Lin Weixia gently coaxed him for quite a while before Ban Sheng finally let go of her. She brought Ban Sheng back inside the cafeteria and introduced him to Zhou Jingze.

The two boys sat across from each other — both strikingly good-looking — and quickly drew sidelong glances from passersby.

At first their energy was completely mismatched; their conversation was marked by mutual dismissiveness, each radiating an air of not thinking much of the other. But as they kept talking, they discovered a shared passion: extreme sports.

Zhou Jingze and Ban Sheng ended their conversation with a fist bump.

They had, somehow, become friends.

They also exchanged contact information and made plans to go skydiving together during the next break.

There was no snow that day. To wait for it, Ban Sheng stayed with Lin Weixia an extra day. The two of them didn’t particularly seek out the capital’s famous landmarks — they both, as if by agreement, chose to visit the universities.

Lin Weixia toured every notable university in the capital. Standing in front of a restaurant called Cloud Record Noodles, she was struck by the discovery that two universities stood on opposite sides of a single street.

“Look — Capital University of Aeronautics and Astronautics is directly across from Capital Medical University. Isn’t that remarkable?” Lin Weixia stretched out her finger to point.

Ban Sheng wasn’t particularly interested in that detail. He had the corner of a hand warmer pack between his teeth, tearing open the wrapping with a snap; then he tucked both hand warmers into Lin Weixia’s hands and glanced at her fingers, reddened from the cold:

“Keep your hands in your pockets.”

Their final stop was the capital’s main university. Lin Weixia stood at the gate, staring at the four gilded characters above the entrance, her eyes growing hot.

Ban Sheng noticed something was off and squeezed her fingers lightly, his voice easy: “What’s this? Overwhelmed at the thought of actually getting in one day?”

Lin Weixia came back to herself, shook her head, and her expression flickered briefly with a quiet sadness: “No. I was just thinking of someone — someone I know who should be starting university this year.”

Ban Sheng noticed her interest and brought Lin Weixia inside for a look around. He said, in that unhurried way of his: “We’ll be classmates again someday.”

The words carried a quiet, private promise — one that only the two of them could fulfill. Lin Weixia nodded. “Yes. Classmates.”

After visiting for over an hour, they prepared to leave. At the gate, they happened upon a group of students shooting a short film.

A girl in a wool hat walked over, her tone warm: “Hi — I’m a directing student here. We’re finishing a group assignment and we’re missing one shot. You’re incredibly handsome — you have exactly the kind of presence and the look that works on camera. Would you be willing to help? We’d only film a side profile — it won’t show too much.”

Ban Sheng turned her down with his usual cool expression.

Lin Weixia, receiving the silent plea in the wool-hat girl’s eyes, smiled: “You might as well do it. It’s not a big deal.”

Ban Sheng eventually relented — but with one condition: “She has to be in the shot with me.”

The wool-hat girl agreed happily. And so, without quite knowing how it happened, Lin Weixia found herself stepping into a stranger’s camera frame alongside Ban Sheng.

After filming, the girl came over to thank them both and added Lin Weixia on her messaging app, saying she’d send the finished piece once it was done.

The wool-hat girl held up her camera. “I just found out you’re both in your final year of high school. Senior here hopes you’ll both consider applying to this university. Let me take a photo of you two as a memento.”

“Oh—” Lin Weixia hesitated.

“Take it.” Ban Sheng’s voice came first.

Lin Weixia found a spot to stand in, beside the boy. The wool-hat senior kept directing them to move closer together.

But they were already very close — Ban Sheng’s broad shoulder pressed right against hers, a warmth radiating between them. From behind, the sounds of students going in and out of the gate drifted past, carried on the wind.

Facing the camera, with the constant noise of cyclists and their brakes from passing pedestrians — it made her a little self-conscious.

Perhaps because she studied directing and was particular about framing and composition, the wool-hat senior kept holding up her camera and gesturing for the two of them to draw closer, to look more natural together.

