BTO CH19

The look in the front desk mate’s eyes shifted from shock to utter confusion, before settling into something profoundly subtle.

Xu Sheng’s hand froze on the phone. Putting it away felt unnatural; leaving it where it was felt equally wrong.

Shao Zhan holding Xu Sheng’s phone was strange enough, but if roles were reversed, anyone with working eyes would be forced to ask: Just what kind of relationship do these two have?

There was simply no logical way to explain it.

The front desk mate blinked, asking dumbly, “Study God, this… this isn’t your phone, is it?”

Unsure of how to frame an answer, Xu Sheng shot Shao Zhan a desperate look: What do we do?

Shao Zhan had just closed his book. Unlike Xu Sheng’s boneless slumping, he sat ramrod straight. Looking up at the unfolding crisis, he tossed a look right back, conveying roughly seven words: Weren’t you supposed to be so clever?

Xu Sheng dropped a silent fuck in his heart.

Following his question, the desk mate watched an even more bewildering tableau play out right before his eyes: the Study God and the school tyrant were exchanging flirtatious glances.

Xu Sheng felt as though he were walking a tightrope every single day—a high-wire constantly buffeted by outside forces. Fortunately, when pushed to the brink, human survival instincts are remarkably formidable.

Under the front desk mate’s increasingly suspicious stare, Xu Sheng suddenly felt immense gratitude toward Meng Guowei for dumping the Disciplinary Committee post onto Shao Zhan and telling him to keep a lid on things.

With calm deliberation, Xu Sheng pulled the phone free and handed it across to Shao Zhan: “I’ll let it slide this once. Next time, don’t fiddle with your phone during class. Put more of your mind into your studies.”

Shao Zhan had been about to cover for him with a quick “Grabbed the wrong one,” but before he could get a syllable out, Xu Sheng had already pulled off a miraculous save to turn the situation around.

He had to admit, Xu Sheng genuinely had a knack for this.

Reaching out, Shao Zhan took the phone Xu Sheng held out: “Understood.”

Under the enlightened gaze of the front desk mate—whose expression read Oh, so that’s how it is—Xu Sheng stro道 out the door.

Following this close brush with disaster, the two had no choice but to officially swap phones.

It mattered little to Shao Zhan, but Xu Sheng was practically glued to his screen; depriving him of his device until after school was far less realistic than forcing him to memorize two hundred pages of the English vocabulary booklet.

Using the brief gathering window before morning drills, the two lingered in the classroom for an extra two minutes.

Under the table, they carried out the covert phone handoff.

Xu Sheng passed his device over with absolute solemnity: “The passcode doesn’t matter; just unlock it with your fingerprint. There’s nothing in there you can’t see, but try not to rifle through the photo gallery. Aside from that, do whatever.”

Shao Zhan wasted no breath on pleasantries, fishing his own phone from the desk cubby and tossing it straight into Xu Sheng’s hands.

Catching it, the exchange was officially sealed: “Alright. You chill in the classroom; I’m heading out for morning drills.”

Though Xu Sheng’s bad-boy persona was collapsing at breakneck speed, dodging morning exercises was one boundary they still needed to maintain.

Once Xu Sheng was gone, Shao Zhan held the phone in his palm. His thumb happened to brush across the fingerprint sensor—and the screen sprang to life.

Xu Sheng’s lock screen wallpaper was still that quick street sketch Shao Zhan had seen before.

Because the artwork was so striking—chiefly owing to the slight blur of its resolution paired with its rough sketching style—Shao Zhan couldn’t help taking another glance, even if it wasn’t his first time seeing it.

Without the rush of queuing into a game, he saw it far more clearly this time.

In the bottom right corner, he caught what looked like a date and a signature: 2017.3.

The signature was penned with sweeping, cursive flair in a single, continuous stroke, resembling an English letter.

A cluster of students from other classes happened to drift past the corridor outside. Several girls linked arm-in-arm passed Class 7 on their way toward the sports field. The girl in the middle sported a high ponytail; tall and lithe, she carried an unmistakably lively aura.

