The Slacker Academic Always Gets Caught (SLACKER)
Wednesday, before the opening ceremony of No. 1 High School's comprehensive sports meet.
Chi Ning was summoned to the office by Wang Quan.
The bald Teacher Wang took a sip of goji berry tea from his thermos, with his shiny head reflecting the light. "So... Chi Ning..."
Chi Ning immediately became alert. Whenever Teacher Wang spoke like this, it never boded well—either he was trying to rope him into a competition or trick him into giving a speech on the podium.
This special-grade teacher had plenty of tricks up his sleeve.
Chi Ning took a step back. "No competitions, no speeches. What else do you need, teacher?"
Wang Quan clicked his tongue. "Do I really seem like that kind of person?"
Chi Ning pressed his lips together tightly. Aren't you?
Teacher Wang's eyes darted away for a moment before he guiltily pulled out a sign from under his desk. "Chi Ning, you have a good image, excellent grades, and you're a model student for Class 1."
He paused before rubbing his hands together. "How about you carry the class sign during the opening ceremony? Just stand at the front of the line holding it, and when our class is announced over the loudspeaker, lead everyone out."
Chi Ning: ?
Isn't this still being a representative?
And how did you manage to hide such a big thing under your desk?
His gaze drifted to the side, where the Class 2 monitor was standing by the English teacher's desk. The English teacher was carefully applying lipstick to her student with a cotton swab.
As she worked, she said, "I brought a little skirt for you to wear while holding the sign. There will be reporters taking photos in the afternoon, so let's dress up nicely."
The girl nodded obediently.
Chi Ning looked back at Wang Quan, his expression slightly skeptical.
Wang Quan immediately defended himself. "There's no rule saying the sign holder has to be a girl. Class 2's most handsome guy left, so the girl had to step up. Most other classes have boys holding the signs—they're stronger, and this thing is really heavy."
That was true. The class sign looked like it was made of solid wood and appeared quite hefty.
Chi Ning said, "Li Qiuhe is also a guy, and he's the vice monitor. Why not have him do it?"
Wang Quan hesitated. "He's running the 5000-meter race."
Chi Ning: ...
After a brief back-and-forth, Chi Ning, being too kind-hearted, lost to Teacher Wang.
"Fine, I'll do it."
Wang Quan clapped his hands together with a "smack" and pulled out a paper bag from under his desk. "Here's the outfit. We're requiring all boys to wear white short-sleeved shirts and black dress shorts. Go change into this."
Chi Ning took the bag while glancing under Wang Quan's desk several times.
How was Teacher Wang's desk like Doraemon's pocket, with everything seemingly stashed inside?
Wang Quan beamed and pointed toward the restroom. "Go try it on and see if it fits. I deliberately ordered a size larger—doesn't need to be perfect, just wearable."
Chi Ning took the bag before glancing at the Class 2 homeroom teacher, who was gently and meticulously helping the girl. He couldn't help but feel the stark difference between how fathers and mothers handled things.
Holding the clothes, he ducked into a bathroom stall.
The fabric of this shirt was average and not very breathable, but fortunately it had a satin-like texture—wrinkle-resistant and requiring no ironing.
After changing, Chi Ning struggled to hold up the ill-fitting waistband of the dress shorts while carrying his original clothes back to the senior year faculty office.
"Teacher Wang, the pants are too big. They might fall down soon."
Wang Quan let out an "Ah," then protested, "Impossible! I tried them on—I couldn't even pull them up past my thighs!"
The English teacher nearby rolled her eyes. "Your thighs and belly are as thick as Chi Ning's waist."
Wang Quan shrank his neck and fell silent.
"Maybe I should just wear my own pants?" Chi Ning pinched the waistband. "The autumn uniform pants are black too, though they're full-length... At least they won't fall down."
Wang Quan rummaged through his drawer. "Don't change. Let's just use safety pins. This opening ceremony is all about appearances—it'll be published in the papers later. The photos need to look neat and presentable."
He took two safety pins, pulled up both sides of the waistband, and secured them firmly around Chi Ning's waist.
"There, that looks good."
At this point, there was no room left for negotiation.
On the sports field, the autumn wind blew bitterly cold, making everyone shiver.
"Now approaching is the formation of Class 1, Senior Year! They are vibrant with youthful energy! They are brimming with fighting spirit!"
Chi Ning held up the placard expressionlessly while listening to the young host recite some unknown writer's Chicken Soup Literature. He felt neither vibrant nor spirited.
Just end it already.
Let him clock out.
Qin Heng stood in the unmoving ranks of Class 18, watching Chi Ning.
Though his face showed no emotion, Qin Heng could instantly tell how unwilling he was.
The wind was too cold and the air was too damp.
