By the third period, An Ran had noticed a strange pattern.
If Qin Mo Ran wasn't dozing with his head on the desk, then he was leaning back with his arms crossed and eyes shut, as though the class was a lullaby made only for him. His messy ash-brown hair fell over his forehead, catching the faint morning light from the window. He never opened his notebook, never so much as picked up a pen.
Was he pretending? Or did he really not care?
An Ran wasn't the only one watching. Every now and then, whispers rose from the back row, girls daring each other to poke him awake, boys muttering in disbelief at his audacity. Still, no one dared disturb him. Something about his indifference made him untouchable.
When the lunch bell rang, chatter filled the classroom. Students rushed out in groups, some heading to the cafeteria, some loitering in the halls.
But by the time half the break had passed, Qin Mo Ran had vanished.
His admirers searched the corridors, the courtyard, even peeked into the library, giggling nervously as they whispered his name. "Where could he be? He didn't even eat…"
When he finally returned, it was as if he had stepped out of thin air. He walked in without a word, hair even messier than before, shirt collar loosened, eyes half-lidded as though nothing in the world could touch him. Without glancing at anyone, he slumped back into his seat, folded his arms, and lowered his head onto the desk.
A few girls exchanged glances. One of them nudged another.
"Should we… wake him up? Ask him to eat with us?"
Her friend shook her head furiously. "Are you crazy? He'll just ignore us. Look at him…"
So no one moved. They hovered like timid moths around a flame, too drawn to look away, too afraid to get burned.
By the time the teacher returned, Qin Mo Ran was already deep in his own world, strands of ash-brown hair spilling over his arms.
"Quiet!" the teacher's sharp voice sliced through the noise. She adjusted her glasses, then flipped open the literature text. "We'll continue with the acting exercise. You...." Her eyes darted across the rows before landing squarely on An Ran. "Yes, you. Stand up."
An Ran's stomach dropped.Her heart thumping wildly against her chest.
"M-me?"
The class burst into muffled laughter.
Lin Ruoyi smirked, covering her mouth as she leaned toward Huang Ling. "This should be good."
"She can't even look people in the eye," Huang Ling whispered back. "How's she going to act?"
Heat crawled up An Ran's neck. Slowly, she rose to her feet, clutching the book in trembling hands.
"Read this passage aloud," the teacher instructed. "No....don't just read. Act."
An Ran's throat felt dry as sand. She stumbled over the first few lines, her voice barely above a whisper. A ripple of laughter spread across the classroom.
"Too stiff."
"Is she shaking? Tsk. So useless"
"This is painful to watch…"
An Ran bit her lip so hard she almost drew blood. Her vision blurre, whether from nerves or her worsening eyesight, she couldn't tell. For a moment, she thought she might faint.
But then a memory flickered: the nights she had whispered these very lines into the silence of her small room, the way she had believed, just for a second, that she could be someone else. Someone brave. Someone alive.
Her fists tightened around the book. She lifted her chin.
This time, when she spoke, her voice came clearer, steadier. She let the words flow through her, let the emotions surge. Her body shifted instinctively, her expression alive with the character's grief and resolve.
The room grew silent.
Even the ones who had laughed earlier sat frozen, caught off guard. The classroom wasn't filled with mocking anymore, it was filled with the story she embodied.
When she finished, the silence lingered for a heartbeat before the teacher spoke.
"Very good," the teacher said softly, but firmly. "That—was acting."
The silence broke into murmurs.
"I didn't expect that from her…"
"She really changed…"
"Wow, that was…"
One by one, others volunteered, eager to prove themselves. Lin Ruoyi stepped forward, tossing her blonde hair as though she already knew she'd win. Her delivery was dramatic, sharp, but something about it felt hollow. Huang Ling followed, her gestures exaggerated to the point of comedy. Xiao Yuxi tried too, sneering her way through the lines.
The teacher, unimpressed, shook her head. "At best, average. The most authentic performance remains… An Ran's."
An Ran froze, heart hammering. She lowered her gaze, cheeks burning with heat.
Across the room, Lin Ruoyi's smile cracked. Her nails dug into her palm beneath the desk, fury simmering beneath her perfect expression.
Xu Haoran broke the tension with a loud laugh. "Wow, who knew our little bookworm had it in her?" He leaned across his desk, grinning at her. "Hey, An Ran, where were you hiding that? You nearly scared me."
The class chuckled, and a few joined in with teasing remarks, but this time it wasn't cruel—it was almost… admiring.
An Ran's ears turned red. She hurried back to her seat, lowering her head, wishing her hair could shield her completely.
From the back row, Qin Mo Ran didn't stir. Whether he had slept through it all or listened with his eyes closed, no one could tell.
But Jiang Cheng, lounging casually in his seat, let out a low chuckle. When An Ran glanced up for the briefest moment, she caught him watching her, eyes unreadable, lips curved faintly, as if she'd done something that mildly amused him.
Her chest tightened. She quickly looked away.