A cold gust swept through, lifting her long hair across her face. With the senior continuing to call for them to move nearer, Lin Weixia let out a quiet breath.

But they were already so close.

Then, all at once, fingers with prominent knuckles reached over — naturally, without hesitation. The moment those cold fingertips made contact, her breath caught; she felt her own curled fingers shift.

A broad, warm hand came to rest fully against hers — then slowly, steadily closed. The warmth passed between them.

Fingers that were slender and distinctly articulated threaded through her slender ones, wrapping around them completely. Ban Sheng held her hand, firm and certain.

Fingers interlaced.

The boy stood straight and lean, with just a hint of that unhurried, easy-going edge about him — taller than her by a full head, the black shell jacket making the line of his jaw and face look even sharper and cleaner.

Ban Sheng, who typically faced cameras with bored indifference — usually refusing to spare even a look — let the corner of his mouth curve up just slightly. Beside him, the girl’s features were cool and refined, dark hair against red lips; her expression was a little dazed from the abrupt way he had interlaced their fingers.

With a soft click, the wool-hat senior pressed the shutter and froze the moment. People came and went in the background, naturally soft and blurred. The two of them stood at the gate of the capital’s university — one photo, taken together. The time: winter.

The only thing missing: it didn’t snow that day.

Back home, they threw themselves into studying. The further into Year Twelve they got, the faster time seemed to pass. The semester was drawing toward its end; winter break was approaching, and the class had settled into a tightly strung atmosphere where everyone was focused on their own work.

Everyone, that is, except Zheng Zhaoxing — and the few hangers-on who trailed behind him, coming in late and leaving early, growing more unruly and aggressive by the day.

Every time Zheng Zhaoxing ran into Lin Weixia and Ban Sheng together, he would let out a cold, contemptuous sound — then give Ban Sheng that challenging, provocative stare.

Liu Sijia was growing thinner and thinner; her face had become gaunt, five features hollowed out, until it looked as though there was nothing left but a frame of bones. As if trying to mask something, the lipstick on her lips grew redder and redder.

The school forum compared her to a devastatingly beautiful ghost.

More and more people were talking about Liu Sijia’s sudden weight loss — some pointing fingers, some speculating that she had broken up with someone and driven herself to this state, mocking her in passing.

In the face of all the commentary, Liu Sijia remained unmoved and did as she pleased — still the proud black swan.

Occasionally during morning calisthenics, their gazes would meet by accident, then separate again. Many times, Lin Weixia walked back from the teachers’ office with an armful of assignments and passed Liu Sijia coming the other way.

She caught the familiar scent of tuberose perfume drifting from Liu Sijia — saw the face that had grown increasingly gaunt and pale. Lin Weixia’s lips parted slightly.

Upper and lower lips separated — they trembled faintly — but still the words wouldn’t come.

Liu Sijia brushed past her shoulder and walked on.

A couple of days later, after early reading session ended and Lin Weixia was standing at her desk sorting through assignments, a slender shadow fell over her.

A pale wrist wearing a four-leaf clover necklace set a stack of papers down in front of her. Liu Sijia’s voice came out with an odd edge to it: “Assignments.”

Lin Weixia looked up — and met a pair of vivid, expressive eyes. For once, neither of them looked away first.

She stood there for a moment, then came back to herself, took the papers, and said, a beat late: “Oh. Thank you.”

Ning Chao strolled back to his seat with a broom hanging from one hand, whistling lazily. He swept a pile of papers together on his desk and glanced at Lin Weixia: “Desk neighbor — lend me your notes to copy, yeah?”

“No,” Lin Weixia said with a smile.

The broadcast chimed. Students in the classroom lazily filed out. Ning Chao and Liu Sijia headed downstairs together; he reached out and poked her on the shoulder.

Liu Sijia turned her head toward him — get to the point.

Ning Chao scratched at his close-cropped hair, looking a little awkward: “Why did you buy something that expensive for my mom? You should return it.”

