In your school years, did you ever admire someone?

A shadowed kind of admiration, threaded through with fantasies that never saw the light of day.

Perhaps because she solved problems with such effortless ease. Perhaps because she was beautiful without trying. Perhaps because her personality carried a kind of heroism you’d never once touched in yourself. Or perhaps none of these — only because a small mole on her face sat exactly where you’d always secretly liked…

From that point forward, she became the one your gaze found without thinking, the living embodiment of some youthful ideal. You’d look at the way she was, and build inside your mind the self you wished you could be.

For Zhou Fanghua, Li Kuiyi was that person.

Perhaps it was because she herself had always been too gentle, sometimes slipping into timidity — Zhou Fanghua felt she’d never once grasped her own edges. Which was why she was drawn to people who were brave and ardent.

“Brave and ardent” meant candour. Stubbornness. An unshakeable forward momentum in pursuit of whatever one believed in, whatever one loved.

And so, in the pauses between problems, in the idle conversation during breaks, Zhou Fanghua would find herself looking at the girl beside her, searching in that composed face for some trace of the vitality she sensed beneath the surface — the feeling was like this: to everyone else, she was the cool quiet of autumn, but to Zhou Fanghua alone, she was summer in full, extravagant bloom.

Drawn to her without quite meaning to be. Wanting to become her friend. And quietly hoping that one day, by looking at the outline of her, she might catch a glimpse of the self she wished to become.

But. But.

Zhou Fanghua couldn’t fully articulate what she’d felt when she learned Li Kuiyi had chosen humanities. It went deeper than sadness — perhaps sorrow, compounded with something else. Regret, most likely — for the friendship, for herself. And out of that regret, a selfish thought had crept in: she’d wished Chen Guoming had managed to change Li Kuiyi’s mind.

People are contradictory creatures. What she’d loved most about Li Kuiyi was precisely her unwavering certainty — and yet in that moment, she had wished she were a little less certain.

Then came the first day back after the holiday, when they went together to look at the subject-placement list. The instant she saw her own name at the very bottom — last in the science top class — all the noise inside her, all the parts of her that had hoped Li Kuiyi would choose science, went suddenly and completely quiet. She understood then: if Li Kuiyi had chosen science, she herself would have been eliminated. She would have been number thirty-one. She would not have made the cut.

A voice inside kept rising, demanding an answer: Zhou Fanghua, here and now — are you still sorry Li Kuiyi chose humanities?

“…I’m sorry.” Zhou Fanghua pressed her face against Li Kuiyi’s shoulder and began to cry — not loudly, but genuinely. She wasn’t sure what she was crying for; perhaps for herself. Because from the moment she’d made her choice, she’d known: her so-called “regret” could be patched over, forcibly and instantly, when what truly mattered was laid bare.

Even through Zhou Fanghua’s broken, halting words, Li Kuiyi understood.

She reached into her trouser pocket, took out a tissue, and wiped Zhou Fanghua’s tears. She was quiet for a moment, then said softly: “You don’t owe me an apology. Humanities was my own choice; the science top class was something you earned. And as for the placement — that’s nothing but coincidence.”

Zhou Fanghua blinked her damp lashes and nodded, seemingly accepting the comfort. But she knew, no matter what Li Kuiyi said today, it wouldn’t truly reach her. That wasn’t Li Kuiyi’s failing — it was hers. Because only she herself knew where the real knot was: she had betrayed that faint, hidden admiration she’d held for Li Kuiyi. It was a betrayal of the ideal self she’d been quietly building in the other girl’s image.

She would never speak this feeling aloud. And Li Kuiyi would never know.

“Let’s study,” Zhou Fanghua said, sniffling, and forced a smile. Li Kuiyi gave her back a light, gentle pat, thinking she’d been getting stuck inside her own head — otherwise what was the point of getting tangled up in all of that?

The two of them sat down and took out their books. Li Kuiyi immersed herself quickly; Zhou Fanghua stole a glance at her first, then lowered her head to work on a physics problem.

They were both people who could sit with their work for a long time. They studied without lifting their heads all afternoon. At around six in the evening, students began arriving for evening study. The first to come was a boy Li Kuiyi didn’t recognise — someone who must have been newly placed into the top class — and when he saw Li Kuiyi in the first-year top class’s room, he gave her a curious second look. Li Kuiyi felt a little awkward staying any longer, so she told Zhou Fanghua: “I’ll head back to my own classroom and drop off my bag, then come back down and we’ll go to dinner together.”

“Okay.”

Li Kuiyi shouldered her bag and left the classroom. But on her way to the stairs, she ran into Yan You at the stairwell landing. She was standing alone, leaning on a crutch and resting against the railing. Li Kuiyi, assuming she couldn’t make it up on her own, went over and offered: “Let me help you.”

“No, no.” Yan You waved her off. “My mum brought me — she just went to the bathroom. I’m waiting here for her.”

She paused, then added with a shy smile, “But thank you anyway.”

As they were talking, Yan You’s mother appeared from the direction of the bathrooms. She saw Li Kuiyi and smiled warmly. “Are you one of You-you’s classmates?”

Li Kuiyi nodded. Yan You said, “She’s our class president.”

“Oh, so you’re the class president.” Her mother’s face brightened as though she recognised her. “I’ve heard so much about you from our Yan You — always top of the class, and the city’s top scorer in the entrance exam…”

“Mum—” Yan You interrupted, a little embarrassed.

