Love is coming

I, Zhou Bufan, a newcomer to the first year of senior high school at X Secondary School, am truly puzzled as to why my parents chose to name me "Bufan," for I am indeed quite ordinary. My commonplace appearance is forgettable even with a lingering gaze, and my physique is unremarkable, weighing around 120 catties and standing approximately 1.73 meters tall. Wherever I stroll down the streets, I effortlessly blend into the masses. Using the name "Bufan" for such an ordinary person seems akin to the suspicion of deceiving the public with a counterfeit product. Though my admission to X Secondary School shattered the expectations of many from my former junior high, my academic performance remains disappointingly ordinary, constantly hovering around the twenty or thirtieth position in the class. Throughout junior high, I lived under the terrorizing policies of my father's "big stick" and my mother's incessant "ultrasonic waves." My father often stood behind me, wielding a chicken feather duster, "assisting" me in my studies, while my mother incessantly recited anecdotes of others' achievements, using them as benchmarks for my conduct. Finally securing admission to X Secondary School alleviated some of my father's strictness, but alas, the financial support ceased naturally, under the guise of, "This is what you should be doing."

In public, my mother can now hold her head high, as there are always nosy aunts and distant relatives inquiring about my situation. My mother modestly replies, "Oh no, he's just enrolled in X Secondary School, unlike XXX's son who got into a foreign language school and won't have to worry about going abroad..."

I aimlessly passed through a bewildering summer vacation and today marks the first day of school for new students at X Secondary School. I encountered some acquaintances from junior high, some of whom I barely met a few times. However, in this new environment, they are considered familiar faces, and exchanging greetings is inevitable. Of course, I also encountered classmates from junior high with whom I spent three years, such as the class monitor, Liu Ye. Despite spending three years together in the same class, the extent of our interaction amounted to less than ten sentences, revolving around mundane matters like duty rotations and closing windows. If it weren't for us attending the same school again, she might have forgotten that I was her classmate. In junior high, Liu Ye was the class beauty, attracting as many admirers as there are mosquitoes around her. In this new environment, she is bound to attract even more followers.

In the first year, there are a total of ten classes, and I was assigned to Class Three, comprising 54 classmates, evenly split between boys and girls, ensuring that each boy is paired with a girl. Each classmate is adorned in branded attire, wearing leather shoes from a venerable brand, Nike sneakers, Adidas sportswear, Pierre Cardin shirts, and even backpacks branded with Pepsi logos. Meanwhile, I am still clad in the school uniform I've worn for three years, washed countless times. After distributing the textbooks, a teacher in her thirties appeared and declared, "I am Jiang Yu, your form teacher for the next three years, and also your Chinese teacher."

Now, let me arrange the seating for you. Dong Yuanxiang, you sit here... Zhou Bufan, this is your seat." Instantly, I felt the piercing gazes around me, sending shivers down my spine. Some even gestured threateningly with their fists. I pondered, "What have I done to offend them? At most, I spat on the ground near the entrance. Did it land on their faces?" Mrs. Jiang urged again, "Zhou Bufan, please take your seat." Ignoring the crowd, I hastily stuffed my backpack into the desk and attempted to greet my desk mate. Upon seeing her, I couldn't help but gasp in surprise. Someone quipped, "Bro, did you just encounter a dinosaur? You look terrified!" On the contrary, she was a stunningly beautiful young lady, with meticulously shaped eyebrows, large watery eyes framed by flirtatious eyelashes, and lips still rosy despite the lipstick. Her beauty surpassed that of Liu Ye's by a few degrees, explaining the intense scrutiny. Trembling, I extended my right hand and courteously said, "I am Zhou Bufan. It's a pleasure to meet you." Yet, the beauty paid me no heed, her gaze fixed on the teacher. Feeling ignored, I awkwardly shook my right hand with my left a few times, pretending it was a handshake.

In the ensuing days, I endured the scrutiny and gossip of my classmates until suddenly, after a week, the chatter ceased as if it had never existed. Later, I learned the reason behind it. Nonetheless, I was grateful for the first time for the ordinary face my parents had bestowed upon me. As they say, "Better to have an innocuous presence than an adversary."

This was the first Monday since the start of the school year, and according to school regulations, everyone was required to wear the school uniform for the weekly assembly. The uniforms were distributed last Friday, with two sets for each gender. One set is a unisex sports suit typically worn in late autumn or winter, while the other set for boys consists of a suit paired with blue shorts and a bow tie, and for girls, it's a short-sleeved sky-blue shirt with a white camisole skirt and white socks, suitable for spring, summer, and early autumn. Since it was early September, everyone was wearing the latter set. During the third period that afternoon, which was a self-study session, the teacher was absent, leaving the class monitor in charge. Students were engrossed in homework or reading, while I found myself in the midst of completing assignments. Suddenly, my pen ran out of ink. Despite shaking it and trying to coax it into working again, the ink wouldn't flow. In desperation, I flicked it, hoping for a miracle. A miracle did occur, but it exceeded my expectations as the ink splattered, with a few drops landing on my desk mate's pristine white skirt. I hurriedly grabbed tissues to wipe it off, apologizing profusely, "I'm so sorry, I'll clean it up." In the process, my hands inadvertently brushed against her pristine thighs. She swatted away my hands holding the tissues and uttered angrily, "I never expected that beneath your ugly visage lies an even uglier soul." Shocked, I froze with my hands suspended mid-air. I had never held a girl's hand, let alone looked at a girl's face directly. Yet, today, I was branded as ugly solely because of my appearance. I was furious, truly furious for the first time. You can look down on me, but you cannot baselessly slander me. With a resounding slap on the desk, I stood up, drawing the attention of the entire class. My desk mate seemed to realize she had gone too far, wanting to apologize but couldn't bring herself to, her lips twitching. I didn't give her the chance. Ignoring the class monitor's calls, I walked out of the classroom. Thus, in the second week of school, I offended one of the four beauties of the school, Dong Fangbing.

The four outstanding freshmen, renowned as the Four Corners Beauties, are truly remarkable individuals. Their names, linked to the cardinal directions, are as follows: Dong Fangbing from my Class Three, Nan Gongyun from Class Five, Ximen Xue from Class Seven, and Bei Yejing from Class Nine.

Their backgrounds are truly illustrious; Nan Gongyun and Ximen Xue are the daughters of prominent private enterprise tycoons in the country, with assets rumored to exceed billions. Meanwhile, Dong Fangbing's grandfather is a significant figure in a multinational corporation supporting the motherland's development. Recently, he even attended a prestigious commerce summit. Bei Yejing, on the other hand, is half Japanese, her father being the president of a prominent Japanese corporation. Despite their affluent backgrounds, it's noteworthy that all four are car owners. While Nan Gong, Ximen, and Bei Yejing are chauffeured to and from school with two bodyguards