Not long ago, Ning Chao’s mother had been complaining about persistent back pain — so bad she couldn’t sit for more than two hours at a stretch. Ning Chao had only just taken her to the doctor when workers arrived at the door delivering an expensive massage chair.

“What does it matter? I’m always at your family’s restaurant — your mother makes me fish ball noodles every time. Your whole family looks after me.” Liu Sijia paused, then warned: “And don’t you dare try to send it back. It wasn’t a gift for you.”

“Alright, alright — I can’t argue with you.”

Ning Chao laughed, looking at her. He stared at her pale, exhausted face, wanting to say something — then swallowed it back down.

Friday: after a double period of math, the third class was the long-awaited physical education lesson. Before the bell had even rung, a swarm of students charged toward the field.

Lin Weixia was packing up her desk, about to head out, when Teacher Liu caught her at the last minute and took her to the office to help compile some data. By the time she finished and returned to the classroom, the students who’d just had P.E. were already trickling back in.

“Oh my gosh — Liu Sijia just went completely rigid and dropped straight down during lineup. It was genuinely terrifying.” A girl kept pressing a hand to her chest.

“I know — she almost hit me. I wonder what it feels like to faint — everything spinning, then losing consciousness?” her friend replied.

Scrape — Lin Weixia pulled her chair out, then reached over and grabbed the arms of the two girls walking past: her normally even tone edged with urgency:

“What happened to Liu Sijia?”

The two girls looked startled, exchanging a glance — aren’t they on bad terms?

“Say something,” Lin Weixia said, voice rising, gaze pressing.

“During P.E. she fainted. Ning Chao carried her to the medical room — honestly, with how thin she’s gotten, it’d be a miracle if she didn’t faint—”

The girl hadn’t even finished speaking before Lin Weixia had already turned and run.

She moved fast, mind working rapidly — then walked straight into a solid chest.

Ban Sheng.

He caught her by the arm and looked at her sidelong. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to the medical room to see Sijia,” Lin Weixia said, throat dry.

“She’s not there anymore. The teachers and Ning Chao have taken her to the hospital,” Ban Sheng said, steady and calm. “Her family will probably be there soon. Ning Chao will let me know if anything comes up — you can’t do much by going now.”

“Go back to class first.”

For the rest of that afternoon, Lin Weixia drifted in and out of focus during every lesson — so distracted that even when Fang Mo tried to talk to her, she barely registered it.

Lin Weixia sent a message to Ning Chao asking about Liu Sijia’s condition. He didn’t reply.

By that evening, news about Liu Sijia had already spread on its own — person to person, until everyone in school was talking about it.

“Oh my god — she has anorexia?”

“I knew it. Have you seen how thin she’s gotten? I spotted her in the canteen once — nothing but light diet food, and she couldn’t even finish that.”

“Now that you mention it, I remember — Lin Weixia and Liu Sijia got into it in the canteen once. Something about Lin Weixia trying to make her eat and Liu Sijia pretending to.”

“How does someone like Liu Sijia end up with anorexia? I used to envy her — wanted to be her. Good grades, family background, beautiful, the queen of the school. That kind of person should have everything. Why would she get sick?”

“Probably a breakup — and a friend’s betrayal.” Someone seemed to be hinting, as if trying to direct the fire toward Lin Weixia.

A friend replied: “Come on — Lin Weixia wasn’t even at Shengao yet. Liu Sijia seemed to have been restricting herself for a long time before she transferred. She must have had anorexia much earlier.”

“Who knows. Some rich-person problem probably. Ha.”

Here we go again.

Now it’s Liu Sijia’s turn.

Lin Weixia sat in her seat and listened to it all quietly. Then all at once, a figure loomed — Ning Chao, back from the hospital. He picked up a thick textbook and hurled it across the room. It flew in a straight, hard arc and struck one of the girls.

The solid spine of the book landed solidly. The girl let out a shriek. Before they could react, Ning Chao’s expression had gone flat and cutting, his tone mockingly dry:

“The moment something happens in this class, you’re all whispering about people behind their backs. Is that your new hobby?”