She finished a sentence with the two friends beside her, turned her head, stopped in her tracks, and stepped backward until she leaned against the back window sill of Class 7. Reaching an arm through, she slapped Shao Zhan on the back, her voice crisp and ringing: “Xu Sheng!”

Before Shao Zhan could decipher what the signature was, startled by the shout, he reflexively locked the screen.

The girl beamed with radiant energy: “Sophomore year started off way too hectic! We’re separated by so much distance that I haven’t bumped into you once. Can you believe I ended up in the same class as that idiot Zhang Feng?”

“Oh, look at me,” she abruptly shifted gears, propping her chin on her palm against the sill, smiling brilliantly: “Notice anything different?”

Shao Zhan: “…”

This was an undeniably pretty girl.

More than that, she was a smiling girl asking if he noticed anything different about her.

How did this differ in the slightest from countless soap operas where the female lead asks her boyfriend if her new outfit looks good?

Shao Zhan’s thoughts snapped back to morning self-study—the exact moment he had wished for a needle and thread to sew Xu Sheng’s mouth shut. He realized belatedly that he had completely forgotten to ask in return: Do you have a girlfriend?

Forcing himself to maintain composure, Shao Zhan asked, “What’s different?”

The girl pouted her lips: “I cut my hair! Didn’t you tell me last time that bangs would suit me better? How could you be like this!”

Shao Zhan’s current state of mind could be summarized in two words:

Sweet release.

Things on Xu Sheng’s side weren’t faring any better. Just as he was about to fall into formation, Meng Guowei hurried over, yanking him out of the ranks: “Why are you only getting here now? You’re today’s flag-raiser! I forgot to tell you in advance—hurry, get up to the flag-raising platform…”

“Hold on,” Xu Sheng wondered if his hearing had failed him. “I’m the what?”

Meng Guowei said, “The flag-raiser!”

What qualifications or virtue did Xu Sheng possess to stand on the platform and raise the flag?

Every single time he stood up there, it was exclusively to read out a self-reflection.

The moment his silhouette appeared on that stage, the teachers flanking King of Hell Gu would routinely begin soothing the director’s nerves in advance: “The kid is young and reckless, just breathe. Whatever happens in a moment, Director, you must uphold your fine qualities of tolerance and optimism. You cannot let yourself be brought down.”

Xu Sheng had never raised a flag in his life. He was like someone who had never taken a driving lesson suddenly forced behind the wheel on an expressway.

The student paired with him on the platform rang a faint bell in Xu Sheng’s mind. Wearing black-rimmed glasses, the boy was known across the grade as the “Perennial Number Two.” The title came from the brutal reality that in every single examination, this kid was crushed under Shao Zhan’s heel, condemned to second place in overall score and across individual subjects alike.

Under the impatient urging of the nearby faculty, Number Two nudged his glasses up—a gesture that lent him a rigid, mechanical air. Seizing an opening when the teachers looked away, he took the initiative to drop his opening salvo: “I’ve already finished self-studying the entire first-semester curriculum for sophomore year.”

Xu Sheng was busy staring at the halyard rope, trying to figure out how on earth the damn knot was supposed to be tied, when the declaration came out of nowhere.

Number Two added coldly: “On the next exam, I will definitely surpass you.”

Turns out the guy came to deliver a declaration of war.

Diverting his attention from the rope, Xu Sheng suddenly felt that his own modest competitive streak was a drop in the ocean compared to this brother’s obsessive drive. He mulled it over before offering: “Then… best of luck?”

The flag-raising ceremony concluded. Relying entirely on his imitation skills, sheer guesswork, and pure bluff, Xu Sheng managed to hoist the flag to the top. Evading the crushing tide of students, he bounded up the stairwell. Before he could even catch sight of the Class 7 doorplate, a hand reached out from behind, and a sudden surge of force yanked him backward around the landing.

Xu Sheng’s vision blurred. By the time his head cleared, he had been pinned flat against the corner of the wall.

He lifted his eyes.

A black hoodie.

An icy glare.

His temper was genuinely short; with his brow knitted tight, a sharp, needle-like ferocity radiated off him without warning.

