Chapter 72 – The Lock-In Night

The entire campus seemed to buzz with quiet tension. Final exams were less than two months away, and the school had decided to hold a "Lock-In Study Night" for all twelfth graders. Students from both the natural sciences and social sciences streams were required to participate, grouped together in the main library until nearly midnight.

Lin Keqing rubbed her tired eyes as she walked up the dimly lit stairs of the library building. The corridors were unusually silent for the hour—just the faint hum of air conditioning and the shuffle of shoes on polished tiles.

At the top floor, tables had been arranged in long rows, with name tags taped to each desk. She scanned the tags for her name.

And froze.

Lin Keqing – Group 3, Seat 4.

Right beside Gu Yuyan – Group 3, Seat 3.

Her pulse skipped. She glanced around, as if to confirm no one had seen her reaction, then slid into the seat. Gu Yuyan wasn't here yet. She opened her notebook and arranged her pens, trying not to think too hard about why her stomach felt like a tangle of knots.

"Yo, Keqing," came a cheerful voice. Le Yahan plopped down at the next table, her hair pulled into a messy bun. "Guess what? Chen Yuke's in my group. This is going to be—" She stopped mid-sentence as Chen Yuke walked in carrying two stacks of textbooks.

"You could say hi like a normal person," he muttered, dumping one stack beside her. "I'm not your personal delivery guy."

"You're the one who insisted on bringing every practice book from your locker!" Yahan shot back. But her cheeks were faintly pink.

Keqing smiled faintly. Even their bickering felt like a small comfort in the charged atmosphere.

The evening session started promptly at 6 p.m. Bai Andiu, the school's top student, was in Group 1, sitting not far from the front. He had an air of calm precision, flipping through his study materials like a pianist rehearsing scales. Tran Vuka, who had become something of a local star after performing at the last school event, sat near the windows with his social sciences group, quietly tapping a rhythm on the table as if composing music in his head.

Gu Yuyan finally arrived. He set his bag down beside Keqing without a word, his presence as steady and quiet as ever. For a moment, the world narrowed to the sound of his chair scraping against the floor, the faint scent of pencil shavings and paper between them.

"You're early," he said quietly, glancing at her neat stack of notes.

"And you're late," she replied, a small, nervous smile tugging at her lips.

He gave a noncommittal shrug and pulled out a thick set of math problems.

An hour into the study session, a low murmur spread across the room. Something was wrong. Students began flipping pages in confusion.

"The order of the sections is wrong," someone whispered. "History is mixed into the math set!"

Keqing scanned her papers. It was true—the mock test papers had been misprinted, the pages of different subjects scrambled together. A few students panicked, unsure where to start.

"Let me see that," Keqing said, standing up. She collected the scrambled sets and began sorting them quickly, marking page numbers with sticky notes from her pencil case.

"Here." Gu Yuyan had already sorted his own set and handed her a stack of pages. "Math sections are here. I'll tackle the problem sets while you rearrange the history essays."

She blinked at him. "You don't mind?"

"It's faster this way," he said simply.

Within minutes, their cooperation caught the attention of the supervising teacher. Soon, other groups began following their lead. The tension in the room eased.

Near the end of the first study block, the teacher walked past their table, frowning slightly. "You two seem to be talking a lot," she remarked, making a note on her clipboard. "Focus on your own work."

Keqing stiffened. It wasn't like they had been chatting—most of their communication was silent, a quick glance or a quietly exchanged page. But before she could explain, Bai Andiu looked up from the front row.

"Excuse me, Teacher," Bai said evenly, "I asked Yuyan for help with a formula just now. He was clarifying the error in the handout."

The teacher blinked, then nodded and moved on.

Keqing shot Bai a grateful look. He returned it with a small nod, as if to say You're welcome.

Gu Yuyan smirked faintly. "Didn't know he'd cover for me."

"Maybe he respects you more than you think," Keqing murmured.

Meanwhile, Le Yahan and Chen Yuke were locked in their own quiet battle. Their group was assigned to summarize the day's progress into a shared digital document.

"Your handwriting is impossible to read," Yahan complained, squinting at his notes.

"Then type it yourself," Yuke said, pushing the laptop toward her.

"I would if you didn't write like a chicken scratched it."

"You're impossible."

They went back and forth for five minutes until Yahan gave up, typing while he read aloud. At one point, she realized he'd added a tiny sketch of a cat wearing glasses at the corner of the page—his way of keeping things light. She didn't say anything, but her lips curved in a small smile.

At 9:30, the groups were allowed a short break. Keqing stepped outside to stretch her legs. The night air was cool, the campus quiet under the pale glow of lampposts. She leaned against the railing, staring at the faint stars above.

"Here." A voice broke her reverie.

She turned. Gu Yuyan stood there, holding out a bottle of water.

"You look like you need it," he said.

"Thanks," she replied softly.

After the lock-in ended around 11:30, students filed out, exhausted but strangely satisfied. Keqing had volunteered to return a USB drive to the teacher's lounge. On the way, she passed the computer lab and saw a familiar silhouette—Gu Yuyan, alone, typing.

She paused in the doorway. The screen showed a draft email:

Subject: About My University Plans.

Lines of text followed, but she couldn't bring herself to read them. She stepped back, ready to leave, when he spoke without turning.

"I'm not sending it yet," he said. "It's… a letter to my father. He wants me to apply for the national Olympiad, but I don't want to. Not this time."

She hesitated. "Why tell me?"

"Because you're the only one who doesn't tell me what I should do."

Her heart tightened. Without a word, she slid a small sticky note onto his keyboard:Whatever you decide, make sure it's yours.

When he looked up, she was already walking out.

Back home, long past midnight, Keqing opened her journal.

"Tonight felt different. Not because we sat together, but because I saw the walls he's trying to climb over. And maybe, just maybe, he's letting me stand on the other side."

She closed the notebook, the faint trace of a smile on her lips.