Detention at Yunbei No. 1 Senior High wasn't a room so much as a warning.
It took place in the old self-study classroom on the third floor, the one with flickering fluorescent lights and desks carved with the names of students who'd failed at being invisible. The windows were always shut. The air was always stale. The silence was always heavy in a way that made even breathing feel like a confession.
It wasn't meant to rehabilitate anyone.
It was meant to humiliate them into obedience.
Which was why Jiang Yue was genuinely offended that, for once, he hadn't done anything worth being humiliated for.
He'd been walking to class that morning like a normal student—late, yes, but normal—when Teacher Gao intercepted him in the hallway with her clipboard held like a knife.
"Jiang Yue," she said. "Detention. After school."
Jiang Yue blinked. "For what."
Teacher Gao didn't even look at him. "For your attitude."
Jiang Yue laughed, incredulous. "My attitude is a lifelong condition."
Teacher Gao's eyes lifted, razor sharp. "And it's going to ruin your future if you keep treating everything like a joke."
Jiang Yue's smile thinned. "So detention is… therapy."
Teacher Gao pointed down the hallway. "After school. Room 3-7. No excuses."
He could've argued.
He almost did.
Then he remembered dinner last night. His mother's hopeful face. His stepfather's controlled voice. The word inconsistent.
He swallowed the argument, because sometimes anger was a luxury he couldn't afford.
"Fine," he said. "I'll bring snacks."
Teacher Gao's eyes narrowed. "Bring silence."
And that was that.
All day, the idea of detention sat in the back of Jiang Yue's mind like a pebble in his shoe—small, irritating, impossible to ignore.
At the final bell, students poured out of classrooms like a flood. Bags swung, laughter burst, freedom tasted like the outside air.
Jiang Yue stayed seated, staring at his desk.
Xu Zhe leaned in, whispering, "You got detention?"
Jiang Yue sighed. "Apparently my personality offended the school system."
Xu Zhe looked horrified. "That's discrimination."
Jiang Yue smirked. "Tell my lawyer."
Xu Zhe hesitated. "Do you want me to wait outside."
Jiang Yue glanced up at him. Something in his chest softened for half a second, then he shoved it down. "Go home. You'll catch boredom."
Xu Zhe sighed dramatically. "Fine. Text me if you die."
Jiang Yue waved him off like a king granting mercy.
Then, reluctantly, he stood up and headed for the third floor.
Room 3-7 was at the end of the hallway, past the storage closet and the broken water dispenser. The corridor lights buzzed overhead. The school after hours had a different feeling—emptier, colder, like it was finally honest about the fact that it didn't care whether students were happy, only whether they were useful.
Jiang Yue pushed open the door.
He expected an empty room.
Instead, he found Wei Nianzhan already seated at the front desk, posture straight, textbook open.
Jiang Yue froze in the doorway.
Wei looked up.
Their eyes met.
Jiang Yue's brain stumbled for a second, trying to process this new insult.
"Why are you here," Jiang Yue demanded automatically.
Wei's voice was calm. "Detention."
Jiang Yue stared at him like he'd just announced he enjoyed arson. "You? Detention? Did you murder a teacher."
Wei blinked once, expression unchanged. "I spoke out of turn."
Jiang Yue's eyebrows shot up. "You spoke. And they punished you."
Wei's gaze held his for a moment. "Yes."
Jiang Yue walked into the room slowly, as if the floor might collapse under the weight of irony.
He tossed his bag onto a desk near the back and dropped into the chair, leaning back dramatically.
"So," Jiang Yue said loudly, because detention apparently didn't include a "stop being yourself" clause. "We're both criminals now."
Wei looked back down at his textbook. "Be quiet."
Jiang Yue smiled. "No."
Wei's pen paused.
Then Wei said, without looking up, "Teacher Gao is trying to teach you discipline."
Jiang Yue leaned forward, amused. "And you? What are you being taught. How to be less perfect."
Wei's jaw tightened slightly.
For a second, Jiang Yue thought Wei might ignore him.
Then Wei answered, calm but edged. "How to stop you from causing trouble."
Jiang Yue laughed, sharp. "So it is about me."
Wei's gaze flicked up, cold. "You're loud. It's hard to forget you exist."
Jiang Yue should've been offended.
Instead, something in his chest kicked—something that felt suspiciously like satisfaction.
He leaned back again, arms crossed. "What did you even do. 'Spoke out of turn' sounds fake."
Wei's eyes lowered to the page. "I corrected her."
Jiang Yue blinked. "Corrected Teacher Gao."
Wei's voice remained flat. "She mispronounced a student's name."
Jiang Yue stared at him, then burst out laughing. "You got detention for pronunciation."
Wei finally looked at him, expression unreadable. "It mattered."
Jiang Yue wiped at his eye like he was crying from laughter. "Okay. You really are insane."
Wei didn't respond.
The room settled into silence, broken only by the buzz of the lights and the scratch of Wei's pen.
Jiang Yue tried to sit still.
He lasted four minutes.
