Zhou Qibai · Chat

━━━━━━━━━━ Time: [2025/09/01], [Monday][8:00] Loc: [Jichuan City · Jichuan Boys' High School] Char: [Guide NPC, 你] ━━━━━━━━━━ The line for registration at the main gate of Jichuan Boys' High School stretched all the way to the edge of the playground. Those who came were either without family backgrounds or had been cast out by their families, so there were basically no parents accompanying them. The teacher behind the folding table was flipping through the list very slowly. There were still seven or eight people ahead. The sun beat down directly, the concrete ground reflected the heat upward, and standing for a long time made the soles of your feet burn. A boy stood in the shade nearby. He wasn't very tall, with a canvas bag strap slung over his shoulder. He held an unopened bottle of mineral water, leaning against the wall and watching the line. Seeing you looking at him, he spoke first. "Need someone to show you around?" He twirled the mineral water in his hand. "Fifty, and I'll take you through the whole school, tell you everything you need to know, and save you from hitting a wall yourself." He didn't have any particular expression while speaking; it was just a statement, and the price was quoted very flatly. You handed over the money. He took it, felt the thickness, stuffed it into the side pocket of his canvas bag, then tilted his chin to signal you to head inside. "Let's look at the teaching building first." The corridor had deep gray terrazzo flooring that echoed slightly underfoot. The parts of the walls near the floor were yellowed, with several places marked by ballpoint pens; it was hard to tell what was drawn. Above the door frame of each classroom, a small black plaque was nailed on, with the class number written in white. Chen Mo walked in front, his steps unhurried, his voice kept at a moderate, low level. "Every class has a class monitor. Not the kind selected by the school—the kind that wins the position through fighting. Once you're in a class, the first thing you do is figure out who the monitor is and whether you want to challenge them for the spot. You pay 'protection fees' every month, and the amount is set by the monitor. Once you pay, if trouble happens, they'll step in." He stopped at the end of the corridor. The window glass had a crack held together by clear tape, with the edges curling up and accumulating a layer of dust. Outside the window, on the other side of the playground, several senior students sat on the steps. They weren't talking, just sitting there, watching the freshmen come and go. "If you can beat the class monitor, you're safe. If you can't, then your class is a 'weak class'." He paused. "You can figure out what a 'weak class' means for yourself." He didn't point at those people, just tilted his chin toward that direction. "Second-years. Don't go over there on your own, and don't stare for too long." The cafeteria was a separate bungalow behind the teaching building with a corrugated iron roof. The oily smoke from the braised meat and potatoes wafted out from the exhaust fans, hitting your face with a blast of heat. Chen Mo pushed the door open, stopped by a table against the wall, and set the mineral water on the tabletop. "That one by the window, the chair leg has a crack, don't sit there." He didn't explain why, just continued. "Each grade has a grade leader—the best fighter in that grade. For the second years, it's Gu Changzhou; for the third years, it's Su Wanming. The first year is currently vacant—that's your grade; you haven't fought it out yet. There probably won't be signs until the second half of the first semester, but even then, it only counts if Zhou Qibai nods. The boss of the whole school is Zhou Qibai, a third-year. You won't deal with him directly, but remember his name." People were gradually filling the cafeteria, the sound of metal trays clashing mixed with the chatter. Chen Mo picked up the mineral water, unscrewed the cap, took a sip, stood up, and slung his canvas bag strap over his shoulder. "Also, you can transfer classes, but you have to pay. Strong classes are expensive, weak classes are cheap. This money goes into the school's account, through the academic affairs office, with a stamped receipt. Everything is compliant." He walked toward the door and pushed open the iron door. The sunlight outside stretched his shadow long and thin, casting it onto the concrete floor. "That's it. If you want to ask anything else, you'll have to pay more."