Chapter 6: Excuse me, is it possible to rewind?

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The classroom gradually filled up.

Chatter buzzed all around.

In the dull routine of school life, even changing seats could be one of the few novel events.

Though they had been classmates for four years, some merely greeted each other, while others insisted on shaking hands, as if forging diplomatic ties.

In contrast, the atmosphere between Zhang Shutong and Gu Qiumian’s area was utterly cold.

Both were buried in organizing their backpacks.

As for Gu Qiumian’s situation, let that be for now—Zhang Shutong was genuinely busy; sorting through eight-year-old materials was indeed a painstaking task.

The next class was English. A casual glance around showed that someone had placed the English test papers on their desk, probably intending to go over the questions.

Finally finishing the organization and finding the English test paper, he thought he was moving slowly enough, then looked at his deskmate, only to find she was still tidying up.

Zhang Shutong smiled helplessly. She probably didn’t want to engage with him, but staying seated looking vacant would seem foolish, so she busied herself to appear occupied.

He understood the logic.

But doesn’t your arm get tired?

During the break, he flipped through the test paper.

Initially worried he might fall behind, he had planned to return all that old knowledge to the teacher.

Yet, upon closer inspection, the questions were quite simple. English was the exception; the most troublesome was geography, which was the final exam. Chinese wasn’t too worrisome, as it relied mostly on accumulated knowledge.

As for math... he still remembered the geometry and algebra concepts but had forgotten the problem-solving methods. Maybe practicing problems would help.

Political history was purely memorization. He had once taken diligent notes, and the teacher always earnestly said, “If you study carefully, you’ll find it useful in the future.” In reality, it wasn’t useful for the future but came in handy going back in time.

His mind had always been sharp; rote memorization was easy, just a matter of sacrificing some spare time. The main focus was math.

Having formed a plan for upcoming studies, Zhang Shutong quietly sat back, observing everything from his student days.

Listening to his classmates chatter around him, he belatedly realized that by some twist of fate, the seat he chose was truly strange.

In front was Lu Qinglian, beside him was Gu Qiumian, and with himself, the trio of “victims” was complete.

The feng shui here was truly terrible.

If there were a reunion eight years later, and the class leader said, “Long time no see, three people are missing today, guess who they are, but no prize...” Well, he wasn’t much for humor.

Zhang Shutong had grown used to solitude over the years. If there was nothing to do, his mind would wander. He thought that if the class had study groups, he could award these three a banner for “The Quietest Group.”

They could easily win a “No Talking Challenge.”

Lu Qinglian was naturally quiet and had no interaction with the new deskmate; he himself was about the same. Gu Qiumian was better, but who could blame her for sitting next to an enemy?

He never minded awkward silences. He felt it was beautiful to just rest your chin on your hand and watch the snow outside the school building. Being a bit silly was fine if it made you happy. One reason he liked fishing was that it allowed him to daydream and ponder.

He didn’t mind, but Gu Qiumian did.

He glanced over and saw her still frowning, busy at work.

Her backpack looked like it was about to be worn out from all the searching.

Just then, a cookie of unknown brand was handed over.

“This is for you. Lend me your English test paper later.”

Gu Qiumian said with a stern face.

So she really had been looking for something, and for quite some time, embarrassingly failing to find it.

Most people would have said, “Could I borrow your English test paper? I accidentally forgot mine,” adding a polite thank you, but she didn’t.

Zhang Shutong thought her words had a certain noble air, a straightforward exchange. He nodded, took the cookie, and pushed the test paper to the middle.

“Isn’t the answer to this one B?” Gu Qiumian asked after a moment, not looking at Zhang Shutong, only at the paper, in a stream-of-consciousness manner.

Zhang Shutong glanced at it and pointed at option A with his finger. He was eating the cookie, mouth too full to answer.

The cookie was quite tasty, cheese-flavored.

But why was it salty?

After swallowing, he habitually explained, “This tests the past continuous tense.”

He really had tutored English before, online.

Gu Qiumian never argued; if you told her, she would think it over, nodding once she understood, unlike some students who would put on an innocent face and ask, “Teacher, why do I think it’s like this...?”

The teacher wouldn’t know either.

“Anything else you don’t understand?”

“No.”

Another bag of cookies was handed to him. Gu Qiumian said she didn’t like to owe favors. Zhang Shutong asked if it could be something sweet instead, as he didn’t like salty snacks.

“No,” she refused decisively, adding, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“You only sat here for the cookies, didn’t you?” Gu Qiumian’s tone was calm but sounded sarcastic.

How did the conversation come back to this?

Zhang Shutong simply complimented her, “Your doodles look great,” pointing at the glass, “Very artistic.”

Unexpectedly, she snapped, “That’s a sheep!”

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A sheep?

Zhang Shutong was momentarily stunned.