Then he shifted. Then he tapped his pen. Then he let his chair rock back just slightly, because boredom was a physical pain and he needed to hurt something else instead.
Wei's voice came, calm. "Stop."
Jiang Yue grinned. "Stop what."
Wei's gaze didn't lift. "Everything."
Jiang Yue leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "You know what's funny. If you weren't here, detention would be relaxing."
Wei's pen stopped.
"Relaxing," Wei repeated, like the word was unfamiliar.
Jiang Yue shrugged. "Yeah. No adults. No expectations. Just quiet."
Wei finally looked up fully.
His eyes were dark and steady. "You like quiet."
Jiang Yue blinked. "No."
Wei's gaze stayed fixed on him. "Then why call it relaxing."
Jiang Yue hesitated.
Because the truth was embarrassing. Because he didn't want Wei to know that under all the noise, Jiang Yue's brain was constantly screaming.
He shrugged instead. "Because you're annoying."
Wei's expression didn't change. "That's not an answer."
Jiang Yue felt irritation flare, because Wei had a way of pressing without raising his voice, like he didn't need force to corner someone.
So Jiang Yue did what he always did: he attacked.
"You know what," Jiang Yue said lightly, leaning forward. "Maybe you got detention because Teacher Gao finally realized you're not as perfect as she thinks."
Wei's eyes narrowed slightly. "Maybe."
Jiang Yue blinked. He hadn't expected agreement.
Wei's gaze dropped again. His voice was quieter, almost careless. "She thinks perfection is obedience."
Jiang Yue stared at him.
That was… almost a confession.
Jiang Yue opened his mouth to say something stupid to cover the moment, but the classroom door opened.
Teacher Gao stepped in.
She wore the same expression she always wore: as if disappointment was her natural face.
Her eyes swept the room, then narrowed when she saw Wei.
"Wei Nianzhan," she said. "You're here."
Wei stood immediately. "Yes, Teacher."
Teacher Gao's gaze sharpened. "Sit. You're not being rewarded."
Wei sat.
Teacher Gao looked at Jiang Yue. "You're both going to write reflection essays. Two pages. Hand them to me tomorrow morning."
Jiang Yue stared at her. "Two pages? For attitude crimes?"
Teacher Gao's mouth tightened. "For learning to take responsibility."
Jiang Yue scoffed. "Responsibility for what. Existing."
Teacher Gao ignored him and turned to Wei. "And you. Learn boundaries. This is a classroom, not a debate stage."
Wei's jaw tightened slightly. "Yes, Teacher."
Teacher Gao's gaze moved between them, then she said something that made Jiang Yue's stomach drop.
"Since you two live together," she said smoothly, "you can write your reflections at home. Together. Maybe you'll learn cooperation."
Jiang Yue's head snapped up. "What."
Wei's gaze flicked to Teacher Gao, then to Jiang Yue.
Teacher Gao smiled slightly, the way a person smiled when they'd engineered a situation they enjoyed. "You heard me. You can leave early. Use the time productively."
Jiang Yue stared at her like she was insane.
But Teacher Gao was already leaving, heels clicking down the hallway like a victory march.
The door shut.
Silence rushed back in.
Jiang Yue turned slowly to Wei. "She's doing this on purpose."
Wei's voice was calm. "Yes."
Jiang Yue blinked. "You agree."
Wei's gaze held his. "She likes control."
Jiang Yue's mouth twisted. "You'd know."
Wei's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't rise to it. He simply gathered his books, neat and controlled, as if detention had been another scheduled event.
Jiang Yue watched him, then grabbed his own bag, moving louder on purpose.
They walked out of the classroom together.
The hallway was empty. Their footsteps echoed.
Jiang Yue hated the way the echo made them sound synchronized.
At the stairs, Jiang Yue spoke again, unable to stop himself. "Did you really correct her for a student's name."
Wei glanced at him briefly. "Yes."
"Why," Jiang Yue pressed. "You don't even like anyone."
Wei's gaze sharpened, and for a second it looked like he might snap.
Then he almost slipped.
His voice came lower, controlled but too honest. "Because no one corrected people for mine."
The words landed like a stone.
Jiang Yue froze mid-step.
Wei's expression tightened immediately, like he'd regretted it the moment it left his mouth. He looked away, jaw tense.
Jiang Yue's chest tightened in a way he didn't understand.
He tried to laugh it off, because that was what he did when something hit too close.
"So," he said lightly, "even the perfect guy has trauma."
Wei's gaze flicked back, cold again. "Don't."
Jiang Yue's smile faltered.
He nodded once, unusually quiet, and kept walking.
Outside, the sky was already dimming. The school gates looked like an exit from a prison.
They walked in silence toward home, two boys bound by paperwork and rumor and now two pages of reflection they were supposed to write "together."
Jiang Yue didn't know what would be worse.
Writing reflections.
Or realizing, somewhere between the lines, that Wei Nianzhan wasn't a robot.
He was just someone who'd learned to survive by being perfect.
And Jiang Yue, despite himself, recognized that kind of survival.