How’d you do?
Hard to say!
Wen Ying nervously met up with Li Mengjiao, who didn’t give her a moment to settle before asking the dreaded question.
“I think I did pretty well,” Wen Ying muttered, “but you know, a slacker’s gut isn’t always reliable.”
“Exactly!”
Li Mengjiao nodded, sharing the sentiment.
“I’m doomed. I thought the finals were easy, so I probably bombed!”
Slackers don’t get to call exams easy.
If they do, they’re getting cocky, out of touch with their place.
The final exam seats were randomized across the grade, so Xie Qian’s classroom was far from Class 16. When he returned, he found Wen Ying and Li Mengjiao looking guilty, avoiding his gaze.
“What’s with you two? The questions weren’t hard,” Xie Qian said.
If they were too tough, Wen Ying’s top-300 goal would’ve been a stretch. This difficulty gave her a shot, thanks to Xie Qian drilling her basics. She just needed to secure the points she should.
Wen Ying and Li Mengjiao were thrilled.
“So it’s not our imagination—the questions were actually easy?” Wen Ying asked.
“…Yeah,” Xie Qian said, thinking: I didn’t say easy, just not hard.
When would the hamster realize it wasn’t the questions being simple, but her own improvement?
The gap between 600th and 300th in the grade is significant. Her progress made the exam feel manageable.
Wen Ying’s improvement was expected, but Li Mengjiao thinking the questions were easy surprised him.
Li Mengjiao hadn’t had a single weekend to study quietly this semester, yet her grades held steady. Her foundation was solid—at least compared to Wen Ying’s.
Not exactly something to brag about, just proof of how weak Wen Ying’s base was!
Watching the two slackers gleefully compare answers, Xie Qian was at a loss for words.
Fine, let them enjoy a couple of days before the results come out. Especially Wen Ying, who’s on thin ice. If she doesn’t hit top 300, even if Xie Qian lets her off, her family won’t.
Before leaving school, Wang Shuang charged over.
Unlike Wen Ying and Li Mengjiao, slacker Wang Shuang found the questions brutal and thought he flunked.
Xie Qian, rare for him, spoke gently, “That’s a sign of progress.”
Wang Shuang lit up, “You really think so?”
Xie Qian nodded.
Absolutely.
Wang Shuang’s foundation was rock-bottom. Normally, he couldn’t tell easy from hard questions, scoring the same regardless. His rank, class and grade, was consistently dead last with minor score fluctuations.
Now, feeling the questions were hard meant his foundation had improved. He wasn’t just guessing anymore—he was thinking.
For a slacker, any question requiring thought feels tough!
Seeing Wang Shuang so delighted he might burst, Xie Qian almost couldn’t bear to shatter his bubble.
Let this slacker enjoy a couple of happy days too.
For top students, exams are as routine as eating or drinking. Good results bring year-long joy.
For slackers, the happiest time is the two days after exams, free from studying and before results hit.
Ecstatic, Wang Shuang invited Xie Qian to play basketball, and he agreed.
The slacker pushed his luck, suggesting gaming next. Xie Qian gave him a “heh” look, letting him figure it out.
Talk about overstepping—that’s Wang Shuang!
After finals, Wen Ying got the VIP treatment: her dad, Old Wen, drove to pick her up.
Wen Dongrong was also fixated on her exam performance.
“You made big promises, can you deliver?”
Hitting top 300 wasn’t just Wen Ying’s ticket to a good summer—Wen Dongrong’s peace depended on it too.
He didn’t want to suffer for her failure!
Wen Ying nodded reservedly, “Should be fine.”
In the last monthly exam before finals, she’d ranked 377th, proof Xie Qian’s tutoring worked.
Seizing the chance, she added, “Don’t sign me up for summer tutoring. My grades improved because of our class study group. Li Mengjiao’s in it too, and we’ll keep studying together over break!”
In their four-person group, she only mentioned Li Mengjiao.
Wen Dongrong knew her, “Isn’t she a celebrity now? Still studying?”
“Of course! Being a star, she’s extra worried about being called a slacker. She studies harder than ever, balancing fame and school without dropping either.”
Wen Ying skipped mentioning Li Mengjiao’s dark circles.
Wen Dongrong glanced at her, “You’re hinting at something.”
Trying to get him to back her up at home?
Dream on!
Unless she pays up!
Sadly, Wen Ying missed his unspoken demand, and their conversation fizzled. Back home, she locked herself in her room.
By July 15, she needed to finish the rest of Youth Idol for Zou Weijun to meet the August publishing deadline. Post-exams, it was time to focus on writing.
While Wen Ying holed up writing, something else happened.
Aige’s July issue hit shelves early in the month, publishing the remaining 180,000 words of Youth Idol. At the end, they included a “Notice to Readers,” stating that the author, “Against the Current Fish,” repeatedly ignored manuscript requests, allegedly delaying to demand higher fees. Aige wouldn’t tolerate such behavior, terminated cooperation with the author, and apologized for the inconvenience, reserving the right to pursue legal action.
Aige stopped answering Zou Weijun’s calls. After “Xiao Ni” failed to get more drafts from Wen Ying, they unilaterally ended the contract!
Aige abandoned the final 120,000 words of Youth Idol’s serialization.
The blame fell squarely on “Against the Current Fish,” tarnishing Wen Ying’s reputation.
Zou Weijun hadn’t expected Aige to pull this.
What did this petty move gain Aige?
Sure, it didn’t hurt Aige, and with the statement, they held the moral high ground, smearing “Against the Current Fish.”
Readers might accept quirky author personalities, but not money-grubbing ones.
