Who Rids My Graceful Wife 1-6

(Chapter 1)

Time flies like water, and those days are long gone. Looking back and sorting through them, it's all a jumbled mess, only fragments of time remain, some sad, some joyful, some sorrowful, some sweet.

I met her in the early autumn, which was just the time when I entered high school. At that time, I was young and arrogant, thinking I was good enough. I was proud inside, but on the surface, I was very easygoing and got along well with a group of boys I had just met. My mind was not mature enough then. As before, I wanted to attract the attention of the opposite sex, but I didn't want to pay too much attention to them. I was reluctant to take the initiative to talk to them. After more than ten days of school, I still couldn't remember the names of many girls. But what surprised me even more was the first time I saw her.

I didn't know how to describe her, afraid that I would be too beautiful at first sight, so I exaggerated subjectively. She was very beautiful, but her beauty was not ostentatious at all. She was very fair-skinned and didn't wear any makeup. Her natural complexion was even more beautiful, and her skin had a crystal-clear quality. When we first met, I thought she had big eyes, but they weren't as big as I initially thought. They were just very lively, clear and bright, as if you could see into the purity of her heart, or as if she could see through all her thoughts. Her nose was small and straight, and her lips were as tender as cherries. Later, I noticed her habitual gestures; she would often purse her lips or furrow her brows. Beautiful girls look good with any expression. Her hair was simply tied back, making her look pure and refreshing. Her beauty was so gentle, not aggressive, making people feel friendly and want to get closer, yet also respectful and not daring to be presumptuous.

I said to her in surprise, "Classmate... I don't think I've seen you before?"

She smiled sweetly, glanced at me, and said, "I suspect you haven't even gotten to know everyone in our class. You're only in the classroom during class time; you're never there at other times."

Hearing her say that she was paying attention to me, I felt both ashamed and excited. During breaks and lunch, I would always go out to do various sports activities, or at least wander around the campus.

Our first conversation was brief, but she left a very deep and beautiful impression on me. I learned that her name was Ting, though this is just her name in this article; it's similar to her real name and suits her slender, 1.66-meter height perfectly.

From then on, I started to pay special attention to her. She sat a few desks behind me, so during self-study periods, I would often intentionally say a word to the person behind me or borrow something, and then secretly glance at her. She was always focused on her studies, never making eye contact with me. I really wanted to find an opportunity to talk to her, but we were too far apart and there was no good chance. It was my budding romance, a time of yearning and shyness. I wanted to sit next to her and ask her a question, but I felt those questions were too easy, and asking such questions would make me seem unintelligent. After all, I had the best grades in the class, and I was quite proud back then.

While I hesitated, the midterm exams arrived in the blink of an eye. I thought I was guaranteed to be first in the class, but to my surprise, she was first, and I ranked after her. This made me, who was usually a bit arrogant, feel ashamed. But it's fair that those who work hard get better grades than those who don't. After that, I became much more restrained and started doing problems during self-study periods. However, I was always distracted and not as focused as she was. And it seemed like there were no problems I couldn't solve, so I became lazy and stopped doing them.

After that exam, I felt even more ashamed to talk to her, and I almost stopped even nodding to her when we met.

After the exam, many people went to her for help with their problems, regardless of gender. She would always put aside her own things and patiently answer their questions. Those people were quite slow, but she explained things to them again and again without getting tired of it. At that time, she was especially beautiful in my eyes. In fact, no one wants their time to be taken up by others, especially high-achieving students. She was so kind, unwilling to disappoint anyone. I even suspected those boys had ulterior motives, wanting to strike up a conversation with her, but I felt I wasn't qualified to be her protector.

For the first time in my life, I felt jealousy, realizing I had fallen for her. The jealousy was slightly bitter, but the taste of unrequited love was indescribably sweet. I longed to see her, to see her beautiful face, even just for a fleeting moment. My heart would be filled with satisfaction and happiness, something I could savor, something I could look back on.

In the classroom, she sat diagonally behind me, but whenever I thought of her, she was there. Just turning around, I would see her. Her very existence was a blessing. Not only did we share the same world, but we were so close—that was true luck. A young heart is easily satisfied.

When I was alone, she would appear clearly in my mind, always in profile. I tried to make her face me, but I couldn't. I don't know how to explain that feeling; a young heart is strange indeed.

