Not long after the one-hundred-day sprint rally, Shengao welcomed its annual school carnival — the large-scale celebration that Shengao students looked forward to most each year.

It was also the school’s longstanding tradition of giving the Year 3 students some relief from the pressure of studying.

The anticipation for the carnival was more or less confined to the newer students. The seasoned Year 3 students, the moment they received the event notice from the school, immediately deflated and launched into a fresh round of complaints.

“My friend who studies in Hong Kong says their school carnival is a masquerade ball. Ours? The school runs the same activities year after year — could they at least try something new?” one girl said, pointing at the notice with disapproval.

Ning Chao slapped the notice onto his desk and gave a cold laugh: “Who in their right mind relaxes through a poetry recitation?”

Old Liu had signed up the Year 3 class for a poetry recitation performance.

“Honestly, the only thing worth looking forward to is the fireworks at the end. That’s the only thing that actually feels like a real carnival,” someone said.

On the day of the carnival, the whole of Shengao was alive with laughter and chatter, colorful streamers hanging from every glass pane.

Even though these Year 3 students had complained that there was nothing new about it, when the day itself arrived, every last one of them was genuinely happy. It was a rare break, after all — even if the scope of the celebration was limited to the school grounds.

At least they could breathe.

A brief escape from the endless pile of test papers that never seemed to run out.

In Class One, Year Three, the class president was directing the boys to carry the chairs downstairs. Some of them were running around the classroom with cans of spray foam, chasing the girls.

Lin Weixia went to the bathroom and heard girls chatting as they washed their hands: “Should we just ditch? We don’t have classes today anyway.”

“Ditch to where? We’ve got nowhere to go.”

“I don’t know — I just want to get out of school for a little while and breathe.”

“Forget it, I don’t have the nerve. If we get caught, it’s another round of punishment.”

“It’s the school carnival — there are so many people, the school can’t keep track of everyone!”

The voices faded. Lin Weixia pushed open the door and stood in front of the sink, her lashes shifting as she thought about what that girl had said — I just want to briefly escape from school.

She felt like escaping too.

Back in the classroom, Fang Jiabei came by and lent Lin Weixia a prized Shiina Ringo vinyl record. Lin Weixia’s eyes lit up, and she smiled and thanked her.

Lin Weixia glanced up idly and caught sight of Ban Sheng — leaning lazily against the wall, tilting his head as he said something to Ning Chao, the faint line of a vein visible along his neck, his eyes carrying that characteristic edge of trouble. It was clear from looking at him that he was plotting something.

From Ning Chao’s lip movements, he was saying no problem.

Ban Sheng was listening with only half his attention, absently turning a silver lighter over and over in his hand, an orange flame curling up from between his fingers and then folding back into his palm.

His eyes drifted up without meaning to, and his gaze met hers. Ban Sheng walked over and lowered his voice:

“Want to make a break for it?”

Lin Weixia raised her lashes. Something moved in her eyes. She thought about it for two seconds:

“Yes.”

Old Liu came charging up to hurry along anyone still lingering in the classroom. Ning Chao immediately scooped up a chair as if he were heading downstairs, and as he passed them, said quietly:

“Now.”

The moment she gave voice to the rebellious thought of wanting to escape, Lin Weixia’s heart started pounding fast — like a spark had been lit somewhere, burning hotter and hotter, spreading all the way up through her chest until her whole body felt lit up with it.

Fang Jiabei happened to be nearby. Lin Weixia asked Ban Sheng: “Can we bring her?”

Ban Sheng let her: “Bring her.”

Ning Chao was clearly a seasoned truant. He led them to the section of fence near the back sports field.

What greeted them was a hole that had been pried open and bent out of shape.

“Did the sports team do this?” Lin Weixia asked.

Ning Chao slipped through cleanly and answered: “I did.”

Ban Sheng, leaning against the fence, heard that and tucked his phone back into his pocket, adding: “The congee place near here is good.”

Meaning he had done it too.

“…” Lin Weixia.

