003.

Dai Jia buried her head and focused on eating nearly half a bowl of noodles. Feeling less empty, she slowed her pace. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Zhang Yunyi’s bowl remained untouched. She looked up and saw Zhang propping her face with her hand, smiling. Dai Jia casually asked, “What are you thinking about?”

Her smile was like a blooming flower.

Since waking up that morning, Zhang Yunyi had been mired in gloom, but now, though not exactly beaming with joy, her mood had lightened considerably. She knew she wasn’t very admirable, having disgraced her former self who had lived before this life, but she truly couldn’t help it. Without a little sweetness to herself, she feared she wouldn’t survive her senior year.

She knew, according to the textbooks, that there were no shortcuts in life.

She didn’t seek a shortcut, only a straight path—surely that wasn’t illegal?

“Nothing,” Zhang Yunyi said, suddenly feeling a surge of appetite. After two bites, she exclaimed with delight, “This is really good!”

How had she never noticed the canteen chef’s skill before?

Even an ordinary bowl of beef noodles could touch one’s heart—and at such a low price. Their school’s canteen was subsidized by the government, keeping prices well-controlled. There were no hidden traps, no endless searching until finding a thin slice of beef like hunting for needles in the ocean or panning for gold in rough seas.

It was simply satisfying!

Dai Jia chuckled, “Maybe you just didn’t eat here all summer?”

The weather was still somewhat hot. After finishing the noodles, Zhang Yunyi’s nose was beaded with sweat. Dai Jia thoughtfully pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed her one. Feeling full, they wanted to buy drinks next. Near the canteen was the school’s small supermarket. The teaching building had water dispensers too, but in this heat, something cold was definitely more refreshing.

They entered the supermarket.

There were quite a few students at this hour.

“Class monitor!” a bright male voice suddenly rang out.

Zhang Yunyi and Dai Jia both turned to look. Chen Kuo, who was warming up by playing basketball during the break before the morning class, also came to buy water. Meeting his classmates, he nodded in greeting and then said, “Buying drinks? Wait, I’ll pay with you.”

There were only a few of them.

“That’s too kind,” the boy said with a grin, then turned to them and said, “Hurry up, class monitor’s treating—pick the most expensive ones!”

Chen Kuo gave no clear response.

He stood to one side, head down, pulling out his phone from his pocket and lighting up the screen. The air conditioner vent above sent a breeze that ruffled his hair.

Dai Jia didn’t bother with formalities. At worst, she’d return the favor next time. Besides, a bottle of water wasn’t expensive. She grabbed a Coke from the cooler and asked Zhang Yunyi, “What do you want?”

Zhang Yunyi scanned the options and said, “Jasmine honey tea, I guess.”

“Alright,” Dai Jia said, about to reach for it but paused midair, lowering her voice, “Better not drink it cold. Drink it at room temperature.”

Zhang Yunyi was speechless.

She couldn’t remember when her period was at age seventeen—ten whole years ago.

Seeing Dai Jia take her offhand excuse seriously, she hurried to explain, “Not necessarily. I don’t remember either.”

“You’re really careless,” Dai Jia said, certain Zhang wanted the cold drink. But she didn’t press further because she recalled last month when her own period arrived during hot weather, she couldn’t resist sneaking an ice pop.

Her mother told her to eat less cold stuff, or she’d risk infertility.

She silently argued in her heart that infertility was no big deal.

“Alright, you’ll have it cold then?”

“Yeah!” Zhang Yunyi wanted to tell Dai Jia that, ten years later, she was the type who started every morning with an iced coffee—a large part of the cup filled with ice cubes. Compared to that, the drinks in the cooler were nothing. And since her first two classes today were math, she couldn’t survive without something cold.

Chen Kuo glanced up casually, his gaze not lingering on anyone. Another boy had finished buying, and the group headed to the cashier. Chen Kuo led, pulling out his wallet, handing over a twenty, then putting the change away.

“Thanks, class monitor!” the boys said as they left the store.

Chen Kuo nodded and casually twisted off the bottle cap, tipped his head back to reveal his Adam’s apple, swirled the drink, and downed half the bottle in one gulp.

“Thanks again, class monitor.”

Zhang Yunyi stepped forward two paces, smiled at him following Dai Jia’s lead, and said, “Next time it’s on us.”

Unlike the warm-hearted class monitor of the neighboring class, Chen Kuo was quiet in their class. Aside from his role on the student council, no one seemed particularly close to him. When the division between science and humanities was made in tenth grade, the homeroom teacher appointed him class monitor directly because he was the top student, as if by unwritten rule. If not for his outstanding grades, his presence might have been less noticeable than other class representatives.

Chen Kuo took their thanks as polite pleasantries, not seriously, and naturally wouldn’t say “no need.”

He glanced at Zhang Yunyi, nodded slightly, clearly not interested in chatting, then tightened the bottle cap and said, “I’m off now.”

Zhang Yunyi hurried, “Take care.”

