The autumn wind blew with great force.

Young Zhu Yun followed her mother to school.

Today was registration day, but Zhu Yun didn’t need to go through the complicated procedures — she was already familiar with all of it. Her mother was the head of the high school department, and the elementary school she had previously attended wasn’t far away; after school she would often come here to wait for her mother to finish work so they could go home together.

Her mother led her to the entrance of the teaching building and said, “Wait here for me. I’ll go greet your homeroom teacher first.”

Zhu Yun nodded obediently.

Her mother had been gone for a little while when Zhu Yun, bored, began glancing around — and suddenly, a figure caught her eye.

The figure stood beside the flower bed in front of the teaching building. It was a girl, her head lowered. A few seconds later, the girl seemed to sense something and turned her face toward her.

Zhu Yun quickly looked away.

After a brief pause, Zhu Yun stole another glance and found that the girl had lowered her head again.

Then she started watching her once more.

The autumn breeze left Zhu Yun’s mind completely blank.

While other students walked back and forth around them, only the two of them stood quietly at the entrance of the teaching building. As if passing the time, Zhu Yun kept stealing looks at her, and after a few exchanges of glances, her gaze was caught red-handed. Her heart gave a little jump, and just as she was about to look away again, she saw the girl wave at her.

Zhu Yun looked left and right, then pointed at herself.

“…Me?”

The girl waved again.

So it really was her.

The girl was slightly taller than Zhu Yun, slender in build, with medium-length hair, fair skin, and delicate features…

Zhu Yun stepped a little closer, and was startled to discover that the girl was actually wearing makeup.

A pale face, thick black eyeliner — she held lightly between her lips the stamen of a scarlet salvia flower, long and slender and vivid, the only spot of color on her entire face.

Zhu Yun’s footsteps came to a halt.

This was the first time she had ever seen a middle school student wearing makeup. It went against everything she had ever been taught.

The girl casually plucked another scarlet salvia stamen from the flower bed and held it out to Zhu Yun.

Zhu Yun took it, holding it carefully in her hand. The girl tilted her chin up slightly and murmured —

“It’s sweet.”

That was Zhu Yun’s first encounter with Liu Xiaoyan.

They only had time to exchange names before Zhu Yun was called away by her mother. When her mother came out of the teaching building, her expression was not entirely pleasant. She muttered to herself the whole way, “How did we end up with this teacher — I’ll have to look into switching classes when the opportunity comes…”

Zhu Yun had no idea what she meant. When school started and she finally met her homeroom teacher, Ms. Wang, she found a female Chinese language teacher in her thirties, slightly plump, with an exceptionally gentle nature. No matter what a student did wrong, she always spoke in a soft, measured voice and never raised her voice in criticism.

Zhu Yun liked her very much.

When Zhu Yun encountered Liu Xiaoyan again in class, during self-introductions, Liu Xiaoyan’s was the briefest of all — and without waiting for anyone to applaud, she turned and made her way back to her seat in the rear. As she passed Zhu Yun’s desk, Liu Xiaoyan glanced down at her for a moment.

“That girl’s so cold,” said the boy in the seat behind Zhu Yun.

Zhu Yun turned to look at him sideways. What was his name again — Fang Zhijing?

“Surprisingly though, her entrance exam scores were pretty high,” Fang Zhijing continued, talking to the student beside him.

That’s true…

Zhu Yun was also a little surprised.

This was the best middle school in the entire city, and Zhu Yun’s class was an advanced experimental track to begin with — yet Liu Xiaoyan had still placed third in the entire class on the entrance exam, which was an extraordinary result.

But in the days that followed, Liu Xiaoyan showed none of the qualities typically expected of a “good student.” She never spoke up in class, never approached teachers with questions afterward, and while everyone else bought supplementary workbooks to practice with, she finished only the assigned homework each day and did no further studying.

She seemed to care about only one subject: English.

Liu Xiaoyan paid especially close attention during English class. Every time Zhu Yun was on cleaning duty and swept past Liu Xiaoyan’s spot, she could see stacks of English books piled up inside her desk.

Maybe she wanted to go abroad?

Liu Xiaoyan also kept a notebook, and whenever she had a free moment she would write in it, keeping it tucked at the very back of her desk.

After that first day of school, Zhu Yun never managed to exchange another word with Liu Xiaoyan — and in truth, hardly anyone else in the class did either. Liu Xiaoyan was far too much her own person: the makeup alone set her apart from the group in a way that couldn’t be ignored.

Zhu Yun’s mother had heard about this unconventional student, and she was deeply displeased by Liu Xiaoyan’s habit of coming to school in makeup. On several occasions she demanded that the homeroom teacher intervene, but all the way to the end, Ms. Wang never placed too many restrictions on Liu Xiaoyan.

