Chapter 17

I woke up before my alarm today.

Not because I slept well.
Not because I was excited.
But because something in my mind wouldn't fully settle.

Wednesday.

The second official day of the joint-project period.

Not important enough to lose sleep over—at least that's what I told myself last night—but my body apparently disagreed.

Sunlight leaked through the curtains in narrow strips.
I stared at the ceiling for a moment before finally sitting up.

I wasn't nervous.
Not exactly.

More like... aware.

Aware that a full day with both classes in the same room was ahead.
Aware that my group was starting its real work today.
Aware that some classmates were probably expecting progress already.

Aware that yesterday, by pure coincidence, I ended up walking with Ye Ling to school.

Small things.
Nothing meaningful.
Yet my mind didn't treat them as forgettable.

I sighed, got dressed, and headed out to the kitchen.

Mom was already awake, as usual.
She stood by the stove, stirring something in a small pot.

"You're early today," she said without turning around.

"I woke up earlier than I planned."

"Mm. That happens."
She smiled gently. "Sit. Breakfast is almost ready."

I did.

The kitchen smelled faintly of ginger and scallions.
Warm.
Comforting.

Mom placed a bowl in front of me and took the seat across the table.

"You had the joint class session yesterday, right?"

"...Yes."

"How was it? Busy?"

I thought for a moment.

"It was... louder than normal."

Mom laughed softly.
"I can imagine. Two classes mixed together would be."

I ate slowly.
She watched me for a few seconds before speaking again.

"And your group? Are you getting along?"

"...We're fine so far," I answered honestly.
"Everyone seems serious."

Especially Ling.
But I didn't say that part.

"That's good." Mom nodded.
"Oh—have you texted Aunty Ye to confirm your weekend schedule yet? You're working this Sunday again, aren't you?"

"Not yet. I'll message her after school."

"Alright. Tell her I said hello."
She paused. "And Ling, too, if she's there."

I nearly dropped my spoon.

"Why would I—"

"She's their daughter, isn't she?" Mom said simply.
"Of course your paths will cross."

"...Right."

Mom sipped her tea, oblivious to the momentary chaos she caused in my head.

After breakfast, I packed my bag, checked for the project handouts, and stepped out into the cool morning air.

The walk to school felt strangely calm.
More students than usual seemed to be heading out early—maybe because the project schedule made people feel unsettled.

I noticed I was walking slightly faster than normal, even though I wasn't in a hurry.

Just habit, maybe.

Or maybe something else.

Either way, I reached the main street earlier than expected.

For a moment, I wondered if I would run into someone again like yesterday—

But the thought drifted away just as quickly as it came.

Today was just another school day.

Just Wednesday.

Nothing special.

Or at least...
That's what I thought then.

******

The closer I got to the school, the more familiar noise returned — bicycles rolling across pavement, distant chatter, the faint echo of someone calling out to a friend.

When the school gate came into view, a few students were already gathered around it, talking in small circles.
I slowed slightly, blending into their pace.

Then—

"Yuan! Hey!"

A voice I recognized immediately.

Liu Cheng jogged up from the side, his bag bouncing against his shoulder.

"You're early," he said, brushing his fringe aside.
"That's rare."

"I woke up early," I replied.

"That's it? No dramatic reason?"
He leaned closer and whispered loudly,
"Not because you were thinking about the project, right?"

"...No."

"Not because of someone you walked with yesterday?"

I stopped walking.

He grinned wider.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm joking... mostly."

I let out a quiet sigh, continuing forward.

Cheng kept pace beside me with the ease of someone who had known me long enough not to take my silence seriously.

"Anyway," he said, straightening his posture, "today's going to be busy. Apparently Group C is getting attention already."

"I heard some rumors," I admitted.

"Of course. You work with two outstanding people and me."
He tapped his chest proudly.
"I'll take half the credit."

"You haven't done anything yet."

"Details. Leadership aura is also work."

I shook my head.

He laughed—bright, unfiltered, the kind of sound that made nearby students glance over.

"Actually," Cheng added after a moment, "I wanna go all out with this project. If we do well, maybe the teacher will use ours as the model."

"That's ambitious."

"Hey, why not? We have Ling, we have Qing, we have me—"

"And I'm the decoration?" I asked flatly.

Cheng slapped my back.

