The beginning of term at Mei High was always lively.

The banner above the main entrance had been swapped — the College Entrance Examination top scorers who had been publicized all summer were replaced by a welcome sign for new students.

But the Hall of Honor was packed with parents of incoming freshmen, a sea of heads jostling and pressing forward. The eyes of these middle-aged men and women glimmered with a rare, eager light as they pointed at name after name behind the glass frame: Tsinghua, Peking University, Fudan… Parents murmured in admiration, as though those names were the beautiful futures their own children could reach in three years’ time.

Jiang Du’s grandfather was among them, peering forward. He was a sturdy man, neatly dressed, carrying himself with the dignity befitting a retired factory worker. People pushed and jostled around him, yet he continued to crane his neck forward, straining to make out the names of the distinguished students on the board.

“Old man, stop crowding in here. Finding which class the child is in — now that’s what matters.” Her grandmother tugged at her husband.

First-year students had no honors track — just regular classes, ranked sequentially by entrance exam scores, looping back from the first class again when the list ran out.

“Sweetie, have you found which class you’re in?” Her grandmother located Jiang Du in the crowd. The two girls were pressed close together, searching for their own names.

Wang Jingjing suddenly shrieked, then shook Jiang Du’s arm with violent enthusiasm: “Class Two! God definitely heard my prayers — we’re both in Class Two! This is unbelievably amazing!”

Jiang Du was slight and frail; she nearly toppled over from the shaking.

Her grandmother broke into a delighted smile: “Jingjing is in the same class as us?”

Then came the search for their dormitory. Wang Jingjing bolted ahead, shouting something about absolutely needing to claim a good spot.

The first-year girls’ dormitory building was on the path to the cafeteria. The balconies already fluttered with older students’ clothes in every color. While Wang Jingjing charged toward the dorms, her mother and Jiang Du’s grandparents strolled along at an unhurried pace behind her.

The bed nearest the door was the worst — constant coming and going, noise, and cold drafts in winter. Wang Jingjing seized an upper-lower bunk near the balcony, tossed her bag up onto the top bunk, then plopped herself onto the bottom, and beamed at the other families arriving behind her: “Auntie, this bunk’s taken.”

Wang Jingjing was very crafty. She had heard that the boys’ dormitory — directly across — would whistle at the girls’ dorm after lights out. Some would show off by playing guitar; others would bellow love poems at the top of their lungs… All in all, the gossip about Mei High set her imagination running wild, and Wang Jingjing was extremely eager to begin enjoying her brand-new high school life as soon as possible.

Jiang Du was assigned a lower bunk.

The first day was a jumble of chaos and excitement. Every young, bright face was filled with longing for the future. The dormitory housed eight girls. Under the gentle prodding of their parents, most introduced themselves with restrained brevity — first and last name only.

“This girl’s skin is so fair — she’s so pretty.” Someone complimented Jiang Du. The dormitory still carried a faint earthy dampness left over from the rain — nothing like the overwhelming downpour anymore, but lingering in the nose, making everything feel vaguely damp.

When someone complimented her, Jiang Du simply pressed her lips into a quiet smile.

This season, the mosquitoes were vicious. Mothers helped their daughters hang mosquito nets and lay out bedding, cheerfully reminding them: “Get along well with your classmates — don’t stir up any trouble! You’re in high school now. You’re all grown up.”

Her grandmother held Jiang Du’s hands, stroking them slowly, murmuring gentle reminders about all manner of small things. Jiang Du kept nodding softly in response.

“About the military training — make sure to tell the teacher. Don’t push yourself too hard. Do you understand?” Her grandmother patted her hands, still looking slightly worried.

Jiang Du said: “I understand. I won’t forget.”

“Good, good.” Her grandmother murmured the words twice.

At noon, both families had originally planned to eat at the small restaurant near the school gate, but it was far too crowded. Wang Jingjing’s mother drove everyone a little further away for lunch, then brought the two girls back. After that, there was nothing more for the parents to do.

The moment the adults left, Wang Jingjing erupted in gleeful celebration. She dragged Jiang Du all over the school grounds until they’d explored every corner and memorized the layout completely.

By the time of evening study hall, unfamiliar figures trickled into the classroom one by one.

Some were lucky enough to still share a class with old middle school classmates and could barely contain their excitement. Others had come in from small towns in the county, didn’t know a soul, and were tentatively trying to start conversations. Wang Jingjing swept her gaze around the room, confirmed that aside from Jiang Du, she recognized no one, and sat down with mild disappointment — though she immediately resumed scanning the room in the hopes of spotting a good-looking boy.

Jiang Du listened as the girls were already chatting about dramas they’d watched over the summer, the classroom filled with laughter and noise. The homeroom teacher was nowhere to be seen. Everyone was letting it all out freely, and there was plenty to say.