The forced rhythmic lifting and lowering made the accessory around his ankle knock repeatedly against the bone.
It must have left red marks.
The wooden sign bearing the class number was heavy, and Chi Ning was probably starting to feel the strain in his arms. His legs were so pale—paler than the two grade representatives holding signs in front of him combined, and seemingly without a single stray hair...
But in reality, Chi Ning didn’t feel the slightest bit of fatigue in his arms.
He could probably snap the class sign in half without effort.
Which idiot had written this script? The introduction for Class One’s honors was absurdly long, and it even included praise for him.
Completely unnecessary.
This was a sports meet, not some academic achievement awards ceremony!
Finally freed from the podium, Chi Ning planted the class sign into the grass and stared blankly at the stage.
A few reporters stood near the podium, seemingly bored by the opening ceremony as well, as they kept whispering among themselves while jotting down notes.
In the early 2000s, as television became widespread, print media began its gradual decline. Compared to newspapers, which required readers to sift through information themselves, people preferred the visual, effortless consumption of TV.
As a result, print media resorted to extreme measures to boost sales.
They specialized in stories too scandalous for television, treating Yangcheng City’s elite families as a treasure trove of material to exploit relentlessly.
At No. 1 High School, the juiciest subjects were the second son of the Chi family and Xu Jiahao’s adopted son from Class Eighteen.
One had turned down a guaranteed National Award and a spot at the nation’s top university in the capital, choosing instead to attend the local Gangnan University.
Just as everyone assumed he was throwing his life away, led astray by bad influences, Chi Ning silenced all doubters with his outstanding performance in the Monthly Exams.
Mysterious, legendary—a modern-day power fantasy.
The other was an orphan who had clawed his way out of the welfare system and survived by any means necessary, only to rise as the adopted son of Xu Jiahao, the largest real estate tycoon in Macau.
How had he done it? Who were his real parents? Could there be some unspeakable connection between him and Xu Jiahao?
Mysterious, legendary—a modern-day power fantasy.
Two equally enigmatic figures—if they had no connection, that would be one thing. But they had even been photographed together, appearing quite close.
Qin Heng had even given Chi Ning a Gold medal.
This wasn’t just "close"—it was downright ambiguous.
The reporters could barely contain their gossip-hungry hearts.
But bound by their professional roles and the editorial standards of their publications, they had to restrain themselves, dutifully snapping a few standard wide shots.
Still, they sneaked in a couple of solo shots of Chi Ning and Qin Heng, thinking they might fetch a handsome price if they could later spin some tabloid-worthy rumors.
"Done shooting? What’s next?"
"Back to the newspaper office. We’re a local official paper—limited space, tons of rules. Not as free as you guys."
"What are you planning? Sneaky student interviews? Think the school will allow that?"
"Just slip them some cash. Fifty, a hundred—kids will cooperate. I’ll keep it low-key. The school officials won’t stick around long anyway."
The man chuckled darkly. "No one’s perfect. There’s gotta be someone in this school who doesn’t get along with Chi Ning. A few scandalous tidbits about the young master of a wealthy family would sell way better than just covering the sports meet."
The others were tempted.
Once the games started, students would be sitting on small stools in the spectator area, and discipline would be lax. A few discreet inquiries might just uncover some explosive material.
This could be big. Really big.
That settles it.
……….
Chi Ning and the rest of Class 1 were sitting by the cement-cast billiard table. Li Qiuhe had been watching the track events for a while but found the long jump, high jump, and other events increasingly dull. Might as well do some practice problems.
So he stood up immediately. "I'm going back to class to get some problems. Does anyone else want some? If you do, register here—write clearly what you want, and I'll bring them over."
The top students of Class 1 thanked him profusely. Soon, the sheet filled with requests made its way to Chi Ning.
He skimmed it. Most wanted the mock competition papers Wang Quan had recently brought from the province, while only a few asked for Chinese practice.
Chi Ning twirled the ballpoint pen around his finger before writing: "Medical Anthropology from the desk—Chi Ning."
He'd already had competition problems in his past life—nothing new there. Some extracurricular reading sounded much better.
The Class 2 monitor, seeing what Li Qiuhe was doing, couldn't sit still either. After registering her class's requests, she and Li Qiuhe headed toward the teaching building with the lists in hand.
They hadn't even reached the building when a reporter in a plaid shirt intercepted them.
The man snapped a photo of them with his camera.
Li Qiuhe frowned, shielding the Class 2 girl with a squint. "Photography isn't allowed on campus without permission."
The man flashed his press pass. "I have permission. Mind if I ask—what's your relationship?"
"A boy and a girl alone, while everyone else is at the sports field, sneaking off to an empty building—could it be puppy love?"
