Volume 1 / Chapter 3: Class Monitor of Class 2, Grade 10

Amid the rhythmic knocking on the door came a crisp, no-nonsense female voice: “Excuse me, is this the Mo Xueyao residence?”

“Mm… that’s me…” Mo Xueyao puzzledly opened the inner wooden door. This was separated from the iron gate by a short walkway, and through the gaps in the iron gate, she could see a girl wearing a short skirt.

The hem of the skirt was just above her knees, but she could still vaguely see a section of smooth, fair thigh.

Mo Xueyao's face flushed a little. She quickly averted her gaze and forced herself to look at the girl's face instead.

She had her hair in a somewhat high ponytail, with even her front bangs tied up, looking neat and efficient.

“You are…?” Mo Xueyao didn’t remember knowing such a girl.

“Are you Mo Xueyao?” She pushed up the black-framed glasses sitting properly on her face and stared intently at Mo Xueyao.

“That’s me…” Mo Xueyao swallowed dryly, feeling that talking with her carried some inexplicable pressure.

Clearly they were the same age, yet it felt like facing the discipline teacher.

“I’m the class monitor of Grade 10, Class 2, Li Wanyan.” She pointed to herself in introduction.

“Oh… the class monitor… nice to meet you…” Mo Xueyao replied awkwardly, trying to smile as she pushed open the metal gate.

“These are what the teacher asked me to bring you.” Li Wanyan said, handing over the paper bag she was carrying. “Inside are the school uniforms, plus some exercise books that were distributed later, and some lined notebooks.”

“Oh, thank you!”

“Are you feeling better?” Li Wanyan’s question made Mo Xueyao feel somewhat guilty.

However, she didn’t seem to know exactly what illness Mo Xueyao had that required a month’s leave.

“I’ve recovered pretty much.”

“Then you should be able to return after the National Day holiday, right?” Li Wanyan brushed her bangs aside. “School resumes on October 8th, and classes will run for a full week straight.”

“Mm… got it.” Mo Xueyao scratched her ear somewhat uncomfortably. “Is there… anything else?”

“Starting tomorrow, school’s officially on break.” Li Wanyan said, setting down her backpack. She unzipped it and pulled out five thick notebooks from inside.

—Not laptop computers, but writing notebooks.

“Mm…?”

“These are my class notes—Chinese, Math, English, Physics, and Chemistry. You can copy them using your textbooks for reference.” She handed the notebooks over as well. “That way you won’t fall behind.”

“Thank you so much.” Mo Xueyao was genuinely touched. She started feeling a faint bit of goodwill toward this stern, expressionless class monitor.

“Mm, that’s all. Make sure to wear your uniform when school starts. If the custom sizing is off. have your parents call the homeroom teacher for a replacement.”

“Okay…”

“Goodbye.” Li Wanyan ended the conversation briskly, turned around, and left.

So straightforward it was somewhat hard to get used to.

Mo Xueyao stared at the bag of school supplies in her hands for a full minute before snapping out of it and returning to her bedroom.

The noon sunlight shone on her face. Like unwrapping presents, she somewhat impatiently took everything out of the paper bag.

Some extracurricular exercise books, some homework notebooks, and then two sets of school uniforms.

Probably summer versions—meant for alternating between washes.

But they looked somewhat strange.

“Seems kind of thin?” Mo Xueyao muttered to herself, tearing open the packaging and taking out the clothes inside. Her face instantly turned bright red, and as if electrocuted, she frantically threw the clothes on the bed.

This was completely a blue and white sailor uniform!

The bottom was a blue and white short skirt like Li Wanyan’s, and the top was a white short-sleeved shirt with blue stripes.

At first Mo Xueyao had wondered why students at Yukong High School could go to school without uniforms—turns out that WAS the uniform.

Compared to most public schools of this era, Yukong High School was extremely progressive.

If it had been the old her, she might’ve looked forward to seeing girls in short skirts at school every day.

But now… the one who had to wear the skirt… was her.

In fact, until now, Mo Xueyao had never worn girls’ clothes.

She usually wore oversized T-shirts and sweatpants—unisex, loose, and comfortable. Nothing with any obvious gender markers.

Truth be told, she’d been avoiding the whole “feminine clothing” thing altogether.

As if keeping on boys’ clothes somehow let her stay a boy just a little longer.

But reality had a way of forcing her to face things she didn’t want to deal with.

“After October 8th, I’ll have to wear this to school…” Mo Xueyao sighed deeply, messing up her hair, but finally helplessly put the clothes away and casually threw them on the bed.