"No, no, you're the stable core! The quiet, reliable, doesn't-panic-under-pressure type. Every group needs one of those."

"...That sounds made-up."

"It's not. You'll see."

His mood was so confident that arguing felt unnecessary.

We passed through the school gate together.

The morning light stretched across the courtyard, catching on windows and uniforms.
Students gathered in shifting clusters — some sleepy, some loud, some already looking for their group members.

Cheng inhaled deeply.

"Smell that? That's the scent of youth and responsibility."

"It smells like grass."

"And football dreams," he insisted.

I didn't bother responding.

As we approached the main building, Cheng nudged me with his elbow.

"Ready for today?"

"I guess so."

"Good. Because once Ling starts assigning roles, you're not allowed to hide behind me."

"I don't hide."

"Then prove it. Contribute ideas."
He grinned mischievously.
"And don't let Ling do all the talking."

"...I wasn't planning to."

"Good man."

We reached the stairs leading up to our classroom.

Students streamed around us, filling the hallway, the noise rising gradually.

Cheng stretched his arms overhead.

"Alright, let's face another day."

I nodded.

A normal Wednesday—
or at least, that's what it looked like from here.

But somewhere in the back of my mind,
I already sensed today wouldn't be as ordinary as usual.

******

By the time Cheng and I reached the second-floor hallway, the noise had already thickened.
Students from both classes moved in and out of classrooms, comparing notes, teasing each other, or talking about how "yesterday was chaotic but fun."

I stepped into Class 2-A first.

The room felt different.

Not louder...
just busier.

People who normally read quietly were discussing project ideas.
People who never talked across rows were now comparing schedules.
Even the usually half-asleep students sat a little straighter.

The joint project had only begun yesterday,
but the air already carried a strange mix of pressure and anticipation.

Cheng flopped into the seat beside mine.

"This is the first time I've seen 2-A awake before homeroom," he said.

I couldn't deny it.

I sat down, taking out my notebook.
I tried to focus on preparing for the morning period, but whispers drifted from nearby desks.

"Group A is already dividing research tasks."
"I heard Class 2-B's rep prepared a whole outline."
"What about Group C? They have Ling, Qing, Yuan, and Cheng, right?"
"That sounds... strong."

I paused for a second before writing again.

It wasn't anything unusual.
People talked.
Rumors spread.
That's how school worked.

Cheng leaned closer.

"See? We're celebrities now."

"I prefer anonymity."

"Well, too bad," he said dramatically. "You're in a star-studded group."

I wanted to argue, but at that moment—

The classroom door slid open.

The room shifted.

Ye Ling stepped in, holding a folder close to her chest.
She wasn't doing anything special — just entering the room calmly, like any other student.

But even so, conversations softened around her.
Not out of awe, but out of recognition.

She greeted the homeroom teacher near the front, then walked quietly toward the empty desk near the window.
Some students nodded at her.
She returned each one politely.

Reliable, composed, unaffected by noise.

It wasn't surprising that she'd been chosen as class representative.

Cheng nudged me lightly.

"She looks serious today," he whispered.

"She always looks serious."

"True, but—" he lowered his voice, "I think she's already planning our meeting agenda."

I wasn't sure if that was supposed to comfort me or make me anxious.

Ling seated herself and began reviewing her notes.

Her posture was straight.
Her movements efficient.
Every so often, she'd check something in her folder with a small, thoughtful expression.

She didn't look up.

Still, I felt oddly aware of her presence today in a way I wasn't yesterday.

Maybe because the entire room was watching the project groups now.
Maybe because rumors were spreading.
Maybe because we'd walked together once — even if it was a coincidence.

I wasn't sure.

Cai Qing arrived next, greeting Ling with an easy smile.

They exchanged a few short sentences.
Ling gestured to her notes; Qing nodded, unfazed.

A balanced pair.

Cheng leaned back in his chair, observing with interest.

"There we go," he said, "Group C's engine is warming up."

"...What does that make us?" I asked.

"I'm fuel. You're the steering wheel."

"That sounds inconvenient."

"It is. But effective."

I didn't continue the conversation.

Instead, my eyes drifted briefly toward the doorway—

Just before the bell rang.

Homeroom would start any minute.

