Volume One, Chapter Seven: The Great Fog

After a torrential downpour had washed over Qinghe District, the city of Qin had not yet had the chance to greet the warm sun and clear skies before being shrouded once more in a dense, impenetrable fog. The heavens hung heavy and oppressive, the air churned restlessly, unwilling to submit so easily to the long, approaching winter. For an entire week, the thick mist lingered, unwilling to depart, enfolding the city in its cold embrace.

A city lost in the fog.

Yet, school must go on.

“This is ridiculous—third day in a row! Will it ever end?” Muttering to himself, Mo De sprinted down the street, backpack slung over his shoulder. With visibility below ten meters for three consecutive days, the buses had already ceased operation, a citywide notice declaring a suspension of all routes. Even the few cars braving the roads no longer sped past as usual, but crawled along at a snail’s pace, their drivers wishing for extra fog lights, terrified that an unwary soul from the opposite direction might draw too close for comfort.

Despite these precautions, every spare moment’s newscast brought the same warnings: “Accident-prone sections continue to see collisions—rear-ending incidents have reached xxx vehicles. Please spread the word: drive carefully and avoid unnecessary outings.”

But while the fog sealed the city’s sight, it also offered Mo De a measure of convenience. With the buses out of commission, taking a shortcut to school didn’t cost him much extra time. Steadying his breath, he drew in a deep lungful of the damp air, then accelerated, foot landing firmly on the edge of a rooftop before launching himself into the mist. He adjusted his posture in midair, and as the shadow of the next building loomed in the haze, he shifted his balance—left hand guarding his backpack, right hand bracing for a feather-light landing. Quick steps arrested his momentum, and after exhaling sharply, he fell back into his rhythm, already mapping out his next leap.

After all, the shortest path between two points is a straight line.

Thanks to the all-concealing fog, Mo De was able to revisit the “express route” he’d discovered on days when the bus eluded him. Normally, he could only risk scaling a wall or darting through an alley, never daring to be too brazen. But now, with visibility so limited that even the nearest apartment block was lost beyond the windowpane, Mo De moved with abandon, slipping into “rooftop runner” mode.

Leaping down from the final building’s corner, he adjusted his posture mid-fall, landing without a sound and coming to a halt after a few brisk steps. Dusting off his hands and straightening his clothes and backpack, he hummed a cheerful tune and strolled toward the barely visible school gate across the road.

Reaching his classroom, he reached up to the doorframe and, with practiced ease, retrieved the key to unlock the door. His backpack landed on his desk, and he turned to the row of cleaning tools hanging at the back of the room. Grabbing a mop, bucket, and cloth, he hurried off to the washroom.

There was nothing to be done—on Monday, thanks to the fog, he’d only discovered the bus suspension notice as he was leaving home, and the “sky route” through the mist had taken some trial and error. Unfortunately, he’d arrived late, and the class monitor had found the classroom windows and doors left open over the weekend. Thus, Mo De had been assigned all morning cleaning duties for the week.

“Morning, Class Monitor!” He was still muttering complaints under his breath while wiping the blackboard when his ears caught the familiar rhythm of approaching footsteps. Instantly, his expression transformed; he turned and greeted the figure in the doorway with a dazzling, ingratiating smile.

“Good morning.” Su Ziwen adjusted her glasses out of habit, replying with customary courtesy. Passing the podium, she glanced at Mo De—hard at work, or perhaps, hard at acting—then walked straight to the desk beside his.

Yes, in order to help Mo De, who was frequently absent, their homeroom teacher had seated the exemplary class monitor next to him. When the teacher had summoned them to discuss the change, Su Ziwen had simply adjusted her glasses and responded with a calm “Alright,” while Mo De had stared in despair, finally mustering a bitter, grateful smile.

It wasn’t that he minded sitting with a pretty girl—quite the opposite. But this girl, how should one put it, had an unnervingly sharp intuition and a nose for trouble that was impossible to deceive.

When Wu Fan, his partner in mischief for over half a year, had sighed and winked at him, Mo De had wanted nothing more than to kick his chubby friend. After all this time, Wu Fan had never suspected a thing despite all the double-desk shenanigans, but Su Ziwen was another matter entirely.

After Mo De’s second long leave of absence for a “mission,” the class monitor had privately approached him, gently expressing her concern: “Mo De, I understand you have your reasons. But whatever happens, you can talk to me. Just… don’t take unnecessary risks.”

