Lin Qi was late on the first day of school.
With six tea eggs stuffed in her schoolbag that her mother insisted on bringing, she rushed into the classroom on the last note of the morning reading bell and was caught on the spot by her head teacher, Lao Zhao. Lao Zhao assigned her to the last row - by the window, the only available seat.
Sitting next to him was a boy named Cheng Weining.
She said hello to him, but he replied with three words and stopped talking. She spoke to him, and he replied less than thirty words all week. She glanced at his scratch paper. The writing on it was so ugly that she needed to report it to the criminal investigation.
Lin Qi mentally labeled him: iceberg. Refrigeration type. Not easy to get along with.
Later, in the first monthly exam, Lin Qi scored 78 in math, and Cheng Weining ranked first in grade. That day after school, she lay on the table and didn't want to go home. Someone put a wrong question book on her table.
It has a dark green cover and the handwriting is so neat that it doesn't look like it was written by the same person. There is only one line on the sticky note: function question, see page 23.
No signature.
She thought that this person might not be an iceberg. Maybe an incubator. It's cold outside, but things inside are always hot.