Students gradually settled into their seats.
Chatter slowed.
Papers rustled.
The usual morning calm returned, but this time it felt like it was hiding a quiet undercurrent.

A sense that today would matter.

Not dramatically.
Not suddenly.

But quietly—
like a small step in a long path.

I sat a little straighter as the teacher walked in.

Today had begun.

******

Once homeroom ended, the teacher dismissed us into the first period.
Books opened, chairs scraped, the usual routine.

But even routine felt slightly altered today.

Not dramatically.
Not loudly.

Just... shifted.

Like everyone was carrying an invisible list of responsibilities they had only half accepted.

Our literature teacher began the lesson with her usual calm voice, writing lines from the textbook onto the board.

I tried focusing, but invariably, my attention drifted toward the small details around me.

To my left, a group was quietly exchanging notes about project themes.
Ahead of me, two students kept whispering about which classmates had already picked roles.

Even Cheng — who normally spent literature class drawing tiny manga panels in the margins of his workbook — was tapping his pencil against his notebook thoughtfully.

"Hey," he whispered under his breath, not looking up from his notes, "if we do something performance-related, we should pick a theme that's flexible."

"We haven't even decided on the type of project," I whispered back.

He ignored me completely, continuing to scribble something that looked simultaneously ridiculous and maybe a little clever.

Somehow, that was typical of him.

When I glanced toward the window side, Ye Ling was flipping through a thin stack of papers.
Not with urgency—
just quiet, methodical focus.

Her pen moved occasionally, probably marking the parts she wanted to propose later.

She looked as if she belonged in a university rather than a high school classroom—
the calm, prepared, efficient type.

On her desk sat three neatly arranged sticky notes:
one yellow, one blue, one green.

Color-coded.
Of course.

Behind her, a pair of classmates whispered:

"I think Ling already made a full draft."
"Seriously? No wonder teachers trust her."

I looked away before noticing too much.

History class usually put people to sleep.
The teacher spoke slowly, and the air felt warmer than before.

But even here, the atmosphere wasn't the same as usual.

A few seats behind me:

"Our group needs someone good at drawing—any ideas?"
"We should borrow someone from another class?"
"Can we do that...?"

Another row down:

"My group is already arguing over roles."

And somewhere near the front:

"Did you see Group C at lunch yesterday?"
"Yeah, they were talking seriously."

Cheng elbowed me from the side.

"You hear that?" he whispered smugly.
"We're setting trends without trying."

"We're not doing anything."

"That's the charm."

I pressed my fingers against my forehead.

Meanwhile, Ling didn't react to any of the noise.
She kept writing in her notebook, occasionally flipping pages, completely unbothered by the surrounding chatter.

A composed center in a chaotic room.

If anything, watching how she worked made the room feel louder.

I didn't dislike it.

But it made me wonder how she handled pressure so easily.

By the time science class began, the morning sunlight had brightened the room.

Our teacher ran through diagrams and formulas at a pace that demanded full attention.

But even the teacher paused at one point when she caught a group whispering about the project.

"Save that for lunch break," she scolded mildly.
"You'll have enough time to panic this afternoon."

The class laughed.

"Actually," she added, "I'm excited to see what you all come up with. Especially 2-A and 2-B together. Don't disappoint your representatives."

Almost every head turned instinctively toward Ling.

Even mine.

She didn't react outwardly — only straightened her notebook as if preparing for a formal meeting right then and there.

I looked down at my own blank notes.

Compared to Ling's meticulous preparation, I really had nothing.

When the final bell before lunch rang, a collective sigh rose from the room.

Some students stretched.
Some immediately resumed talking about project ideas.
Others rushed to meet group members in other classrooms.

Cheng slapped his notebook closed.

"Lunch time. Let's go gather the troops."

"The troops...?" I repeated.

"Ling and Qing," he clarified.
"Our generals. We're the foot soldiers."

"That doesn't make sense."

"It does to me."

He pulled me up from my seat.

I glanced once more toward Ling.

She was packing her papers neatly into a folder —
color tabs, straight edges, everything aligned perfectly.

We were going to have our first real meeting today.

A strange heaviness settled in my chest.

Not dread.
Not excitement.

Something in between.

Something like the sense that today... might actually matter.

******

The cafeteria was already crowded when Cheng and I arrived.
Trays clattered, conversations bounced off the walls, and the warm smell of noodles mixed with fried food drifted through the air.

