Chapter 2: Substitute Teaching

Ji Pei first followed the crowd to the first class.

She sat in the very last row. The professor for the major course arrived, glanced at the empty seats in the front row, adjusted his glasses, and smiled kindly.

“Students in the back, can you see clearly from the last row? Come to the front—there are plenty of empty seats.”

Ji Pei: “…”

She reluctantly moved to the front row with a few other “classmates” in the same predicament, sitting right in front of the podium, feeling like she was on pins and needles, desperately wishing for the bell to ring.

This professor was fairly laid-back, not standing at the podium but right in front of Ji Pei. One hand rested on her desk, his fingers tapping incessantly.

Ji Pei held her breath, feeling guilty with every slight movement.

She was in the front row by the aisle, with the classroom door open for ventilation. From the corner of her eye, she could see the entire hallway.

She had never listened to a lecture so attentively, especially one on systemic anatomy.

Staring at the colorful diagrams of human organs in the textbook, she diligently took notes from the PowerPoint slides.

Damn it, Ji Fan was a medical student, and she’d once sworn that after studying medicine, the first person she’d repay was Ji Pei.

Ji Pei knew exactly how capable Ji Fan was—probably capable of indirectly sending her to an early grave one day.

At that thought, Ji Pei’s grip on her pen tightened.

Seeing the student next to her sneakily take photos of the slides, Ji Pei, while the professor wasn’t looking, snapped a couple of shots too.

She planned to send the slides to Ji Fan and make her take notes herself.

Ji Pei lowered her head, sending the photos to Ji Fan with a message.

Suddenly, the professor’s voice stopped. Looking up, she saw the source of the shadow looming over her.

The moment her eyes met Jiang Xianhan’s, Ji Pei instinctively hid her phone under the desk.

But she quickly realized this wasn’t a normal reaction. She was posing as a college student—taking photos of lecture notes during class wasn’t a big deal.

Ji Pei relaxed, but before she could exhale, she looked up and locked eyes with Jiang Xianhan’s icy gaze.

Those were classic phoenix eyes—narrow and long, with slightly upturned corners. A teardrop mole adorned the outer corner of her right eye.

The moment Jiang Xianhan looked down at her, even though her expression was unreadable, Ji Pei’s breath hitched.

Jiang Xianhan’s eyes were so intense that most people couldn’t withstand them.

Ji Pei quietly lowered her head, pretending nothing had happened. She overheard their conversation, and after about thirty seconds, Jiang Xianhan left the classroom.

The next class was Jiang Xianhan’s philosophy elective. Ji Pei swore she’d sit in the second-to-last row by the edge— the last row was too risky.

The hour-plus class finally dragged to an end. Ji Pei had photographed all the key points and taken plenty of notes in the textbook.

She felt she’d gone above and beyond. Looking at Ji Fan’s blank notebook pages from before, Ji Pei’s teeth ached.

After studying Ji Fan’s so-called “notes,” Ji Pei couldn’t help but marvel—if her dear sister actually became a doctor, who would dare book an appointment with her?

The class finally ended. Ji Pei’s phone was filled with photos of the slides, and she sent them to Ji Fan while walking.

Ji Pei: [Took photos of the key points for you. I heard they’ll be on the exam.]

No response from Ji Fan. Ji Pei pursed her lips, suspecting her sister was probably having a blast with her so-called online love interest.

The next class was Jiang Xianhan’s, and Ji Pei started to tense up. It was impossible not to be nervous.

If her substitute teaching went unnoticed, great. But if she got caught, Ji Fan’s troubles would go beyond just failing.

In the tiered lecture hall, Ji Pei arrived to find it already half-full. Surprisingly, Jiang Xianhan’s class was quite popular—so many people had enrolled.

She’d heard stories about Jiang Xianhan and rumors that some of the students in her elective were her “admirers.”

Ji Pei rubbed the goosebumps on her arms, thinking these people were masochists. Why willingly subject themselves to such torture?

During the twenty-minute break, Ji Pei secured a seat in the second-to-last row as planned, but the spot by the wall was taken, so she settled for one near the aisle.

Three minutes before the bell, Jiang Xianhan walked to the podium in low-heeled shoes.

Her posture was tall and straight, her shirt sleeves rolled up past her forearms, revealing perfectly toned muscle lines, like someone who worked out regularly.

Ji Pei propped her chin on one hand, sitting quietly, her gaze drifting from the second-to-last row to Jiang Xianhan preparing her slides at the podium.

Now she understood why Jiang Xianhan had so many suitors on and off campus.

With one minute until class, Ji Pei glanced around, seeing other students put away their phones. She slipped hers under the desk.

