◎ The Last Midsummer ◎

Yuan Ye’s judgment hadn’t been wrong. Chun Zao was indeed a magical catalyst. After living under the same roof, through observing and helping her surrounding ecosystem, he seemed to have been drawn into a life drama that truly belonged to him.

Body temperature, pulse, blood flow, new emotions, new desires, new hopes—everything revived within his body.

It was like burying a beating spring seed in the wilderness.

After Grain Rain, the outer walls of Yizhong were covered with dripping wet roses. The sophomore grade chose a clear day to hold a hiking activity.

At 7:30 AM, teachers and students from each class gathered on the playground, ready to depart. After speeches from school leaders and student parent representatives, each class carried their flags and stepped out of campus. The blue and white teams converged on the main road, heading toward Yipu Bridge, finally stopping at Youyuan for brief class team-building activities. The entire round trip was 25 kilometers—no wonder it was called the “leg-breaking journey” by previous upperclassmen.

Especially since… sun protection products weren’t allowed.

The leadership made it clear: such items would hinder Yizhong students from displaying their youthfully radiant faces to the outside world.

“Do I look youthfully radiant?” On the way back, Tong Yue had already collapsed into a tottering old lady, shuffling step by step, ashen-faced: “Don’t I look like I’m about to die?”

Chun Zao was too sun-scorched to respond.

The teachers who had originally hiked with their classes were exhausted and had all fled to the follow-up vehicles at the rear of the formation to rest.

With the supervisors having escaped first, the formation gradually lost shape, becoming sparse and scattered, clustering in groups of three to five, transforming from a long stream into puddles of varying sizes.

Due to the long walk, Chun Zao hadn’t brought much drinking water or snacks. After finishing the water at the bottom of her portable cup, she tucked it back into her backpack’s side pocket.

At the same time, Tong Yue’s phone navigation once again clearly announced beside her: “Turn right at the three-way intersection ahead. Only 5.2 kilometers remaining to destination Yicheng Middle School.”

Wails of despair immediately arose all around.

The Class 1 team at the front wasn’t faring much better either. The boys who had been joking and playing around on the way there were now all exhausted with vacant stares on the return journey.

Yuan Ye walked at the end of the formation, constantly turning back to look toward Class 3’s position.

However, Class 2 consisted mostly of tall boys, and with them blocking the middle, his view was severely obstructed—he couldn’t even see a corner of Chun Zao’s clothing.

“Isn’t your neck tired?” Tu Wenwei noticed his constant head-turning every three steps and was utterly speechless: “I’m getting tired just watching you turn your head.”

Yuan Ye fell silent for a moment, too lazy to respond, and casually tossed his empty water bottle into a trash can they passed.

Suddenly, he spotted a small shop around the corner. With a flash of inspiration, he broke formation and ran over quickly.

Two minutes later, Yuan Ye emerged with an entire bag of drinking water in his hands.

After distributing bottles to several acquainted boys nearby, only two or three bottles remained in the plastic bag. Everyone tactfully avoided the one with pink peach oolong packaging, well aware of who that uniquely different bottle belonged to.

Tu Wenwei loved stirring up trouble, reaching directly for that distinctively packaged drink with a coy voice: “Darling, is this for me?”

Yuan Ye frowned with a complex expression and pushed his arm away.

“You don’t get to drink any of it.” He pulled out that bottle and handed the bag to a classmate in front: “You guys divide these.”

The boy happily took over.

“I was wrong, I was wrong—” Tu Wenwei stopped being obnoxious and came forward to plead: “Leave one bottle for me, I’m dying of thirst.”

Having obtained his green Yibao through association, Tu Wenwei turned back, just about to criticize Yuan Ye again for valuing romance over friendship, but where could he see any trace of this “wife slave”?

Going against the flow of Class 3’s formation, the sullen crowd immediately became lively.

Yuan Ye’s appearance was like dropping an effervescent tablet into water. The girls covered their mouths and giggled secretly while watching the show, and Song Jin’an, who was carrying the flag at the front, turned back and deliberately shouted: “Who are you? You’re not from our class, right?”

