Chapter 9: Eye Contact

Hearing that, Song Xingran’s eyes curved into two crescent moons, and she rattled off like a string of firecrackers:
“Little Jasmine, Little Jasmine! I know him so well! We used to be in the same class, but after one exam, he went to the honors class.”

As she spoke, she let out a soft sigh, her eyes full of regret.
“My god just flew away like that! But no matter, I’m going to work hard and get into the honors class too—then I’ll be able to see him every day.”

Then, suddenly looping her arm through Lin Yumo’s, she spoke in a playful, coaxing tone:
“But I don’t want to be without you either! Little Jasmine, how about you work hard with me?”

Almost immediately, her enthusiasm deflated, and she mumbled,
“But it’s not that easy to get into the honors class… it’s such a slim chance…”

Listening to her, Lin Yumo felt an indescribable tangle of emotions stirring in her heart.

Lowering her gaze in thought, her lashes cast fine shadows beneath her eyes. Does Xingran like him? she wondered. Without realizing it, she lightly bit her lip. Finally, she looked up, her voice soft yet tinged with seriousness:
“Xingran, do you like him?”

“Of course!” Song Xingran replied instantly, without a shred of hesitation.

Lin Yumo’s fingertips tightened slightly, her heart hanging in the balance.

But then Xingran blinked and added,
“But right now it’s more like a fan liking a celebrity! I like beautiful things—just like I like you.”

She suddenly leaned closer, lowering her voice with a mischievous grin.
“I’m just really curious about his abs. I heard they’re amazing! But he never takes his shirt off when playing basketball, so I’ve never had the chance to see for myself.”

Lin Yumo was momentarily stunned, lowering her gaze to hide the surprise in her eyes.

She hadn’t expected this seemingly cute girl to speak so bluntly.

Resting her chin in her hands, Song Xingran spoke with obvious regret:
“I wonder if I’ll get to see him today.”

Those words made Lin Yumo’s heart jolt. See him again?

Her thoughts began to drift, the image of that boy from her memories becoming ever clearer.

After a long moment, she let out a quiet sigh in her heart, a ripple of warmth spreading through her—How nice.

As she chatted with Song Xingran, the classroom gradually filled. By the time the quartz clock at the back showed 7:55, the chatter ebbed like the receding tide.

Homeroom teacher Zhang pushed up the black frames of his glasses, the cool light on the lenses sweeping over the whispering gaps between desks.

The faint tap of his knuckles on the lectern wasn’t loud, but it instantly stilled the air.

“Quiet.” Zhang tapped the desk lightly, and the students fell silent.

He picked up the form in his hand, glanced at it, and said,
“Which student is Li Xuanxuan?”

A quiet girl with a low ponytail stood up, the collar of her training uniform still bearing freshly pressed creases.

Watching her slightly trembling fingers, Lin Yumo suddenly thought of herself in her previous life, curled up in the last row.
“Teacher, that’s me,” the girl said.

Zhang pushed his glasses up again and told her,
“Alright, for now you’ll be the acting class monitor. After the term starts, we’ll elect the class committee.”

“Okay, Teacher.” Li Xuanxuan seemed a little surprised, the tips of her ears flushing red, but she still agreed.

Once the monitor was assigned, Zhang continued:
“Alright, everyone, start filling in the attendance sheet that’s just been handed out.”

As the sheet passed from desk to desk, Song Xingran leaned over to whisper,
“Little Jasmine, your handwriting is so pretty!”

The warm breath brushed her ear, and only then did Lin Yumo notice her own signature had somehow become flowing and graceful—nothing like the crooked scrawl of her past life.

When the sign-in sheet made its way back to Zhang, he looked it over for a moment before smiling.
“Alright, looks like everyone’s here.”

He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote his name and phone number on the blackboard.
“My surname is Zhang. I’ll be your homeroom teacher for the next half semester, and for some of you, perhaps for all three years.

“Now let me introduce the current class structure at our school. Right now, Grade 1 has 18 classes. Since we haven’t divided by stream yet, there are 2 honors classes; after the arts/science split, there will be one honors class for each stream.”

Pushing up his glasses again, he went on,
“Alright, you’ll learn more once you’ve been here for a while. For now, line up in two rows—girls in front, boys in back.”

The moment the order was given, Song Xingran hooked her fingers around Lin Yumo’s sleeve.
“Little Jasmine, wait for me, I’m standing with you.”

Lin Yumo let herself be pulled along, smiling faintly.
“Alright.”

Two neat rows quickly formed in the classroom, as orderly as black and white keys on a piano.