"Let's grab seats first before they're gone," Cheng said, scanning the room like a general in battle.

We managed to find an open table near the windows—bright, but not too exposed.
Cheng claimed two seats with the speed of someone who knew the cafeteria rules better than the teachers themselves.

"Perfect. Now we wait for the other half of our elite unit."

"You're making this sound dramatic."

"Because it is."

I sighed, sitting down.

A moment later—

"Sorry for the wait."

I looked up.

Ye Ling stood beside the table, holding a tray and her neatly organized folder.
Beside her was Cai Qing, carrying lunch and a bottle of tea.

"We stopped by the teacher's office," Qing explained.
"Ling needed to confirm some guidelines."

Cheng waved it off.
"No worries! The commanders have arrived!"

Qing laughed softly.
Ling blinked, as if unsure how to respond to being called a commander.

She took her seat across from me; Qing sat beside her.
Cheng and I took the opposite side.

It felt... balanced.

Naturally balanced.

Before eating, Ling placed her folder in the middle.

Her voice was calm but not stern.

"Since we'll be working together for the next three weeks, I thought we should outline our approach today."

Cheng whistled.
"You came prepared."

"It's better to be prepared than waste time later," she said plainly.

Qing nodded.
"She made notes for each type of project the teachers might approve."

I blinked.

"You already planned all this?"

Ling didn't seem embarrassed.
She simply answered:

"It's my responsibility as representative."

Her tone wasn't prideful—
just matter-of-fact.

She opened the folder.

Inside were several sheets, color-coded, annotated, and neatly clipped.

Cheng leaned in dramatically.
"Wow... you're like a project fairy."

"Don't call her that," I said automatically.

Ling paused—
then gave a tiny, restrained laugh.

It lasted half a second, but I noticed.

Ling set her folder down and opened it neatly to the first section.

"We should start by deciding what type of exhibition we want to build," she said.
"Once we choose the general direction, everything else will be easier."

Cheng leaned in with interest — the same expression he used when he was about to blurt out something unreasonable.

"Alright! Exhibition type. Easy. We can make something flashy."

Qing sighed gently.
"Cheng, we haven't even decided on a theme yet."

"I know, I know. I'm just preparing the atmosphere."

"Please don't prepare it too much," she murmured.

Ling ignored their bickering and firmly tapped the first page.

"I listed four categories that we can consider."

1. Historical Exhibit2. Scientific Exhibit3. Cultural Exhibit4. Creative Interactive Exhibit

Cheng pointed right away.
"Creative sounds cool!"

Qing frowned.
"That's vague."

Ling nodded.
"It is vague. But it's also the most flexible. If we choose it, we'll need a strong concept."

Cheng puffed his chest.
"That's where I come in."

"No."
Qing shut him down instantly.

Ling didn't react — just turned her eyes toward me.

"What about you? Any first impressions?"

Everyone looked.

I cleared my throat quietly.

"If we're choosing an exhibition type, then something visual makes sense," I said.
"We don't need a perfect theme right now, but... maybe something that reflects daily life? Or something relatable."

Qing's expression softened.
"Relatable is good. It makes it easier for visitors to understand."

Cheng nodded rapidly.
"Yeah! Like, something people see every day but don't pay attention to. That kind of thing."

Ling wrote something down.

I could see the ink strokes — clean, organized, purposeful.

"That actually works," she said.
"A theme based on familiar experiences. Something universal."

She turned her notes around so all of us could see.

Under the four categories, she wrote a simple phrase:

'Ordinary Things We Overlook.'

Cheng blinked.
"That... actually sounds kinda cool."

Qing smiled.
"And it's broad enough to give us room."

Ling continued, her eyes brightening just slightly.

"We could present small scenes from everyday life — school life, household routines, personal habits — and show why they matter. It's simple, but meaningful if executed properly."

Cheng snapped his fingers.
"Yes! Yes, exactly! We can make something like... like—"

He paused, losing momentum.

"Like what?" Qing asked.

"Uh... like a corner of a bedroom? Or a desk?"

Qing stared.

Ling thought for a second.

"That actually wouldn't be bad," she said.
"If we build a partial set — a desk, notebooks, maybe photos or objects with stories — people could interact with it."