Tan Xiao from the back row chimed in: “That’s right, why are you cutting in line?”

Chun Zao looked shocked, glancing front and back, left and right, afraid a teacher might suddenly appear, then whispered: “What are you doing…?”

Yuan Ye acted as if he hadn’t heard, simply handing the water in his hand to Chun Zao: “Take this, let’s go.”

Tong Yue, who had been exhausted into stupidity, was suddenly energized like she’d been injected with adrenaline, clutching her chest, as excited as a CP fan leader, almost with hearts in her eyes.

This set off the other girls in succession, causing an uproar.

Chun Zao blushed completely, taking the bottle with both hands and clutching it to her chest.

Mission accomplished, Yuan Ye turned and left without looking sideways. Class 3 inexplicably saw him off with the enthusiasm of people on steroids, voices boiling, while the classes behind had no idea what was happening and could only crane their necks to look this way, wondering what kind of spirit this was—admirable.

…

This year’s summer seemed to arrive earlier than usual. When the scorching sun was like boiling water and the rows of camphor trees on campus were lush like thick green velvet hats, the sophomore year’s journey was also nearing its end.

The final exams were prepared by several provincial master teachers from the senior year group, and the liberal arts and science exam rooms were also scrambled to eliminate any possibility of cheating among acquaintances. Science class students, especially, were preparing intensively for the exams. This test was crucial—based on final score rankings, they would select and reorganize a senior Class 1 of only thirty people, providing them with the best teaching resources, with everyone aiming for Tsinghua and Peking University.

The night before the exam, Chun Zao, who was staying in the unchanged liberal arts honors class, was somewhat worried that Yuan Ye might be under pressure, so she messaged him asking how his review was going.

Yuan Ye sent a screenshot of a WeChat conversation where Tsinghua’s admissions office had recently contacted him through their homeroom teacher, inquiring whether he was currently interested in participating in early admission.

Everything was self-evident. Supremely impressive.

Chun Zao: …

She asked: How did you respond?

Yuan Ye said: I declined. I said I want to take the college entrance exam.

Chun Zao: Signing an agreement doesn’t mean you can’t take the college entrance exam.

Yuan Ye: Don’t you think getting in with raw scores is cooler?

Chun Zao was speechless but supportive: …As long as you like it.

The boy seriously explained: If I cross that mountain before you, I’d feel uncomfortable.

Chun Zao scoffed: Don’t be so proud.

She pondered briefly: If I had your conditions, I’d probably take the early escape from this confinement.

Yuan Ye: That won’t do. I want to walk the same path as you and see the same scenery.

In this semester’s final exam, Yuan Ye unsurprisingly and without disappointing expectations took first place. Because the math and comprehensive science sections were particularly difficult this time, he surpassed the second place in his grade by an astonishing sixteen points, breaking all his previous exam records. The honor roll rankings were arranged in pyramid form, with Yuan Ye’s name and photo embedded at the apex, unshakeable.

As for Chun Zao, she didn’t have a particularly happy short summer break.

One person’s honey is another’s poison. Although her ranking hadn’t changed, her math score, which didn’t even reach 130 this time, gave Chun Chuzhen plenty of ammunition for pointing fingers and making insinuations.

Chun Zao was too lazy to argue.

Anyway, she now had a buffer. No matter how big or thick the pressure applied, someone would help her decompress with elaborate rainbow flattery. But she also spent two days addressing her mistakes, checking for gaps and filling them, consulting Yuan Ye, and asking him to photograph his problem-solving steps for her to analyze and learn from.

As a result, he not only sent his test papers but also organized and created many similar problem types, both small and large questions, for her to practice.

After completing them in batches, Chun Zao sent them back to him for “grading.”

This privately appointed tutor who had been called upon in crisis was dedicated and thorough, circling incorrect areas and densely writing red annotations beside them to tell her where points were lost. But the final grade he wrote was always flamboyantly stylized handwritten “150.”

The first time she saw it, Chun Zao would look up at the sky, speechless but smiling: Boring.