Shao Zhan’s cornering posture looked infinitely more “school tyrant” than Xu Sheng ever managed, resembling a problem delinquent who routinely bullied classmates—specifically the brutal variety that skipped pleasantries and went straight for fists.

While Xu Sheng’s thoughts were wandering, the “problem delinquent” opened his mouth: “Your girlfriend just came looking for you.”

…

Every coherent thought evaporated from Xu Sheng’s skull.

“What is with everyone speaking in riddles today? Old Meng was like this, that Number Two guy was worse,” Xu Sheng was on the verge of losing his sanity. “Where the hell would I get a girlfriend from?!”

Shao Zhan’s breakdown matched his beat for beat: “She’s your girlfriend, and you’re asking me?”

Xu Sheng: “How the fuck would I know!”

“High ponytail, estimated height around 165, same class as Zhang Feng,” Shao Zhan recited the key physical markers, still finding the bandwidth to drop a reprimand: “Watch your language.”

“Fuck me,” Xu Sheng muttered. “Fine, no swearing. Keep going. Same class as Zhang Feng, and then?”

“Blunt bangs,” Shao Zhan’s voice carried an uncharacteristic bite only seen when forced to wade through messes created by Xu Sheng outside of test papers: “She cut them for you.”

“…”

Xu Sheng’s thoughts were a tangled knot. Piecing together the clues Shao Zhan had provided, his mind flatlined for several seconds before he finally deduced who it was.

Xu Sheng: “Zhang Tong?”

Shao Zhan released his grip on his wrist: “Don’t ask me. I don’t know her. You know best who she is.”

“No, wait,” Xu Sheng scrambled to explain. “There’s really nothing going on between us! What do you mean ‘cut them for me’? With your stellar Chinese scores, how could your phrasing be so…”

The more Xu Sheng tried to explain, the weirder the conversation tasted.

It bore an uncanny resemblance to a guilty partner sweating through an alibi to clear their name before their significant other.

The realization sent a violent shiver down his spine.

“She was my classmate in freshman year. Not just her—they usually hang out in a pack, I think they’re all in Class 1 now? I don’t really remember. The bunch of them get along great with me, just normal friends.”

Xu Sheng’s rapport with his freshman classmates had actually been solid; clowning around during breaks frequently had everyone in stitches. Getting to know that group of girls was purely because he often served as their chief aesthetic advisor.

Whenever they picked clothes, accessories, or agonized over new hairstyles, he could always provide solid input. He routinely slumped across his desk in the back row, casting an eye over the phones they shoved under his nose: “That shade’s too warm. Try that one over there—the palette is way cleaner.”

Zhang Tong had remarked more than once: “Nobody else can tell the difference between these two pieces! You’re an absolute breath of fresh air—a man of taste!”

How could Shao Zhan have foreseen that this delinquent body, beyond carrying the dreaded mantle of school tyrant, doubled as a certified gal-pal?

Reaching this point, Xu Sheng remembered Shao Zhan’s assumption that she was his girlfriend. He checked cautiously: “You didn’t say anything you shouldn’t have, did you?”

“No,” Shao Zhan replied. “I said: Do you need something? If not, you can leave.“

“…”

Zhang Tong was probably wondering where on earth her former fashion consultant had vanished to.

Still, compared to their present predicament, a few acquaintances from other classes were negligible.

The academic schedule had ramped up over the past few days. Chemistry required hands-on lab sessions; yet from someone capable of blowing a laboratory to kingdom come, Xu Sheng actually managed to scrape through under Shao Zhan’s step-by-step guidance, even forcibly committing several chemical equations to memory.

When Hou Jun and the boys leaned over to check the experimental steps, he could even parrot the instructions back with surprising accuracy.

“Right, that step’s fine. Run it again so I can see.”

“Hold on, that measurement is off.”

“Holy shit, Tan Kai! Do you even know how to balance a scale? No wonder the reaction rate went wild…”

Yet having finished his breakdown—watching Hou Jun and the others exclaim “Study God is cracked!” before turning back to their beakers—Xu Sheng found himself zoning out in sudden bewilderment.

Since when had he become so devoted to studying?

His daze lasted until Shao Zhan, who hadn’t moved a finger the entire period, cuffed him across the back of the head: “Pack up the beakers.”