Li Qiuhe: ?
"No, we're not close. She's from Class 2, I'm from Class 1. We just happened to walk together. Don't slander her out of nowhere."
The reporter smirked. "Oh-ho! Quite the gentleman, aren't you? Since you're from Class 1, you must know Chi Ning, right? What's he like? A little rich boy—must be spoiled and high-maintenance, huh?"
Li Qiuhe couldn't let that slide.
As the unofficial (but very real) president of Chi Ning's fan club at No. 1 High, he rolled up his sleeves and glared at the recorder. "Chi Ning is kind, optimistic, and incredibly selfless. He never hoards resources or looks down on anyone for their background or grades. He even shares his notes with us—someone in our class got into B University thanks to them."
He adjusted his glasses. "Your question seems designed to elicit a biased answer. I reserve the right not to respond."
The girl he was shielding had had enough. She stepped out from behind him and snapped, "Why so polite? Didn't eat enough for breakfast? Let me handle this!"
"From what I know, reporters are only allowed to take photos during school-wide assemblies at sports meets. Private interviews with students aren't permitted." The girl's lips, tinted with the English teacher's lipstick, gave her an air of authority.
"You took our photo without consent—that's a violation of portrait rights. If you publish it without permission, I have every right to sue you." She tapped the name and organization on his press pass. "It's all written here. I'll remember it."
"Lastly, if you came here expecting to hear anyone badmouth Chi Ning, you're out of luck. No one would slander someone who helps raise your grades at a top high school."
With a toss of her braid and a lift of her chin, she shot a glance at the stunned Li Qiuhe. "Let's go. We've got problems to pick up."
Li Qiuhe: "Oh. Right."
The two walked side by side upstairs. After holding it in for a while, Li Qiuhe asked, "What major are you planning to study? I heard your English is excellent?"
The class monitor of Class Two paused briefly before answering, "I'm preparing to go into politics."
They chatted casually as they carried a large stack of test papers and books back to the class viewing area.
Li Qiuhe wanted to hand the books to Chi Ning but noticed the front-row seat was empty—Chi Ning was nowhere to be seen.
After searching around, he finally spotted Chi Ning by the most remote billiard table.
The young man was resting his head on his hand, with Qin Heng, the school tyrant from Class Eighteen, standing beside him.
Li Qiuhe froze, worried Chi Ning might be getting bullied, and immediately wanted to step in to separate them.
But the moment he took a step forward, Qin Heng glanced his way. It was just a brief look, yet it felt like a steel nail pinning him in place.
Li Qiuhe didn’t dare move.
Clutching the copy of Medical Anthropology, he stood there, torn between advancing and retreating.
Then he saw Qin Heng’s expression transform the instant Chi Ning looked up—faster and more skillfully than a Sichuan opera face-changer.
Qin Heng grinned. "I told you you'd get cold."
He shook out a plain black casual jacket, smoothed it, and draped it over Chi Ning’s lap. "Better now?"
Chi Ning was momentarily stunned. The jacket was still warm inside, as if Qin Heng had just taken it off.
That lingering warmth carried an ambiguous intimacy, faintly wrapping around his lower body.
"Much warmer now." Chi Ning patted the seat beside him. "Aren’t you participating in any events? Why are you here?"
Qin Heng sat down next to him, propping his head up with a hand. "I am—the basketball game tonight."
There’s a basketball game too?
Chi Ning immediately thought of the classmates who hadn’t drawn any events—they must’ve all been roped into the basketball game.
He exhaled toward the track field. "How boring. Why hasn’t my book arrived yet?"
Qin Heng glanced back at Li Qiuhe as his eyes landed on the book in his hand before raising an eyebrow.
Li Qiuhe: "..."
Though the school tyrant said nothing, he inexplicably felt that expression was permission to approach. Go on, little Li.
Li Qiuhe stepped forward. "Chi Ning, your book."
Chi Ning took it and noticed Li Qiuhe had even thoughtfully tucked a pen between the pages. "Thanks."
Under Qin Heng’s gaze, Li Qiuhe stammered, "N-no problem. Your event should be in about an hour—listen for the broadcast. I’ll head back now."
"Mm, take care."
Chi Ning’s tone carried the air of an old professor. Li Qiuhe hesitated, suddenly realizing Chi Ning didn’t seem to regard him as a peer.
As he walked away, he glanced back and saw the jacket draped over Chi Ning’s lap.
Chi Ning was mild-mannered with everyone, but at school, it seemed he only treated Qin Heng as an equal.
With others, he acted more like an elder—though God Chi himself hadn’t noticed.
"What event did you sign up for?" Qin Heng asked.
Chi Ning replied, "Shot put."