“Let's start copying the notebooks…” Mo Xueyao sat down in her chair somewhat dejectedly, opening one of Li Wanyan’s notebooks. Neat rows of proper handwriting were arranged orderly, with layout that was simply clean and concise. Looking at her clear notes and comparing them with the textbooks felt like having attended a class with the teacher.

“They’re as detailed as textbook supplements…” Mo Xueyao sighed to herself, then began copying the content from the notebook.

Copying notes was part of the memorization process.

That’s why teachers always made students take notes in class. After all, writing it once beats reading it ten times.

Li Wanyan’s handwriting was large, elegant, and incredibly tidy—almost like it came from a printer.

The spacing, the strokes—even repeated characters looked identical.

She was practically a human typewriter.

In comparison, Mo Xueyao’s handwriting… didn’t quite measure up.

She liked using 0.35mm pens, and her characters came out tiny. Not in a “delicate and cute” way, mind you. More like… dead mosquitoes smashed on a page.

From a distance, it looked like a bunch of dead mosquitoes on the notebook.

Sometimes the writing was so small that the strokes stuck together, to the point where even Mo Xueyao herself couldn’t recognize them.

Even knowing that writing like this wasn’t good, it was hard to change because she was already used to it.

Only consciously correcting it each time would be effective, but after a while, if she forgot to correct it, it would return to its original state.

That’s why she truly admired people like Li Wanyan who could write each character so precisely, stroke by stroke.

The copying process was somewhat tedious, but having not written properly for a long time, she actually found it quite interesting.

A chance to practice her handwriting, too. Which, incidentally, meant the handwriting on every few pages looked completely different.

None of them lasted long enough to become consistent.

“If I keep smushing them together like this, I won’t even be able to read it myself,” she groaned, scratching her head. “Okay—new goal write cleaner, more spaced-out characters…”

Top students always had their own study tricks.

It wasn’t just talent. They had a knack for turning study into fun.

Just like when walking and feeling bored, many people would deliberately step on lines, imagining they were playing a game where stepping outside the line meant game over.

And Mo Xueyao was now playing a game of persistently writing clear, clean handwriting.

With a goal in mind, time passed quickly.

In the blink of an eye, it was already 8 p.m.

“It’s so late… why haven’t Mom and Dad come back?” Mo Xueyao grew a little anxious, turned on every light in the house, and paced at the doorway for a good while—until finally, she heard the sound of tired footsteps approaching.

She excitedly opened the door and saw her father dragging his shoes at the entrance. When he saw her, he yawned widely.

“Dad, where’s Mom?”

“Your mom will be late today.” Her father smiled and handed her a plastic bag he was carrying. “We won’t cook dinner tonight—this is fried noodles I brought you.”

“Mm… yeah!” Mo Xueyao, who was already famished, salivated upon hearing the words “fried noodles” and impatiently took the plastic bag from her father.

As she got close, she caught a strong whiff of sweat. Her dad’s shirt was wrinkled and damp—it looked like it had been soaked in sweat, dried in the sun, then re-soaked again.

Inside, he shook his head to loosen up. A few flakes—maybe dandruff, maybe salt crystals—fell from his hair. He glanced around and blinked in surprise.

“Huh, did you clean up in here?”

“Yep! Big cleaning day. Looks good, right?”

“Not bad, not bad, truly my daughter.” Her father smiled with relief.

“…Mm.” Mo Xueyao remained silent, sitting at the dining table in the living room and opening the fried noodle container to eat.

The fried noodles had quite abundant ingredients—besides eggs, there were also shredded meat, tenderloin, and sausage. Adding so many extra ingredients would cost at least double the price of ordinary fried noodles.

“How is it? Tasty?” Her dad yanked off his shirt with a loud rriiiip—it honestly sounded like peeling tape off skin.

“Yeah, it’s really good.”

“Good! As long as you’re happy.”

“Dad, do you always have to go out this early for delivery work?”

“Yeah, going out early, you can make several more trips in the morning. After all, it’s cooler in the morning, and they pay a bit more too.” He pulled out his tattered fake-leather wallet and fished out a worn green ¥50 bill, waving it proudly. “Made this today. Used the change to get you those noodles.”

“No wonder you’re so generous…”

“Haha, when have I ever shortchanged you?” Her father laughed heartily, but couldn’t hide the fatigue in his eyes.

“Your teacher called today,” he added. “Said they’d be sending your uniform, books, and notebooks. They came, right?”

“They came…” Mo Xueyao drooped her eyelids and muttered. “Why are the girls’ uniforms at Yukong High School skirts…”

“Oh? Is that so?” Her dad looked surprised, then laughed. “Isn’t that great?”

“What’s great about it?!” she rolled her eyes dramatically. Stuffing her mouth with noodles, she chewed furiously—like she was biting back her fate.