Zhu Yun had her next real conversation with Liu Xiaoyan back at that same flower bed. It was during a free activity period, and Liu Xiaoyan was sitting on the steps, head bent, writing something.

There was no one else around. Zhu Yun crept up behind Liu Xiaoyan and saw that the notebook was filled entirely with English. Liu Xiaoyan’s English handwriting was beautiful — practiced cursive script — and while Zhu Yun’s own English was decent, it was still a noticeable distance from hers.

Just as Zhu Yun was squinting to try to make out the words, Liu Xiaoyan turned her head.

On pure reflex, Zhu Yun plucked a salvia stamen from the flower bed, popped it in her mouth, and fixed her gaze on the distant sports field, pretending she had simply been strolling past.

Hmm, this one tastes a bit… tingly, Zhu Yun thought, though she didn’t dare let it show on her face. The last thing she needed was to look unnatural.

Liu Xiaoyan was still watching her.

Don’t panic, stay calm, Zhu Yun coached herself. I’m just here to eat salvia flowers. That’s all.

“How can you even put that in your mouth,” Liu Xiaoyan said.

Zhu Yun turned toward her with an expression of mild surprise, as though she had only just noticed someone was there. “What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled.

For once, Liu Xiaoyan’s habitually cool expression gave way to something that looked almost uncomfortable.

“Take it out. Now.”

Only then did Zhu Yun remove the stamen from her mouth. She hadn’t looked at it before, but now that she did, every hair on her body stood on end.

The stamen was crawling with tiny ants. Startled by the light, they were scrambling frantically in every direction.

No wonder her tongue had been going numb the whole time!

Zhu Yun flung the flower away and shuddered violently, spitting repeatedly at the ground.

Liu Xiaoyan couldn’t hold it in — she burst out laughing right there beside her. Zhu Yun froze. She had never seen Liu Xiaoyan laugh like that before. She stood there in a daze, so transfixed that she even forgot about the ants still in her mouth.

Well, she thought finally, what’s done is done. All-natural food, basically.

After that day, they became friends. It was also the first time Zhu Yun learned what Liu Xiaoyan had been writing in that notebook — she had been copying out the Bible. The original text of the Bible was far too difficult for Zhu Yun, who had only just started middle school; she flipped through it again and again and couldn’t make sense of it.

“Do you actually believe in this?” Zhu Yun asked Liu Xiaoyan.

“Not exactly.”

“If you don’t believe in it, why copy it out?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in it either. It’s just — my relationship with him isn’t that kind.”

Zhu Yun didn’t quite understand, but at the very least she had sorted out one thing: Liu Xiaoyan’s tireless effort to learn English had nothing to do with going abroad, and nothing to do with her grades. It was for the sake of a God she couldn’t quite say whether she believed in or not.

Zhu Yun was consumed with curiosity about Liu Xiaoyan — drawn to her, powerfully drawn to her. She sought Liu Xiaoyan out every day; they ate together, studied together, and sat side by side on the steps eating flowers.

The whole class had a certain misconception about Liu Xiaoyan — that she was arrogant and rude. Zhu Yun didn’t think that was right. Liu Xiaoyan was proud, yes, but she wasn’t rude. And beneath it all, her heart was soft.

On a day when heavy snow fell and the school let out early, everyone else had gone home, leaving only Zhu Yun in the classroom waiting for her mother to finish work. She was sitting there in a daze watching snowflakes drift past the window when Liu Xiaoyan came back.

She had bought her a stick of candied hawthorn.

They sat together in the empty classroom, staring at nothing. The world outside was drained of color in the cold, but at least there was that stick of candied hawthorn — blazing red, startlingly vivid against the grey.

In the midst of the thick, tumbling snowfall, Liu Xiaoyan told Zhu Yun about herself.

Liu Xiaoyan’s parents had divorced, and she had always lived with her grandmother. Just before she started at this school, her grandmother had fallen gravely ill. The sickness had come on suddenly, fierce and devastating — like a mountain crumbling. The doctors spoke with careful tact, but the meaning was clear: the chances were not good. Later, when the hospital could no longer take her grandmother as an inpatient, Liu Xiaoyan brought her home to recuperate. Her grandmother was tormented by pain every night, and Liu Xiaoyan was powerless to help her.

By chance, she prayed to God.

“I had actually asked everyone for help,” Liu Xiaoyan said. “I did everything I could think of. He just left the deepest impression on me — maybe because the very night I finished praying to him, my grandmother took a turn for the better the next morning.”

“So you started believing in him?”

“Not believing,” Liu Xiaoyan emphasized again. “When I was asking him, I made a promise — if he could help my grandmother, I would stay by his side forever. He held up his end of it, so I have to hold up mine.”

