Simon cried out in humiliation and anger, "Let go! Let go!"
Su Xiangli leaned back, and Simon was pulled from his seat by his ear.
Heaven help him, why was Su Xiangli also sitting in the last row… No, Simon blamed his mind for always wandering. Wouldn't it be fine if he didn't look at other girls… No, that's not right either, why should Su Xiangli care if I look at other people?!
Simon turned to glare at her, but the corner of her mouth held a smile, her gaze contemptuous and playful. A girl of only ten or so, yet she could express such subtle and nuanced emotions. Simon only felt that she was truly like some miracle, so he was furious, but his tone of voice was weak, "What are you doing? No roughhousing during break time."
Su Xiangli withdrew her hand dismissively, turned her head, lowered her eyes, and flipped through the text in her hand, no longer paying attention to Simon.
"…" Simon rubbed his hands, then suddenly realized this action was quite lewd, so he put his hands on his hips and stood by Su Xiangli's desk. From his elevated position, in the bright afternoon light, his faint shadow fell across her desk, just blocking the article in her textbook. Simon looked down and saw it was a Chinese Language book, and Su Xiangli was reading classical poetry, just like Bai Fengjiu.
On the open page, Su Xiangli's slender left finger rested on the paper. Her fingernails were a clear, light autumn-incense color, their lustrous keratin surface reflecting the sunlight, like a tiny bit of frost and snow built on her fingertip. The poem she was pointing to was "Hairpin Phoenix · Red Soft Hand," which sent a chill down Simon's spine.
Su Xiangli casually used her right hand to turn the page, while her left fingertip comfortably glided, passing over articles, ancient poems, and excerpts from famous works. Some were familiar to Simon, some were not. In a fleeting glance, he seemed to have seen an article by Mr. Lu Xun…
Seeing Su Xiangli's indifference, Simon suddenly felt a mischievous urge. He slowly leaned his body forward, resting his head on the book, preventing Su Xiangli from turning the page. He thought, when she couldn't resist pulling his ear, he would abruptly turn his head and bite her. Even if she called him a mad dog, he wouldn't care. Today, Simon was going to prove what kind of gentleman he was—one who always repays a grudge!
"Go away," she said, secretly poking his face with her finger. Her gentle fingernail made shallow indentations on Simon's ivory-colored skin, a different sensation than her own face. She quickly leaned close to Simon's ear and softly cursed, "Thick-skinned!"
Simon felt something approaching him, so, as planned, he abruptly turned his face.
His nose brushed through the air, exhaling a warm current of breath that slowly, slowly washed over Su Xiangli's chin and lips. She felt a tingling gentleness spread until his rough nose bumped directly into hers.
"Thick-skinned!" she cursed again, covering her nose.
Simon recoiled two or three steps, his knees hitting his own chair. He sat down, disoriented, and gently touched his lips.
Was it my imagination? But that feeling, experienced in milliseconds, the thin, wrinkled skin rubbing against each other, the electrical currents of nerve signals tearing through his flesh and bones, piercing his very soul, yet it was fleeting, so fleetingly brief, shorter than any unit of time he knew.
An instant? A single moment of arising and perishing?
A microsecond? A nanosecond?
Why was he thinking of these things?
The shortest unit of time in the universe is Planck time, ten to the negative forty-third power of a second. The world is a movie, and the interval between each frame is ten to the negative forty-third power of a second. Simon felt that in the previous frame, he had touched her… What could happen in such a short time?
Su Xiangli pointed at him vaguely with her finger, implying a threat. Just then, the class bell rang, the teacher entered, and the students all stood up in unison, bowing and greeting her.
As Simon bowed, he glanced at her. She also glanced at him, her nose a little red. Was it injured from the bump? Simon clasped his hands in apology.
The teacher on the stage said, "Hello, students," and everyone stood straight before sitting down. This was a math class, taught by a small, thin old lady who spoke weakly. As soon as she came in, she assigned homework. After-class homework included exercises and previewing the text. Although she spoke in an understated way, the amount of homework was truly not small.
Everyone's first impression of her was that she was difficult to deal with. The old lady had a shrewd look, and it would be truly hard to fool her.
The Class Teacher had a good saying: break time is for doing homework. This was a tradition in Ninghu, so the subject teachers were also very considerate, assigning homework before class.
Homework usually followed the class content closely. If today they talked about an algebra unit, and the class went exceptionally well, covering some geometry, then geometry homework would be added. If the progress was slow and algebra wasn't finished, then the class would be extended.
Early in the morning, before seven o'clock, they had to sit in the classroom. Except for lunch and bathroom breaks, they had to sit at their desks for ten hours. This was only first year of junior high. In second year, there was evening self-study, and school ended at nine at night, which meant nearly twelve hours.
In this era, the national standard working hours were six hours a day.
Are students not considered people?
Simon scratched his head, "This is much worse than when I was in school."
The math teacher was lecturing, and what she was saying was already quite profound—calculus on the very first day of school.
The teacher's level was high, and the students' level was actually very high too. Many had already learned this content online, so watching it again felt somewhat understated.
Simon looked around. Everyone was very serious, but it was clear that a significant portion were pretending. A few were looking around and whispering. Not many were truly studying diligently. Zhou Ping was one, and the dark-skinned number ten was another.
The math teacher wrote a problem on the blackboard and said she wanted someone to answer it. She turned and looked around the classroom. Everyone quickly lowered their heads or pretended to focus intently on the blackboard. They were all seasoned students, which immediately exposed the distracted Simon. Sure enough, he was called to the blackboard.
"I know you, Simon, right?"
Xiao Lu obediently nodded. He stood sideways on the stage. From here, looking down, the spacious classroom was entirely visible. The current desks and cabinets had ample capacity; even more textbooks could fit, and they could automatically categorize to avoid retrieval hassle. No stacks of books were allowed on the desk, which meant there were no obstructions, further exposing everyone's small movements.
What was Su Xiangli doing at this moment? She was holding up her textbook, blocking her face. Simon only glanced, then withdrew his gaze in disappointment.
The math teacher spoke to him kindly, "You were the top scorer in the provincial primary-to-junior-high exam. We've heard about you, Simon. Although you're smart, I see you've been looking around, and not paying attention in class won't do. Now, write out this example problem on the blackboard and let me see how much you've learned."
Simon casually blurted out the answer, confident and generous. The math teacher was stunned and asked, "What about the process?"
"Does such a simple problem need a process?"
"Without the process, how will the teacher know if you used calculus methods?"
Simon lowered his head. This scene, was it a re-enactment of yesterday?
He took the electronic pen and wrote the derivation process on the blackboard, precise and clear.
The math teacher couldn't hide her satisfaction. "Come to the office after class. I'll give you a test to measure your current level."
"Okay, Teacher."
Simon stepped down from the stage and walked down the aisle. Students secretly scrutinized him. These gazes were like tangible presences, even having differences in warmth and coolness, softness and hardness. Simon felt a soft, warm gaze and turned his head to look. Su Xiangli had again raised her textbook.
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