Cheng lit up again.
"See?! I'm a genius!"

"No," I said.

"But your idea is usable," Qing added gently.

"That's all that matters!" Cheng grinned triumphantly.

Ling wrote again.

'Concept: Everyday Life — Simple Scenes, Subtle Meanings.'

"It's not finalized," she said, looking at us, "but I think we can build something around this. With creativity and structure, we can turn simple things into a cohesive exhibition."

I nodded.
"It fits everyone's strengths, too."

Qing smiled warmly.
"And it's the kind of project that won't crush us with impossible tasks."

"Wait—are you praising my idea?" Cheng asked, shocked.

"Piece of it," Qing corrected.

Ling closed her folder softly.

"Then... shall we consider this our initial direction?"

A small silence fell across the table.

Not tense.
Not awkward.

Just the quiet moment before an agreement forms.

Finally, Cheng raised his hand as though voting dramatically.
"One vote from me."

"Me too," Qing said.

Ling looked at me.

"...Yes," I said.
"I think we can do something good with this."

Ling nodded, satisfied.
"Then our preliminary theme is set. We'll refine it this week."

Just like that—
without conflict, without force, without unnecessary drama—
Group C took its first real step.

And strangely...
it felt natural.

Like this was how it was meant to be.

After lunch, the four of us went our separate ways.

Cheng headed off still riding the high of having contributed a "usable idea."
Qing went to return her tray and tidy her notes.
Ling left the cafeteria with her folder tucked under one arm, already reviewing something silently.

I followed the flow of students back to Class 2-A, the hallway buzzing with leftover energy from the lunch rush.

When I sat down at my desk, it struck me that the classroom felt... different.

Not loud.
Not chaotic.

Just aware.

Almost everyone seemed more focused than usual—either talking to group members, flipping through project papers, or rehearsing the morning meeting in their heads.

Even I wasn't immune to it.

The teacher began the lesson, writing formulas and diagrams on the board.

Normally, I'd follow quietly without much thought.

But today my mind kept drifting back to the meeting:

Ling's organized notes.
Qing's ability to steer the conversation.
Cheng's enthusiasm generating ideas despite himself.
And the strange way our choices fit together without resistance.

It wasn't dramatic or emotional.
Just... smooth.

Too smooth, maybe.

"Hey."

Cheng nudged my elbow, trying to whisper without being noticed.

"Did you see how fast Ling wrote down the idea? Zoom—done."

"...Yes."

"That's efficiency. We're in good hands."

I didn't say anything, but I couldn't deny his logic.

We were.

Halfway through the lesson, the teacher asked us to read aloud from the textbook.

Voices echoed one by one.

While waiting for my turn, I caught sight of Ling through the open classroom door.

She was in Class 2-B across the hall, seated at her desk.
Her expression was serious, eyes scanning her notes, pen poised over her paper.

She wasn't reviewing English.

She was outlining tasks again—
color tabs arranged in the same pattern I'd seen earlier.

She didn't notice me looking, of course.

But noticing her somehow made me sit straighter.

When the teacher called my name, I stumbled over the first sentence.

Cheng smothered a laugh beside me.

The final subject went by faster than I expected.

Maybe because my mind was half in the lesson
and half in the folder Ling placed in the middle of the table.

Cheng leaned close again.

"Hey. I think we're gonna lose the student-of-the-day award."

"We don't have that."

"We should."

I ignored him.

Around us, classmates chatted quietly:

"Group C already has a theme? That was fast."
"Ling moves quickly. I heard she prepared references."
"I wish my group was that efficient..."

Some glances drifted our way.

Not unfriendly.
Not jealous.

Just curious.

I looked down at my notes, feeling a faint pressure build behind my ribs.

It wasn't heavy.

Just a reminder that being in a competent group meant expectations—
from others
and from ourselves.

The teacher finally entered for the last short block before dismissal.

"Everyone, remember," she said, "the joint project officially begins next week. Use this week to solidify your plans. Those in leadership roles, communicate well."

Across the hall, I could see Ling lift her head slightly at the word "leadership."

Qing sat beside her, nodding once.

Cheng leaned over to me.

"See? Commanders."

"...Stop calling them that."

"Nope."

The teacher dismissed us a minute later.

Books closed.
Chairs scraped.
The afternoon moved into its final transition.