While washing the glassware, Tan Kai sidled up covertly, whispering in his ear: “Today’s the final day of the voting! We’re cranking out more alts tonight. Don’t worry, Zhan-ge—we definitely won’t let you lose!”

Today was Thursday.

The final deadline for the campus heartthrob voting.

Once evening self-study dismissed, barely three hours remained before the polls slammed shut.

Jolted by Tan Kai’s reminder, Xu Sheng finished his shower and covertly opened the Linjiang Sixth High Tieba forum as usual to inspect the frontlines.

He had barely overtaken Shao Zhan yesterday before Shao Zhan’s fangirl brigade went wild as if injected with adrenaline, deploying waves of fresh burner accounts to renew the bloodbath.

Current Tally:

1. Shao Zhan [22,688 votes]
2. Xu Sheng [22,054 votes]

The margin was razor-thin. Having cast his daily vote for himself, Xu Sheng—with nothing better to do—refreshed the page several times to monitor the live numbers. The two camps were locked in a vicious tug-of-war.

Floor 1098: How many times does it need to be said? People like Xu Sheng have no future! Is our Study God not outstanding enough? What on earth are the Xu Sheng voters thinking?!

Floor 1099: Honestly, I’ve always felt the Study God is way hotter.

Floor 1100: +1 to the above. I’ve never understood what’s supposed to be good-looking about Xu Sheng.

…

The thread was rapidly devolving into straight-up character assassination.

Xu Sheng watched in disbelief as his public image was dragged through the mud, described as someone whose face couldn’t be picked out of a crowd even after searching for eighteen solid hours—and who practically defaced the municipal cityscape just by walking outdoors.

This was beyond the pale.

A popularity contest was one thing, but launching personal attacks crossed the line.

Over these past few days, outside of casting his daily self-vote and monitoring the standings, Xu Sheng had never posted a single comment. Tapping “Leave a Reply,” he disguised himself as a Xu Sheng fangirl, typing out a line: I think Xu Sheng looks incredible from every angle.

He had intended to leave it at that, but once his fingers hit the keys, that burning compulsion to draft an essay glorifying his own stunning features broke completely free from restraint. He went on to pen a sweeping, poetic defense.

Satisfied, he hit send.

The dorm network suffered from high latency after lights-out. Xu Sheng watched the loading spinner whirl several times before the freshly minted reply finally popped up on the thread.

The username pinned above the comment was… Shao Zhan.

Staring at the handle “Shao Zhan,” Xu Sheng nearly hurled the phone across the room: “…Fuck?!”

The only reason he didn’t throw it was the sudden, horrifying realization that the device did not belong to him.

On Monday, following their near-catastrophic slip-up, he and Shao Zhan had swapped phones.

The device in his hands was Shao Zhan’s. Opening the forum, the app had automatically logged into the account previously bound to it.

Shao Zhan’s handle was bluntly his real name. Xu Sheng had picked up rumors regarding why the account had been registered in the first place: the school forum was perpetually flooded with academic SOS posts, invariably capped with the prayer Waiting for the Study God to descend from above, all pinning their hopes on a response from Shao Zhan.

Naturally, plenty of covert romantic confessions were snuck in under the guise of study questions.

Shao Zhan rarely replied, but whenever he dropped a few concise problem-solving steps, the thread would stay pinned in bright red at the top of the forum for ten straight days. As a result, virtually the entire school had his username memorized.

Contestant #1 Shao Zhan’s skyrocketing vote count ground to an instantaneous halt.

Shao Zhan’s fangirls had evidently refreshed straight into the new post. Ceasing their voting in unison, they plunged into collective, paralyzed bewilderment.

Floor 1101:

[Shao Zhan]: I think Xu Sheng looks incredible from every angle, particularly those peach-blossom eyes of his—so breathtakingly mesmerizing…

Deleting the post was out of the question; the text was already out in the wild, and taking it down would only make him look guilty. Any rash movement at this critical juncture would invite endless layers of wild speculation.

In that solitary fraction of a second, Xu Sheng seriously weighed the feasibility of dropping out of school.

He should just withdraw.