The following spring arrived, and as is school tradition, a football match and sports meet were held in the spring. Our city has a long-standing football tradition, and many children have been playing football since they were young. My turn to perform came; football is my passion and talent, and I unsurprisingly became the team captain.

Ting was unanimously chosen as the cheerleading captain. Actually, her quiet and gentle nature wasn't quite right for the role. There were some loud and enthusiastic girls in the class, and her selection as captain was unanimous among the male players. Seeing how much everyone liked her, I felt both happy and a little disappointed. So many people liked her, and I was just one of them.

Before the match started, I used my position to strike up a conversation with her: "Should we come up with some unified slogans?"

She lowered her head and said softly, "It seems like we should, but I don't know anything about football! Can you guys discuss it and tell us?"

Seeing her gentle demeanor and sweet breath, I really wanted to get closer and talk to her. I said, "Slogans don't need to be technical or professional, just inspiring. Let's brainstorm together!"

She chuckled, which seemed incredibly charming to me, and said, "Just the two of us, how broad can we be? How can we even come up with anything?"

Actually, I was just happy to chat with her; the slogans didn't matter.

After the match started, I realized that playing football was the right choice in my life. I'm not tall or strong, but I have speed, explosiveness, and agility. I started as the midfield maestro, but I increasingly felt that our forwards' attacking firepower wasn't as good as mine. Also, selfishly, the class cheerleaders didn't understand the art of playmaking or the subtleties of assists; they only knew how to cheer wildly when a goal was scored. So, I moved to the forward line. Actually, our positions weren't clearly defined back then, and the referee was inconsistent with offside calls.

I finally had the chance to show off my skills and score goals. Often, after a dazzling series of dribbling feints, I'd be one-on-one with the goalkeeper. After scoring, I'd search for her in the cheering crowd, and see her, usually so calm and quiet, also excited. In my mind, that one goal tripled in value, becoming a hat-trick. I felt like all my hard work was just to win her favor; I don't know when I became so selfless.

Our class won the championship that time, and I became a star on campus, enjoying unparalleled fame. I was a good student, had a flamboyant playing style, and was fairly handsome—definitely better than Ronaldinho, but probably far inferior to Beckham. So I felt a little smug again, and even received letters from girls in other classes asking me to date them. But I really enjoyed it when the boys in class would shout, "Ah, another girl with a crush is writing you a letter!" And it had to be Ting who heard it. I would then pretend to be humble and say, "Oh, not at all, they're just naive girls. I don't reply to any of them." I wondered if Ting felt a little jealous. Even just a tiny bit would make me incredibly happy.

Then came the sports meet, and I couldn't be as glamorous because my absolute speed and strength weren't particularly outstanding. Interestingly, given the scarcity of athletic girls in the class, Ting was once again pushed to the front lines to run the 100-meter dash. It was the collective wisdom of those boys again; they probably wanted to see what the delicate Ting would look like running—it was a little prank.

Actually, although the boys usually liked to talk to her, they all respected her. Respect comes from self-respect! Another daunting task assigned to Ting was to hold up a sign at the front of the group during the opening ceremony. Both tasks made her flustered, and she kept waving her hands, but no one would let her refuse. Then, a group of girls surrounded Ting, discussing what outfit to wear.

On the day of the opening ceremony, everyone was ushered out of the classroom early. Since everyone was wearing school uniforms, there was no need to change clothes. Only Ting needed space to change. What she would wear beforehand was a secret to avoid being leaked to other classes, and of course, what the other classes wore was also a secret.

When she came out, we were immediately stunned. She was wearing a dress similar to those worn by placard bearers at the Olympics—a white, tight-fitting dress that revealed her shoulders. The neckline and waist were decorated with red floral patterns, and the hem of the skirt reached her knees. The school couldn't allow it to be any shorter, but the skirt had slits on both sides, revealing glimpses of her thighs. She seemed hesitant to walk, her face flushed and her head lowered, adding to her captivating beauty. We were all mesmerized.

Seeing her hesitate, the girls quickly encouraged her: "You're really beautiful, don't you think?" Everyone readily agreed, saying she would definitely outshine all the girls from other classes.