The phone screen flashed with a few pale pink notifications. Without opening them, Ji Pei knew they were from Decibel—probably Winter Day asking why she hadn’t replied.

Just as she was about to check, feeling guilty like a thief, she locked eyes with Jiang Xianhan, who was staring in her direction from the podium.

Done for.

Ji Pei mentally repeated “done for” countless times as her right eyelid twitched uncontrollably.

She rubbed her eyes hard, pretending to calmly lower her head and focus on the textbook.

Jiang Xianhan, standing at the podium, had seen all her actions. She opened her PowerPoint slides.

Philosophy was gibberish to Ji Pei. She found the subject vague and impractical compared to studying art.

“Class started a minute ago. It seems some students forgot due to… distractions.”

Her clear, spring-like voice flowed through the microphone, intoxicating Ji Pei, who felt like she was floating on clouds.

The voice seemed familiar, maybe from a voice actor in a drama.

The teaching assistant stood beside Jiang Xianhan. They nodded to each other, and Jiang Xianhan, with a slight smile, picked up the roster to take attendance.

Ji Pei’s heart sank. When Jiang Xianhan called the first name, her heart was already in her throat.

Her desk started shaking. She thought it was her own fear-induced trembling.

But when she glanced to her right, the girl with shoulder-length hair next to her was shaking, her lips pale.

In the spirit of “doing good deeds like Lei Feng,” Ji Pei asked,

“Classmate, are you hypoglycemic?”

The girl shook her head, opened her Principles of Maoism textbook a dozen pages in, and whispered, “No, I’m here as a substitute.”

Ji Pei: “…”

Such an honest “seller” was rare these days.

But seeing her legs trembling, she didn’t seem very experienced—probably new to the gig.

The girl, noticing Ji Pei’s shocked expression, continued,

“Please don’t report me. This job pays 200 yuan.”

“I understand, but…”

Ji Pei hesitated, her fingers tapping the desk before pointing at the girl’s textbook.

“You’re holding Principles of Maoism.”

The girl looked like she was about to cry, wanting to bury her face in the desk. “I know, I brought the wrong book.”

Such an unreliable “seller” was even rarer.

Ji Pei paused for two seconds and sincerely said,

“Good luck.”

Jiang Xianhan called other names, but her gaze lingered on the second-to-last row by the aisle.

The two girls—one with long hair, one with short—were blatantly whispering in front of her.

The student with fluffy black long hair seemed vaguely familiar.

“Ji Fan.”

Ji Fan’s name rolled off Jiang Xianhan’s tongue. Seeing no one stand, she called again.

“Is Ji Fan here?”

Ji Pei, still holding a pen, shot up from her seat when she heard the name repeated.

“Here.”

Behind her glasses, Jiang Xianhan’s sharp phoenix eyes scanned Ji Pei from head to toe, her expression unreadable.

“Good, sit down.”

The girl was tall and slender, her pink blouse tucked into her waistband, accentuating her long, straight legs. The pink top made her fair skin look radiant and healthy.

Jiang Xianhan looked away, silently noting Ji Fan’s name, and continued calling the roster.

Sitting back down, Ji Pei exhaled. Her heart, which had nearly leaped out, settled back.

Thankfully, Jiang Xianhan didn’t recognize her. The nerve-wracking attendance was over— the rest should be easier, right?

At the end of roll call, the assistant noted the absent students’ names—two guys and one girl—who’d face a failing warning.

“I don’t teach from the textbook.”

Jiang Xianhan leaned on the podium, her upper body slightly forward, her long hair draping over her shoulders, exuding a cool, intellectual elegance.

“The slides are to help you better understand these philosophical issues.”

Ji Pei looked away, staring at her textbook, pulling out her trusty rabbit-shaped pen from her university days and writing her name on the first page.

After writing, she froze.

She’d meant to write “Ji Fan” but had absentmindedly written her own name.

As Jiang Xianhan spoke, Ji Pei stealthily unlocked her phone under the desk. Nervous and inexperienced, she entered the wrong password multiple times, locking her phone for fifteen minutes.

“…”

She had no choice but to listen attentively.

Following Jiang Xianhan’s cues, Ji Pei flipped to the relevant page in the textbook and took notes with her rabbit pen.

Philosophy was incomprehensible to her. She’d planned to scribble some notes and coast through, but as she propped her chin, Jiang Xianhan called her name.

“Ji Fan.”

For a split second, Ji Pei felt like she’d been struck by lightning. Confirming it was her, she bit her lip and shoved her phone deeper under the desk.

Seeing her stand slowly, Jiang Xianhan’s gaze swept over her face like a tangible force, her voice crisp.

“Ji Fan, please stand and share your thoughts.”