Fang Jiabei was small and slipped through quickly. Lin Weixia hesitated, standing there. She had worn a sleeveless black-and-white dress today, showing a stretch of smooth, fair calves.

She moved carefully, crouching low, looking left and right, nervous about the wild thorns in the grass catching her. She was still picking her way through when both feet left the ground — a warm, solid chest pressed against her back, and she let out an involuntary sound of surprise.

Ban Sheng had grabbed her by both arms and was carrying her upright out through the gap. A cigarette he hadn’t lit yet sat between his lips, blurring his voice slightly as he gave a short, amused laugh:

“Useless.”

Warm breath against her ear, that low, pleasant voice burrowing in until her ears tingled, heat spreading thickly across her face, her breathing going slightly unsteady.

Lin Weixia said nothing and didn’t argue. Her slender pale hand settled on his forearm — the veins clearly visible beneath the surface — and quietly gave it a firm pinch.

When Ban Sheng set her down on solid ground, he looked at the patch of red left on his arm, raised an eyebrow, and found he still couldn’t bring himself to say a word about it. He watched her with comfortable ease, his expression seeming to say:

What a little troublemaker.

Lin Weixia felt his eyes on her and looked away, her amber eyes shifting lightly.

“Can you two hurry up — there’s a whole spotlight right here,” Ning Chao, watching from the side, could not take it anymore.

Ban Sheng had arranged a car, which was already waiting outside. Ning Chao had gotten his license last month upon turning eighteen and was serving as their driver.

The car drifted around a corner and launched forward at speed. The windows were down, and the wind came rushing in. Ning Chao let out a whoop, one hand draped over the steering wheel:

“Not bad at all, my friend. This GTR has a seriously good feel.”

Ban Sheng lazily propped his head against the window on his side:

“There are more in the garage back home. Come by sometime and pick whichever one you want.”

Lin Weixia hooked her little finger through his and asked quietly: “When did you two plan all this?”

“A week ago,” Ban Sheng said.

The car moved forward. Lin Weixia looked at Ning Chao in the driver’s seat and said quietly:

“Ning Chao — I want to go pick someone up.”

Ning Chao caught her eyes in the rearview mirror, reached up to touch the back of his neck, and smiled:

“Great minds think alike.”

The car turned and headed southeast. The high altocumulus clouds overhead had begun to darken into a heavy, pressing gray, following persistently after the car.

Liu Sijia glanced out the window at the sky turning gray. A staff member tapped a ruler against the table and said sharply: “Eat!”

A group of adolescents with anorexia sat at the long rectangular table, forced through their meal. Whoever ate the most would be allowed outside for thirty minutes.

Liu Sijia looked back down at the food in front of her — braised green beans with beef, and hot-and-sour shredded potato. She glanced at the lunch, and her stomach lurched with a rush of acid. Her instinct was revulsion, her insides turning over.

She wanted to be sick.

She didn’t want to eat.

But for the sake of today’s plan, Liu Sijia forced herself through it. She picked up her fork and shoveled the food into her mouth, bite after mechanical bite, chewing without tasting, fighting the urge to cry.

Why do we have to eat food?

As she ate, she was simultaneously calculating the calories she was taking in and the number that would appear on the scale — and it felt as though her whole existence was sinking, the sense of losing control tightening, everything slipping out of reach.

“First place — Liu Sijia. Well done.” The staff member pressed a small red star sticker onto her wrist.

That star meant she had earned her thirty minutes outside.

The others around her gave her a look, then cleared their trays and left the table.

Liu Sijia carried her tray forward with the group, her face expressionless. Under the staff member’s supervision, she obediently rinsed her tray and placed it in the sterilizer.

“I’d like to rest in my room,” Liu Sijia said, softening her voice toward the staff member.

The staff member patted her shoulder: “Go on, get some rest.”

Liu Sijia walked barefoot quickly up the spiral staircase, breathing fast by the time she reached her room. Click — she locked the bathroom door behind her and shoved her fingers down her throat with practiced ease.