And as I packed my things, I understood something quietly:

Today wasn't dramatic.
But it was the first day that felt like a real beginning.

******

The final bell rang, and students spilled out of classrooms with the usual end-of-day energy.
Chairs scraped, bags zipped, conversations shifted from classwork to after-school plans.

Cheng stretched loudly beside me.

"Alright! Off we go."

"We're meeting with Ling and Qing first," I reminded him.

"Oh—right."
He quickly fixed his posture, pretending he had remembered all along.

We stepped into the hallway, and just a few steps away, Ling and Qing were waiting by the window — calm, composed, and clearly ready to begin.

Ling raised a hand slightly, acknowledging us.
"Sorry to call you both so suddenly," she said.
"But if possible, we should finalize a weekly schedule today."

Cheng gave a thumbs-up.
"Perfect! We were just talking about that."

I didn't recall talking about it.

But I let it slide.

The hallway was too noisy, so Qing suggested:

"The outdoor bench near the garden is quiet right now. Shall we sit there?"

It was a good choice.
We crossed the courtyard and found an empty bench under the shade of a small tree, the late-afternoon sun warm but gentle.

Ling set her bag on the bench, pulled out her folder, and flipped to a page labeled:

'Group Schedule – Draft'

Her handwriting was clean and structured, as always.

Ling spoke first, not commanding, just clear:

"Our goal this week is to finalize the theme and divide responsibilities. Next week, we'll start collecting materials."

Qing nodded.
"And we need to check which days we're all free."

Cheng crossed his arms confidently.
"I'm free every day except Saturday morning."

Qing stared at him.
"For club practice?"

"No. For sleep."

"...I see."

She didn't elaborate, and neither did he.

Ling turned to me.

"Tang Yuan, what about you?"

"I'm free on weekdays," I answered.
"But I have part-time work on weekends."

Ling blinked.
"Right... the restaurant."

I didn't expect her to remember.

For a moment, her expression softened — like a tiny acknowledgement that went deeper than the words themselves.

"Then we'll avoid meeting on weekends," she said.
"I'll adjust the schedule."

"And me?" Qing added.
"I have family errands on Thursday, so afternoons are difficult."

Cheng counted on his fingers.
"Okay, okay... so Monday, Wednesday, Friday are ideal?"

"That works for me," I said.

"I agree," Ling added.

Qing nodded as well.

Ling wrote everything down carefully, then clipped the sheet back into place.

"We'll meet tomorrow after school to finalize the concept."

"Right!" Cheng pumped a fist.
"Team C, moving forward!"

"Please don't yell slogans," Qing murmured.

"I'm building morale!"

"Lower the morale."

Their banter earned a quiet laugh from Ling — barely audible, but undeniably there.

When the main discussion ended, the four of us lingered a moment.

The breeze was cool.
The sky was starting to turn the soft color of late afternoon.

Out of nowhere, Cheng asked:

"Hey, what do you think other groups are planning?"

Qing shrugged.
"No idea. Some are panicking, I'm sure."

Ling closed her folder.
"Our theme may look simple, but simplicity allows depth. If we execute it well, we won't lose to anyone."

It wasn't arrogance.
Just confidence.

I found myself nodding.

"Yeah... we can probably make something good."

Cheng grinned.
"See? Yuan believes in us."

I shook my head.
"I believe in the others."

"And me, right?"

"...Sometimes."

Qing laughed softly.

Ling looked down at her notes one last time, then raised her head toward all three of us.

"Let's do our best."

It was such an ordinary phrase.
But coming from Ling, it felt like a quiet vow — the beginning of something steady.

Something that wouldn't break easily.

We finally packed our bags.

Qing headed toward the school gate first.
Ling followed, but paused long enough to say:

"Tang Yuan, if you have any ideas before tomorrow, feel free to message me."

"...Sure."

Cheng nudged me with his elbow the moment she walked away.

"Heh. Look at you two. Already talking like a team."

"We are a team."

"That's not what I meant."

I ignored him again.

But as we walked home, I found myself replaying the meeting in my head:

Ling's calm presence.
Qing's reliability.
Cheng's enthusiasm.
Our shared pace.

It was only the start—
but for the first time, I felt like this group could truly work.

Not just by assignment.
But naturally.