“I understand,” Zhu Yun said, a light going on in her mind. “It’s not belief — it’s fulfilling a vow. My own grandmother is Buddhist, and she burns incense and fulfills vows too.”

Liu Xiaoyan thought it over, then nodded. “Something like that, I suppose.”

That evening, Zhu Yun’s mother came to the classroom to pick her up. On the way home, she gave Zhu Yun — for what must have been the two-hundredth time — her warning to keep her distance from Liu Xiaoyan. Zhu Yun was still savoring the sweet taste of the candied hawthorn on her tongue, responding here and there without really listening.

“Acting so antisocial at such a young age, getting mixed up in all that peculiar nonsense…” her mother complained the whole way home. “And that teacher of yours — Zhu Yun, you remember this: outside of actual lessons, don’t listen to any of the strange things she says.”

Zhu Yun paused at that. Ms. Wang did occasionally tell them warm, meaningful little stories in her spare moments, but they were always in passing, just casual conversation. Zhu Yun couldn’t understand why her mother would specifically bring it up.

As time passed, with coursework gradually growing more demanding, the students’ English abilities improved considerably as well. Combined with the fact that Liu Xiaoyan had never made any particular effort to conceal it, it eventually became common knowledge among nearly everyone in the class.

She drifted even further from the group.

Zhu Yun was her only friend.

But thankfully, homeroom teacher Ms. Wang was understanding and lenient, and Zhu Yun knew that Ms. Wang had been speaking up for Liu Xiaoyan in the academic affairs office all along. Although some teachers and parents remained displeased, Liu Xiaoyan’s grades had not slipped — she remained near the top of the class — so the school administration simply looked the other way.

Christmas that year marked the first time Zhu Yun ever skipped class. It was monumental for her — the first time in her life she’d ever done such a thing.

Liu Xiaoyan took her out to wander the streets. Zhu Yun was a bundle of nerves the entire time, yet also found it thrillingly exciting. They sat in the center of a plaza eating roasted sweet potatoes, and Zhu Yun, heart fluttering, presented Liu Xiaoyan with the gift she had prepared.

“Today is important, isn’t it,” Zhu Yun murmured. “I looked it up a bit.”

Liu Xiaoyan said nothing and tore open the gift box.

Zhu Yun’s anxiety spiked again. “…I don’t know if you’ll like it. It wasn’t expensive.” She’d had no good excuse to ask her parents for money, so she had saved up a week’s worth of snack money and bought this.

Liu Xiaoyan turned her back toward her, lifted her hair, and said: “Help me put it on.”

Zhu Yun fastened the necklace for her, fingers trembling — though the weather wasn’t even that cold.

Liu Xiaoyan’s neck was very fair. Very beautiful.

“It’s on…” Zhu Yun said softly.

Liu Xiaoyan turned around and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Zhu Yun didn’t dare move a muscle. Liu Xiaoyan smiled a little and said, “I really like it. Thank you.”

Zhu Yun’s heart lifted with happiness. They chatted idly, and Zhu Yun said, “Finals are coming up soon.”

“Mm.” Liu Xiaoyan didn’t seem particularly bothered.

“Let’s give it everything we’ve got. Make them shut up for once.”

Liu Xiaoyan turned to look at her. “Make who shut up?”

“The ones behind my seat.”

The handful of boys led by Fang Zhijing, who were always spreading gossip about Liu Xiaoyan around school.

“They’re always talking nonsense — doesn’t it make you angry?”

“Angry about what? He said human beings are born with original sin.” Liu Xiaoyan’s slender fingers closed around the cross necklace Zhu Yun had just given her, her voice indifferent. “If they want to make me angry, they’d need to actually have what it takes. You believe me or not — by the time finals come around, Fang Zhijing won’t be able to beat me in a single essay, not even one.”

Zhu Yun watched her with a smile.

Liu Xiaoyan glanced over. “What? You don’t believe me?”

Zhu Yun shook her head.

“I believe you.”

She loved seeing Liu Xiaoyan like this — beautiful and proud, like a peacock spreading its feathers.

You have to win, she thought to herself.

That’s what she said to her, in her heart.

And then — that semester’s final exams came, and they did win. The following semester, they won again. If that incident had never happened, perhaps all the finals that remained ahead of them, they would have gone on winning, all the way to the end.

In the autumn of their second year of middle school, a horrifying terrorist attack struck on the other side of the ocean, shaking the entire world. Every media outlet ran nonstop coverage, day and night, and an ominous shadow seemed to fall over all of humanity.

Zhu Yun, still a middle schooler, paid the event little attention — it felt too remote from her life. Compared to her, Liu Xiaoyan was clearly following it much more closely. Through the news reports Zhu Yun had already gathered that there were religious elements involved in the attack, and over those few days, Liu Xiaoyan grew quiet.

