Other classes had their “Four Great Beauties,” but our class was known for its “Four Great Eyesores.” My deskmate was one of them—her bangs were excessively long, her clothes outdated, and she rarely spoke. She was often the target of mild bullying, and I, too, had little inclination to engage with her.

That said, as a seatmate, she was at least dutiful. She often let me copy her homework and would even give me subtle warnings when the homeroom teacher was approaching. In return, I tried to look out for her when I could.

One day, as I drifted in and out of sleep, I noticed her shoulders trembling. She was crying.

Curious, I straightened up and saw a crumpled note in her hands. Scrawled across it were seven crude, jagged words:

"You are f*ck*ng ugly as hell!"

Rage flared up inside me—not just for her, but for myself as well. Was there really someone this cruel?

Without hesitation, I shot up from my seat and roared, "Wang Baocheng, are you out of your d*mn mind?!"

There was no need for speculation. Only Wang Baocheng would stoop this low in our class.

Sure enough, he stood up too, sneering. "Zuofei, what the hell does this have to do with you? Just because you think Binzi's got your back, you think you can talk big?"

Our teacher, furious, barked, "Both of you, sit down!"

Reluctantly, we obeyed. My deskmate was still quietly sobbing. I leaned over and muttered, "Stop crying already. I’ll handle him later."

Then, I discreetly texted Binzi, asking him to swing by our classroom after the lesson. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure I could take Wang Baocheng on my own.

The moment the bell rang, the door was kicked open with a loud bang.

"Zuofei, what’s up?" Binzi’s presence was as imposing as ever.

Before I could say a word, Wang Baocheng scrambled to defend himself, "I was just joking around with Lin Ke’er. I don’t know why Zuofei freaked out like that and started cursing me."

I snapped, "And what if I did? You miserable piece of sh*t, who the hell do you think you are, bullying her like that?"

Binzi wasted no time. "Wang Baocheng, step outside."

The smugness drained from Wang Baocheng’s face. He had no choice but to follow.

I turned to my deskmate. "Alright, stop crying. No one’s going to mess with you anymore." Then, I hurried after them.

Needless to say, Binzi made sure Wang Baocheng paid for what he did. When he came back, he begrudgingly apologized to Lin Ke’er.

I thought that was the end of it—a minor incident soon to be forgotten. I never expected what would come next.

A few days later, while sneaking a cigarette in the bathroom with Binzi, he suddenly asked, "Zuofei, I heard you and Lin Ke’er are dating?"

I nearly choked on the smoke. "What? No way."

"Well, that’s what people are saying. Word’s all over school."

I scoffed. "Come on, do you really think I’d go for someone like her?"

Binzi shrugged. "Still, you might want to clear things up. If rumors keep spreading, it’ll be hard to shake them off."

Back in class, I found myself sneaking glances at Lin Ke’er. She seemed as indifferent as ever.

But soon, I noticed something odd.

First, her gaze changed—during class, she’d steal fleeting glances at me, her eyes brimming with an unfamiliar warmth. Then, when she bought snacks, she started getting extras for me—instant noodles, sausages, small treats. And finally, wherever I went, she wasn’t far behind. If I played basketball, she’d be there at the sidelines, cheering.

It dawned on me—Lin Ke’er had grown attached to me.

I felt an immense awkwardness settle in. No wonder people assumed we were together—our interactions had already become uncomfortably ambiguous.

I decided to subtly distance myself, hoping she’d take the hint. When she looked at me, I avoided her gaze. When she offered me food, I declined. If she approached me, I’d immediately walk the other way.

But it was useless.

Our classmates had already cemented the idea that we were a couple. During group activities, we were always paired together—whether it was class duty, decorating the blackboard, or school events. Even the homeroom teacher seemed to acknowledge it, never once separating our seats during rearrangements.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

It felt as if my life had been forcibly intertwined with hers.

That period of my life was suffocating. I had been developing something with a girl from another class, but thanks to this situation, that fell apart. Frustration burned inside me, simmering closer to the surface with each passing day.

Then came my birthday.

I invited Binzi and a few others to celebrate at a restaurant. The atmosphere was lively—laughter, singing, the sound of glasses clinking. Just as I was about to cut the cake, the door suddenly swung open.

"Zuofei, happy birthday!"

Lin Ke’er stood there, her voice bright and earnest. In her outstretched palm rested a small, silver ring.

The room erupted with cheers and applause. Someone jeered, "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

To my horror, Lin Ke’er actually lowered her head, waiting.

In that instant, all my pent-up frustration snapped. This was the last straw.

I did something truly unforgivable.

With all my strength, I flung the silver ring at her face and bellowed, "Get lost! I would never be with an ugly freak like you!"

A stunned silence filled the room.

Lin Ke’er froze, eyes wide, before hastily picking up the ring and fleeing the scene, humiliated.

A deep, unsettling guilt settled over me. I collapsed into my chair, feeling like a wretched old dog.

Binzi sighed, patting my shoulder. "You went too far, man."

"You should apologize tomorrow."

I nodded. What else could I do?

But the next day, Lin Ke’er’s seat was empty.

