Proactively Attracted chapter 21

Want to Stay

Lu Xingjia rarely stood for long periods. Standing for two whole classes straight made his legs go numb, even though he kept shifting his weight between them.

When the bell finally rang, his legs felt like they were filled with lead. He even stumbled slightly when he took his first step.

Stiffly walking back to his seat, the first thing he did was prop one leg up on the metal bar beneath the desk and begin massaging his sore calves.

He rubbed for quite a while before the tension in his legs finally eased up.

Just then, Qiu Ruifeng, having finished copying the last bit of notes from the blackboard, turned around and asked, “Wanna grab lunch?”

Lu Xingjia nodded and walked out of the classroom with him.

On the way to the cafeteria, Lu Xingjia kept flexing his legs here and there, and the two walked more slowly than usual.

“Why were you standing in the front of the class for no reason?” Qiu Ruifeng asked curiously. After a moment’s hesitation, he added tentatively, “Did you and the study god… have a fight?”

“No,” Lu Xingjia replied matter-of-factly. “We’re on great terms. Why would we fight?”

He scratched his head, a little embarrassed. “Mainly because I get sleepy too easily in class. I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep.”

“Hey, so what time do you usually sleep at night?” Qiu Ruifeng asked.

Lu Xingjia thought for a moment. “Usually past midnight. Lately midterms are coming up, so sometimes I stay up until one or two…”

“What time do you wake up?”

“Around six? That’s the latest. I still have to ride my bike to school—any later and I’ll be late.”

“You’re sleeping way too little!” Qiu Ruifeng frowned in disapproval, his voice rising unconsciously. “I’ve seen you don’t nap at school either. You’re only getting five hours a day—do you think you’re Superman or something?”

“I don’t want to either,” Lu Xingjia said, sounding a little aggrieved. “It’s just that every question takes me a long time to figure out—I just can’t sleep early.”

Qiu Ruifeng still had his brows furrowed as he advised, “But this definitely isn’t sustainable. Lack of sleep lowers your efficiency, and then being inefficient makes you stay up even later—it’s a vicious cycle.”

“Yeah,” Lu Xingjia sighed. “I also think my schedule is a bit off. I’ll fix it after midterms. If I can’t even stay in school, what’s the point of talking about schedules?”

“If you’re sleepy, just take a nap. You need to be well-rested to study effectively.”

“Alright, I’ll see how it goes.”

Lu Xingjia gave a half-hearted response, which counted as agreement.

Qiu Ruifeng sighed helplessly. “You’re just putting too much pressure on yourself. I think you’ve definitely made progress compared to before.”

“Thanks for the encouragement.” Lu Xingjia gave a grateful smile, though his brows were still furrowed with worry.

Just hang in there for a few more days. Once midterms are over, he’ll have a clearer idea of where he stands.

That was the only way he could comfort himself.

“…Fine, do what you think is best.”
Seeing that he really couldn’t convince him, Qiu Ruifeng shook his head and dropped the subject.

Noon was the perfect time for a nap. After lunch, back in the classroom, a wave of drowsiness swept over Lu Xingjia again.

He yawned, rubbed his eyes, got up and walked a few laps in the hallway, then returned to keep working on problems.

But he was just too tired. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for nearly a month. That morning nap in class was like throwing a match into a pile of dry firewood—it set off an avalanche of accumulated exhaustion, leaving no room for resistance.

Just five minutes, he thought.

Qiu Ruifeng’s words echoed in his mind. Lu Xingjia hesitated for a second, and before he could think any further, he was already asleep, slumped over his desk.

When Qin Mudong came back after feeding the little stray cat, he saw Lu Xingjia sleeping soundly at his desk.

The midday sun shone warmly, casting a soft glow on the boy’s profile, making his fair skin seem almost radiant.

But it was clear his sleep wasn’t restful. His brow was tightly furrowed, his hand still clutching a pen. Beneath the thick lashes, dark circles were visible.

Qin Mudong hesitated, then gently pulled out the workbook from under Lu Xingjia’s arm.

His movements were extra careful—more tender than when handling the newborn stray—afraid of waking this boy who had pushed himself too hard.

He opened the workbook and flipped through it page by page. The neat handwriting filled every blank space completely. Some questions had multiple solutions written in different colored pens, even with notes indicating the textbook page where the relevant concept was found.

This was one of the self-compiled competitive physics textbooks from No.1 High School, divided into three major sections.

The first part was for pre-class prep, mainly conceptual thinking questions to help students grasp new material quickly. The second part was homework, at the difficulty level of the provincial competitions, including many real questions from past years. The third part was advanced exercises, with flexible and diverse questions—some even adapted or translated from international Olympiad problems. The difficulty was high, and they involved a wide range of topics.

Generally, the first and second parts were mandatory. The third part was optional depending on the student’s ability and the difficulty of the questions. After all, Olympiad questions are long and tough—even contestants need half a day to solve one. Let alone beginners like them.

But Lu Xingjia clearly didn’t see it that way. Every question in the third section had his handwriting.

You could even tell, from the smudges and folds in the paper, that he first wrote with pencil, then erased, rewrote, and erased again—leaving behind faint traces.

After flipping through the last page, Qin Mudong gently put the workbook back down.

The afternoon prep bell rang, and Lu Xingjia finally woke up.

After sleeping all noon, his entire arm had gone numb.

Sleep follows a cycle. If you miss it, it’s hard to make up. Losing an hour of sleep at night could mean feeling drained the entire next day.