The gossiping died immediately. Nobody dared say another word. The girls looked at each other, then scattered.

Lin Weixia asked for leave from evening study hall. Ban Sheng went with her to the hospital to visit Liu Sijia.

The two of them sat in the back of a taxi. The window was cracked open, and cool air poured in, brushing against Lin Weixia’s face. Ban Sheng noticed — he pressed the button and the window slid back up, shutting the cold out. The interior of the car grew warm again.

“I’ve been in contact with Liu Sijia’s mother. She had anorexia before — had treatment for a period of time, and they thought she’d gotten better.”

“But she never actually did.” Ban Sheng said it plainly.

Lin Weixia’s eyes reddened. She leaned against the window, watching the passing scenery outside, her voice taking on an almost compulsive, repeated quality: “I should have noticed sooner.”

“I should have noticed sooner. She was never okay.”

When Ban Sheng and Lin Weixia arrived at the hospital, Liu Sijia’s father was standing guard outside the door. Liu’s father looked like a man who had taken good care of himself; behind his eyes was the sharp decisiveness of someone who had spent years navigating the business world. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, and two assistants stood at his side.

This was Lin Weixia’s first time meeting him. She greeted him politely.

“Lin Weixia, right? Jia-jia mentioned you often for a while — she said you were both good friends and academic rivals. She must have given you a great deal of trouble.” Liu’s father said.

Lin Weixia stilled, then felt the familiar ache behind her eyes: “Sijia is extraordinary too. She has a wonderful personality — just a little too hard on herself.”

Facing his daughter’s friend, Liu’s father made no attempt to hide anything. His usually composed expression was layered with exhaustion: “This is the negligence of her mother and myself. Thank you both for coming to see her.”

Because of the late hour, Lin Weixia didn’t go in. Instead, she stood at the window beside the ward door and looked in from a distance.

Liu Sijia — who always seemed full of energy — lay quietly in the HCU bed, wearing a blue-and-white striped hospital gown. Her body looked thin as a single sheet of paper.

A wrist that looked like it might snap from a single touch extended from the edge of her sleeve — the back of her hand dotted with bruises where needles had been placed, clearly having been used many times. A feeding tube was inserted through her nose.

She looked like a beautiful specimen drained of all life.

She lay there, so thin that it seemed like she might vanish the very next second.

Lin Weixia thought again of the scar on Liu Sijia’s palm — how, without a moment’s hesitation, Liu Sijia had thrown herself in front of a knife to protect her.

She thought of something else: she had noticed early on that Liu Sijia barely ate. She had asked once: “Sijia — why do you have so little appetite?”

Liu Sijia had paused, then rested her chin in her hand and said: “Guess.”

Lin Weixia had moved her eyes back to her book and replied: “Forget it, I won’t try to guess.”

She hadn’t noticed the shadow that passed through the girl’s eyes in that moment. Looking back — Liu Sijia probably hoped she would guess.

One by one, things she had deliberately set aside began surfacing in her mind.

Two girls sitting on the steps eating ice cream, talking about the future.

“Classmate Lin, please share your dreams.”

“Can I tell you a fantasy? I imagine standing on a stage with a performance of my own.” Lin Weixia had been vague about it then — hadn’t said the words cello out loud.

“Of course you can! Then I’ll be your very first audience member — and the moment it’s over, I’ll be the first to run up on stage and give flowers to my friend Lin Weixia.”

“And you — what do you want to be in the future?”

Liu Sijia had flicked the girl on the forehead without ceremony and said: “You idiot! You’ll always be right there with me. Whatever I become in the future — you’ll know, because you’ll be there.”

……

Lin Weixia stared through the window at Liu Sijia lying in the hospital bed, her eyes growing sore. She tried to hold them open wide — but in the end, she couldn’t hold it back. One crystalline tear fell, landing on the back of her hand.

Sijia. You have to get better soon.