How was he supposed to explain? That he’d just taken time off to rent a boat with some unscrupulous man, sailed out to sea, and captured a few horned creatures for a task? He’d even picked up a few bruises from the dragon-whale beasts, but as an up-and-coming star of the performance world, he managed to act as if nothing had happened. None of his classmates had suspected a thing. Still, such piercing insight at her age—one day she’d have trouble finding a husband.

After that near slip, Mo De always felt especially guilty when returning to school after a mission, as if he couldn’t quite meet the class monitor’s gaze. But Su Ziwen never brought it up again.

Fair in punishment and reward, she was endlessly patient during tutoring, but showed no mercy when assigning cleaning duties.

Once he’d finished tidying up, Mo De washed his hands and strolled to the corridor window, gazing through his own reflection at the blurred world beyond. Footsteps echoed in the stairwell as students arrived. Soon, the gentle chime of the preparatory bell sounded, and the footsteps quickened, each hurrying to their destination.

Shaking off his reverie, Mo De returned to the classroom, where most students were already seated. He organized his books and homework, sorting assignments for each subject, except for the Elemental Theory exercise, which he’d already handed in the night before.

Su Ziwen paused her writing, selected two Elemental Theory notebooks from her meticulously arranged stack, and rose to collect the rest from her classmates at the door, prompting each in turn.

Because of the persistent fog, all physical training had been canceled for the week, and the only gym at Tianshui High School was reserved in turns for the senior students preparing for the looming college entrance exams, to keep them in peak condition.

With no gym class, there was nothing but long hours at the desk. Such was the simple, monotonous life of a high school student.

The bell signaling the end of evening study was always music to the ears of weary students. Ah, such small joys—if the end of a school day could bring such happiness, how would they endure the hardships and upheavals of life? They ought to be more like Mo De, who heard the bell as if it were nothing, remaining unmoved and diligently working on his exercises.

“See you, man! I’m off!” Wu Fan patted Mo De’s shoulder as he passed, grinning. “Thanks for your hard work, Class Monitor! See you tomorrow!”

“Goodbye,” Su Ziwen replied, raising her head.

“Scram,” Mo De shot back, not even bothering to look up.

After a day of study came the even more arduous tutoring session.

Once, Mo De had asked Su Ziwen why, out of all the students, he alone had to endure special tutoring. Surely Wu Fan, with his consistently abysmal scores, was in greater need of help?

“He’s simply incapable, but your falling behind is only due to missed classes,” she replied calmly.

Mo De had no retort.

“Besides, Wu Fan is personally tutored by Mr. Feng, and the other students who struggle have their own helpers. You just happened to be assigned to me, so don’t feel bad,” Su Ziwen added, as if worried he might take offense.

But while other students paired up to help each other, none had to endure two hours of intense, breakneck tutoring after a full day of classes. At most, they would explain difficult questions or check each other’s homework. Su Ziwen, however, systematically reviewed every lesson the teachers had covered that day, then continued with additional exercises. An avalanche of knowledge was crammed into Mo De’s skull in those two hours, always running right up to the last bus home. Only after escorting Su Ziwen to her apartment could Mo De dash back to the school gate to catch the final bus to his own home.

From calm indifference to scratching his head in frustration, then to utter desolation, Mo De endured until the end of tutoring, packing his bag with a look of utter defeat.

The silver lining was that Su Ziwen guided him through his daily homework during tutoring. The downside was that she always assigned extra work beyond the current syllabus, “just in case,” as she put it, to prepare for his next inevitable absence.

Su Ziwen cared nothing for the fluctuations in Mo De’s grades; if he did poorly, she patiently explained his mistakes, and if he did well, she offered no praise—certainly never granting his request for “a day off.”

Once the classroom was locked up and the key replaced above the doorframe, Mo De called out, “Let’s go,” and, backpack in hand, headed for the stairs. Without a word, Su Ziwen quietly fell into step beside him.

“Goodnight, Class Monitor!” Finally free, Mo De couldn’t hide the upward curve of his lips as he waved her off at the apartment building entrance, watching until she disappeared inside.

“See you tomorrow,” Su Ziwen said, raising her hand in farewell through the glass door before vanishing into the elevator lobby.

Only after watching the class monitor safely home did Mo De heft his heavy backpack and stride toward the drainage pipe at the side of the building.

It was time for him to “go upstairs”—in his own way.

In a room lined with apricot wallpaper, Su Ziwen leaned against the pale blue curtains. She loosened her uniform collar, let down her high ponytail, took off her glasses and set them on the bookshelf, then massaged the marks left on the bridge of her nose.

She paused, calculating the time, then suddenly held her breath, tilting her head to listen.

A faint rustling outside the window, gone in a heartbeat.

A smile tugged at her lips as she rose and walked toward the bathroom.