Two minutes left before the bell.
The third question of the geometry proof on the blackboard hadn’t been finished, but the students of Class 3-6 had already lost their patience.
Several of them at the back of the classroom were quietly packing their bags, thinking Teacher Yanli hadn’t noticed.
“Alright, alright, I’m done explaining,” Teacher Yanli said with an annoyed smile when she saw this. “But you must finish this problem at home and write it down on paper. I’ll check on Monday.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll definitely finish it!” Wei Lai promised with a giggle.
“……”
Zi Yan was silent, quietly jotting down a note in his little notebook—
Math homework: Dabai, page 76, question four.
Since the math workbook used by Class 3-6 had an all-white cover, Zi Yan took the easy way out and simply wrote “Dabai” to denote the assignment.
He capped his pen just as the bell outside the classroom rang, “Ding ling ling.”
Instantly, the classroom erupted in noise: chatting, desks and chairs scraping, the class monitor calling out “Duty people stay behind” repeatedly.
Only then did Zi Yan start packing his bag at a leisurely pace.
Packing early might let him avoid the crowd and get home sooner, but to the subject teachers, it could seem a bit disrespectful, right?
Besides, Zi Yan’s seat was right under Teacher Yanli’s watchful gaze on the right side.
“One more week done,” Zi Yan stretched his back.
And taking a few minutes to pack slowly was actually a good way to avoid the massive post-class rush.
“Zi Yan, bye~.”
By the time Zi Yan left the teaching building, hardly anyone was left on campus. Only Wei Lai was playing basketball on the playground and called out when she spotted him from afar.
“Bye.”
Zi Yan waved and said goodbye, then hugged the thick stack of materials close to his chest as he headed home.
After all, it was the weekend.
Since he’d have plenty of free time at home, he always felt uneasy if he didn’t bring back extra reference books to study.
Moreover, his desk at home was already piled high with this week’s various tests and exercises from all subjects, and he didn’t like the mess.
So naturally, Zi Yan emptied his entire desk and seat at school. His bag was full, and he clutched the stack tight to his chest. Only when dusk began to blur the evening did he finally return home, panting.
“Son’s home?”
Hearing the door open, Zheng Quan called out from the kitchen, where he was chopping chives with a rhythmic “cack cack.”
“Wow, finally back!”
Zi Yan dropped the heavy pile at the entrance, leaning on the freezer to catch his breath.
“Exhausted,” he complained.
Zheng Quan cracked four eggs into a bowl, sprinkled salt and MSG, added two drops of soy sauce, then threw in the chopped chives, stirring everything around.
While stirring, Zheng Quan came out of the kitchen, saying, “You brought back this much again for the weekend?”
“Yeah, the bag’s still full of stuff.”
Zheng Quan said, “If you want to review something on the weekend, just take what you need. No need to bring so much.”
“When I was in middle school, I didn’t even carry a schoolbag home after class,” Zheng Quan added.
“But I want to look over every subject. How could I not bring everything back?” Zi Yan sniffed, catching the scent of chives, and asked, “Dad, are you making scrambled eggs with chives tonight?”
“Mm-hmm,” Zheng Quan replied as the stirring sound changed to a series of light taps.
Zi Yan asked, “Will it taste good?”
“……”
At Zheng Quan’s workplace, the canteen doesn’t cook on Friday nights.
Because even the most energetic young workers usually choose to go home for their rare two-day break, few stay late at the office, so the canteen doesn’t bother lighting the stove.
Normally, Zheng Quan grabs a quick meal from a nearby little restaurant on Fridays, then returns to work.
That was before his son, Zheng Zi Yan, returned to China from Antwerp.
Now, the canteen covers almost all their meals. But on Fridays and weekends, whether to eat out or cook at home becomes the ultimate question for Zheng Quan’s wallet.
After much thought and weighing pros and cons, Zheng Quan decided it was safer to improve his cooking skills.
“Don’t worry, this time it’ll definitely taste good!” he promised confidently.
Chopping the chives finely and mixing them evenly into the eggs before frying was a recipe Zheng Quan learned from the canteen cook.
He even asked the cook precisely how much salt, MSG, and soy sauce to use, noting everything down exactly in his little notebook.
If he followed the steps perfectly, even if it wasn’t delicious, it shouldn’t be terrible either, right?
“Really?” Zi Yan was skeptical.
But he was too tired now to argue over whether Dad’s cooking would be any good.
If it was truly awful, he still had leftover snacks from the last sports meet he hadn’t finished yet— enough to get by.
“I’m going to rest in my room first. Dad, call me when dinner’s ready?”
“Okay.”
He bent down to take off his shoes and slipped on slippers, then dropped his backpack on top of the pile of papers.
Carrying the stack, he tossed it onto the bed and collapsed heavily.
“…Ah.”
So tired.
Perhaps because the weather had cooled, the cicadas outside had stopped chirping. The only sound was his father stirring eggs in the kitchen.
Zi Yan closed his eyes, feeling peaceful and quiet.
Lying face down, the smooth bed tilted slightly under his weight, causing some of the papers to scatter. One sheet brushed across his cheek.
Ticklish.
His long eyelashes fluttered, and he opened his eyes, turning to his side and grabbing the paper to read.
On it was the title 《On Thrift》 by Lin Hua.
“Lin Hua, huh…” Zi Yan murmured, “What exactly did he want when he found me during recess the other day?”
Before that, he’d had no interaction with Lin Hua. And after that recess, Lin Hua never bothered him again, which left Zi Yan still puzzled.
He couldn’t figure it out and decided not to waste any more energy thinking about it.
As for Lin Hua’s perfect-scoring essay, Zi Yan had zero interest. He folded it three times into a slim strip, stuffed it into the bag meant for Chinese test papers, and left it alone.
Unbeknownst to Zi Yan, the very subject of the confession seemed completely unaware of someone’s carefully prepared little secret.
Ah, poor Lin Hua.