Chapter 12: Official Start of School

The cicadas still chirped noisily in the treetops, but the oppressive heat of military training was gone.

After the training ended, Lin Yumo followed the crowd into the uniform distribution area.

The ceiling fan creaked as it turned, stirring up a faint scent of ink. When the staff handed her a neatly folded blue-and-white school uniform, the fabric still had the stiffness of a fresh factory press.

She held the uniform against herself, measuring it in front of the mirror. The girl reflected there had delicate, picturesque features, and the neckline of the school shirt revealed collarbones fine as if sculpted from porcelain.

“Little Jasmine~” Song Xingran suddenly wrapped her arms around Lin Yumo’s waist from behind, resting her chin affectionately on her shoulder.

“You look even better in the school uniform than in the training gear!” She gave her phone a mysterious little shake. “I just found out some big news—”

Seeing Song Xingran’s exaggeratedly secretive expression, Lin Yumo couldn’t help but smile, the corners of her eyes curving beautifully.

She tilted her head, pretending to be curious. “What is it? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Song Xingran straightened her back, a proud gleam in her eyes. “Tomorrow morning, there’s going to be a freshman welcome ceremony—and Ling God will be giving a speech!”

At the words “Ling God,” her voice lifted without her noticing, betraying her excitement.

Lin Yumo casually folded the uniform, her lips curling in a faint smile. “So much attention on him, and you still say you don’t like him?”

Outside, the camphor trees rustled, and the sunlight filtering through formed speckled patterns that danced over Song Xingran’s blue-and-white uniform.

She tilted her head, the ends of her hair brushing against Lin Yumo’s neck, and let out a soft, minty laugh. “You don’t get it. I can’t explain it. I don’t want to be with him, but I can’t stop paying attention to him.”

As she spoke, she reached up to tidy Lin Yumo’s hair, her fingertips lightly brushing through the strands.

“Maybe it’s like the bright moon—too far to reach. In my heart, I’ve already given myself the death sentence, so I’ve taken him out of my ‘boyfriend candidate’ list.”

She let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Ah, listen to me, I’m not even making sense.”

Looking at the shadows cast by her friend’s lashes under her eyes, Lin Yumo suddenly recalled how, during military training, Song Xingran had secretly taken a photo of Chi Ling’s back.

Before she could speak, Song Xingran straightened her spine again, her smile blooming once more. “What I mean is—he’s never going to be my future.”

That strand of hair spun in the air before settling neatly among the rest.

A breeze swept along the hallway, lifting Lin Yumo’s hair. She looked into the light in Song Xingran’s eyes and suddenly felt the scene overlap with a memory from her past life—of herself, lying in bed at night, staring at a photo of her own crush on her phone screen.

“Are you okay with that?” she asked, hearing the hint of cautiousness hidden in her own voice.

Song Xingran blinked, then threw her head back and laughed, the sound startling the sparrows from the treetops.

She pulled Lin Yumo into a tight hug, as if pouring all her emotions into the embrace. “I’ve long since come to terms with it—otherwise I wouldn’t tell you. It’s just a fan’s kind of affection.”

Her fingers absently twisted the ends of her ponytail. “I know he’ll never know the real me, so I can like him openly.”

Her gaze drifted toward the distance, the setting sun gilding her profile with a soft halo. “Some scenery is best admired from afar. If you insist on plucking the moon, you might end up falling badly.”

Listening to Song Xingran’s words, Lin Yumo began to understand—maybe sunlight is too scorching, and moonlight too far away. For anyone in unrequited love, self-doubt is a chasm they have to cross. But when that chasm becomes an impassable gulf, no matter how hard you try, the thought shifts from moving forward to stepping back—back to a path that might go around it.

Lin Yumo opened her mouth, but in the end, swallowed the words that had risen to her lips.

She knew—some knots in the heart could only be untangled by oneself. No matter how much comfort was offered, in the face of this bittersweet and tangled emotion, it would all seem pale and powerless.

The evening breeze swept past her hair, carrying the coolness of early autumn, yet it couldn’t blow away the trace of wistfulness in her eyes.

Looking at the forced lightness in Song Xingran’s smile beside her, Lin Yumo’s thoughts drifted far.
And what about herself?

In her previous life, she had kept her feelings for Chi Ling tucked away deep in her heart, quietly watching his every move, yet never daring to take that step forward.

In this life, fate had given her the chance to start over. But faced with this same emotion, she still wandered in the fog, uncertain which path to take.

Should she, like Song Xingran, turn her liking into distant admiration? Or should she gather the courage to reach out toward that seemingly unattainable light?

Yes… perhaps it was better to just focus on herself. The gears of fate would turn in their own way—what couldn’t be forced should be left alone. In this life, the most important thing was herself, wasn’t it?

The night breeze passed by, carrying the unique coolness of early autumn. The shadows of the two girls gradually melted into the twilight—one light and skipping, the other calm as still water.

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The next day—school officially began.

September morning light filtered through the gaps in the camphor tree leaves, scattering coin-sized spots of gold onto the blue-and-white school uniforms.

Walking with a light step into the classroom, Lin Yumo found that not many students had arrived yet. She set down her bag and began her own morning reading plan.

When Song Xingran slipped in just as the class bell rang, chalk dust was already falling from between Mr. Zhang’s fingers, weaving a fine mist in front of the podium.

The sharp tap of the homeroom teacher’s leather shoe heel against the podium echoed clearly.
“I’m your math teacher, and also your homeroom teacher.”

On the blackboard, the chalk characters for First Year, Class Seven were still damp. Mr. Zhang pushed up his black-rimmed glasses, the reflected light sweeping over the whispering students below.

“First, let me give you some chicken soup for the soul—” He suddenly smiled.
“High school isn’t the finish line; it’s a new starting point. I hope that three years from now, you’ll all walk out of the college entrance exam hall with a smile.”

His gaze moved across the class, lingering on Lin Yumo for a second longer.

“The monthly exam will be on September 28,” Mr. Zhang announced, pulling her out of her thoughts.

The chalk screeched sharply against the blackboard as he circled the date in bright red—a bullseye straight at her nerves.

From the back row came the sound of someone sucking in a sharp breath.

Under the desk, Song Xingran poked Lin Yumo’s wrist. On her scratch paper was a doodled crying face, next to the words: “A test right after school starts! Devil!”

The cicadas outside seemed suddenly shrill, but Lin Yumo’s eyes stayed fixed on that red circle. This time, her memo had no distracting personal thoughts—only math formulas and English model essays marked in neon highlighter.

Chalk dust swirled in the sunlight. Mr. Zhang suddenly rapped hard on the podium.

“Alright, quiet down. We’re starting the class committee elections now.”
As he turned, the hem of his navy suit brushed the edge of the blackboard, sending down tiny flecks from the freshly written First Year, Class Seven.

The chalk moved quickly across the board, writing out “Class President,” “Study Committee,” and “Subject Representatives” in bold, decisive strokes.