The teacher’s speed was quite fast; even with the burden of class preparation, the results were announced just three days after the exams concluded.

As school let out, the form teacher walked into the classroom holding several large sheets of white paper. Everyone’s hearts skipped a beat. It was apparent that the scores, subject cutoffs, and overall rankings were on those sheets. For a moment, everyone’s breathing grew shallow as they watched the teacher’s expression.

The form teacher surveyed the room. To be frank, he hadn't anticipated the school pulling a stunt like this just as they were heading into their final year, but it certainly highlighted several issues.

The teacher’s expression was as usual—neither overtly happy nor overtly displeased. Coupled with his immediate silence upon entering, everyone’s nerves remained tightly wound.

Just as the tension became almost unbearable, he finally spoke. “The scores are out, and the rankings are posted. While a few students will be leaving this class, it’s not impossible for them to return. Similarly, don't assume that because you passed this exam, you can rest easy. The mid-term exams in November are a hurdle, and the final exams are another. I expect everyone to persevere.”

From the teacher’s words, the students gleaned one piece of information: some people were genuinely leaving the class. The only uncertainty was who. Of course, the number leaving wouldn't be large, but those who felt they hadn't performed well immediately burst into tears. They understood the gravity of dropping down to a parallel class. Despite the teacher saying there were chances to return, everyone knew that the teachers in the fast-track classes had resources incomparable to those in the parallel classes. Unless those leaving actively chose to let their grades slide, returning would be incredibly difficult.

Wang Qiqi noticed that although Zhu Lina wasn't crying, her expression wasn't good either. Rumor had it that while her overall performance was passable, she hadn't dedicated much time to Politics, which dragged her score down significantly. Most students who made it into the arts fast-track class were either strong in memorization, excellent in English, or had a solid foundation in Chinese. Very few excelled in Math; besides, if someone was good at Math, their Physics and Chemistry scores wouldn't be poor—why would they need to spend so much time memorizing otherwise?

“Alright, I will announce the top fifty students in the grade.” The form teacher scanned the room and began reading out the overall rankings for the arts stream, one by one. Only when Wang Qiqi heard her name announced as ninth did the tension in her chest finally ease. Shi Man was ranked twentieth, signaling that both of them had safely secured their places.

For those whose names were called, some let out a small cheer of relief upon hearing them, though they dared not speak too loudly, as three or four names from the parallel classes had already appeared within the top thirty. This meant at least three or four students would have to vacate the fast-track class.

As the rankings progressed lower, Zhu Lina’s expression grew increasingly strained. Just as Zhu Lina looked ready to break down, “Zhu Lina, ranked forty-eighth.” The form teacher read directly from the paper in his hand, proceeding to list her scores for each subject.

Hearing her name, Zhu Lina finally broke, unable to hold back the tears. She had managed to stay. She had been in despair, convinced she would have to leave the fast-track class.

In truth, many students ranked in the forties felt they had narrowly escaped and desperately wanted to weep. The scores in that bracket were extremely close. The only difference was that they hadn't cried out loud like Zhu Lina.

The teacher stopped announcing individual names after the fiftieth, moving instead to announce the ranks of the remaining students in the class. Those in the early fifties still held onto some hope, but for those in the sixties or seventies, the challenge ahead looked immense. At this point, the classroom filled with sobs, from the students clinging to the bottom of the rankings to those confirmed to be dropping out—their cries were fierce.

Shi Man reached out and squeezed Wang Qiqi’s hand. “Qiqi, we’re definitely staying in this class, right?” Shi Man felt immense pressure. This time, they hadn't been fully prepared; many hadn't done well. But next time, everyone would be ready, and the competition would be even fiercer.

Wang Qiqi was also worried. Honestly, this exam had caught them off guard, and the questions had been quite fluid, especially in Math. If her Math score hadn't provided the necessary separation, she might not have made the top ten in the grade. “We will absolutely stay in the fast-track class.”

Seeing his students so upset, the form teacher felt a pang in his own chest. But this was the school’s directive, and as their form teacher, he could only comply. He opened his mouth several times but finally managed, his voice thick with emotion, “Starting tomorrow, you will all transition to your new class arrangements. Those staying will continue here; the rest will move to the adjacent classroom.”

Though the classrooms were only separated by one door, the physical distance felt far greater than a couple of steps could bridge; those two steps might end up costing tremendous effort later. Those who had been quietly sniffling now wept louder, unsure if they were crying over their own lack of effort or over the loss of face.

