Chapter 8 - Deeply In Love With You [Quick Transmigration]

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well. I have decided to pick up a second Quick Transmigration novel. This time, the gong is the MC and I hope you appreciate this novel as much as I do.

Here you go, and I wish you a good read.

And, as I said before, if you wish to read ahead, you can head over to my Patreon to get early access to all the translated chapters, or puchase advanced chapters on Gumroad. (40% discount code: DILWY)

Affair

 

 

They didn't enter the classroom together, but it was close enough—just a few steps apart. The room had been buzzing before, but the moment Zong Que stepped in, everything quieted for a beat. Then, seeing him simply head to his seat in the back without saying anything, the class resumed its soft murmur of conversation.

 

"That last question on the practice test? Totally brutal…"

 

"Let me copy yours—I'll buy you a drink."

 

"You didn't do it?!"

 

"I lost track of time gaming. Thought today was Saturday. I swear, fate is out to get me. Hurry up!"

 

"I swear, Zong Que's temper seems better lately. Not as scary as before."

 

"I'm collecting the English homework now," Liao Yan called out as he stood up, catching wind of the back row whispering about copying homework.

 

Some students were already rummaging through their bags, passing their assignments from the back to the front. Others, meanwhile, were sighing in despair.

 

"Just a sec—almost done!"

 

"I need to hand them in before class starts," Liao Yan said as he stacked the assignments. "If you don't turn yours in now, bring it to the office yourself later."

 

"What a show-off. Just because he's a class rep, he thinks he's all that? What's the big deal about waiting a bit?" someone muttered under their breath as they scribbled furiously.

 

"The English teacher's not even that strict about collecting homework…"

 

The voices were soft, but in a classroom that small, whispers had a way of floating into earshot.

 

Zong Que pulled out his English workbook and tapped the back of the chair in front of him.

 

The boy in front, who looked like he was about to melt into his desk, turned around with a startled look in his eyes. "What is it?"

 

"Pass this up for me," Zong Que said, handing him the workbook.

 

The boy adjusted his glasses nervously and took the notebook as though holding something sacred. Instead of passing it forward, he hurried to the front and handed it directly to Liao Yan.

 

Liao Yan took it without thinking much—until his eyes caught the unmistakable name scrawled on the cover. He looked up, gaze drifting to the boy lounging casually in the very back, one arm slung over the chair.

 

Zong Que had actually done his homework?

 

Naturally, Lin Heng saw all of this. He glanced at the clock hanging at the back of the classroom and stood up. "Alright, I'll collect the math homework now."

 

"Class rep, can't you collect it later?" someone called out with a laugh.

 

"Can't be helped. Class is about to start, and we've got math tonight," Lin Heng replied cheerfully as he began making his way down the aisle.

 

Once he got moving, the other subject reps followed suit. The classroom grew a little chaotic, but the earlier complaints about people showing off had suddenly gone quiet.

 

Stacks of homework piled up, sheets of practice test papers passed into Lin Heng's hands. Liao Yan watched it all with a complicated expression, quietly taking note of who had and hadn't submitted theirs.

 

"Should I pass up the other assignments too?" the boy in front turned back to ask Zong Que nervously.

 

Zong Que gave him a glance and began rummaging through his bag. Just then, a light knock landed on his desk. He looked up—and saw a boy backlit by the sunlight, smiling as he cradled a stack of test papers.

 

"Classmate, your homework."

 

For a second, the noisy classroom fell silent again. Everyone turned to Lin Heng with a touch of awe.

 

"Holy crap… is the class rep trying to get himself beaten up?"

 

"Zong Que never turns in homework. The fact that he even submitted English is a miracle."

 

Zong Que pulled out the rest of his assignments and handed them all over. "This is everything. Help me turn them in."

 

His tone was offhand, almost careless. Some students started to bristle—but then Lin Heng simply took the stack and said, "Alright."

 

If Zong Que had walked them up himself, people would've lost their minds with surprise—or fear.

 

Still...

 

"They might think you're bullying me," Lin Heng murmured under his breath. "So this time, you should say thank you."

 

Zong Que raised his eyes. "Thanks, Class Rep."

 

Carrying the assignments, Lin Heng turned and walked away. The rest of the class sat in stunned disbelief.

 

Zong Que had not only turned in homework for every subject—he'd even said thank you.

 

What kind of surreal world were they living in?

 

Lin Heng passed on the homework for each subject. Liao Yan hefted the stack and headed out of the room. Just before he left, he glanced back at the seats in the rear.

 

He remembered the last time he saw Lin Heng back there—he hadn't stood by the door, but by Zong Que's desk.

 

Their relationship wasn't as distant as it seemed.

