Volume 1 / Chapter 31: A School Morning with No One Around

Giving up outright had never been Mò Xuěyáo’s style.

At the very least, she should try to find a way in?

With that thought, she began checking the corridor windows one by one.

She remembered how, back in middle school, there was always one classroom window that either couldn’t shut properly or was left open on purpose. That way, someone locked out could still climb in through it.

Unfortunately, the last person to leave the classroom every day at Yǔkōng High was Lǐ Wǎnyán. And she would’ve double-checked every window before leaving. Sure enough, each window facing the hallway was shut tight. Not a single one had been missed.

Still unwilling to give up, Mò Xuěyáo grabbed one and started shaking it.

The metal frames rattled loudly—clank, clank—the noise echoing through the otherwise silent school building.

She remembered back in middle school, shaking the latch hard enough could sometimes get it to pop open on its own.

Sadly, the windows at Yǔkōng High were much sturdier. No amount of shaking did the trick. After trying every one and still coming up empty, she could only let out a defeated sigh.

“Ahhh… where should I go eat, then…”

She still couldn’t stop thinking about the fried noodles in her backpack. If she didn’t eat them soon, they’d get cold.

And cold fried noodles just didn’t taste the same.

Leaning against the hallway windowsill, she peered out toward the sports field.

Yǔkōng High had a large field, complete with a wide variety of athletic equipment. Along the edge of the field, near the bushes, stood several wooden benches—just like the ones you’d find in a park.

Well… maybe not actual wood. More likely just plastic made to look like wood.

They didn’t have tables, but they were still good enough to sit on.

Decision made, Mò Xuěyáo hurried off.

Her rushed footsteps echoed through the empty corridor, injecting a bit of life and energy into the silent campus.

The morning sun was slowly rising, casting soft golden rays that warmed her face.

She plopped down onto a bench—then instantly jumped up again with a gasp.

“So cold!” she muttered, rubbing her bottom. This time, she gathered her skirt beneath her before easing down slowly. The chill was still there, but at least it wasn’t as shocking.

Even though her thigh-high socks covered most of her legs, she could still clearly feel the icy surface beneath her.

Shivering slightly, she gave a little shake and didn’t bother waiting for the seat to warm up. She quickly opened her backpack and took out the fried noodles and savory tofu pudding.

“Thank goodness it’s still hot,” she said to herself in relief. She unwrapped the two layers of plastic bags, ripped open the disposable chopsticks with one hand, flipped open the foam container—and immediately began eating.

Breakfast at home usually consisted of plain congee, pickled vegetables, and a bit of Meigan cai —preserved mustard greens with pork belly.

Technically, the dish included pork, but nobody at home was willing to eat it. The meat was there more for the scent. Only when someone couldn’t resist anymore would they steal a bite.

Compared to that, this box of fried noodles felt like a feast.

It had slices of pork loin, bits of sausage, green vegetables, cabbage, bean sprouts, and carrots. Each ingredient was tasty on its own, and when combined, the flavor was heavenly.

Because her family wasn't well-off, Mò Xuěyáo had learned to truly savor her food.

Unless it was something she’d eaten so much that she was sick of it, she always made a point to focus on the taste—let the happiness of good food flow through every inch of her body like warm blood.

She didn’t eat large portions, but she ate quickly. Within five or six minutes, the entire box of noodles was gone. Only then did she remember she still had a cup of savory tofu pudding left.

She packed the empty container back into the bag and set it aside. Then, piercing the plastic lid of the tofu cup with a straw, she took a small sip.

“Mmm… so warm… so comforting…” she murmured, eyes half-closed, basking in the calm of this quiet morning.

For a brief moment, it felt like this entire school belonged to her and her alone.

And then, an unfamiliar school bell began to ring.

It wasn’t the usual bell. It started softly, grew louder, and had a sort of airy, melodic quality to it—almost like it was designed to gently wake people up.

Moments later, the dormitory building erupted into chaos.

The previously quiet campus suddenly came to life.

On closer listening, it wasn’t that many voices, actually—just enough to shatter the silence.

Roughly ten minutes later, the same bell sounded again.

Yè Rán, the P.E. teacher, came out of the dorm building and blew his whistle, the sound sharp and commanding.

A small group of around 20 to 30 students stumbled out after him. One of them yawned, triggering a chain reaction of yawns from the rest.

These were the school’s boarders.

Yǔkōng High didn’t require students to live on campus. Only those who lived far away—too far to commute easily—could apply for a dorm room.

