In less than half a minute, Brian Clark got up again and pulled out the washbasin.

The girl forced herself to endure the discomfort and went to the washroom to do laundry. The jacket was heavy after being soaked, and in all her life, she’d only ever washed underwear and socks—after just a few scrubs, she already felt like she couldn’t straighten her back.

Not only that, Brian Clark kept in mind Jason Walker’s period advice: with every rinse, add a bit of hot water. By the end, after half an hour, the girl’s face was deathly pale, her forehead covered in cold sweat.

In the end, Brian Clark sneakily hung the jacket to dry on the honeysuckle bushes in the little garden near the dorm building, like a thief.

In the afternoon, Brian Clark didn’t go to the sports field again. Instead, she waited until four o’clock, put on a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of military training pants, pretended she was washing her own shirt, forced herself to stay calm as she collected the clothes, stuffed them into a plastic bag, and put it back under the honeysuckle bushes.

Luckily, there weren’t many people on campus. The second and third years were in class, and the first years were on the sports field. Brian Clark let out a long sigh of relief.

But figuring out how to return the clothes to Henry Webb was a real problem.

Brian Clark didn’t want to be the subject of gossip at all. She knew that if she gave the clothes back to Henry Webb in public, people would definitely start talking. She’d learned this back in middle school—classmates loved to make a fuss, loved to spread so-called rumors about who liked whom, who was secretly dating.

She didn’t let Jason Walker know about this, because Jason Walker was a walking loudspeaker.

There were no formal classes during military training, but there was evening self-study.

Many people had already studied high school material over the summer, and Brian Clark was no exception. She discovered a serious problem: high school math suddenly seemed much harder, like a whole different world from middle school—practically out of this world.

Meizhong was Meizhong, after all. They only let loose for one night on the day of freshman registration. Once military training started, everyone showed the self-discipline of a top high school. During evening self-study, even without teachers present, the classroom was quiet.

The evening breeze drifted in through the window. From time to time, Brian Clark would look up from the baffling math problems. She sat by the window, and through the wide-open corridor windows, she could see the inky blue sky and the dark silhouettes of trees.

Beside her, Jason Walker was sneaking snacks, flipping through a girls’ magazine with greasy fingers. She wasn’t worried at all, determined to start studying seriously only after military training ended.

A figure passed by outside the window, and Brian Clark froze for a moment.

She recognized Henry Webb at a glance.

Brian Clark quickly took a sanitary pad from her drawer and asked Jason Walker to move aside. Her deskmate, fully understanding, leaned forward against the desk, and Brian Clark slipped out, brushing past Jason Walker’s back.

She wanted to call out, but was afraid someone from Class Three or Four might suddenly appear. Brian Clark hurried to catch up. Henry Webb’s back was tall, his legs long, and he walked quickly. If Brian Clark was right, he was probably heading toward the restroom.

“Hey!” She called out to him as she exited the teaching building. After calling, she felt a bit embarrassed, but also inexplicably happy.

Henry Webb didn’t turn around at all, as if he hadn’t heard.

“Henry Webb.” Brian Clark had no choice but to say his name, her voice very soft, as if afraid to disturb anyone.

The boy stopped and turned around.

He stood outside the brightly lit teaching building, the light dim around him, as if he’d triggered some dazzling little mechanism.

Brian Clark hugged a book to her chest. She was so shy that she needed to have something in her hands to lean on. Even so, the book was still pressed against her rapidly pounding heart.

Henry Webb was much more composed and indifferent than she was. From start to finish, he didn’t feel embarrassed or awkward at all about her having seen him at his most vulnerable.

“For you.” Brian Clark felt like even her breathing had stopped. As she approached him, she handed him the prepared note.

In her mind, she was saying, Hurry up and take it, hurry up and take it, please don’t let anyone else see.

Henry Webb frowned at first, then, seeing nothing unusual, gave a small, unconcerned smile. He didn’t move at all, just pushed her hand back: “You’re supposed to return my washed clothes, not give me a love note.”

Brian Clark froze, staring at him stiffly, her mind buzzing: “No, I’m not confessing to you.”

Henry Webb glanced at her, gave a casual “Oh,” his face calm, heart steady. He didn’t think he was being narcissistic, nor did he feel even a bit embarrassed about his misunderstanding.

That “Oh” was full of habitual indifference and boundless disregard for others.

All her emotions finally turned into arms hugging her book even tighter. Blushing furiously, Brian Clark walked ahead toward the restroom.

On the note, the handwriting was elegant, along with a route map that looked terrible but was drawn with excessive effort.

Suddenly, Henry Webb laughed, a thin layer of mockery in his smile. He glanced over, then stepped forward and bent down to pick up something that had fallen from the girl’s book.

A sanitary pad in pink packaging.

He looked at it for a few seconds, and when he realized what it was, an indescribable expression appeared on his face.

Henry Webb casually placed it on the corridor windowsill. If the girl wasn’t stupid, she’d definitely come back for it.

He went to the girls’ dormitory building, and nearby, he found a bag under the honeysuckle bushes with perfect accuracy. The clothes inside were neatly folded, and as soon as he opened it, the strong scent of laundry detergent wafted out.