The nausea came immediately.

She wrapped herself around the toilet and brought up everything she had just eaten, and more — even vegetables from the day before came up. She retched until bile was rising, her eyes streaming from the physical reflex of it. When it was over, she sat down on the floor, back against the wall.

Liu Sijia was wearing a black square-neck T-shirt. She reached a hand behind her into the shirt and felt for the cigarettes and lighter she had hidden in her bra.

A cigarette was placed between her red lips. Not long after, she tilted her head up toward the ceiling, white smoke rising slowly in thin threads.

She squinted at it, feeling as though the world was sinking — but the feeling of hunger was wonderful.

Because the sense of control had come back.

After finishing two cigarettes, Liu Sijia dropped the ends into the toilet, pressed the flush lever cleanly, and snuck out.

She ran to the abandoned storage area in the back garden, dragged over some tyres and stacked them, then stood on top and reached up to grip the chain-link fence, trying to climb over and escape.

The cold wind kept coming. The clouds overhead were thickening, pressing down. Liu Sijia was clinging to the fence as it swayed and rattled. Her throat was dry — afraid of falling, and afraid that if it rained, this escape attempt would fail too.

Her mind drifted. Her foot slipped.

She fell straight down. Liu Sijia was wearing denim shorts today; the pale skin of her leg scraped against the fence as she slid, catching on the uneven, jagged wire.

Bright red blood came streaming in a clean, steady line.

Thud. Liu Sijia hit the ground hard. Pain racked her, her beautiful brows drawn together in a tight, helpless knot — her whole body hurt.

She struggled to get up from the ground, couldn’t manage it, and landed back down on the grass. The light was dimming fast. The sky went fully dark. A low crack of thunder rolled overhead.

Ice-cold rain struck her face. Liu Sijia sat on the ground, arms wrapped around her knees. The wound burned with a sharp, searing pain. She stared at the deep red color of the blood, rain falling steadily onto it.

A wave of despair unlike any she had felt before came over her.

Liu Sijia sniffed. She started to cry, quietly at first.

She only wanted to get out. Why was that not allowed. This place was terrible, and no one came to see her.

She cried and wiped her tears, scolding herself silently for being pathetic. Rain drummed down on her. Her clothes were getting wet. Her lashes trembled. She was crying in small, muffled sobs.

Then, suddenly, the light in front of her was blocked. The sound of wind in her ears disappeared. A white, semi-transparent umbrella appeared from nowhere, held over her against the falling rain.

Liu Sijia looked up blankly. In her line of sight: a fair wrist. A girl with a butterfly birthmark on her face, standing steadily before her with quiet composure, amber eyes resting on her, the umbrella tilted toward Liu Sijia’s side.

Her shelter.

How long had it taken to understand — that the girl standing in front of her was the one who had truly cared about her all along. That it was only after being betrayed by hollow friendships, overlooked by the people who should have been closest to her, and broken down by illness — that she had finally seen clearly: here was the person who had been good to her.

And what had she done in return?

Tear after tear rolled steadily from her reddened eyes. Liu Sijia broke down entirely, black eyeliner and mascara bleeding together, sobbing so hard she hiccupped, looking up through blurred vision at Lin Weixia in front of her, saying over and over:

“I’m sorry — I’m sorry — I was wrong — I know I was wrong… can you forgive me.”

Lin Weixia was quiet for a long moment before she answered: “I won’t forgive you. But I don’t hate you.”

“If your apology is sincere, I hope you won’t hurt anyone else like this again.”

Not forgiving you is so that you will always remember the pain you caused. Let that be a wound that stays. Let it hang above you always like a sword between good and evil — a constant reminder to stay on the side of kindness, and not to hurt people.

That was why she had come here. Only to pull her back from the edge.

“I will… and I… I will never forget what I did.” Liu Sijia cried and hiccupped at the same time, her face flushed red from crying so hard, the veins in her neck standing out visibly from the effort.

Liu Sijia thought back to how it had all begun — when they had first met. Lin Weixia had given her an umbrella then too.

