That morning, the homeroom teacher strode into the classroom and wrote a single number on the back blackboard with tremendous force. In a shower of drifting chalk dust, she announced that today was the last class of high school.
The silence that followed lasted a long time, and Fang Zhuo had not yet come back to herself.
The homeroom teacher stood at the front, her expression composed: “You are all extraordinary students. After more than a decade of grueling study, you have arrived at this turning point in your lives. As your teacher, I am sincerely proud of each of you, and I hope the road ahead will be wide open and unobstructed, carrying you forward at full speed…”
She had probably said the same words a dozen times before — delivered with rhythmic, polished cadence, smooth and flowing, almost like a recitation, without a great deal of genuine feeling. After ten minutes of reading from her lesson plan, she let out a long breath, pulled out her teaching notes, and said without mercy: “Let’s go over the most common mistakes one more time. I’m certain this point will be on the exam. If anyone gets it wrong, I will pin them to the bulletin board as a warning to the Year 11 students.”
That threat carried no weight over students at this stage, however. Everyone smirked up at her from their seats with expressions that were asking to be knocked off their faces.
After dinner, several parents arrived to take their children home. They would make their own way to the examination site the next morning.
The homeroom teacher distributed the admission cards to the parents with great care, cautioning them repeatedly to keep them safe, to set off early, to watch out for traffic. Even as she handed over each card, her fingers held on tight, as though she had absolutely no confidence in the parents receiving them. Which in turn made those parents considerably anxious themselves.
Yan Chengli drove to the school, also intending to take Yan Lie home. Yan Lie hesitated, but seeing that his father had already collected the admission card from the homeroom teacher, he packed up his bag and went along.
The last evening study session was far from peaceful. Subject teachers came in to the classroom one by one to cover any exam points they had just thought of.
The math teacher took a more practical approach, got up and told two jokes that had the entire class doubled over laughing, then bought two pieces of chocolate for each student out of his own pocket and told them to go take the exam with confidence.
Around nine o’clock, the homeroom teacher came in to shoo everyone to bed, telling them to go back and get to sleep early.
Only two people were left in the dormitory. Fang Zhuo lay quietly on the bed reading. Past eleven, her roommate said she wanted to turn off the lights. Fang Zhuo put the book down on her pillow and settled in alongside her.
The small balcony’s curtain was open. Faint moonlight filtered in through the glass door. Fang Zhuo tilted her head back and could see the scattered lights in the buildings across the way, and the layered, overlapping outlines of the apartment blocks in the dark.
She turned over onto her side, facing the wall, and closed her eyes.
The darkness did not bring on drowsiness. Instead it conjured up a stream of obscure exam points and formulas she wasn’t sure about.
Ye Yuncheng had given her his phone so that she could reach her teachers quickly if anything urgent came up. Not wanting to get out of bed and flip through her books, Fang Zhuo took the phone out and started recording all her uncertainties in the notes app, to review and address the next day.
She repeated this process over and over. The thinking kept her brain sharply alert, and the next time she looked at the time, the screen showed one o’clock. Just a few more hours and it would be dawn.
Fang Zhuo pressed her hand over her face and surrendered to a quiet sigh of despair. She switched to another app and typed into the search bar: #Can a person die from two days without sleep?# and #How to keep your mind clear after two nights without sleep?#
She was still sifting through what seemed like advertisement-heavy web pages without finding anything reassuring when a notification appeared at the top of the screen — a text message from Yan Lie.
Yan Lie: Good night.
Fang Zhuo blinked, a little puzzled, and sent back a “good night” of her own. A moment later, a message from his QQ account came through.
Lielie: [Link — Must-Read for Parents — Ten Solutions for Insomnia]
Lielie: [Link — The Three Most Effective Methods for Overcoming Pre-Exam Nerves]
Fang Zhuo turned over.
Little Sun: Are you nervous?
Lielie: Of course.
Little Sun: Your grades are so good — what do you have to be nervous about?
Lielie: I’m scared I won’t get into University A and won’t be able to start university with Zhuozhuo. People fail their exams all the time, don’t they? And if I fail I don’t want to repeat the year. So I’m too nervous to sleep — I keep checking the time, playing on my phone, running over the wrong things in my head.