So, not many students lived on campus.

Although the school was a bit out of the way, it was still within Hangzhou’s urban area. Most students could get to school within 40 minutes, whether by bike or bus.

The ones who did board all lived over an hour away. They ranged from first-years to seniors, with both boys and girls among them—though there did seem to be slightly more girls.

Maybe boys didn’t like the restrictions of dorm life. Given the choice, they probably preferred a longer commute.

Under Yè Rán’s whistle-blowing, the students lined up and began jogging around the field.

Yes… this was morning exercise. Only for the boarding students.

And when winter came, they’d have to run again during morning assemblies—twice in one day.

That was the price of living on campus.

Although, arguably, it was a healthier lifestyle.

By the way, boarding at Yǔkōng High was completely free. So the teachers who supervised them were basically doing it out of goodwill.

The students jogged past Mò Xuěyáo in small, scattered groups. Many looked curiously at her.

After all, aside from the boarders, no one else should be here this early.

And if she were a boarder, she’d be out there running too.

“One-two, one-two! No slacking! Keep moving!” Yè Rán jogged behind the students, blowing his whistle. “Ān Ruòsù , don’t run so fast! Just a light jog is enough in the morning. Save your energy!”

Mò Xuěyáo looked at the boy he was yelling at.

His back looked… kind of familiar.

Had she seen him somewhere recently?

She furrowed her brow, trying to remember—but just as she was on the verge of figuring it out, Yè Rán interrupted her thoughts.

“Morning! What are you doing here so early?” he waved at her cheerfully. “Want to join the run?”

Maybe he didn’t recognize her—or he’d forgotten she wasn’t allowed to do strenuous exercise.

Either way, he sounded genuinely enthusiastic.

But she definitely didn’t want to join in, and quickly shook her head like a rattle drum.

“Morning exercise is good for your health,” he said.

“I did exercise this morning… rode my bike for half an hour to get here,” she mumbled.

“Half an hour on a bike? That’s a decent distance.” Yè Rán stretched lazily and jogged off again.

Before she could respond, he had already caught up to the last boy in the group and clapped him hard on the back. “Hey! Wake up! Falling asleep while jogging? That’s a new one.”

“Sooo sleepy…” the boy muttered, yawning again and again.

Meanwhile, the boy named Ān Ruòsù had already finished another lap—passing by Mò Xuěyáo again.

This time, she finally remembered who he was.

He was… her deskmate.

The boy who sat in the second row by the window.

He looked like he was about 170 cm tall. Not buff like some sporty guys—just lean and well-proportioned. Clearly built for running.

In 1999, 170 cm was a respectable height for a high school boy.

To Mò Xuěyáo, it was perfect.

Back when she was still a boy, she had dreamed of reaching 170 cm.

Now she was 158 cm.

Still holding out hope for a sudden growth spurt that might shoot her up to that ideal height.

But 170 cm might be asking a bit much.

She blamed her mother for holding her back.

Her dad was 172 cm—but her mom didn’t even hit 150.

So being 158 cm was already thanks to her dad’s genes!

After finishing two and a half laps, Ān Ruòsù’s body was steaming with sweat. He stopped, exhaling deeply.

“Alright, Ān Ruòsù, you can go do your own thing now!” Yè Rán called out.

He nodded and strolled toward the school gate, still looking surprisingly fresh.

The school cafeteria didn’t serve breakfast.

So he was probably heading out to buy food.

There were plenty of breakfast stalls near the school.

Having seen enough, Mò Xuěyáo downed the rest of her tofu pudding in one go—even scooping out the last bits of pickled mustard—and let out a satisfied burp. Then she tossed the trash into a large bin.

She had planned to walk around the campus a bit more before heading back to class, but then she spotted Lǐ Wǎnyán entering the school gates.

Change of plan—she headed back to the classroom.

It was only around 5:30 a.m.

Lǐ Wǎnyán wasn’t usually this early.

Even 6:30 would’ve been plenty of time for her. Yet she had arrived this early for two days in a row now.

When Lǐ Wǎnyán unlocked the classroom door, Mò Xuěyáo crept up behind her.

Then gave a soft cough.

She had originally wanted to play a little prank.

But then she thought of the class rep’s stern face… and chickened out.

The cough wasn’t meant to scare her, but Lǐ Wǎnyán flinched slightly and turned around somewhat frantically. When she saw it was Mò Xuěyáo, her calm composure quickly returned.

But…

Something was off.

Were those… bruises under her eyes?