“A goat or a sheep?”

Not quite like Pleasant Goat either.

Gu Qiumian ignored the remark, randomly wiped the glass, then shot him a fierce glare.

“What’s with that look? My old deskmate could tell right away.”

“Right, right,” he apologized for splitting them up. “Should I switch seats with him?”

“Forget it, he’s annoying,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re annoying too, but talk less.”

They seemed to have grown familiar instantly. Zhang Shutong decided to cultivate this advantage and resolutely stayed silent.

Speaking of that old deskmate... his name was probably Zhou Ziheng, a dark-skinned boy he had seen not long ago.

Thinking of this, Zhang Shutong looked around the classroom, only to find Zhou Ziheng staring at him. Their eyes met, but the boy quickly looked down.

Zhang Shutong withdrew his gaze, feeling puzzled.

Soon, Du Kang came back panting. He glanced at Lu Qinglian upon entering, then exaggeratedly winked at Zhang Shutong. Zhang thought it a pity their telepathy was long gone, so he couldn’t understand what Du Kang meant.

With nearly sixty students in the class and seating still incomplete, the homeroom teacher asked Du Kang to hand out milk now.

Passing by Zhang Shutong, Du Kang deliberately slowed down and whispered, “I’m dizzy.”

Stop being dizzy; hearing old jokes makes me dizzy too.

Zhang Shutong thought it concerned Lu Qinglian’s seat and gestured toward the empty one with the school uniform placed there, indicating it was saved for Du Kang. But Du Kang looked touched.

“That’s enough, enough. Bro, I didn’t expect you to do that much for me.”

What are you talking about? I really don’t get it. Let’s stick to old jokes.

Du Kang kept rambling.

“Though I told you I wanted to sit behind Lu Qinglian, she just happened to sit in front of Gu Qiumian, so no one could do anything, right? You don’t have to offend Gu Qiumian for me; you can’t get her to move anyway. So it’s a failure.”

“...”

He even tossed out an idiom.

“But bro, feeding the tiger with your own body was your mistake, Shutong. As the saying goes, a gentleman doesn’t stand beneath a dangerous wall. Look, Gu Qiumian is glaring at us right now...”

After saying that, he turned and ran in fright.

“What were you two just talking about?” The voice of Miss Gu came from beside him, displeased. “Something about Gu Qiumian, Gu Qiumian.”

“He wanted to sit next to you but I took the spot and he’s coming to settle scores with me,” Zhang Shutong answered calmly.

That explanation made sense. It was well known that Du Kang liked Lu Qinglian; even the old him had noticed.

“Tch.”

Gu Qiumian uttered a disapproving “tch” with unclear meaning.

Soon, Du Kang came over again, waving a plastic bag with two cartons of milk left inside, handing one to Zhang Shutong.

“Strawberry flavor.”

“I don’t want it, you decide for yourself,” Zhang signaled.

“Hey, it’s just one seat. Why feel guilty? Don’t you love strawberry milk the most?”

...Really not, please stop. The tiger is already watching me.

He pretended to poke Lu Qinglian with a pen, meaning “You give it to me, then I’ll give it to her.” Du Kang finally quieted down, took a step forward, stammered for a while, then said,

“Uh, Lu, there’s leftover milk today. Do you want some...?”

“No thanks.”

A clear, crisp voice drifted over.

Du Kang was at a loss. Zhang Shutong felt anxious for him, thinking he should find an excuse quickly. The weather was nice, and offering milk was better than silence.

But Du Kang didn’t dare meet Lu Qinglian’s eyes. At that moment, the homeroom teacher finished seating arrangements, clapped his hands, and urged them like herding chicks, “Sit down quickly; you’ve talked enough.”

Du Kang hurried away, fearing old Song would say, “Du Kang, why didn’t you give me the leftover milk?” That would embarrass him greatly.

Then a girl wanting to get water raised her voice cutely,

“Hey teacher, you forgot, the class bell hasn’t rung yet.”

Song Nanshan smiled cruelly.

“You forgot the next class is mine.”

The class groaned.

Every teacher loved to seize breaks, regardless of students or fairness.

But their homeroom teacher had one good point—he allowed drinking water in class.

Zhang Shutong didn’t understand why some teachers had so many rules, not even letting cups rest on desks. But with Song Nanshan, as long as you didn’t eat during class, drinking milk was fine.

Of course, many well-behaved students drank during breaks—like Lu Qinglian.

When the teacher said to return to their seats, she straightened her back and sat gracefully, like a swan stretching its neck, attentively reviewing the test paper.

Then there were “bad students.”

Like Zhang Shutong, who didn’t care much in front of Song Nanshan, calmly preparing his straw.

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Of course, he couldn’t eat more cookies. Respect between people mattered. Since old Song gave him face by saying class was starting, he wouldn’t exploit his relationship with the homeroom teacher to act special—that was something his past self wouldn’t have done.