But after several times, she gradually got used to it—used to this version of herself that was always perfect in his eyes. Besides the silent communication in their chats, there were times when she couldn’t understand just from the text content, so she would arrange to have voice calls with Yuan Ye late at night for oral tutoring.

Chun Zao was consistently cautious, hardly speaking aloud. Yuan Ye would explain a few sentences, ask if she understood, and she would respond with a text “mm.”

The boy would occasionally insert one or two casual or flirtatious remarks mid-way. When Chun Zao’s ears burned, she would pretend to technically disappear.

And Yuan Ye would instantly switch to serious mode, really treating himself like a teacher: “Fell asleep? Are you listening?”

Chun Zao would grit her teeth and peck out with one finger: Listening.

Yuan Ye: “Then why didn’t you answer my question just now?”

Chun Zao sent over a fist emoji.

Yuan Ye laughed: “Go easy, if you break it, there won’t be any more free master tutoring.”

Chun Zao warned: If you say similar things again, don’t blame me for disrespecting my teacher and hanging up directly.

Yuan Ye: Talking alone is boring, just trying to perk myself up.

Chun Zao: Then go to sleep, I can figure it out slowly by myself.

Yuan Ye: How would I dare?

This summer was shortened to only 1/3 of the previous year. Yuan Ye didn’t go home, staying in his rental the whole time. Chun Zao had wanted to find an opportunity to visit him, but couldn’t find an opening. With her unsatisfactory final math grade and the crucial senior year approaching, Chun Chuzhen had also become a ninja, completely setting aside her obsession with mahjong. Like a seated Buddha, she guarded the home from sunrise to sunset. Except for cooking and sleeping, whenever Chun Zao pushed open her bedroom door, she would inevitably encounter her mother in the living room.

Let alone escaping from her Buddha’s palm for more than half a day.

After enduring this half-bitter, half-sweet vacation, in early August, Chun Zao, now officially a senior, returned to campus carrying a heavy backpack.

Cicadas sang incessantly, clamoring in the restless summer language.

Walking on the windless camphor tree avenue, the scorching urgency that belonged only to seniors hit her face, almost capable of constraining one’s breath.

After staying on the ground floor for an entire year, several class collectives made a great migration to the second floor. Looking at the nameplate on the classroom door changed to Senior (3) Class, Chun Zao also felt a strong sense of mission and drive rising within her.

Less than a year left.

The last midsummer before the adult crossing.

She was approaching her azure coast step by step, sometimes shallow, sometimes deep, with laughter and tears, but ultimately walking the path she wanted to walk.

Since the start of school, evening self-study has been extended by half an hour. With solitary time becoming even more narrow, Chun Zao decided to schedule her bathing time before evening self-study and compress her bedtime electronic entertainment to ten minutes.

The second after solemnly declaring this to her chat partner, she went through the motions pretentiously: If there are any objections, please raise them after June 9th next year.

Yuan Ye cooperated for the first time in history: Thank you, I will use these nine-plus months to carefully consider.

Then both of them simultaneously laughed out loud in their respective bedroom beds.

As September approached, Chun Zao gradually adapted to this new rhythm that was day after day the same, dull but urgent.

Her classmates were the same. The number of times people left the classroom during breaks noticeably decreased. Everyone was either racing against time to study or collapsing to catch up on sleep.

The stretch of road walking together with Yuan Ye after evening self-study became one of her few outlets after entering senior year.

Chun Zao had a nightmare yesterday and barely slept in the latter half of the night, so today she was indeed drowsy to the point of mental confusion.

Walking beside the boy, even the streetlights in the residential area seemed to have grown halos of fur. She couldn’t help but yawn.

Yuan Ye glanced at her sideways: “This sleepy?”

Chun Zao rubbed her left eye: “Yeah.”

Yuan Ye was charmed by her dazed, piglet-like appearance and suggested, “I see my deskmate uses cooling oil to stay alert every day.”

“Cooling oil?” Chun Zao was startled: “Isn’t that what people my dad’s age use to prevent fatigue while driving?”