 

Liao Yan paused briefly, arms tightening around the stack of notebooks, then continued on his way to the teacher's office. Whatever was going on between them didn't really concern him.

 

Lin Heng glanced down at the stack of math tests in his arms. The multiple-choice and fill-in-the-blank sections were all complete. It looked like Zong Que had taken it seriously. Most of the answers were wrong, but the ones Lin Heng had helped him with seemed to be correct.

 

The teacher would probably be surprised. But maybe he shouldn't put that one on top.

 

He pulled the test sheet out and slid it into the middle of the stack. As he flipped through the pages and smoothed out the creases, his eyes landed on the final question—the one that Zong Que had previously left completely blank.

 

Now, there was a single neatly written word: "Solution."

 

In that moment, something warm and complicated stirred in Lin Heng's chest. It was hard to put into words—only that Zong Que had really taken what he said to heart.

 

Still… leaving it blank might have been better. Writing "solution" without any actual solution came off a bit like a taunt. It might just make the teacher angrier.

 

Lin Heng debated whether or not he should tell him to stop doing that—but going back on his earlier encouragement felt a bit wishy-washy.

 

Besides, it wasn't that big of a deal. Eventually, Zong Que would have to start answering those questions properly anyway.

 

The graded test was handed back the next day. Zong Que looked down at the long red slash through the final question—a bold mark that cut deep across the empty space. He was quiet for a moment.

 

[Host, your red slash is way bigger and more aggressive than everyone else's,] 1314 said with a touch of sympathy.

 

It almost ran from one side of the page to the other—clearly, whoever graded it had run out of patience.

 

[Mn.] Zong Que calmly put the paper away.

 

1314, realizing something belatedly, said:[It seems like the teacher didn't notice your sincere attitude.]

 

[Mn.] Zong Que's expression didn't change, but his eyes lingered on the calendar, calculating the days until the midterm exams.

 

A semester ran about four or five months, and the midterms weren't far off.

 

He picked up the pace in his note exchanges, and eventually received full sets of carefully organized notes from Lin Heng—photocopied and highlighted for each subject.

 

They didn't speak much in public. But the things Lin Heng needed would often appear neatly on Zong Que's desk, and Zong Que's phone would occasionally ping with classic exam questions that Lin Heng had picked out for him.

 

Studying always felt endless, but in reality, the days flew by when they were filled with purpose. In the blink of an eye, the midterms arrived.

 

Students were moving their books—either into their dorms or stacking them at the back of the classroom. Desks screeched across the floor, and for once, the air was lighthearted before the storm of exams.

 

Each student had a different testing room—Lin Heng was placed in the first room, and Zong Que in the last.

 

The first exam room was tidy and disciplined. The invigilator was relaxed. The last room, too, was neat—and the invigilator there even more at ease. After all, the student in second-to-last place would rather make things up than bother cheating off the one in dead last.

 

Half an hour in, quite a few students had already handed in their papers and left, leaving the room looking almost deserted.

 

[Host, this too is a life experience,] 1314 commented as Zong Que meticulously arranged his answers—carefully balancing correct ones and intentional mistakes.

 

[Mn.] Zong Que remained focused. Even if he were the only one left, this was still a testing room.

 

[How much are you aiming to improve by this time, Host?] 1314 asked.

 

[Somewhere around 300th place.]

 

In the beginning, progress would be rapid. But the further up he went, the harder each rank would be to climb. That was how real progress worked—step by step.

 

1314 swallowed back a concerned isn't that a bit too much? and instead said: [You've got this, Host!]

 

Two and a half days of exams passed. Then came the weekend.

 

The students, mentally drained and physically exhausted, burst from their classrooms like freed birds. The air was alive with noise and sunshine and relief.

 

It was crowded at the school gate when Zong Que stepped outside, just in time to see Lin Heng opening the door to a car. He smiled as he waved goodbye to some classmates, then ducked inside gracefully.

 

In that moment, with sunlight glowing all around him, Lin Heng looked like he was glowing himself—only for that brightness to vanish the second he closed the car door, as though he had gathered it all back in. A few students stared after him, curious.

 

"Isn't that Lin Heng from Class Six? He gets picked up by car? Lucky guy."

 

"His family's rich, I heard. They run some kind of business."

 

"Yeah, probably groomed him since he was a kid. No wonder his clothes, his food, everything's better—and his grades too."

 

"Alright, alright, stop staring. It's boiling out. Want to grab an ice cream?"

 

"I heard his family bought a place in the complex across from the school so he could be a day student. Then why's he taking a car?"

 

"Come on, have you seen those buildings across from the school? No elevator, old as hell. He's obviously going back to his actual house—the big one."