The seating was open. Wang Jingjing preferred to be around boys, so she had come and sat toward the back, where it was almost entirely male. When Jiang Du approached, eyes lowered, the boys let out a rather obvious collective murmur.

She didn’t say anything — just flipped open her book. The boy behind her gave her back a light tap. Jiang Du turned halfway around, and the boy got a clear look at her face.

“Hey, what’s your name? I’m Lin Haiyang.” He introduced himself with easy confidence.

Wang Jingjing had already spun around in her seat, snickering with undisguised curiosity on her face.

Jiang Du’s face turned faintly pink: “I’m Jiang Du.”

“That’s a really interesting name,” Lin Haiyang launched into conversation. “Is that the Du with the water radical? What a coincidence — all the characters in my name have the water radical too.”

Wang Jingjing, listening nearby, rolled her eyes: “Lin, you’ve got quite the nerve — using a water radical as a pickup line. Are you short on water or something?”

Lin Haiyang took the question seriously: “What, are you short on water too?”

“I’m not short on water. My mom says I’m short on common sense.” Wang Jingjing shamelessly mocked herself, and sure enough, the boys behind her erupted in laughter. Just like that, she was deep in lively conversation with all of them.

In the end, Wang Jingjing turned her whole body around to face the back row. She got along with everyone the moment she met them.

Jiang Du was the kind of girl who had always been shy. She didn’t like to talk much, and would never be able to do what Wang Jingjing did — blend in with her classmates so effortlessly and naturally. She preferred to observe everyone quietly from the side, though she was equally reluctant to have anyone pay too much attention to her.

The classroom was still noisy. Jiang Du’s heart was quietly still.

She watched Wang Jingjing lose herself in conversation with the boys and didn’t interrupt her. In her desk drawer sat a plastic shopping bag from a clothing store — for some reason, middle schoolers had all stopped carrying backpacks and had started carrying around just a plastic bag with a few scattered school supplies inside. In a little while, some would stop needing even that.

Jiang Du reached in and took out a small pack of tissues. She pulled one out and slipped it into the pocket of her denim skirt.

The hallway outside was empty.

The classroom blazed with white-bright light, packed with chattering first-year students. Every classroom was the same — lively and unruly.

Jiang Du didn’t share Wang Jingjing’s habit of boldly peering into every classroom she passed. It was at the corner, just as she was about to head downstairs, that she nearly collided full-on with a figure.

It wasn’t her fault — she wasn’t walking quickly. The boy had been taking the stairs two at a time, climbing fast, and they met right at the landing.

Jiang Du stepped back two paces.

Almost simultaneously, they both said: “Sorry.” She instinctively looked up, and her pupils gave the faintest tremor.

The boy hadn’t looked at her at all. He apologized quickly and brushed past.

It was him. No blood on his face now, his whole appearance clean and composed.

Jiang Du couldn’t help turning slowly to look back, her chin resting against her shoulder, carefully watching to see where that figure was heading.

She couldn’t quite tell whether it was the back door of Class Three or the front door of Class Four, but a figure suddenly flashed out from somewhere. Jiang Du stiffened and hastily pulled her gaze away. In her flustered state, she crouched down on the spot and pretended to tie her shoelace, face flushing completely red at the sudden scramble.

Once the person passed, she shot a quick glance over — only to find the boy had already disappeared.

Was he from Mei High? A first-year? He looked completely different from before… She had originally assumed he was some kind of delinquent — the type with terrible grades, enrolled at a vocational school, spending his days doing nothing, getting into relationships, smoking, fighting… Like most people her age, Jiang Du held certain assumptions about vocational high school students.

Even though seeing him again suggested he wasn’t that kind of person, he didn’t exactly seem like… a good student either, did he? Jiang Du’s head was a jumble of random thoughts. She turned on the tap and splashed a handful of cool water gently against her face.

She was curious about him — genuinely curious about someone for the first time.

The curiosity was a very subtle feeling, thin as a layer of mist, drifting through her heart — but not strong enough to disrupt ordinary life. When she returned to the classroom, she couldn’t help glancing quickly in the direction of the boys in the back row — a very fast glance, instantly pulled back as though nothing had happened.

“Jiang Du, were you looking at me?” Lin Haiyang had been watching her since she walked in, and now suddenly called out to tease her. Jiang Du was abruptly mortified. She shook her head, smoothing her skirt to sit down, when a man walked into the classroom, and the room fell instantly silent.

The homeroom teacher. A man named Xu — slightly stocky, looking older than he probably was. Yet he said he’d only graduated from university two years ago. Teacher Xu was amusing: “I’m twenty-five, though I realize you all probably think I look forty. Truth is, I’m a young man — I can’t help it, I was born looking middle-aged right from the start. But the great advantage of looking old like this is that I’ll still look exactly the same at forty — believe it or not? Come back and check when I’m forty. You’ll see.”

