02. Midrange

The dispute between Chen Shu Yin and Pei Yu traces back to their first meeting. It’s not complicated—there were no tangled misunderstandings or dramatic, convoluted stories.

For Chen Shu Yin, it was simply two people who were naturally at odds with each other, crossing paths at just the right moment.

The spark ignited, and they found each other even more intolerable.

At that time, it was right before the class divisions in their second year of high school. Chen Shu Yin’s parents suddenly announced their divorce without warning. They clashed over asset division, each stubbornly refusing to back down.

They had met in school, spent over twenty years together, and became top professionals in their respective fields. Their passionate love story ended with them turning into fierce rivals, leading their relationship to an irreparable breakdown.

As their only daughter, Chen Shu Yin found herself discarded in the battle.

For four or five months, their rivalry sharpened—property disputes, school donations, and financial withdrawals. The entire family and even the school knew about their messy split, but neither parent ever mentioned custody of Chen Shu Yin.

She had always known that their affection for her was shallow.

The business empire they built from scratch was never stable, always reliant on social connections and favors to keep things running.

In the eyes of their elders, she had resources, status, and wealth that far surpassed most of her peers. But she wasn’t likable. As a child, they suspected she had autism, but the diagnosis never led anywhere. Growing up, she often hid in corners, silent and nearly invisible.

At family gatherings, she was never the child they could proudly show off.

For over a decade, her parents never openly stated anything. Chen Shu Yin assumed it wasn’t a big deal—until the night she overheard their argument.

“Good thing we didn’t have another kid like I wanted. It’s your terrible sperm quality that produced such a heartless child—she doesn’t smile, doesn’t care about her parents, and all the money we spent on her was a waste.”

“You think you’re the only one embarrassed? My friends are all more successful than me. They’ve already outshined me, and now their kids are outstanding too. This is all because you don’t know how to raise a child!”

“And you call yourself a father…?”

That was the moment Chen Shu Yin realized that to them, words like “introverted,” “sensitive,” and “quiet” were never positive traits.

The ridiculous argument ended when her grandmother, Fang You You, came to pick her up. Chen Shu Yin didn’t say a word—she simply packed her bags and left with her.

Shortly after she moved out, the divorce was finalized. One parent relocated abroad for work and never returned. The other immediately remarried, never once asking about her life again.

Chen Shu Yin wasn’t someone who openly displayed emotions. Whether this situation affected her, whether she cried herself to sleep for a week before returning to school—these were just speculations among her classmates.

Sometimes, she would overhear gossip about herself, but she would simply continue with whatever she was doing, as if she hadn’t heard a thing.

Eventually, as academic pressure increased and new rumors emerged, people lost interest. Her solitary presence became a habit, and no one brought it up again.

It was right around the time things settled that Pei Yu transferred into her class.

On a national scale, he wasn’t a massive internet sensation. But he had entered the industry young and at the right time, starring in a few dramas. While not overwhelmingly popular, he had made a name for himself locally in Tanzhu.

No one had expected to one day be his classmate.

Before the teacher introduced him, Pei Yu had just wrapped up his final teenage fashion advertisement and marked the end of his entertainment career with a ceremonious farewell post on social media.

Then, he flew in from a neighboring city, stepping straight into the classroom without even changing his outfit.

He stood out.

A smoky gray knitted beanie, an imported designer leather jacket, and a pair of sneakers so rare that even boys would scream over them.

In contrast, the rest of the class looked almost identical in their standard school uniforms. The only variation was that some wore out-of-season summer outfits left over from students who had graduated.

Most had their hair forcefully cut short due to school rules, often too rushed to style properly. Meanwhile, Pei Yu’s haircut was precise—its length, layers, and volume so perfect it looked computer-generated.

Their sneakers were worn out, washed so many times that the color faded unnaturally. His, on the other hand, were impossible to obtain.

Beyond standing out, he was too stylish.

In a high school where academic performance was everything, there was no need for a fashionable student—especially not a well-known young actor who relied on his looks for a living.

To the school and teachers, he was a “beautiful burden.”

Sure enough, before he could even introduce himself, students from other classes flooded the hallway, peering through the windows.

The clear, bright view outside was immediately replaced with countless faces pressed against the glass, forming a dark, chaotic crowd. In an instant, the classroom transformed from bright to shadowed, a localized weather shift too abrupt for even a forecast to predict.

Before Pei Yu’s own classmates could react, students from other classes were already envious.

He was bold, dazzling, and unrestrained.

The type of person who had already broken free from the monotonous, rule-abiding teenage life.

And Pei Yu fit this category perfectly.

Standing at the center of attention, he seemed unfazed, hands tucked into his pockets, lazily scanning the classroom without even removing his mask.

The teacher sighed, shooed away the onlookers, and skipped the formal introduction. “Let’s not act like those window-clinging monkeys from other classes. There’s nothing to gawk at.”

Then, as if out of nowhere, he continued, “See? Chen Shu Yin is a great example—always calm, undisturbed no matter the chaos around her.”

The sudden shift in attention sent a sticky, suffocating wave of emotions her way, making her skin crawl.

Disgusting. Irritating.

Even Pei Yu, exhausted from work, lazily lifted his eyes to look at her.

Sunlight moved, casting a glow over both their eyes—one amber, one dark—painting a momentary illusion of warmth.

The strands of her shoulder-length hair curled into her uniform collar, brushing against her skin. She couldn’t hold back a quiet scoff, catching Pei Yu’s raised brow.

The moment shattered.

She didn’t mean to mock him. She just hated this whole situation.

Without a word, she closed her book, set down her pen, and raised her hand.

“What is it?” the teacher asked.

“I need to go to the restroom.”

She had already calculated that the class would stay chaotic for half a period. Perfect timing for a little escape.

The teacher, oddly cooperative that day, agreed. “Alright, anyone else? Go together now.”

Then, turning back to Pei Yu, “Where do you want to sit? Usually, we assign seats based on academic rankings, but since the class division exams just happened, there’s not much flexibility. How about the empty seat in the back?”

Pei Yu pointed directly at the seat next to Chen Shu Yin.

“That one.”

Chen Shu Yin, halfway to the door, froze as if struck by lightning.

Her territory.

That seat was filled with her books, her supplies, her bag on the chair—it was clearly claimed. There were three other empty seats, yet he chose this one?

The lingering stares grew stickier, making her scalp prickle.

She tried to reason with him. “That desk is broken. The view isn’t great.”

“So?” Pei Yu’s first words to her were blunt.

“I don’t want a deskmate.”

“Too bad. I do.”

—And just like that, her one year of peaceful solitude was over.