Even after a long midday nap, Lu Xingjia still felt foggy-headed.

He looked up at the clock on the wall and forced himself to snap out of it.

Another noon wasted.

Lu Xingjia looked down in frustration.

He had actually felt himself improving during this period.

His accuracy had increased, his weekly test scores were steadily climbing—but he was still terrified. Every time he closed his eyes, he seemed to find himself back at Qin Mudong’s funeral. The cowardice from his past life pressed down on him like a boulder, making it hard to breathe.

He was like a caged animal, like a blind man crossing a river by feeling for stones—desperately moving forward, unable to see the end.

They say most of human suffering comes from anger at one’s own powerlessness. Looking at the red marks on his arm from being pressed down, Lu Xingjia suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to cry.

Tears welled up in his eyes when a pair of slender, well-defined hands suddenly appeared in his line of sight.

Qin Mudong’s fingers curled slightly, holding a workbook between his thumb and index finger.

Lu Xingjia was taken aback. “Is that… mine?”

“Mm.” Qin Mudong nodded slightly.

“Did you take it by mistake?” Lu Xingjia bit his lip in embarrassment. “Sorry, my work isn’t very good, you…”

“It’s very good.”

For the first time, Qin Mudong interrupted him mid-sentence.

His tone was particularly earnest: “Your work is very good.”

“…Thank you.”

Knowing he was probably just trying to comfort him, Lu Xingjia reached out to take back the workbook, but suddenly felt a renewed sense of strength.

The dam that was about to collapse was somehow patched up again.

He thought, as long as he could still see Qin Mudong, still work hard alongside him, then that was enough.

He could keep going.

“Don’t push yourself too hard.”

The deep voice whispered in his ear, causing his eardrums to tremble slightly. “If you’re tired, rest for a bit. There’s no need to push yourself like this.”

The tone was light and seemingly casual.

All the frustration and grievances Lu Xingjia had been holding in suddenly took shape at that moment. His mouth reacted before his brain could catch up.

“I want to!”

Uncontrollably, the words poured out like spilled beans. “But I really want to stay!”

“I’m not as smart as you guys, and I know my foundation is weak. If I don’t work hard, the teachers will just tell me to leave!”

The more he spoke, the more wronged he felt. Tears ran down his cheeks and he raised his voice, “I really—I want to rest too, I want to lie in bed and sleep for three days straight, I want to read magazines, play basketball, play video games… but more than anything, I want to stay in the competition class. I want to be with you!”

After yelling, everything around him fell silent.

Lu Xingjia’s chest heaved up and down. When the anger faded, all that was left was embarrassment and awkwardness.

As the seconds ticked by, Lu Xingjia grew more and more uncomfortable.

It was like working up the courage to confess, only to receive no reply at all.

“…I’m sorry,” he raised his arm to wipe his tears harshly. A patch of his school uniform sleeve became soaked. “I was just talking nonsense. Don’t…”

“Don’t cry.” A crisp, white napkin entered Lu Xingjia’s field of vision.

Slender fingers applied gentle pressure, leaving neat creases on the carefully folded napkin.

Qin Mudong spoke softly, “The midterms mainly test your grasp of basic knowledge. Fundamental questions make up at least eighty percent of the exam. The remaining extension questions are less than twenty percent. Focus on the textbook material and do the basic problems well—you’ll get a decent score. As for the harder questions, with your current ability, there’s no need to go too deep. Wait until you’ve finished all the material and practice comprehensively—then you can come back to them.”

It was the first time Lu Xingjia had heard him say so much in one go. He was momentarily stunned before taking the napkin and awkwardly dabbing at the corners of his eyes. “You… looked at my workbook?”

“Mm.” Qin Mudong picked up the workbook from Lu Xingjia’s desk and flipped to a page casually. “Look, for this question, I’m sure you spent a lot of time on it, but in the end, you still didn’t solve it. It wasted time you could’ve used on basic questions earlier.”

His long, well-defined finger slid across the page and pointed to a question on the previous page. “Like this one—it’s based on a very simple concept. You shouldn’t have gotten it wrong. You spent too much time on the advanced problems, so you didn’t check the basics carefully.”

Qin Mudong looked up slightly, meeting Lu Xingjia’s gaze. “It’s the same during exams. Grab the easy points first. The rest can wait until you have extra time.”

Qin Mudong was cold and reserved, but exams seemed to come naturally to him.

His fingers slid over the white paper, eyelids slightly lowered, eyes steady. He spoke with clear logic, a deep voice, and a calm demeanor—as if bathed in golden light.

Lu Xingjia stared, momentarily entranced.

He thought, This must be the real Qin Mudong beneath the misty veil.

He was always meant to shine like this.

Seeing the dazed look on the boy’s face, Qin Mudong dropped his eyes with a trace of exasperation and tapped the desk with a curled finger.

“Did you understand?”

His analysis was clear and reasonable. Lu Xingjia snapped back to reality, slightly embarrassed.

“I understood,” he nodded, then after a moment, lowered his head and mumbled, “Sorry… I got a little emotional and yelled at you just now. Please don’t be mad.”

Qin Mudong gave a soft “mm” in response, and Lu Xingjia breathed a sigh of relief, flashing a bright smile. “Thank you so much. I’ll try doing things the way you suggested!”

Qin Mudong turned coldly to look out the window, but in the place Lu Xingjia couldn’t see, the corners of his lips, long held taut, finally curved up slightly.

He finally smiled again.

Author’s Note:

Mudong’s affection is the kind that nourishes you quietly, without making a sound.