Qin Heng: "?"
He eyed Chi Ning’s arms—neither frail nor particularly strong—and his pupils shrank in shock. "Shot put?"
"Yep." Chi Ning nodded seriously before flexing his arm in a bodybuilder pose. "Even though it was randomly assigned, I can throw it pretty far."
Qin Heng clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palm to barely suppress his laughter.
Chi Ning was just too adorable—so prideful, yet so obviously lying through his teeth.
He pressed down on the book Chi Ning was about to flip open, his voice laced with unmistakable amusement. "The first time you saw me in that alley, when you tied the tourniquet for me, your eyes were red. Were you scared?"
Chi Ning snorted. "Impossible!"
Qin Heng thought to himself, Of course. Chi Ning’s mouth was the hardest part of him—no way he’d admit he’d been so frightened he nearly cried back then.
Qin Heng cleared his throat. "Ahem. Then why were your eyes red, like you’d been crying?"
"It was the spice," Chi Ning retorted, slamming his pen onto the book for emphasis. "I went to buy bayberry juice because the stir-fried rice noodles with beef at the night market were too spicy. I study medicine—why would I be afraid of blood?"
Qin Heng gritted his teeth, holding back a laugh. "Right, right."
Chi Ning: "..."
Right, my foot. You don’t believe me at all!
Though, to be fair, crying from spice was only marginally better than crying from fear of blood.
Chi Ning lowered his gaze to Medical Anthropology in his hands, but not a single word registered.
His mind was entirely occupied with one thought: Why doesn’t he believe me?
He exhaled softly.
Normally, he didn’t care whether others believed him. Trust, after all, wasn’t something he considered particularly valuable in the eyes of most people.
If they believed him, they could keep interacting.
If not, they could part ways amicably.
That had always been his principle—he never went out of his way to prove himself.
But today was different. He wanted to prove himself to Qin Heng.
Absentmindedly, Chi Ning rubbed the cover of the book in front of him.
The corner, repeatedly folded and unfolded by his thumb, soon became soft and curled, coiling up like a snail’s shell.
Why is this bothering me so much?
Was Qin Heng’s skepticism somehow different?
Did it really matter why he had cried? No, not at all.
In his past life, he had cried often—sometimes deliberately eating spicy food just to sob uncontrollably, using it as an outlet for stress and emotions.
Many colleagues and students had advised him to stop if he couldn’t handle the spice, some even laughing at him or whispering behind his back.
But he hadn’t cared in the slightest.
So why was today different?
Had Qin Heng’s laughter upset him?
Not exactly. It was more like… he just wanted to prove himself?
"All senior-year students participating in the shot put event, please assemble at the track field. The following is the list of participants: Class 3-1, Chi Ning. Class 3-2, Wang Mianzhi… Class 3-18, Yue Yaozong."
Chi Ning stood up, neatly folded his jacket, and handed it to Qin Heng. "Hold this," he said softly. "Throwing a shot put isn’t hard. I can do it. Just watch!"
Honestly, at this point, he could probably throw Yue Yaozong himself—though not very far, but slamming him straight into the ground would be no problem.
Qin Heng took the jacket and gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment. He rolled the words just watch around in his mind before suddenly chuckling. Chi Ning really was stubborn.
The last billiard table faced the shot put field, offering a clear view.
When Zhang Qiuwen arrived, he saw Qin Heng standing by the railing like a lovesick statue with a black jacket draped over his arm and his posture oddly cheerful.
Zhang Qiuwen raised a hand and rubbed his eyes.
How could a back look cheerful? Am I fucking losing my mind?
He walked expressionlessly to Qin Heng's side and followed his brother's gaze outside.
Chi Ning stood at the end of the line, while Yue Yaozong was the first to throw the shot put.
When the two came face to face, all of Yue Yaozong's old and new grudges surged up at once.
Planting his stance firmly, he twisted his bear-like waist and hurled the shot put with a loud shout.
"That distance must be over nine meters, right? Chi Ning probably can't throw that far," Zhang Qiuwen remarked while staring at the dent left on the ground.
Qin Heng gave a noncommittal hum, already thinking about how to cheer Chi Ning up later.
It's fine. Being good at shot put doesn't mean much—just that you're a bit stronger. Yue Yaozong has zero brains, clearly only fit for manual labor. Chi Ning is different.
Judging by Chi Ning's enthusiasm for experiments, he's definitely heading for a research career.
Qin Heng pulled out a bill from his pocket and handed it to Zhang Qiuwen. "Go buy a bottle of mung bean smoothie from the store. Keep the change and buy whatever you want. If you get snacks, share them with everyone."
Zhang Qiuwen pinched the money. "Got it!"
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