When he reached the doorway of Class Nine, he happened to run into Duan Chan'er, who had just returned from the restroom.
"Class monitor, are you okay?"
She took the initiative to ask.
"I'm fine." Zhang Zhaomu waved a hand. "I overslept this morning. Old Chen told me to write a self-criticism."
"Did you forget to set an alarm?" Duan Chan'er was a little curious.
As his neighbor, she knew a little about Zhang Zhaomu's daily routine. At least for the past week, he had left home at very regular times.
"It's a long story." Zhang Zhaomu's attention was drawn to Duan Chan'er's clothes.
She was wearing a dress again today, a purple floral print with a fresh, artsy feel. Two thin ribbons at the neckline had been tied into a delicate bow.
She must have taken care when tying that bow. Both its angle and neatness were just right, making Zhang Zhaomu desperately want to reach out and pull it undone.
If I actually did that, I'd definitely be taken for a pervert, wouldn't I?
His fingers twitched as a fierce struggle raged within him.
Brazenly loosening a female classmate's neckline right outside the classroom wouldn't just be some minor violation of school rules. I'd probably go straight to the police station for sexual harassment!
But... that bow is tied way too neatly! If I just tugged it a little, even without undoing it, just pulling it slightly crooked, maybe Duan Chan'er wouldn't get angry? We are neighbors, after all...
Zhang Zhaomu's stare was making Duan Chan'er a little uneasy... Where was this guy looking? From the angle of his gaze, he definitely wasn't looking at her face, was he?
And she kept feeling that he was thinking something very rude.
But from what she had learned about Zhang Zhaomu over the past week, he was supposed to be a very polite, respectable person.
Feeling rather uncomfortable, Duan Chan'er reminded him quietly, "Class is about to start, class monitor. Aren't you going inside?"
"Ah... oh, right!" Zhang Zhaomu snapped out of it as though waking from a dream. "Going... I'm going right now!"
That was close! I nearly talked myself into it!
This damned [Cat] persona was impossible to guard against!
Recalling his behavior just now, Zhang Zhaomu was mortified. Although he hadn't actually reached out, staring at someone's neckline was enough to cause a misunderstanding. He tried to salvage the situation. "Duan Chan'er, today's outfit really suits you. The bow at the neckline is very eye-catching. It'd be even better paired with a thin silver necklace."
"Really?" Understanding dawned on Duan Chan'er.
So the class monitor had been thinking about outfit coordination just now?
As expected of the class monitor. It was precisely because he took such care with styling details that everyone sought him out for makeovers. She had been overthinking things.
Duan Chan'er couldn't help feeling a little ashamed. Her thinking really had been influenced too deeply by all that study material. He had clearly been looking at her with a professional eye, yet for an instant, she had thought Zhang Zhaomu was thinking something very rude.
She should put away the doujin she had downloaded last night and planned to study carefully tonight. She had been reading too much of that perverted stuff lately. She needed something in the pure-love genre to give her soul a good cleansing.
The bell rang, and the two returned to their seats one after the other.
Zhang Zhaomu breathed a sigh of relief. Fortunately, he had covered it up with his styling knowledge, and Duan Chan'er didn't seem particularly suspicious. His entire image had almost been ruined.
It looked like he really couldn't let his guard down for even a moment this week.
This period was math, a subject Zhang Zhaomu absolutely couldn't understand-when he first started high school, he could still barely keep up, but at some point, he had let his attention wander during a lesson, and afterward, everything coming out of the math teacher's mouth had turned into an incomprehensible heavenly scripture.
Now, almost a year behind, Zhang Zhaomu heard the math teacher's voice automatically translated into meaningless "blah, blah, blah."
Taking out a blank sheet of paper, Zhang Zhaomu wrote down "Self-criticism."
"Dear teacher, after deep reflection, I feel profoundly guilty for my absence from Monday's morning self-study period and flag-raising ceremony..."
He was already very familiar with the format. After all, this wasn't Zhang Zhaomu's first self-criticism.
Zhang Zhaomu had been using this template practically since elementary school and knew it by heart. Before long, he had poured out several hundred words.
Finally, he signed his full name and flicked the sheet of paper, feeling rather pleased with himself.
If only the college entrance exam essay prompt were a self-criticism, he could score at least forty points!
With the necessary task completed, his mind began wandering uncontrollably again.
Class was truly boring. Especially for Zhang Zhaomu, who now couldn't even muster any interest in playing on his phone, practically every minute and every second was torture.
Just then, a small hand reached over from beside him again and placed a note on his desk.
Zhang Zhaomu paused, then turned to look at his deskmate.
She was staring earnestly at the math teacher on the podium, looking every bit the model student, as though that hand hadn't been hers at all.
What was this about now?
He looked down at the words on the note.
"What did the homeroom teacher say when he called you to the office just now? Did he scold you?"
Zhang Zhaomu's expression turned a little odd. Why was his deskmate suddenly asking about this? Judging from her earlier behavior, she didn't seem like someone who would care about such things.
Too lazy to write, he leaned slightly toward Xiang Qing and whispered, "Not much. Old Chen's pretty nice. He didn't scold me."
"Why do you ask?"
Xiang Qing didn't answer. Instead, she acted as though she hadn't heard him at all, continuing to look at the blackboard and even turning a page of her textbook with a convincing air.
Zhang Zhaomu: "?"
Before he could say anything else, Xiang Qing swiftly snatched the note back off his desk, wrote a couple of words on it, and passed it back.
Zhang Zhaomu: "..."
What was that supposed to mean?
He looked at the words on the note.
"Just curious."
How had he never noticed how curious she was before? Besides, wasn't simply speaking a more efficient way to communicate than passing notes?
He thought for a moment, then wrote on the note, "You don't like talking?"
Just as he was about to place the note on her desk, Xiang Qing furtively pointed at the math teacher on the podium, then pointed beneath their desks.
Was she worried the teacher would notice? Come on, this was Class Nine. Even if the teacher noticed, he probably wouldn't bother doing anything, right?
Still, Zhang Zhaomu went along with her wishes, reaching beneath his desk to pass her the note.
Xiang Qing quickly took it, glanced at its contents, then furtively wrote her reply and passed it back beneath their desks.
"No chatting in class."
The corner of Zhang Zhaomu's mouth twitched.
The way she put it made her sound like such a stickler for classroom discipline. So they couldn't chat in class, but passing notes was allowed?
How was that any different from covering your ears while stealing a bell?
He wrote, "You make it sound like you enjoy talking outside class. We've been deskmates for a week, and we haven't talked at all."