Then there was his deskmate—no wonder Miss Gu’s family was wealthy. While others drank student milk, she pulled a carton of premium milk from her Doraemon-like backpack and calmly inserted her straw.

Who could like pure milk so much?

Miss Gu didn’t drink immediately. As if remembering something, she tapped her student milk carton to Zhang Shutong and said lightly,

“Here, for you.”

Was this a deskmate perk?

Zhang Shutong chuckled. Hungry, he had snacks; thirsty, he had milk. Now he understood why Gu Qiumian’s old deskmate always stared at him.

“This one’s sweet too, very pure,” she explained, then held the premium milk close to her chest, puffing her cheeks slightly.

“Thanks.”

Class time became pleasant.

Their school lacked multimedia. Only a projector stood beside the podium. Placing the papers on it projected the image onto the screen. When sunlight was strong, curtains had to be drawn.

Song Nanshan took out his grimy briefcase, saying, “Quiet, quiet. Look through it yourselves first,” while searching for the test paper inside. He muttered to himself, “Hey, I remember putting it here...”

Watching this unreliable scene, Zhang Shutong felt nostalgic.

As a child, he had thought Song Nanshan was hardly an adult. On weekends, he smoked openly in front of them and didn’t hide it; trying to quit, he stuffed candy in his drawer. Whenever someone was upset, he’d hand them a candy. He never called students by full names, but by their first names or nicknames like Shutong, Ruoping, Qinglian. Though he still couldn’t define maturity, Zhang Shutong sincerely thought Song Nanshan was an excellent teacher.

But surely he hadn’t lost the test papers?

Thankfully, after a long search, Song Nanshan found them and projected the paper. Some questions had numbers marked—probably counting how many students got them wrong. A red stain smudged the bottom left corner.

The sorrow of a single man.

He understood because he had often eaten while working.

But when Song Nanshan explained points, his unreliability vanished. He became like a general commanding troops, confident and clear.

“This question looks tricky, but just pay attention to the tense...”

“And this one, though it has a rare word, don’t worry if you don’t understand. I’ll teach you a trick: when ‘but’ indicates a contrast, just ignore what was said before... cough, totally ignore it.”

He explained the test in an orderly, fast, and detailed manner, but for Zhang Shutong, these questions were child’s play.

So he didn’t really listen but mentally solved the paper.

Another person not paying attention was Lu Qinglian, who was bent over, writing something.

“Look at this. Typical question. I’m too lazy to explain it again. Didn’t I emphasize it countless times before the exam? Here’s the last time,” the teacher said, though “last time” was never final. “By the way, this week’s homework has this question type. Those who did it carefully should have noticed. Let’s just cover it together.”

Song Nanshan resumed rifling through his briefcase. He was in full flow but grew impatient after searching and grabbed the top book from a neat stack of “Five Three” exercise books on the podium.

“Forget it, let’s look at others’ first. I had annotated it; I’ll write on the board later. Don’t drift off...”

Zhang Shutong had just finished his first carton of student milk and was about to open the second. He tore the plastic, stuck the straw in, and couldn’t help but smile.

Familiar formula, familiar taste, familiar unreliability.

Unaware that his “favorite student” was silently critiquing him, Song Nanshan stepped back to the projector, turned his back, opened the cover, and seemed satisfied.

“Perfect. This one belongs to Shutong. Let him come up and explain it later.”

Zhang Shutong froze.

Though he didn’t recall the English homework, with his level, he could explain it better than the homeroom teacher.

So explaining the questions was no problem.

The problem was... why was this “Five Three” exercise book his?

The book was sent to the projector like a prisoner bound and led to the chopping block, awaiting the final stroke.

A chill ran down Zhang Shutong’s neck. He trusted his instincts and stood up instinctively.

“Wait—”

But it was too late.

The room quieted. Some students stared at the blank projector screen; others whispered.

Song Nanshan frantically turned the “Five Three” to the homework page.

Zhang Shutong stood quickly.

The girl beside him, previously looking down, happened to raise her head.

His deskmate was startled, turning her face in surprise.

The scene seemed frozen.

Then, under countless gazes, the projector displayed not yesterday’s homework but a scrap of rough paper.

On it were three names: Zhang Shutong, Lu Qinglian, and Gu Qiumian.

The three names were connected, forming a triangle.

All eyes turned to Zhang Shutong.

Gu Qiumian’s surprised expression seemed frozen, her face visibly reddening. Then, she glared at him fiercely.

“Give it here!”

Without asking, the girl reached out and snatched the unopened student milk.

Zhang Shutong bit into the soft bread in his mouth, feeling a pang.

He slowly sat down, straw dangling loosely, and involuntarily gasped inwardly, with only one thought left in his mind:

Is there a way to rewind?