It was the summer before Year 2, during what was about to become the most powerful typhoon to ever hit Nanjiang. Liu Sijia had achieved top marks across every subject in the final exams.

When she handed the report to Wen Liyan, the mother who had always been strict with her finally showed a look of approval.

Because of it, her mother had agreed to let Liu Sijia come stay with her at the new home for the summer.

Liu Sijia dragged her twenty-four-inch suitcase there with a heart full of anticipation. She had even prepared gifts for everyone in the household, hoping to win her mother’s affection.

But the moment she walked through the door, her half-sister delivered the first blow.

Liu Sijia crouched on the floor, opening her suitcase to look for the Bunny plush she had brought back from abroad as a gift.

The girl was only ten. Her silver pointed ballet shoes kicked hard into Liu Sijia’s side. She immediately cried out. Wen Liyan rushed out anxiously: “What happened?”

“Older sister’s suitcase hit my foot.”

Wen Liyan shot Liu Sijia a look. Liu Sijia said nothing and smiled coldly. She gripped the Bunny plush in her hand, and as she dragged her suitcase upstairs — right in front of her half-sister — she dropped it into the trash without hesitation.

As the two of them passed each other, Liu Sijia said, low enough that only the two of them could hear, her smile still in place:

“Disgusting.”

The perfect summer Liu Sijia had imagined never came. Her half-sister was cunning and calculating — constantly sniping at her things, making a point of pestering their mother to take her out places and leaving Liu Sijia behind in the house alone.

Liu Sijia was not the type to simply endure it. She made the girl cry more than a few times before Wen Liyan finally intervened, her tone sharp but dressed in the language of the moral high ground:

“She’s your little sister — can’t you be more patient with her?”

Liu Sijia smiled. She looked straight at her mother and said: “I’ll consider being patient once you stop playing favorites.”

“If you can’t behave yourself, you can leave anytime.” Wen Liyan dropped that line lightly, and it struck exactly where it needed to.

Liu Sijia was stunned, but she didn’t dare cause any further trouble under that roof.

Then Wen Liyan got too busy — she was needed to help her stepfather with the company. The task of watching the younger child fell to Liu Sijia. For the entire summer, Liu Sijia was not only taking her half-sister out to places, but also sitting down with her to help with her homework.

Every single day.

Liu Sijia didn’t know whether all the effort she poured into being perfect, everything she had done to earn her way to one summer of time with her mother, had been worth anything at all.

Every day she took the girl out like it was a task to be completed — either the ice dessert shop, or McDonald’s.

Eventually Liu Sijia stopped bothering to vary the destination and settled on a nearby café, which happened to be where she first encountered Lin Weixia.

That day, Liu Sijia was in a poor mood. She walked into the café and took a window booth, her beautiful face iced over, and ordered a milk coffee.

Her half-sister ordered a long list of things: a coconut oolong, a croissant, and a pineapple bun.

Knowing full well that Liu Sijia was in a bad mood, the girl still kept pressing the table bell, demanding she go to the counter to collect her order, and kept snapping the menu against her arm until a red mark rose on Liu Sijia’s pale skin.

Liu Sijia gave her a cold sideways look, stood up, and walked to the counter. The server was wearing a brown apron, long hair falling loose over her shoulders, whipping cream with a frother.

A fingernail tapped lightly on the counter. The girl looked up. Liu Sijia glanced at the new drink promotional sign on the counter and said: “Hello — I’d like to swap an order. The coconut oolong, number 29, change it to an iced Americano.”

“Full ice,” Liu Sijia added.

The server glanced briefly past Liu Sijia at the small girl sitting behind her, then moved her finger over the order screen: “Of course.”

Liu Sijia turned and walked back toward the table. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but had that server just smiled?

The iced Americano came quickly. Liu Sijia had secretly added sugar and some oat milk to it beforehand. Her half-sister drank it without looking, taking several large gulps — and it was only halfway through that she noticed something was off. She frowned: “Is this the coconut oolong?”