Li Kuiyi was flustered too, and quickly said: “Auntie, let me help you get Yan You upstairs.”

The mother didn’t refuse, only launched into another effusive round of praise that left Li Kuiyi’s ears warm.

Li Kuiyi helped carry Yan You’s crutch while Yan You leaned most of her weight on her mother. Even so, Li Kuiyi could feel how difficult it was — which made it plain how hard the two of them had it every single day. Four floors up and four floors down, again and again, in real discomfort. The thought she’d had before — the one the homeroom teacher had shut down — rose in her mind again.

If only Class Seventeen could move to the first floor.

By the time they finally reached the fourth floor and got to the classroom, Yan You and her mother thanked Li Kuiyi again. She said “not at all,” went back to her own seat, and tucked her bag into the desk. Yan You’s mother settled her in and then left, making sure to say goodbye to Li Kuiyi on her way out.

Li Kuiyi sat there thinking for a moment, then stood up. She smiled at Yan You, said “I’m heading down for dinner,” and left the classroom.

Once outside, she picked up her pace and broke into a run down the stairs, all the way to the ground floor, until she caught sight of Yan You’s mother and called out: “Auntie.”

The woman turned, surprised to see her, but smiled: “What is it?”

“I want to talk to you about something.” Li Kuiyi swallowed, looked at her seriously, and said: “Our classroom is on the fourth floor, which makes things very difficult for Yan You. I’ve been thinking — I could apply to the school to move our classroom to the first floor. Before I do anything, though, I wanted to know how Yan You feels about it. If she’s willing, I can rally our whole class to write a petition to the school. I can’t guarantee it’ll succeed, but I’m willing to try.”

The reason she’d wanted to check with Yan You first was because of what had happened at the English speech contest — she didn’t want to cause trouble while trying to help.

Yan You’s mother hadn’t expected this kind of initiative, and she went still for a moment before suddenly taking Li Kuiyi’s hands in hers. “You are such a good person. Our Yan You is so lucky. You have no idea — because of her leg, she’s afraid to even drink water at school, just so she doesn’t have to go to the bathroom…”

Mothers’ love is fierce, and talking about it brought tears to Yan You’s mother’s eyes. She sighed and continued: “If the classroom could move to the first floor, it would be wonderful. I thank you on behalf of our whole family.”

“Alright. When you get home, please ask Yan You — if she agrees, ask her to add me on QQ through the class group chat and just send me a message.”

“I will, I will.” Her mother agreed repeatedly, said many more words of thanks, and finally said goodbye to Li Kuiyi once more before turning to leave.

Li Kuiyi watched her go and quietly let out a breath. She was about to head back to find Zhou Fanghua when she turned and found Zhou Fanghua already standing not far away. Their eyes met. Zhou Fanghua came over and explained: “I saw you come downstairs from the window, so I came out of the classroom.”

The conversation with Yan You’s mother had taken some time. Li Kuiyi apologised: “Sorry for making you wait. We probably can’t make it to the cafeteria in time — should we just go to the school shop?”

“That’s fine.” Zhou Fanghua glanced back in the direction Yan You’s mother had gone and picked up the thread. “Is a school petition really feasible? I remember our class tried to petition against the morning run once — it seemed to disappear into thin air.”

Li Kuiyi linked arms with her and started toward the school shop: “I’ve been thinking it through. The petition can’t go to the principal — it has to go directly to Chen Guoming. That’s more direct and more efficient. The petition against morning runs was rejected for understandable reasons — the school probably assumed we were just trying to get out of exercising. But petitioning to change classrooms is different. That’s genuinely caring for a student’s wellbeing. And since the teachers mentioned there’ll be a provincial education inspection soon, I think that could be a persuasive angle — showing that a school pays attention to its students as people, beyond just academic performance, would be a compelling point to highlight…”

As she spoke, Zhou Fanghua turned her head slightly, watching her from the side.

This is Li Kuiyi, exactly.

She had ideas. She had strategy. And most importantly, she had a heart as pure and bright as gold.

She really, truly liked her.

“Li Kuiyi.” She called her name.

“Hmm?”

Zhou Fanghua gathered her courage: “You really are a very good person.”

Li Kuiyi, suddenly hit with an unexpected compliment, was completely at a loss. Her eyes didn’t quite know where to go, and she had no idea what to say — she just broke into a slightly goofy smile.

After they turned onto the main path, the flow of students heading to evening study thickened considerably. Li Kuiyi and Zhou Fanghua were essentially swimming against the current, weaving through gaps in the crowd. It was already difficult enough — and then, out of nowhere, a tall figure appeared and planted himself in their way. They went left; he went left. They went right; he went right.

“Where are you two off to?” He was clearly doing it on purpose, asking in a lazy, unhurried tone.

Li Kuiyi didn’t need to look up to know who it was. She said, without patience: “The school shop. What of it?”

“Oh, perfect. Get me a can of cola while you’re there.”

“No.” Li Kuiyi took hold of Zhou Fanghua and started to walk around him.

He Youyuan pulled a ten-yuan note from his pocket and pressed it into her hand: “Ice cold.” Then he tucked both hands back into his pockets and sauntered off.

Li Kuiyi stared at the crumpled note. Before she even had time to be annoyed, the usually even-tempered Zhou Fanghua shot him a withering look at his retreating back.

What an insufferable creature.