Yuan Ye laughed out loud.

Chun Zao took the opportunity to ask: “You’re not sitting with Tu Wenwei anymore?”

Yuan Ye said icily in reverse: “You care about me.”

“I haven’t left the classroom much these days, how would I know you’d already changed deskmates,” she inquired timely: “Who’s your new deskmate?”

Yuan Ye said: “A dark horse who moved up from Class 10,” pausing slightly: “Pretty handsome.”

Chun Zao’s eyes lit up: “Really? Who?”

“Heh,” Yuan Ye snorted coldly: “Suddenly perked up?”

When Chun Zao didn’t respond, he took advantage of the girl’s guard being down and tugged her ponytail once to vent his jealousy. But this tug was slightly too forceful, loosening her braid somewhat. Chun Zao pretended to be angry and raised her hand to hit him. Yuan Ye dodged with a flash, ran forward a few quick steps, turned back, and gave her a brilliant smile. Chun Zao was dazzled into a moment of stupor, her emotions also running away without a trace. She immediately decided not to fuss too much with this childish ghost whose mental age was only that of a kindergartener, liberating her braid and spreading her fingers to loosen the elastic hair tie, preparing to retie her ponytail.

When tying the first loop, without paying attention, the hair tie slipped from her hand and bounced away.

Chun Zao froze, holding her hair and blinking, then bent down to search the road surface and bushes.

Yuan Ye noticed and walked back to ask what was wrong.

She glared at him: “It’s all your fault, I lost my hair tie.”

Upon hearing this, Yuan Ye immediately turned on his phone’s flashlight to help her search together.

Seeing her continuously holding her hair, he asked: “Isn’t your arm tired from holding it up?”

“Of course it’s tired,” Chun Zao said unhappily, “Whose fault is that?”

“Just let it down then.”

“If I let it down, I’ll look like the Golden-Haired Lion King, you boys wouldn’t understand.”

Yuan Ye indeed didn’t understand.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be amused by her very vivid description.

What Golden-Haired Lion King—with that small round face and black eyes, she was a fluffy Maltese.

Chun Zao’s gaze wandered over the frost-colored grass illuminated by the light. Just then, the boy’s hand reached over, almost completely encircling hers from the other side.

His fingers overlapped hers: “Let go, I’ll hold it for you.”

In that instant, Chun Zao’s heart seemed to also be lifted by a warm and lingering force, stirring tremors like convulsions.

Her breathing became slightly irregular as she hurriedly withdrew her hand.

They searched for the hair tie downstairs for five minutes. Fortunately, it hadn’t been swallowed by some invisible wormhole, and Chun Zao’s ponytail finally returned to normal.

She went upstairs first as before, with Yuan Ye following behind.

After reluctantly saying “goodbye bye see you later” three times at the unit door, Chun Zao climbed the stairs and took out her keys to unlock the door.

The motion sensor light in the stairwell went out behind her.

Chun Zao pushed open the door and stepped inside. What met her eyes was Chun Chuzhen sitting at the dining table as usual.

Her heart was still on the first floor, so she didn’t pay much attention, taking her slippers before looking up to greet her.

Chun Zao couldn’t get that “Mom” out.

She was terrified in place, as if swallowing a lump of ice. It melted from the back of her neck, with invisible, penetratingly cold liquid winding down her entire spine.

Her pupils froze, and her breathing stopped abruptly.

On the dining table in the living room, tonight’s late-night snack wasn’t laid out, but scattered items instead.

Their point of origin was entirely that unknown metal storage box deep in her drawer.

Chun Zao stared there unblinkingly, as if entering an extremely cold realm, hair standing on end, brain buzzing, unable to move or speak.

Chun Chuzhen propped her elbows on the table, looking at her from afar. The woman’s complexion was hidden in the living room’s cold white light, pale to the point of being almost sinister, like a merciless judge.

After a moment, she threw the phone she’d been weighing in her hand onto the table with a clang:

“Make a call. Tell the one downstairs to come up.”