“Unsophisticated. You wouldn’t know a new drink if it bit you.” Liu Sijia looked down at a fashion magazine, barely lifting her eyes.

Not ten minutes later, the girl was holding her stomach and moaning, running back and forth to the bathroom four or five times.

“Idiot,” Liu Sijia said to her retreating back.

Before long, the girl came running back. She glared at Liu Sijia with venom, then picked up her phone and called Wen Liyan, and the tears came on cue, her voice pitiful:

“Mom — sister is bullying me. Her dad has a new girlfriend and she’s taking it out on me — she made me drink something I shouldn’t have — Mom, my stomach hurts so much—”

Wen Liyan’s gentle, soothing voice came through the receiver, promising to send a driver to take her home right away. Moments later, Liu Sijia’s own phone started vibrating with an incoming call — Wen Liyan.

Liu Sijia pressed the power button and turned it off.

When the driver arrived to collect her half-sister, the little girl cast one final vicious look back at Liu Sijia and said with a cruel smile:

“Serves you right. Mom doesn’t want you. And your dad’s almost done with you too.”

And so Liu Sijia sat in that café for an entire afternoon. She didn’t do anything — just stared out the window in a daze.

Night fell. The typhoon passed through that day. Shared bicycles and trees along the road were toppled by the gale. Parts of the subway were suspended. Enormous volumes of traffic inched along the roads. Neon signs flickered. The lights went in and out.

The entire city was in chaos.

It felt as though the end of the world had come.

Liu Sijia sat there motionless, unaware that she was the last customer left in the café.

She stared blankly at the window until a gentle voice broke through: “We’re about to close.”

“Could I stay a little longer?” Liu Sijia asked.

“Of course.” The girl nodded.

That night, the server finished clearing the tables and the counter. The café was supposed to close at nine-thirty, but she still hadn’t locked up at eleven — she had simply let Liu Sijia stay as long as she needed.

She held out a white umbrella: “Don’t get wet.”

Liu Sijia had a sudden impulse to confide in this stranger. Her red lips parted: “If no matter how hard you try, your mom still doesn’t love you — and your dad is decent enough to you, but he’s started his own family now — what do you do?”

“I would love myself first.”

“Don’t let your parents’ mistakes become a punishment you give to yourself.”

The words came out slowly, like a glass of plain, clear water. Something inside Liu Sijia settled a little, as though something soft were wrapping itself around the many-wounded places in her heart.

She looked up at the girl in front of her, and smiled: “My name is Liu Sijia. What’s yours?”

“Lin Weixia. 微 from 式微, 夏 for summer.”

“Are you on shift again tomorrow?”

“No, I’m not. But if you’d like to come back, I’ll tell my coworker to leave an umbrella for you.”

Later, after the two of them had become close, Liu Sijia had unhesitatingly stepped in to shield Lin Weixia from a blow — and when she saw Lin Weixia cry, she had comforted her, saying a scar on the palm only made you look cooler.

“What time do you get off at this café?”

“Between nine-thirty and ten.”

“I’ve got nothing better to do anyway. From now on I’ll walk you home every day — to stop your father from coming out to give you trouble again.”

“Oh — you don’t have to, you shouldn’t get hurt again.”

“What’s there to be afraid of? I carry a pepper spray and a personal alarm.”

Ning Chao, standing to the side, looked at the girl who was still crying and finally spoke up: “Ladies — it’s about to pour.”

“We’re running out of time.”

Liu Sijia looked up with red, swollen eyes, her makeup smeared in a line beneath her lashes: “What time? Didn’t you come to see me?”

Ning Chao looked at her and laughed: “We’re here to help you escape. Didn’t you want to get out of this place?”

“Really?” Liu Sijia scrambled up from the lawn, completely ignoring her wound.

The four of them had gotten in earlier by pretending to be volunteers delivering water and fruit. With Liu Sijia now in tow, they could no longer leave through the front entrance.

“This way,” Ban Sheng said.

