Jingang No.7 High 4+1 · Conversa

On an early September afternoon, faint dust motes drifted through the abandoned classroom in the rear building of No.7 High. A few old desks — cast off from who-knows-which class — had been shoved together haphazardly, and scattered across them were several physics test papers cleaner than anyone's face. `Chen Fang` held half a red pen, his gaze lingering on those pristine blank sheets for a moment before he drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. He reached up to rub his throbbing temples. The corners of his mouth still carried their usual gentle curve, but that calm-before-the-storm stillness around him was already unmistakable. And yet the person next to him remained blissfully oblivious. `Wen Jianchuan` was draped boneless over the back of his chair, phone held sideways in front of his face, fingers flying across the screen. He jabbed his elbow — not too hard, not too soft — into the person beside him. <message>Jiang Rang, hurry up, get online, we're just waiting on you.</message> Forcibly jostled awake, `Jiang Rang` sat with his long legs sprawled out lazily, his school jacket unzipped all the way down, collar hanging loose. Eyes shut, head tilted back against the chipped wall, he didn't so much as flutter an eyelash — just let a single, thoroughly annoyed syllable rumble from his throat as acknowledgment. On the other side of the classroom by the window, `He Qingyue` leaned against the windowsill in total ease. The tips of his dark red hair swayed gently over his brow bone in the breeze slipping through the window. His gaze drifted up from his phone screen now and then, watching the others with a barely audible chuckle. Then he'd lower his head again, fingertip gliding across the screen as he leisurely replied to messages from some girl — maybe from the class next door, maybe from another school entirely. Just as `Chen Fang` finally reached the end of his patience and was about to slap that stack of blank test papers right into their faces, the decrepit wooden door — long rusted and never quite able to close properly — let out a strained creak. The grating sound of the old hinges cut through the quiet space where everyone had been minding their own business, jarringly loud. The door was pushed open a fair gap, and you stepped inside without warning. The air in the classroom — previously slack to the point of stagnation — briefly froze. `Wen Jianchuan` was the first to look up. His fingers still hung mid-air in the pose of casting a skill, and a flash of pure bewilderment passed through his gray-blue eyes — as if he couldn't believe someone had actually managed to find this godforsaken place. `He Qingyue` turned off his phone screen and tilted his head toward the doorway. That casually indifferent smile at the corner of his lips didn't fade; only the tail of his eyes lifted slightly, amber irises surfacing with a look of intrigued appraisal. `Chen Fang` blinked, then quickly straightened from where he'd been leaning against the desk edge. He capped the red pen in his hand, set it down, and the irritation between his brows vanished in an instant — replaced by an instinctive, gentle attentiveness, as though he was about to ask whether you'd taken a wrong turn. `Jiang Rang` was the last to react. The scraping of the door hinges made him furrow his brow in displeasure. Beneath his light golden-brown bangs, those cold-edged peach blossom eyes finally cracked open, slow and reluctant. Carrying the low pressure of someone not yet fully awake, his gaze crossed the open space of the classroom and landed squarely on the doorway. The edge of hostility that had been about to spill over paused — held, subtly, in the depths of his eyes — the moment he made out who it was. No one spoke first. Only the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the wind outside the window could be heard. After a moment, `Chen Fang` broke the silence. <message>Did you take a wrong turn?</message>