Class 3-1.
Song Jingwan watched in silence as An Feiran packed his things.
She pressed her lips together. "Are you really going to the third class?"
Hearing this, the boy who was looking down to pack his textbooks, lifted his head and smiled, "Yes, I've thought about it carefully. Perhaps, I'm not that suitable for the first class. Everyone's grades are so good. I'm only here to drag you all down. It's better if I go to the third class and work hard with them."
His voice was gentle, and his face still had bruises. Although his outfit was ordinary, he looked understanding and clean.
As the light fell on his jet-black hair, Song Jingwan actually sensed, for the first time, that he wasn't as ordinary-looking as she thought.
Word of the incident from the other day had been spreading around the school.