What Zhu Yun failed to notice was that there was someone else in the class besides Liu Xiaoyan who had also grown more withdrawn than usual.

Zhu Yun remembered clearly — it was a Thursday. Liu Xiaoyan hadn’t attended the afternoon PE class, and Fang Zhijing, who was the PE class representative, came to the classroom to fetch her. Liu Xiaoyan ignored him, and an argument broke out between them. That evening, when Liu Xiaoyan came back after dinner, she found that the contents of her desk had been disturbed, and inside was a heap of dark, shapeless fabric.

Liu Xiaoyan took it out and shook it open. It was a black robe. And from inside the robe fell her notebook — torn to shreds.

She looked at Fang Zhijing. He looked back at her.

“Since you love God so much, go die with the rest of them. Die and you’ll finally get to meet him.”

At the time, Zhu Yun had been called to the office by her mother to go over some exam corrections. By the time she returned, Liu Xiaoyan had already struck.

The other students had voluntarily cleared a space to watch. No one wanted to get involved, and no one wanted to step in and help. Liu Xiaoyan had always been cold and aloof, and there were plenty in the class who resented her for it.

It was the first time she had ever erupted to this degree. She grabbed the English dictionary from her desk and hurled it straight at Fang Zhijing’s forehead as hard as she could. But Liu Xiaoyan was a girl, and her strength was no match for Fang Zhijing’s — he pinned her down against a desk and began forcing the black robe over her, trying to pull it over her head.

At that moment, Zhu Yun came back to the classroom behind Ms. Wang. Ms. Wang looked utterly exhausted, and the instant she stepped through the door she saw the chaos before her. She moved to intervene. As she pushed through the crowd and saw Fang Zhijing standing over Liu Xiaoyan, winding the robe tightly around her entire face, something broke inside that always gentle, always composed Ms. Wang — she lunged forward and slapped Fang Zhijing across the face, screaming with everything she had: “Have you lost your minds?! Have you all completely lost your minds?!”

Classes in the room were suspended. Everyone involved was called to the principal’s office; the rest stayed in the classroom, buzzing excitedly with gossip.

“You guys didn’t know? Ms. Wang believes in that stuff too.”

“She believes in the hijackers’ side, right?”

“Yeah, so the two of them are basically on opposing sides now according to religion.”

“That is wild.”

“Too intense.”

“How do you even know all this?”

“Do you ever watch the news?”

“…”

Zhu Yun said nothing. She stared at Liu Xiaoyan’s empty seat. Something had fallen on the floor nearby — Zhu Yun walked over and found the necklace she had given her.

It must have come loose in the struggle. Zhu Yun picked up the necklace and kept it safe, thinking she would put it back on her when Liu Xiaoyan came back.

But Liu Xiaoyan never came back.

She stopped attending school altogether. Zhu Yun learned from her mother that she had transferred. In the same way, Ms. Wang no longer taught Zhu Yun’s class either — they were given a new teacher, a strict male instructor.

Zhu Yun never tried to contact Liu Xiaoyan again. Because on the evening it all happened, on her way home from school, she had seen Fang Zhijing returning a black plastic bag to her mother.

Zhu Yun had still been young then, naive, understanding the world only in fragments. She only had the vaguest, most formless feeling —

That for the rest of her life, she would never see that girl again. The girl who had eaten salvia flowers with her.

“Hey…”

“Hey.”

“Hey!”

Zhu Yun was jolted awake by someone practically yelling at her.

She turned her head and found Li Xun’s impatient face staring back at her, the certificate he had just received in his hand.

“What are you even thinking about? I’ve been talking to you and you can’t even hear me.”

Zhu Yun looked toward the front. Fang Zhijing had also finished collecting his award but hadn’t returned to his seat — he was deep in animated conversation with someone from the organizing committee.

Li Xun leaned back in his chair with an air of easy relief. “Finally done. Let’s go back, get cleaned up, and I’ll take you out tonight.”

Zhu Yun barely registered his words. The moment Li Xun finished speaking she was already pushing past him.

She reached across Li Xun and grabbed Gao Jianhong’s arm on the other side.

“Are you still joining?”

Gao Jianhong was caught off guard. “Joining what?”

“The competition,” Zhu Yun said, fixing her eyes on him. “Didn’t you say you wanted to enter a competition before? Do you still want to?”

Gao Jianhong finally caught up. “Yes, but didn’t you say—”

“I changed my mind.” Zhu Yun gripped his arm tight. “Let’s partner up. We’ll spend the second half of the year on this. What do you say?”

Gao Jianhong’s eyes slowly began to light up. “Yes! Let’s do it!”

Li Xun, who had been sprawled in his chair with nothing to do this whole time, finally reacted. He looked at Zhu Yun — half her body draped across his lap — with an utterly blank expression, and asked in a tone that did not bode well —

“What did you just say?”