Chen Kuo showed no special reaction. Once he and the other boy walked away, Dai Jia whispered, “You better not be looking for the class monitor to sign a leave slip. That guy is ruthless.”

Zhang Yunyi was initially puzzled but understood what Dai Jia meant and was speechless.

The class monitor certainly had to have real authority. For example, when the homeroom teacher was absent, he could approve reasonable leave slips—limited to school-related matters. Or he arranged the weekly cleaning roster. The teacher had given him a notebook humorously called the “Book of Life and Death,” in which the class monitor recorded anyone causing trouble or arriving late or leaving early.

Chen Kuo was widely accepted as class monitor because he wasn’t a petty person. The “Book of Life and Death” had very few names—only those who seriously disrupted class or made teachers’ blood pressure spike.

Zhang Yunyi thought, “Have I really brown-nosed to that extent?”

In fact, back in sophomore year, she occasionally asked Chen Kuo for leave slips—she really didn’t want to run around the track during PE!

But now in senior year, she wouldn’t cause too much trouble, though she had a feeling she’d be yawning through tonight’s self-study session.

“Alright,” she didn’t argue with Dai Jia, knowing she had a “record.”

They carried their drinks back. The break between morning self-study and the first class was forty minutes, allowing students to eat breakfast. The broadcast station was still operating. Except for special days, school leaders rarely intervened, and students could even request songs.

In the mornings and before evening self-study, popular songs floated through the campus.

Friends held hands, strolling around the teaching building; others played ball. Surrounded by this youthful atmosphere, Zhang Yunyi’s lips curled into a smile. One must always look on the bright side. Being a student had its perks—even if deep down she didn’t think seventeen was better than twenty-seven, at least she didn’t have her parents nagging her about marriage!

She didn’t know why being unmarried at twenty-seven was such a problem; apparently, being too carefree was unpleasant to others.

Actually, she had broken up with her ex for this very reason.

At first, she had liked him—his appearance and figure matched her taste. But after three months of dating, it became dull and lifeless. The man suddenly proposed, desperate to wed. Three months was nothing, not a once-in-a-lifetime love. She didn’t even know who he truly was or whether their temperaments matched—marrying so rashly was madness.

Zhang Yunyi looked up and took a deep breath.

How wonderful to be free from those annoying words for at least ten years.

The smile faded as she stepped into the classroom. She lowered her head and returned to her seat, glanced at the clock—eight minutes before the first class. She could briefly zone out, twisted off the bottle cap, took a sip of the iced drink, and at last her mood wasn’t so bad. She wanted to read but had a headache, so she idly observed her classmates.

The class had forty-two students, and the room was noisy. A secret joy stirred within her: except for those she didn’t know at all, she at least had a rough idea of the futures of half the class. Unfortunately, she couldn’t talk about it. At this critical point in senior year, chatting about irrelevant things would get her sent to the teachers, who wouldn’t believe she was a time traveler, only thinking the pressure had driven her mad.

“What are you looking at?” her deskmate Xu Shishi came over, tossing a pack of corn sticks onto her desk. “Phone dead?”

Zhang Yunyi reflexively caught the snack and tore it open. “...Right, you reminded me. I need to switch to silent mode.”

Though it seemed like a distant past ten years ago, they had all the usual things, like phones. Most students had one since they lived on campus. Teachers mostly turned a blind eye unless caught playing during class—then the phone would be confiscated and parents called.

The current phones were smartphones, though with lower memory and camera quality than those ten years later.

“Well, how about you meditate?” Xu Shishi sighed as she sat down.

“Thinking about two math classes…” Zhang Yunyi pursed her lips, “I really can’t take this life anymore!”

“Didn’t you see the afternoon schedule?” Xu Shishi whispered devilishly, “Two biology classes, two physics, and I heard there’s a test during evening self-study.”

Zhang Yunyi nearly burst into tears.

She couldn’t endure this suffering; she’d rather work overtime at her desk!

Xu Shishi was her close friend in hardship. Their grades were in the upper-middle range—awkward because their group fluctuated the most, while the top and bottom barely moved.

Zhang Yunyi couldn’t even eat the corn sticks, so she turned and put them on the desk behind her.

The boy behind grinned and took them, chewing heartily. “Thanks for the treat, Sister Yi.”

Zhang Yunyi took out her math test paper and textbook, but her eyes grew dizzy from reading the problems. She shifted her gaze to the adorable classmates, her look settling on Chen Kuo. She stared at him intently, then remembered a frustrating fact: she got paid on the tenth, but she was reborn on the ninth…

Why couldn’t she have returned a few days later?

Sigh!

No, better to spare her—let her blink and return!

Chen Kuo was deeply focused on solving problems, oblivious to outside matters. But when he put down his pen, he keenly sensed a gaze fixed on him.

He turned his head casually, glanced around, but met no one’s eyes.

Pulling back his gaze, he caught sight of Zhang Yunyi sitting across several desks away. It was hard not to notice her—she sat at her desk with eyes closed, hands clasped together in prayer, looking devout in her own way.