 

Such gossip wasn't rare, and it couldn't really be stopped either. Lin Heng never made a show of things at school. He wore brand-name clothes, yes—but he also wore his uniform. Still, he wasn't just top of the class; he was strikingly handsome too. Someone had even unofficially crowned him "school prince," and naturally, students from other classes would glance his way, ask questions. Any hints of wealth—however unintentional—never escaped notice.

 

There was nothing inherently wrong with any of this. After all, this city had its fair share of dazzling, well-off families. If anything ever did go wrong, the fault wouldn't lie with Lin Heng—but with those who harbored ill intent.

 

As the crowd thinned and cars began pulling away, the teenager's car disappeared from view. Zong Que also turned to leave the school gates.

 

After a month of carefully managed operations, his short-term earnings had actually surpassed expectations.

 

He logged into his account and transferred 1,000 yuan to Lin Heng's account. The rest he split—some set aside for daily expenses, some to finally buy a phone, and the rest reinvested into a stock he had been eyeing for weeks.

 

If all went according to plan, this next round would bring him his first real bucket of gold.

 

Just as he turned to go, a message from Lin Heng arrived: Received.

 

Zong Que replied: I'll return the phone after school starts next week.

 

Lin Heng responded almost instantly: Great, see you at school then.

 

Zong Que typed one more word: Thanks.

 

Lin Heng: Don't mention it—we're friends, right? ^_^

 

Zong Que stared at the smiley face for a second longer than necessary, then locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket.

 

Weekends without homework were a delight for most students—though that joy usually vanished the moment their grades came back.

 

On Sunday, the noisy classroom fell dead silent the second the homeroom teacher stepped in, his face calm, but solemn. Everyone had the same thought flash through their mind: Crap. We tanked.

 

"This time, our overall performance took a hit," the teacher announced, his every word striking like a whip. "We've dropped to sixth place in the grade ranking—down three spots from last time. And the top student in the grade is no longer from our class."

 

Every eye instinctively shifted to Lin Heng. When Zong Que looked over, he caught the brief flicker of surprise on the boy's face—clearly, he cared.

 

"However, we still held onto the second and third spots in the grade," the teacher continued. "And I must say, one student made truly remarkable progress this time."

 

His eyes landed on the last row of the classroom. There was a flicker of complexity—and maybe even pride—in his gaze.

 

"Zong Que made an impressive leap in rankings. He's now in 300th place across the grade, and 14th in our class."

 

The final words were spoken with a trace of teeth-gritting disbelief.

 

A murmur swept through the room as heads turned toward Zong Que, expressions ranging from stunned to incredulous. Lin Heng, too, blinked in surprise—only for a smile to bloom when he saw the boy sitting there, calm and unaffected as ever.

 

That, perhaps, was the very definition of grace under fire.

 

"No way."

 

"Holy crap—14th? He used to be dead last. Did he cheat or something?" someone whispered.

 

"Oh yeah? You try copying your way into 14th place from the last exam room. What was he gonna do—cheat off the second-last?"

 

"There's no need for speculation," the homeroom teacher said, exhaling. "The curriculum team reviewed both the surveillance footage and the scratch paper. Zong Que earned his marks fair and square."

 

"But the real issue," he added, voice turning sharper, "is that our class's 10th place scorer is only ranked 264th in the entire grade."

 

For Class Six, whose top ten students had always ranked within the top hundred, this was more than just a slip—it was a plunge.

 

Silence fell again.

 

As individual scores were announced, a heavy hush settled over the room. Even when self-study ended, many students left with books still in their arms.

 

The night was deep. Tree shadows swayed under scattered lights, casting glimmers across the boy's eyes like polished gemstones.

 

"Congratulations," Lin Heng said, his voice warm. "Don't bother saying thank you."

 

Zong Que stopped, handed back the phone he had formatted: "Here's your phone."

 

It was clean, just as it had been when borrowed.

 

Lin Heng tucked it away. "No problem. I'll head off now."

 

There was no trace of gloom in his expression. Just as he turned to go, Zong Que called out, "Was teaching me a waste of your time?"

 

After all, second and third place in the grade were both from their class—and Lin Heng was third.

 

Lin Heng paused, turned back to look at him, then sighed softly and smiled. "Have you ever heard of the Feynman Technique? Teaching others is a way of reinforcing your own understanding. Sure, I didn't do great this time, but that's just this round. You don't have to carry any guilt."

 

[He really is a good kid, this mission target of yours.] 1314 praised.

 

"Alright," Zong Que replied.

 

"But…" Lin Heng drew out the word, smiling wryly. "When are we finally going to meet in the classroom like normal? Always sneaking out to meet—you don't think it's starting to feel like we're having an affair or something?"

 

Zong Que: "…"

 

[…Naughty kid.] 1314 grumbled.

 

A proper kid wouldn't be tossing around words like affair—especially in the context of two boys.

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