The teacher’s pace was quite swift; even with classes and lesson preparation, the results were posted just three days after the exams concluded.

As school let out, the form teacher strode into the classroom clutching several large sheets of white paper. A collective tension immediately tightened the air. It was clear the papers contained the cut-off scores for each subject and the overall rankings. For a moment, everyone’s breathing grew shallow, their eyes glued to the teacher’s expression.

The form teacher surveyed the room. Frankly, he hadn't anticipated the school pulling a stunt like this right before they were due to start the third year, but it certainly illuminated several issues.

The teacher’s expression remained unchanged—neither happy nor displeased. Coupled with his silence upon entering, he held everyone suspended in suspense.

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. Likewise, don’t assume that passing this exam means you’re secure. The mid-term exam in November is a hurdle, and the final exam is another. I expect everyone to persevere.”

From these words, the students gleaned one piece of information: some people were indeed leaving the class, though they didn't know who. The number departing wouldn't be huge, but those who felt they had performed poorly burst into tears first. They understood the gravity of dropping to a parallel class. Even though the form teacher mentioned a chance to return, who among them didn't know that the teachers in the advanced classes were incomparable to those in the parallel ones, and the resources afforded were superior? It would take a catastrophic drop in performance for someone to stay put.

Wang Qiqi noticed that while Zhu Lina wasn't crying, her expression was far from good. Rumor had it that although her overall score was decent, she hadn't dedicated much time to Politics, causing her score in that subject to drag her down significantly. Many students who made it into the advanced liberal arts track were either blessed with good memory, strong English skills, or a solid foundation in Chinese. Few were genuinely strong in Mathematics; after all, good math scores usually meant decent Physics and Chemistry grades, negating the need for so much rote memorization.

“Alright, I’ll announce the top fifty students in the grade,” the form teacher said, looking around before reading out the overall liberal arts rankings one by one. When Wang Qiqi heard her name at ninth place, her heart finally relaxed. Shi Man ranked twentieth, signaling that both of them had safely secured their spots.

Some of those whose names were called let out a small cheer upon hearing them, acknowledging their passage, yet they dared not make too much noise. Three or four names from the parallel classes had already appeared within the top thirty, meaning at least three or four students would be vacating the advanced class.

As the rankings progressed lower, Zhu Lina’s expression grew increasingly strained. Just as Zhu Lina seemed on the verge of tears, “Zhu Lina, forty-eighth place.” The form teacher read mechanically from the paper in his hand, proceeding to list Zhu Lina’s scores in each subject.

Hearing her name, Zhu Lina finally broke down in sobs. She had managed to stay in the class; she had been utterly convinced she would have to leave the advanced track.

In truth, many students ranked in the forties felt the intense desire to weep. It had been too close a call. Furthermore, the score margins in that segment were incredibly slim, yet they hadn't cried out loud like Zhu Lina.

The form teacher stopped reading individual ranks after fiftieth place, instead announcing the rankings of the remaining students in the class who hadn't been named individually. Those hovering in the fifties looked slightly relieved, still having hope, but for those in the sixties or seventies, the odds looked grim. Suddenly, a wave of crying swept through the room—from the bottom-ranked students to those just outside the cutoff—the weeping was fierce.

Shi Man reached out and grasped 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 performed their best. But next time, everyone would be ready, and the competition would be fiercer.

Wang Qiqi was also worried. To be honest, this exam had caught them by surprise, and the questions were particularly open-ended, especially in Mathematics. If her Math score hadn't pulled her up, she might not have cracked the top ten in the grade. “We will definitely stay in the advanced class.”

Watching the students weep so openly, 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, ultimately speaking with a slight tremor in his voice, “Starting tomorrow, those staying will report here for the new class structure. The remaining students will move to the adjacent classroom.”

Although the new classroom was only two doors down, the distance felt like more than a couple of steps could cover; perhaps even those few steps would take a significant effort now. Those who had been quietly sobbing heard the announcement and began to cry louder, unsure if they were weeping for their own lack of effort or for the sake of lost face.

