Banquete Impuro

Xie Xishu wanted to tell Qi Wu, “Stop staring at me.”

But he didn’t dare.

Because he felt as if Qi Wu had gone mad.

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The first time Xie Xishu and Qi Wu crossed paths, City A’s weather forecast issued a heat warning. That afternoon, the second period for Senior Year Class 1 at Nanming No. 3 High School was scheduled as PE.

Had Xie Xishu attended a proper school, one with at least a modicum of ambition regarding university admissions, PE for seniors would likely have been replaced by Chinese, Math, or English—or at the very least, no teacher would be foolish enough to let the PE instructor actually teach the class.

But Xie Xishu was at Nanming No. 3.

The city’s universally acknowledged worst public high school, infamous as a cradle for future factory workers or the unemployed; even decent vocational schools had learning environments that far surpassed Nanming No. 3.

So not a single teacher was interested in commandeering the PE period—not even the PE teacher himself.

This meant that, for Nanming No. 3’s students, PE was simply a legitimate excuse for wandering aimlessly around the campus. Only, the heat that day was so oppressive most opted to remain in the classroom, chatting, playing cards, gaming, rather than loitering outside.

Though, truth be told, even when teachers were present, these self-exiled students rarely paid any attention in class. But without the teacher’s suppression, the noise in Class A reached the levels of a bustling marketplace.

Xie Xishu sat in the classroom, his brows