The sharp toes of Zhang’s leather shoes tapped rhythmically against the floor. He adjusted his black frames again, his gaze sweeping over each fresh young face.
“Wait here for a moment. I’ll go check on things.”

With that, he turned, pushed open the classroom door, and disappeared through it.

Lin Yumo lowered her gaze to her clasped fingers. The cuff of her military training uniform brushed against the jasmine mark on her wrist, bringing a faint, tingling itch.

From the far end of the corridor came the Sixth Class’s marching orders, mingling with the rhythmic stomp of feet and bits of conversation along the way.

Song Xingran sidled half a step closer, her warm breath brushing past Lin Yumo’s ear.
“Little Jasmine, what do you think Mr. Zhang went to do?”

Before the words were even finished, Mr. Zhang returned.

Looking at the line of students, his voice was firm as he pointed to the class sign in Ling Xuanyan’s hands.
“You’ll follow Class Six to the track and assemble in the designated area.”

Chalk dust fell in soft flurries at the edge of the podium. He paused, his gaze sweeping over the restless formation.
“It’s fine if you can’t remember each other’s names yet. The words ‘Class Seven’—that’s the memory you’ll all share for the next half month.”

A unified “Understood!” rang out in the classroom.

When the sound of Class Six’s footsteps echoed in the corridor, Lin Yumo could hear the beating of her own heart.

As Ling Xuanyan turned with the class sign, she caught sight of sunlight gilding the words First Year, Class Seven like flakes of gold.

Beneath the camphor trees at the edge of the sports field, Class One’s formation was as sharp as if cut with a knife.

Her gaze swept past the crowd and landed precisely on the figure holding their class sign.

Chi Ling’s profile was sculpted in sunlight, the shadow cast by his military cap brim framing a nose as straight and sharp as if carved.

His fingers curled slightly around the flagpole, the distinct curve of his knuckles reminding her of the same beautiful grip he’d had when accepting a water bottle at a basketball game in her past life.

In that instant, memory and reality overlapped.
The boy still carried a trace of youthful softness, but beneath the handsome features was a cool, aloof distance—like the moon on the summit of a snow mountain, untouchable from afar.

You’ve forgotten what you looked like at seventeen, but I’ll remember it for you.

Song Xingran nudged her wrist and gasped in a whisper,
“It’s God Ling! Little Jasmine, look—the most handsome one there is Chi Ling!”

Standing in the height of summer’s sun, the military uniform outlined the lean, youthful frame unique to boys his age.

For a moment, it was as if he sensed something. He turned, his gaze cutting through the noisy crowd—

And locked eyes with Lin Yumo.

Her heartbeat skipped. It was as if a butterfly had taken flight in her chest, but outwardly her expression didn’t change. She calmly withdrew her gaze.

When she looked up again, the corners of her lips curved into the perfect faint smile. She kept her steps even, her eyelashes casting wing-like shadows over her cheeks, her hair glinting with a pearly sheen. The small patch of skin at the back of her neck, exposed to the sun, was as dazzling as fresh snow. She walked past the rows of other classes without a hint of hurry.

As she passed, whispers rippled through the crowd—
“That girl’s so pretty!”
“She’s from Class Seven, right? Such amazing presence.”

The murmurs about “Lin Yumo” drifted like dandelion seeds in the morning breeze.

She suddenly recalled the reflection she’d seen in the mirror that morning—the sculpted shoulder line from yoga, the skin nourished by the jasmine mark, and those clear, unflinching eyes like a spring-fed stream.

---

The camphor leaves curled slightly under the scorching sun.
Just as Class Seven stood in formation in their designated spot, a figure in camouflage strode over, the scent of the track’s rubber mingling with the heat.

Lin Yumo noticed the sweat stains at the collar of the instructor’s uniform, a dark green fan-shaped mark spreading outward.

When the principal’s speech came blaring through the loudspeakers, she quietly adjusted her posture.

The habitual slouch she had developed in her past life was now gone—corrected by yoga and the golden finger’s influence. Her shoulder blades rested naturally, making the uniform’s shoulder line sit perfectly.

Song Xingran edged half a step closer, her hair brushing against the back of Lin Yumo’s hand, and muttered under her breath,
“This speech is even more sleep-inducing than math class…”

“Attention!” Instructor Fang’s order cut through the long-winded speech like a drawn blade.

His sharp gaze swept across every student’s face before he continued,
“My surname is Fang. You may call me Instructor Fang. For the next half month, I’ll be responsible for your training. I expect everyone to cooperate with me fully. Understood?”

“Understood!” Class Seven’s unified response rang across the sports field.

“Good.” He nodded slightly. “From now on—attention… at ease!” Sunlight filtered through her cap, scattering light across her face. Military training had begun.