ’em, son! Try to bring them home for us to meet soon!”
“…”
Feeling the utter futility of reasoning with them, He Siheng numbly skipped the rebuttal, face blank as he walked out and climbed into the black Bentley waiting at the door.
School was a fair distance from home, and both he and Tan Jing were driven to and from school by family cars each day.
Today, though, He Siheng spotted Tan Jing at the neighborhood entrance.
He stood tall by the curb, his black hair stirring lightly in the morning breeze. His white short-sleeved school shirt was buttoned neatly to the top collar, paired with his aloof profile for a refined, ascetic vibe.
He Siheng thought for a moment, then instructed the driver, “Uncle Liu, pull over.”
The black Bentley eased to a stop in front of Tan Jing. He Siheng rolled down the window. “What are you doing here?”
Tan Jing subtly sized him up.
It was obvious he’d dressed up carefully: black suit, bangs swept back to reveal a smooth, full forehead. His refined brows and eyes looked even cleaner, nose high and lips thin—like a aloof, noble young master.
His gaze lingered for a few seconds before Tan Jing replied steadily, “Waiting for a ride.”
He Siheng asked, “Your family driver took leave?”
Tan Jing shrugged ambiguously. “Something like that.”
He Siheng frowned. Early rush hour was starting—hailing a cab here would be tough, and a ride-share might take a while. They were going the same way anyway, so giving him a lift wasn’t a big deal.
He scooted over. “Get in.”
Tan Jing’s lips curved faintly as he opened the door, slid in beside him, and said thanks.
He Siheng turned his head away awkwardly. “I’m only doing this because you’re my lackey today.”
“Got it,” Tan Jing said with a smile. “I’m ready to play lackey.”
He pulled a lollipop from his pocket, unwrapped it, and offered it to He Siheng. “Want one?”
“You know your place.” He Siheng took it without hesitation and popped it in his mouth.
The clear strawberry sweetness mixed with rich milk—the familiar strawberry milk flavor from childhood shots, though its pain relief was all hype from Tan Jing’s sweet talk.
School was a good half-hour drive. He Siheng habitually pulled out a book to pass the time.
Math problems before, now the stack of domestic and foreign classics their language teacher had assigned for that damn essay contest—begrudgingly prepping.
Tan Jing propped his elbow on the window, chin resting on his hand, head tilted as he watched him. His gaze traced He Siheng’s profile to the black stud in his ear.
Though buried in his book, He Siheng had long noticed Tan Jing’s unwavering stare from the corner of his eye.
He snapped the book shut and turned to Tan Jing, his upturned eye corner brimming with smugness. “What? Blown away by this young master’s looks?”
Tan Jing admitted frankly, “Pretty handsome.”
He Siheng’s lips curved up, but then Tan Jing asked, “Didn’t getting your ear pierced hurt?”
For someone like He Siheng who feared needles, it had hurt like hell, but Young Master He would never admit to being a wimp.
“Nah, didn’t feel a thing.” Seeing Tan Jing suddenly interested in his earring sparked a mischievous idea. He grinned wickedly. “You thinking of getting one? Seriously, doesn’t hurt at all. Go for it.”
Tan Jing caught the scheme in his eyes and tugged his lips. “Thanks, but no need.”
Missing the chance to troll him, He Siheng felt a twinge of regret but didn’t push.
Tan Jing wouldn’t budge on anything he didn’t want.
Rush hour clogged the roads near school, so they got out a ways from the gate and walked side by side toward campus.
Both were picture-perfect: one in a suit but slouchy and cocky, lollipop in mouth, pure young master vibes; the other in crisp uniform, straight-backed and scholarly-abstemious. Heads turned their way all along the path.
At the school gate, Tan Jing stopped He Siheng and shoved paper and pen into his hand. “Write your name.”
Bewildered, He Siheng scribbled it down. “Why?”
Tan Jing pocketed the paper and pen, slipped on his disciplinary armband unhurriedly, lips curving. “I’m on duty today. Your earring’s a violation.”
He Siheng: “…”
He Siheng: “???”