The form teacher was genuinely distressed too. “Forget it, go home early. I believe that even those who leave this class will return soon enough.” With that, the teacher hurried away. In all his years of teaching, he had never experienced mid-term class realignments. It wasn't just the students who felt the sorrow; he felt it too.

On a brighter note, he was pleased that top students from other classes would be filtered into the advanced class, which would stir the waters. Many in his class assumed getting into the advanced track guaranteed an easy ride, losing their drive. He could also sympathize with the teachers in the other classes—who would willingly send their best students to the advanced class, effectively handing the advanced class teachers ammunition for stellar results? In the days to come, every teacher in the advanced class would feel they were on a volcano, constantly enduring cold remarks from the teachers in the parallel classes.

The form teacher departed. Usually, the students would disperse immediately, but today, no one moved. This situation was different from the initial separation of arts and sciences, where everyone had been prepared.

After a long pause, someone finally broke the silence. “So, we’re leaving the advanced class? I refuse to believe I won’t come back. Starting today, I’m going home to study hard and aim to return by the mid-term exam.” After delivering this declaration, the girl picked up her bag and left.

As one person left for home, the others slowly followed suit, collecting their bags. Indeed, time spent sitting around mulling over what-ifs was better spent studying, as there was still a chance to return.

Shi Man and Zhu Lina silently followed Wang Qiqi out of the school. Although they had all managed to stay, everyone’s current motivation was soaring, focused entirely on those fifty spots. They would surely strive harder and harder. Even Wang Qiqi dared not let her mind wander, thinking, “Our lives are going to get much tougher from now on.”

In the past, even when students from parallel classes surpassed those in the advanced class, there had never been this level of tension because the split was a one-time event. Now, entering the advanced class was no longer a fixed position; slack off, and someone would take your place. There was also a negative consequence: the widening gap between the advanced class and the parallel classes. The advanced class always progressed faster and deeper. If a student from a parallel class transferred in, it would present a significant challenge for them. It remained to be seen if the situation would develop in the direction the principal envisioned.

Zhu Lina had composed herself by then. She called out loudly, “How about we go out for a good meal today to celebrate?” Zhu Lina hadn’t expected to escape this ordeal. After the exam, she had compared answers with others and realized she’d missed several points. She never thought she would be one of the lucky survivors.

“Tomorrow, okay? Mom is cooking today.” Wang Qiqi never refused an opportunity for better food. Home-cooked meals were reliable, but an occasional burst of strong flavor was a good change.

Zhu Lina didn't care when they went out to eat; it was just a meal either way. “I seriously never thought I would make the cut.” Zhu Lina felt a surge of excitement just thinking about it.

Gao Kai walked slowly with his backpack, head bowed, agonizing over the outcome. He had never imagined he would be dropped from the advanced 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.

Gao Kai had played this game before, but he hadn't kicked anyone, nor had he put much force into it. Unexpectedly, an elderly woman was ambling slowly ahead. The pebble Gao Kai kicked flew directly into her back.

If he had only kicked one, it might have been forgivable, 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 debris falling from above and paid it no mind. But when the second stone struck her back, she realized something was amiss—some brat must be playing with stones behind her.

Just as the old woman turned around, she saw Gao Kai kicking the last stone. Naturally, she was incensed. She quickly closed the distance, intending to grab Gao Kai and give him a proper talking-to. Had she not moved, the stone would have hit his chest. But because she took those few steps, the angle changed: the stone struck the corner of 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 fleeing.

Gao Kai froze. He hadn't intended to hit anyone, let alone injure someone’s eye so badly. When he snapped back to reality and tried to run, he realized the old woman still held his clothing.

“It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me,” Gao Kai stammered in denial.

The old woman was shocked that this seemingly well-mannered boy would immediately deny it. “If it wasn't you, who was it? You tell me who.”

A few bystanders who had witnessed the commotion gathered around, all pointing and criticizing Gao Kai. Kicking small stones was bad enough, but hitting someone and then refusing to admit it—that was just shirking responsibility. The crowd lambasted Gao Kai until his face turned deathly pale.