A week passed before the teacher finally announced that Lin Ke’er had transferred. Only then did I breathe a small sigh of relief.

I never saw her again throughout the rest of middle school.

But I knew—I owed her an apology.

If I ever saw her again, I’d stand before her and say those two words: I’m sorry.

After graduation, my father’s job relocated our family to another city.

And in that city, I saw Lin Ke’er once more.

Except by then, she was no longer the girl I once knew. Before the move, Binzi warned me that at the new school I must firmly assert myself and never allow anyone to look down on me. I assured him—with a wry smile—that I wouldn’t bring shame upon him, and perhaps I might even manage to carve out a leadership role. Naturally, it was all in jest, for I had little desire to stir up trouble.

Yet, soon after relocating, an anonymous message arrived: “You idiot, without Binzi watching your back, just wait until you’re trampled to death.” I had no inkling who might have sent it; after all, during our three years in middle school, I’d sparred with many alongside Binzi, leaving me with no clear target for retribution.

Still, I knew that many were eagerly awaiting my downfall—the two cities were scarcely apart. I vowed silently, “Watch me—you won’t see me floundering at this new school. Even if I don’t rise to the top, I won’t be left bruised day after day.” I could scarcely have foreseen that I had spoken too soon.

On the first day, my spirits were high, for the school lay far from home, and at last I could embrace the exhilarating life of a boarder—a thrill known only to those unacquainted with dormitory living. After classes and dorm assignments, we gathered for the freshman assembly. The proceedings were dreadfully tedious—our school administrators droning on until I teetered on the brink of slumber, my mind wandering toward a fanciful rendezvous with the daughter of Zhou Gong. Then, just as I succumbed to the haze of half-sleep, a sudden voice shattered the monotony.

Though no louder than the preceding drivel, that voice struck my ears like distant thunder—resonant and electrifying. “Please welcome our freshman representative, Lin Ke’er, to the stage!”

At the moment those words reached me, my mind reverberated and fell into a blank void. Hastily stifling the tumult within, I raised my eyes to behold a young maiden gracefully advancing onto the stage. She was undeniably beautiful, and instantly the audience erupted into commotion; one unrefined voice exclaimed, “This girl is simply exquisite!”

My heart pounded as I recognized her—my former deskmate, Lin Ke’er! After two long years, she had undergone a staggering transformation: now taller, with a more graceful figure, her attire imbued with modern elegance, and exuding an aura of self-assurance. Her sleek, straight hair cascaded elegantly, accented by a delicate pink hairpin, epitomizing unblemished purity and irresistible charm. They say that with age, a woman undergoes a metamorphosis—and today, I bore witness to it in the flesh!

I stood there, lost in reverie, my mind abuzz, so much so that not a single word from Lin Ke’er reached me. Only when the assembly drew to a close did I remember: I still owed her an apology. And now, the chance lay before me!

I hurried into the throng in search of her, yet she had vanished without a trace. I could only console myself, knowing that in this school, myriad opportunities for reunion would surely arise.

Later, we gathered in our classroom for a brief meeting during which our homeroom teacher prompted each of us to introduce ourselves. There were so many names that only two lodged in my memory: Ma Jie, who boldly volunteered to be our class monitor, and Liu Yina, renowned not only for her stunning beauty but also for her melodious singing and graceful dancing.

Once introductions were complete, the teacher addressed the matter of military training—set to begin that very afternoon and to last for fifteen arduous days. An aspect I dreaded immensely, yet could not avoid. During the recess, a gaggle of boys encircled Liu Yina, clamoring for her WeChat contact. I joined in the ribbing—purely in jest—though perhaps a bit too roughly, inadvertently brushing her arm. In response, she rose and snapped, “Are you out of your mind?”

I was momentarily stunned, unable to muster a response, for in middle school no one had ever dared address me so bluntly. After her remark, Liu Yina simply sat down and resumed her frolic with the other boys, as though nothing had transpired, while no one spared a glance at my discomfort. In that moment, I felt an acute pang of sorrow; the stark contrast to my former glory in middle school left me deeply disheartened.

I stepped out, intent on finding Lin Ke’er to offer my apology and perhaps reminisce. With our grade divided among seven or eight classrooms, I searched them one by one. At last, as Class 6’s group emerged—three boys and a solitary girl—I beheld Lin Ke’er, whose beauty shone even more brilliantly up close. I exclaimed with delight, “Lin Ke’er!”

She appeared momentarily taken aback upon noticing me, and a long-haired young man beside her retorted, “Who the hell do you think you are? Scram if you have nothing to say.” I was rendered speechless—this marked only the second instance at this new school in which someone had addressed me so contemptuously. Instantly, I recalled the anonymous message from before our move, and a fierce, defiant spirit surged within me.

Lin Ke’er and her companions had already distanced themselves, and in a fit of rage, I pursued them. I caught sight of them having forced her into a corner, and the long-haired boy—who had earlier insulted me—was now leeringly trailing his finger along her chin. Witnessing the reluctant expression on her face, I stormed over and bellowed, “What the hell did you just say?”

The three boys were momentarily stunned, and Lin Ke’er coolly retorted, “What’s it to you? Scram.” That made her the third person to hurl insults at me that day.