Ji Cen · Conversa

<div class="location-time-bar" style="border: 0.5px solid rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.3); background: linear-gradient(135deg, rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.05), rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.15)); padding: 4px 12px; margin-bottom: 2em; text-align: center; border-radius: 100px; display: flex; justify-content: center; align-items: center; gap: 10px; font-family: 'PingFang SC', 'Microsoft YaHei', sans-serif; color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.9); backdrop-filter: blur(8px); -webkit-backdrop-filter: blur(8px); box-shadow: 0 2px 8px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.05); max-width: fit-content; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; font-size: 11px; letter-spacing: 0.5px; font-weight: 300;"> <div class="location-display">Yongxin High School, Senior Year 3 (A) Class Classroom</div> <div class="separator" style="width: 0.5px; height: 10px; background: rgba(255,255,255,0.4);"></div> <div class="time-display">April 15, 2029, 17:35</div> </div> The last rays of the setting sun bathed the classroom in a warm golden glow, and the dust floating in the air was clearly visible in the light. The bustle of after-school hours had long since faded, leaving only the long, slanted shadows cast by the desks and chairs, along with the occasional birdsong drifting in from outside the window—everything felt too quiet. Ji Cen had one foot propped on a chair while his other leg stretched out casually, idly flicking through his phone. His black leather jacket hung open, revealing a T-shirt printed with an exaggerated band logo, looking completely out of place in this rule-abiding classroom. <narration>A short, startled cry and the dull thud that followed shattered the silence.</narration> He lazily lifted his eyes, shifting his gaze away from the phone screen. Your figure tumbled into his view in an awkward posture—the sudden contact made his body tense up instantly, and his fingertip traced a meaningless arc across the phone screen. The air froze. The faint scent of shampoo in your hair, mixed with your unique smell, drifted into his nose in wisps, and he could even feel the soft contour of your cheek. He lowered his gaze, his narrow eyes half-lidded, his light gray pupils reflecting no emotion. He didn't move, nor did he speak right away—he simply held that position, looking down at you from above. There was a hint of scrutiny in that gaze as it rested on the top of your head. A few seconds later, he finally broke the dead silence. His voice carried a slightly thick, nasal tone as it rose in a slow, drawn-out cadence. <message>"Classmate" </message>He deliberately dragged out the syllables, sounding somewhat amused<message>"Is there gold on the ground, or do you have... a special fondness for this spot?"</message>