He had been keeping watch for them and had scouted a section of the chain-link fence that was easier to climb. Ban Sheng went over to it, planted both arms, found his footing, and pulled himself up with ease, then vaulted over.

He landed cleanly on the other side of the wall.

Liu Sijia watched Ban Sheng move with that practiced ease, then looked down at her own wound and let out a curse.

Lin Weixia, having just watched what Ban Sheng did, was less frightened than before — and besides, there were so many people watching. She climbed up with hands and feet, and when the moment came to jump, her heart gave a small nervous lurch.

“Come down — I’ve got you,” Ban Sheng said.

Lin Weixia closed her eyes and jumped. A pair of strong arms caught her around the waist, and she landed against a broad, steady heartbeat. She heard Ban Sheng murmur close to her ear, warm breath grazing it:

“Heavier than I expected.”

“You’re so annoying.” Lin Weixia’s ear went bright red in an instant.

Liu Sijia was far less bold. Having already fallen once, she climbed up and crouched there, and no amount of persuasion could convince her to jump down.

Ning Chao coaxed until his voice was nearly giving out. Liu Sijia still looked hesitant, repeating emphatically:

“What if I fall and hurt my face? I’m very good-looking.”

“Can you actually catch me? You seem pretty lean. You don’t exactly inspire confidence. I could see that Ban Sheng had abs when he climbed the wall, which is exactly why Lin Weixia jumped down without a second thought.”

“…I have abs too! Fine — jump or don’t jump, stay up there and live there for all I care.” Ning Chao turned to walk away.

“Hey — don’t leave, I’m jumping—”

Liu Sijia steeled herself and launched off. Ning Chao caught her — but the angle was off. Liu Sijia came down on top of him, and in the process dealt him a solid smack with her palm.

The sound rang out sharply. Even the air seemed to go quiet.

“You’ve got quite a palm on you,” Ning Chao said through gritted teeth.

The group was just turning to make their escape when a sharp whistle came from behind them. Everyone spun around. A staff member had somehow appeared and was running toward them, shouting:

“Number 17 — come back!”

“Run.” Ban Sheng made the call without hesitation.

Before Lin Weixia could even process what was happening, Ban Sheng had grabbed her wrist and was pulling her forward at a run. Ning Chao simultaneously grabbed Liu Sijia and pulled her with him.

They all ran hard.

The staff member behind them was furious, chasing after them and shouting. Heavy clouds hung overhead, dark and pressing. The rain was coming down harder now, and the summer wind swept through the group of young people, tangling in their clothes.

They were soaked, running out of breath, and then, by chance, they looked at each other — and burst out laughing at the same moment, stopping in place to do it.

Every one of them was running forward with everything they had. The wind lifted the hems of their clothes, fabric billowing like sails catching youth in full.

What lay ahead of them was somewhere to be free.

Fang Jiabei had been sitting in the car the whole time, nerves wound tight, waiting for them. She saw them coming from a distance and reached forward to open the car door early.

Ban Sheng stood beside the car and let the girls get in first. He was the last one in.

As the staff member bore down on them like a relentless pursuer, click — Ban Sheng shut the car door. Ning Chao immediately floored the accelerator, and the car roared forward. The window went down, and Ban Sheng extended one arm out — and with complete and utter audacity, flipped a middle finger at the person behind them.

He also had Ning Chao open the convertible roof. The damp-edged wind rushed in. The feeling was impossibly good. They were already soaked — being a little more of a mess was nothing.

The car filled with driving electronic music that made your heart race. The atmosphere between Lin Weixia and Liu Sijia was still a little awkward.

Liu Sijia suddenly stood up and, catching sight of the staff member growing smaller in the distance, got mischievous — and made the most ridiculous face she could muster at them.

The car moved on. Lin Weixia’s hair was a little damp. Ban Sheng sat beside her, reached up, and touched her head lightly, smiling as he asked:

“Happy?”

“Yes, very.” Lin Weixia reached out and scratched gently at the center of his palm, smiling as she looked back at him.

This was their group’s first great escape.