The classroom burst into laughter. Even Jiang Du couldn’t help the faint tug at the corner of her mouth. She did the math in her head: when Teacher Xu turned forty would be fifteen years from now — which meant she’d be thirty. Thirty… that sounded quite old, really. Thirty was a number that, to a young girl, felt distant and ancient.

She genuinely had no idea what she’d be like at thirty. I don’t want to have a permed flower head like Auntie Li from next door, Jiang Du thought. And I don’t want to wear one of those fitted skirts. I still want sneakers and denim skirts.

Then came the one-minute self-introductions. When Jiang Du stood up, there was a small ripple of murmurs through the room — her skin was snow-white and her brows were ink-black. The class immediately understood firsthand what it meant to have features as delicately drawn as a painting.

She was terribly shy. Her eyes gleamed bright and clear, lashes fluttering — not knowing where to rest her gaze, she ended up fixing it on Wang Jingjing for the entire duration.

Teacher Xu stood nearby with the class register, which noted all their middle school entrance exam scores. When Jiang Du finished her brief two-sentence introduction and began to step down, Teacher Xu stopped her: “Jiang Du? Would you be willing to serve as Chinese Language Class Representative for now? I can see you have the highest score in this subject.”

“Teacher Xu, Jiang Du was the Chinese Language Class Representative all three years of middle school — she’s won awards for her essays! Choose her!” Wang Jingjing was cheering on her behalf from below, and at that, Jiang Du’s ears went completely red. She hastily accepted, returned to her seat, and gave Wang Jingjing a light swat.

That evening, the teacher set up a rough class structure — appointing subject representatives for each course — then sent the boys out to collect textbooks. The boys had warmed up quickly to one another; they left laughing and talking together.

Military training was traditional at the start of term. Before it officially began, the first-year students in their slightly ill-fitting green training uniforms filled the sports field in a dark mass. The sun had already started burning against their faces.

Everyone complained about why it couldn’t have rained this particular week. After a round of hushed murmuring, they fell silent again under a sweep of the homeroom teacher’s gaze.

The school leadership took to the podium in turn. Each one said something along the lines of: “Now let me say a few words” — and everyone understood that an adult’s “few words” meant a minimum of twenty minutes, at least.

By the time the so-called New Student Representative took the stage, the audience below was already thoroughly impatient.

After all, the freshman orientation ceremony had been going on for over two hours. The podium itself was covered, but the students standing below had been baking in direct sunlight — some of the more fragile girls had already fainted and been carried to the medical room.

“Ugh, who knows how long this representative is going to talk. Didn’t they say it would be done in an hour?”

“I’m dying in this heat — can we please just speed things up? I’m so sick of listening to these cookie-cutter ‘respected leaders, honored teachers’ speeches.”

“Everyone, in this cool and refreshing golden September…” A boy oilily picked up the thread, mimicking the tone, and the mood shifted — people couldn’t help sneaking smiles again.

But the smiles faded quickly as everyone suddenly straightened up.

“It’s Wei Qingyue — it really is him!”

“That one right there — first place — that’s him.”

“He’s so handsome. Isn’t he in Class One? Right next to us!”

In the midst of a faint dizzy spell, Jiang Du gritted her teeth and raised her eyes. The boy on the stage was Wei Qingyue. There wasn’t a single first-year student who didn’t know that name — it was simple enough: he was the top entrance exam scorer, placed in Class One.

She stared at him, struck.

He wasn’t some kind of delinquent at all. He was the top scorer in the city on the middle school entrance exam.

So she had known his name all along.

Jiang Du wiped the sweat that had trickled down her neck.

After stepping onto the stage, Wei Qingyue first gave the leaders on the podium a bow, then walked up to the microphone. He took the speech his homeroom teacher had pre-approved and tucked it into his pocket. His expression was calm:

“Hello, everyone. You’ve all been standing for over two hours, so I’ll keep this brief. I’m glad that we’re standing here at Mei High right now — one step closer to where we started. I hope all of us are the same: that we study well and live well here, that we stay true to ourselves, and that we don’t waste our youth. Thank you. My remarks are finished. Sorry for taking up your time.”

He gave a slight bow, turned, and stepped down from the stage.

The entire sports field was still for a beat.

No one had expected it. Wei Qingyue, as the new student representative, had cast aside the prepared speech entirely and improvised for exactly one minute — leaving the teachers and school leadership exchanging bewildered glances, and the students staring in stunned confusion.

Someone started it with a single shout of approval. What followed was a wave of applause like the sea breaking against a shore. It was within this applause that Jiang Du’s legs gave out beneath her, and she fainted.

This was, without question, an unforgettable orientation ceremony: the top-scoring new student’s unconventional speech, the blazing autumn sun, the charged atmosphere, the girl who collapsed — all of it composed the very first scene of this class of students’ life at Mei High.