Now, Awake

Bullying—every school has its share of dirty little secrets.

But Zhang Yuzhong picking a fight? That just didn’t sit right.

Lin Mo still couldn’t figure out why Zhang Yuzhong had challenged someone to a brawl in the first place.

When Zhang Yuzhong returned to class gripping a large broom, the sheer hostility radiating off him made his classmates instinctively clear a path.

Lin Mo and the others, however, walked straight up and surrounded him.

An Yuexin was the first to speak, clapping a hand on Zhang Yuzhong’s shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze.

"Yuzhong, what’s going on? Heard you’re squaring up against Su Jiazhen from Class 13? That bastard mess with you?"

Zhang Yuzhong’s gaze swept over them, lingering on Lin Mo for half a second longer before settling on An Yuexin.

His fingers tightened around the broom handle as he ground out, "This is my business. Stay out of it."

His expression made it clear—he’d rather swallow his own teeth than explain.

Whatever his reason, it was something he couldn’t back down from.

Lin Mo’s brows knitted together. He didn’t ask why. Instead, his eyes dropped to Zhang Yuzhong’s rough, work-worn hands.

"You planning to break an arm or a leg?"

"Which one’ll keep you from working?"

The words struck like a needle, right into Zhang Yuzhong’s weakest spot.

Lin Mo knew his situation all too well.

A rural family. Parents perpetually sick, medicine bottles lining their home. Younger siblings waiting on school fees. The entire household relied on the meager wages he scraped together from odd jobs on weekends and holidays.

No work meant no food.

If Zhang Yuzhong got hurt, his ability to earn would take a hit.

And that was the last thing Lin Mo wanted.

The moment those words landed, An Yuexin and Fang Jun fell silent.

Everyone knew Zhang Yuzhong’s struggles. They’d all pitched in before—tipping him for small errands, anything to help.

It wasn’t charity. To Zhang Yuzhong, those extra coins added up.

But a fight? An injury? The consequences were obvious.

Zhang Yuzhong shook his head. "I’ll be fine. Made good money over New Year’s—bosses were generous."

During the holidays, Guangzhou emptied out as migrant workers returned home. But locals still needed services, so businesses stayed open.

Those who stayed behind earned a little extra.

What no one knew was that money was earmarked—his mother’s medicine, his sister’s middle school fees.

Lin Mo let out a humorless laugh, his voice quiet but razor-sharp.

"Enough? Enough for hospital bills, but what about your mom’s meds? Your brother’s tuition?"

"What the hell’s going on? How are we supposed to help if you won’t talk?"

Zhang Yuzhong opened his mouth, then closed it, his eyes reddening. In the end, he just shook his head again, shoved past Fang Jun, and returned the broom to its corner by the door.

But Lin Mo knew—Zhang Yuzhong had already braced himself for the pain.

"Stubborn as a damn mule," An Yuexin muttered. "So what now, Lao Mo? Just let him throw down?"

"Like hell." Lin Mo’s tone was flat, matter-of-fact. "If he won’t talk, Su Jiazhen will. Let’s go."

Without another word, he turned and walked out.

Class 13.

A forgettable bunch—neither outstanding nor troublesome, the kind that blended into the background without a ripple.

Lin Mo’s only impression of them was that they’d become a pure humanities class after sophomore year’s track selection.

He stopped at the rear door, then rapped his knuckles against the front.

Knock knock.

The sound was soft but caught the attention of the boy nearest the door.

The moment he looked up and saw Lin Mo, his relaxed expression stiffened.

"Lin Mo?! Who—who are you here for?"

A tremor ran through his voice. Clearly, Lin Mo’s face carried weight in this school.

"Su Jiazhen. Get him for me." Lin Mo’s gaze slid past him, locking onto the back of the classroom.

In the far corner of the last row, a figure was slumped over a desk, dead asleep.

At the name, the boy paled further. He instinctively lowered his voice, shaking his head like a rattle-drum.

"Uh, maybe not? He’s—he’s sleeping. His temper’s… bad. Last time—"

He cut himself off, as if recalling something unpleasant.

Lin Mo’s brow arched.

Bad temper?

Perfect. He specialized in bad tempers.

He waved a hand at An Yuexin and Fang Jun behind him. "Wait outside."

Ignoring the boy’s protests, Lin Mo strode into Class 13 like he owned the place.

The low murmur of conversation cut off abruptly, replaced by silence.

A few students at the front frowned at the intrusion—until they saw where he was headed. Then their irritation melted into gleeful anticipation.

All eyes slid to the back row.

The wicked meet their match.

This’d be good.

Lin Mo stopped at Su Jiazhen’s desk. Books lay in disarray, the faint stench of instant noodles clinging to the air.

He tapped the surface—once, twice.

Thump thump.

No response.

Lin Mo didn’t react. Just knocked again, sharper this time.

Thump-thump-thump.

"Piss off."

A muffled grunt came from under the desk. A hand swatted vaguely, like shooing a fly.

Lin Mo paused. Then he slammed his fist down in a rapid, rhythmic beat.

"THE HELL’S YOUR PROBLEM?!"

Su Jiazhen exploded upward like a firecracker, eyes still half-shut, fist already flying toward Lin Mo’s face.

The punch was fast, brutal, fueled by pure rage—clearly meant to teach the intruder a lesson.

Gasps filled the room. A few girls covered their eyes.

But the expected impact never came.

Lin Mo tilted his head—just slightly—and the fist whistled past his ear.

The movement was minuscule. Precise. Terrifying.

The class held its breath.

As Su Jiazhen staggered off-balance from the missed strike, Lin Mo moved.

One hand shot out, snagging Su Jiazhen’s collar. Then—effortlessly—he lifted.

Su Jiazhen’s feet left the ground.

Guess the school uniforms are sturdier than they look.

One can only say, the quality of this school uniform is truly impressive—it's bearing a weight far beyond what it was meant to endure at its age.

"So, awake now?"