The form teacher was genuinely disheartened. “Forget it, go home early. I believe that even the students leaving this class will return soon enough.” With that, he hurried out. In all his years of teaching, he had never had to split a class mid-term. It wasn’t just the students who felt the sadness; he did too.

Yet, he felt a counter-surge of satisfaction: top students from other classes would be selected to join the fast-track. This would stir the pot. Many students, having secured a place in the fast-track class, had grown complacent, losing their drive. He could sympathize with the teachers of the other classes—who willingly sent their best students to boost the fast-track teacher's reputation? Over the coming days, every teacher in the fast-track class would feel like they were standing on a volcano, constantly enduring the cold sarcasm from the other faculty.

The form teacher had left. Under normal circumstances, the students would have dispersed long ago, but today, no one moved from their seats. They knew this moment was different from the initial Arts/Science stream division; they had all been braced for this.

After a long silence, someone finally spoke. “So what if we leave the fast-track class? I refuse to believe I won’t come back. Starting today, I’m going home to study hard and aim to rejoin by the mid-terms.” After declaring this, the girl grabbed her bag and walked out.

As one person left, others slowly began packing up too. Right, sitting here worrying achieved nothing. It was better to go home and study hard; the chance to return hadn't vanished.

Shi Man followed Zhu Lina, walking silently behind Wang Qiqi as they left school. Although everyone who remained had technically survived, the current level of motivation, driven by securing one of those fifty spots, meant everyone would push themselves harder and harder. Even Wang Qiqi dared not let her guard down. “Our lives are going to get much harder from now on.”

In the past, even when parallel-class students occasionally surpassed those in the top class, they hadn't felt this level of tension because the stream division happened only once. Now, securing a place in the fast-track class was no longer a fixed position. If you relaxed, plenty of others were ready to take your spot. There was, however, a downside: the widening gap between the fast-track and parallel classes. The fast-track curriculum had always moved faster and delved deeper. If a parallel-class student entered, it would be a significant challenge for them. It remained to be seen if things would develop in the way the principal had envisioned.

Zhu Lina finally composed herself. She called out loudly, “How about we go get a good meal today to celebrate?” Zhu Lina couldn't believe she had managed to slip through the net. After the exams, she had compared answers with others and knew she had gotten many wrong. She never expected to be one of the lucky ones.

“Tomorrow, maybe. Auntie is cooking today.” Wang Qiqi never refused an opportunity for better food. Home-cooked meals were reliable, but sometimes they needed something richer in flavor as a change of pace.

Zhu Lina didn't care about the timing of the dinner; it was just about eating out anyway. “I genuinely never thought I would get to stay,” she said, thrilled just thinking about it.

Gao Kai walked slowly, carrying his bag, head bowed, agonizing over why this had happened. He had never imagined he would fall out of the fast-track class. “Damn it.” The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. Seeing a small pebble on the sidewalk, he gave it a hard kick.

He had played this game before, though never kicking at anyone and never with much force. Unexpectedly, an elderly woman was ambling slowly ahead. The stone Gao Kai kicked flew directly into her back.

If he had only kicked one, it might have been dismissed, but for some reason, there were several small stones on the sidewalk, and he kicked them one after another. The old woman initially thought it was just a falling piece of debris and paid it no mind. But when the second stone struck her back, she realized something was wrong—there must be some rowdy kid playing games behind her.

As the old woman turned around, she saw Gao Kai kicking the last stone. Naturally, she became incensed. She quickened her pace, intending to grab Gao Kai and give him a proper talking-to. If she hadn't moved, the stone would likely have hit his chest. But because she took those few steps, the situation changed: the stone struck near her eye. The old woman clutched her eye, crying out in pain, while using her other hand to hold onto Gao Kai, preventing him from running.

Gao Kai froze. He hadn't anticipated hitting anyone, and worse, injuring someone’s eye. As he snapped back to his senses and tried to flee, he realized the old woman still had hold of his clothing.

“It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me,” Gao Kai stammered out a frantic denial.

The old woman was shocked that this seemingly refined young man would deny it immediately. “If it wasn’t you, who was it? Tell me who!”

Several onlookers, drawn by the commotion, gathered around, quickly starting to condemn Gao Kai. Kicking small stones was bad enough, but hitting someone with one and then refusing to admit it—that was just shirking responsibility. Everyone criticized Gao Kai relentlessly, turning his face bone-white.

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