She still stood there somewhat reservedly. I stood to her side, almost greedily gazing at her. I hadn't expected her figure to be so good. She usually didn't care about her clothing, wearing loose school uniforms and sportswear, so her figure wasn't apparent. Today, the tight-fitting dress accentuated her curves perfectly, highlighting her snow-white neck, firm breasts, pert buttocks, and long legs. She was also wearing high heels and flesh-colored stockings—it seems like the term "stocking fetish" didn't exist a decade or so ago. School usually requires uniforms, and the annual sports meet is when students dress most daringly. Perhaps the girls are channeling all their pent-up desires into this.

The opening ceremony began, and all the participating teams filed in. The most eye-catching were, of course, the beautiful girls holding up the placards. They were dressed in various styles, each vying for attention, most wearing skirts. In my eyes, Ting was the most beautiful.

"Now passing the podium is Class 5 of Grade 1, marching in neat steps..." A burst of applause erupted across the field. To my ears, our class received the loudest applause, and I figured most of it was for Ting. Her face appeared calm, completely devoid of her earlier shyness. Her gait was graceful, light and elegant, with a perfect balance of pace and speed. With each gentle step, her beautiful legs moved alternately, and her hips swayed softly. I was momentarily mesmerized.

The weather was slightly chilly that morning, and I felt a pang of sympathy for her beautiful yet slender figure.

After the opening ceremony, she went back to the classroom to change into her school uniform and came back sitting right behind me. Everyone around her turned to talk to her, praising her success. I said to her seriously, "Comrade, you need to stay humble and not get complacent. There are even more challenging tasks ahead."

She smiled and said, "Anyway, I've never run before. No matter how difficult it is, it won't break me. The pressure is all on those sports scholarship students."

Just then, when she participated in the 100-meter preliminary round, my homeroom teacher asked me to deliver a script to the broadcasting station. I didn't want to say directly that I wanted to see the full race before going. The teacher really didn't know how to pick her timing. I thought I'd go quickly and come back quickly so I could still see it. Just as I reached the broadcasting station room, I heard a burst of drumming and shouting outside. I was instantly anxious, threw the script on the table, and ran. Just as I reached the door, I saw that even the last person had reached the finish line. I was filled with despair, thinking that this might be her only performance, and I wouldn't see her run again until at least next year's sports meet.

When I dejectedly walked to my class's location, I found my classmates all excited. It turned out she had made it to the finals! A surge of joy welled up inside me. I hadn't expected this! I was just relieved she wasn't last, given how frail she seemed!

Finally, the women's 100-meter final arrived. Seeing her, usually so delicate, in her shorts, t-shirt, and running shoes, she truly had the bearing of an athlete. My restless eyes kept glancing at her "unintentionally." Her skin was as white and delicate as snow, like that of a young child.

When Ting stepped onto the starting line, my heart pounded even harder than when I was competing myself. I didn't know if it was fear of her failure, or anticipation of her success, or simply the sheer excitement of seeing her race. The starting gun fired, and she sprinted off. Her speed was astounding, which greatly surprised me. Her running form was beautiful; it's rare for a girl to run gracefully, but she was different. She moved like a rabbit, as light as a cloud. Although she wasn't in the lead, the athletes ahead of her all looked like tomboys, with masculine physiques and movements. Her figure, however, possessed a feminine beauty, and her speed was impressive. The cheers from the sidelines were deafening; we were practically going crazy.

In the end, she came in third place. The top two were both athletes. Our teacher, a strict and serious middle-aged woman in her forties, couldn't stop smiling. This was an unexpected surprise for our class. When she returned to our area, everyone stood up and gave her a warm round of applause. Students from neighboring classes glanced at her sideways; she was even more glamorous than the champion.

She was a little shy but had a smile on her lips, looking extremely cute. She took her coat from someone and put it on. She wanted to sit down, but seeing everyone still standing, she didn't know whether to sit or stand. Finally, the teacher waved her hand, and everyone quieted down, but my heart was filled with joy that lingered for a long time.

After the soccer tournament and sports meet, Ting and I were both considered top students in both academics and sports. Classmates also noticed that I was trying to get closer to her, and gradually some people started joking about us. When they saw me talking to her, they would cough to the side, and she would always blush, not knowing what to say. I felt both annoyed and sweet, because their coughs, while disturbing, were also an acknowledgment of our subtle relationship. Thinking about this always made me feel intoxicated. But after a while, she became hesitant to get too close to me, which panicked me. I knew girls like her cared a lot about what others thought. Actually, I didn't expect a romantic relationship with her; just talking to her regularly would be enough for me.

