Chapter 9: Crush Them Completely!

The literary and artistic evening was scheduled for next Friday night, leaving each class only one week to prepare.

The performance for Senior Class 3-1 was no longer the usual poetry recitation but was changed to a cello-led ensemble, with He Miao playing the cello and classmates singing along.

He Miao had been practicing the cello for a year. Being her parents’ only daughter, they had never seen her interested in anything besides her studies. So when she suddenly showed enthusiasm for the cello, they were naturally delighted and supported her learning it.

In truth, He Miao took up the cello simply because she was provoked by the art class students.

Was the academic class just cannon fodder for the art class?

Ugh, that’s infuriating!

So she practiced the cello diligently, determined to fight back for some dignity.

After all, the entire school’s art class had dancers, singers, pianists, and so on, but there was no one who played the cello.

Wasn’t this her chance?

Even if her skill wasn’t top-notch, opportunity was crucial.

Even if she didn’t win first place, she had to bring home an award.

She hadn’t practiced any other pieces all year—only a single song, “My Motherland and I.”

Just on that alone, not winning any prize would be hard to accept! The passion behind it was moving!

Yes, defeat them utterly!

Thus, when Ying Zhiyao saw He Miao walk into the classroom carrying her cello, she suddenly felt as if she had been drawn into an unfathomable whirlpool, as though her soul had been drained away.

Her once rosy face turned pale instantly.

Cold sweat formed on her forehead, her breathing grew rapid, her vision darkened, and before long, she lost control and collapsed backward.

“Ying Zhiyao!”

Ji Shichu, standing beside her, immediately caught her. Seeing that Ying Zhiyao had lost consciousness, he cradled her horizontally and rushed out of the classroom.

To the infirmary.

Lying on the bed, Ying Zhiyao was trapped in a nightmare.

Her small hands clenched the bedsheet tightly, sobbing softly.

Although the school nurse said there was no serious problem, Ji Shichu remained worried.

He asked He Miao, who had accompanied them, to return to class and help him request leave for Ying Zhiyao, while he stayed by her side.

Watching the girl so restless even in sleep, Ji Shichu felt deeply concerned.

He had always known Ying Zhiyao harbored many hidden burdens, but he never asked, not wanting to disturb the fragile balance.

Because he sensed that if he asked, that balance would shatter instantly—just like the girl before him, nearly broken.

So he dared not.

Ji Shichu silently kept vigil beside Ying Zhiyao, motionless like a statue.

An hour later, Ying Zhiyao slowly woke.

Ji Shichu still didn’t ask anything. He gently helped her sit up and offered her a sip of water from a nearby cup.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked.

The girl, her forehead damp with sweat, shook her head.

“Then rest some more?”

She nodded.

Tenderly, Ji Shichu laid Ying Zhiyao back down.

This time, she reached out and held one of his fingers.

Her moist apricot-colored eyes still held traces of the lingering nightmare’s fear.

“I’m not leaving. I’ll stay with you. Rest easy, okay?”

“Don’t tell Aunt He, I’m fine...” Despite how unwell she felt, she didn’t want to worry anyone.

Ji Shichu sighed softly. “Then promise me, no matter what happens, you’ll tell me right away. If you do, I promise.”

Just thinking about what could have happened if he hadn’t been there to catch the fainting Ying Zhiyao made his heart race with fear.

“All right.” Ying Zhiyao hooked her pinky with his.

Ji Shichu didn’t tell Aunt He about the incident.

But just to be safe, he took Ying Zhiyao to the town hospital for a checkup.

Only after the doctor said she was fine did his heart gradually settle.

Still, Ying Zhiyao refused to participate in the class performance rehearsals.

Considering her condition, He Miao agreed without hesitation.

The classmates, fond of the quiet and well-behaved girl, didn’t object and often brought her small snacks and showed their care.

Other classes were fervently preparing their programs.

And so Friday night arrived.

Although Ying Zhiyao declined to perform, she came to the school auditorium to cheer for her class.

As long as she didn’t see or hear the cello, she was fine.

Backstage at that moment.

When Ying Zhiyao arrived, she saw the students gathered around He Miao.

He Miao looked ill, her eyes red-rimmed, her right hand supporting her left.

She stepped forward, puzzled.

“He Miao’s sheet music is missing. And just now, someone from the art class bumped into her, causing her to sprain her left hand,” Ji Shichu explained as he approached Ying Zhiyao.

“I think Wang Shasha did it on purpose!” Dong Rui spat disdainfully. “The hallway’s so wide, but she just had to bump into the class monitor? Maybe she even stole the sheet music!”

“Enough. There’s no point blaming now,” He Miao took a deep breath. “You all just sing along with the accompaniment. Participation is what matters. Get ready, don’t worry about me.”

“I’ve already arranged the accompaniment. Everyone, prepare yourselves—we’re about to go on stage,” the homeroom teacher, Old Guo, said. Though disappointed, he focused on solving the problem first.

“Remember to check the surveillance footage,” Ji Shichu reminded.

“Don’t worry,” Old Guo replied.

He didn’t want to think badly of the students, hoping everything was a coincidence, an accident.

But if he found out someone had done this deliberately, as the homeroom teacher, he wouldn’t tolerate it.

Ji Shichu glanced at Ying Zhiyao, who quietly stayed by He Miao’s side, then said nothing else. He led the grumbling Dong Rui and others to prepare.

Yet everyone’s spirits were low; no one felt like singing.

Backstage fell into sudden silence.

After everyone left, He Miao, who had been holding back, finally broke down in tears.

Ying Zhiyao looked at the crying He Miao.

In her memory, the class monitor was a serious and strong girl, always earnest and spirited in everything she did.

This was the first time she had seen the monitor cry.

So even the strongest have fragile sides.

Ying Zhiyao glanced at the cello nearby, her small hands clenched and unclenched, struggling.

After a moment,

“Class monitor, you want to win, don’t you?” she asked gently.

He Miao lifted her tear-streaked eyes. “For this day, to reclaim my pride, I’ve practiced the cello for a year. I don’t care about the hardship—I just want to lead our class to a win! But...”

“Class monitor, do you love the cello?”

“At first, I chose the cello because I wasn’t interested in other instruments. But with the determination to beat the art class, I picked it. Then, as I practiced, I found myself gradually falling in love with it—the richness, the depth, the elegance, the grandeur, the gentleness, the softness. I love it, very much. If I can, I want to keep playing it forever!”

Seeing the spark of joy light up He Miao’s eyes as she spoke of the cello, Ying Zhiyao felt a momentary daze.

Her mind flashed with a face she dared not touch—a face she would never forget in this lifetime.

Ying Zhiyao gently held He Miao’s uninjured right hand, a sweet smile blooming on her exquisite face.

“Good.”