Being a sensible person, I reduced my contact with her, burying my feelings deep in my heart. But the more I suppressed my emotions, the more intense they became. It was as if a fire burned within me, surging through my body, as if I had a thousand words to say to her, to tell her how much I loved her.

Having just tasted love, I could sense that it was love, or that I could tell anyone, but I had no one to confide in. So I picked up a pen and wrote down my longing for her—poems, letters, novels, all sorts of writing, with her as the sole protagonist and love as the sole theme. My writing was immature, but my feelings were sincere.

Finally, I couldn't hold back any longer and wanted to confess to her. Perhaps if she rejected me, I could finally give up. One evening after self-study, I mustered my courage and handed her a notebook filled with passionate words: "Take a look at this." She took it and asked, "What is this?" I said, "You'll see when you read it," and then turned and ran away as if fleeing.

Back home, lying in bed, I wondered if she was reading it now. What would she think when she saw those words? What kind of expression would she have? She would definitely blush. Just thinking about her shy, blushing face filled me with immense joy, but I was also worried that she might be angry or annoyed. That night was spent in a state of excitement and anxiety.

The next day at school, I nervously walked into the classroom. She was studying with her head down, not seeing me. All morning, I received no reply; all afternoon, the same thing happened. My heart was tormented by this waiting. It was a strange kind of pain, filled with both immense hope and the fear that when the reply came, it would be a rejection.

Even after evening self-study ended, I lingered, reluctant to leave. Finally, a slender, delicate hand placed a folded piece of paper on my desk and quickly left. It was Ting! My mind and body were simultaneously overwhelmed with a tremendous shock. The paper contained Ting's decision, and I couldn't wait to read it, yet I was also worried about something.

I tucked the paper into my pocket, rode my bike home as fast as I could, locked myself in my room, and carefully unfolded the paper. Her neat and beautiful handwriting came into view, but what excited me even more was its content. She said tactfully that she was very moved by the letters I had written, but she couldn't decide to accept me right away. However, she also had feelings for me. If I was truly interested, we could wait until after the college entrance exam; if it was true love, we could withstand the wait, and time would test us.

Although she didn't agree, I was still overjoyed. As long as there was hope, I was willing to wait, no matter how long.

Days filled with hope are joyful. We tried to communicate like ordinary friends, both knowing we were carefully controlling our boundaries and distance. Perhaps once things were made clear, the feelings wouldn't be as pure as ordinary friendship; they would deepen and develop, beyond the control of subjectivity and reason. The

way we looked at each other changed. We understood each other better, and I learned about her. Ting's father was a government official, and her mother was a doctor. Her parents raised her strictly, or as she put it, "strict yet loving." Therefore, she had no bad habits. She didn't like to compare herself to others; she was simply clean-cut and never flashy.

Although she was intelligent, her heart was as pure as a blank sheet of paper, possessing many beautiful virtues. She was kind, considerate, compassionate, and very self-aware, never doing anything to upset or embarrass others, preferring to suffer a loss herself rather than owe anyone anything. She didn't like to trouble others, but she never refused to help others. She always spoke softly and gently, and when everyone chatted, she never tried to steal the spotlight or dominate the conversation; she always listened quietly.

She was a quiet girl with a genuine smile on her face—not a stereotypical, frozen expression, but one that came from the heart. Only a peaceful and kind heart could produce such a smile. The more I learned about her, the more I loved her and the more I admired her.

Every subtle change didn't escape the notice of our experienced homeroom teacher. Less than six months into those happy days, she finally spoke to us separately. I insisted that we weren't dating and assured her that she could rest assured. Before I could even tell Ting, the tactically astute homeroom teacher called her in for a talk.

When she returned, I wrote her a note asking what she had said. Back then, passing notes in class was as common as texting is now. She told the truth: we weren't dating, although we had feelings for each other, but we agreed to be together after the college entrance exam. I was shocked after reading the note. Why was she so honest? Why tell the teacher all that?

Sure enough, the teacher called us in again after work. Only the three of us were in her office. After closing the door, she asked me sternly, "Didn't you say you weren't dating? Why are your stories contradicting each other?" We both answered, "We really aren't dating!" The teacher said, "Then what about the agreement Ting mentioned?"

I was speechless. Ting timidly said, "Teacher, the agreement is for the future, we're not dating now..." The teacher sighed, both distressed and angry, and said, "You two..."

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Who Rids My Graceful Wife 1-6

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