Fang Zhuo stared at the screen.
Does this person have a little skylight installed in my head, opening it up for a peek whenever he feels like it?
Little Sun: I’m not that nervous.
Lielie: Not that nervous, and you’re lying awake in the middle of the night?
Little Sun: How do you know? Maybe you woke me up.
Lielie: You don’t use sleep mode?
Lielie: Then you definitely wouldn’t send me just a “good night.” A “go away” would be worth at least something.
Fang Zhuo was stumped.
One had to admit, Yan Lie could be an uncannily perceptive confidant sometimes.
Little Sun: So why are you still up this late?
Lielie: My dad called in the middle of the night — his study is right next to my room, and it woke me up.
Little Sun: ?
Lielie: Overseas time difference. A shipment of containers is nearly at port and he’s contacting the warehouse manager on the other side to arrange collection.
Fang Zhuo sat up.
Little Sun: Today you’re allowed to be demanding! Tell him — go to sleep!
Lielie: No way!
Little Sun: Can one night really make or break things? Can it earn him tens of millions more? How can he disrupt you on the night before your exam!
Yan Lie went quiet for a moment.
Fang Zhuo noticed it — in front of Yan Chengli, Yan Lie was always particularly stubborn, reluctant to show any vulnerability, and actively avoided any exchange that might cause friction.
He needed someone to carry the message for him.
She was the person he had been waiting for all along!
Little Sun: Send me your dad’s number.
Lielie: Wow!
Lielie: XXX… Are you going to stand up for me? That’s not quite right, is it? [tucking hands away shyly]
Lielie: How are you going to phrase it? Do you understand me well enough?
Lielie: Don’t bring up money — it’s not about money.
Little Sun: Also share me an emoji that fits this reply.
Lielie: [hug]
Little Sun: [hug]
Yan Chengli was cross-referencing a tax statement, his phone on speaker, when an unfamiliar number sent him a message.
Unknown number: [Link — Ten Harmful Effects of Staying Up Late!]
Unknown number: [Link — How to Ensure a Good Mindset for Exam Candidates?]
Yan Chengli stared at the number, baffled, and decided to send a reply — then a few more messages came in from the same number.
Unknown number: Today is June 7th, Thursday, clear skies with a light breeze.
Unknown number: None of that is the important part, though. The important part is: today is the date of the National College Entrance Examination, and it is currently 1:17 in the morning.
Unknown number: Hello, sir. I’m so sorry to disturb you at this hour. Because of the exam tomorrow, both Yan Lie and I are very nervous.
Originally it was only me who was nervous — but after Yan Lie was woken up by your phone call tonight, he’s become unsettled too.
I’m not saying this to blame you in any way — we all know how hard you work. Your upside-down schedule and your relentlessly busy life are all for the sake of providing better conditions for your family. So Yan Lie only discussed the kinds of negative mental states exam candidates commonly experience with me, and told me he’s worried that not getting enough sleep might affect his performance tomorrow.
If it’s at all possible, I’d like to gently suggest that you consider turning in a bit earlier. There are fewer than five hours left until dawn at six o’clock. Would that be all right?
Yan Chengli immediately switched off the speaker, turned to look at the door of the next room, and sure enough — a sliver of light was visible through the gap at the bottom.
He crept over, rested his hand on the door handle and turned it gently, and called in a low voice, “Lielie.”
The door was locked from the inside. No response from within.
Yan Chengli said with some awkwardness, “Dad’s going to sleep now. You get some rest too.”
After a while, Fang Zhuo sent a follow-up message.
Little Sun: How did it go?
Lielie: He went to sleep.
Little Sun: Come to me for things like this in the future — it’s a new service I offer, but I’m good at it.
Lielie: Thank you, Zhuo-jie! So — what exactly did you say? Did he ask what we are to each other?
Fang Zhuo sent him a screenshot of the conversation, letting him behold the art of her communication for himself.
Yan Lie was silent for quite some time, then sent back a single period. And after that, nothing.
Fang Zhuo figured he had probably fallen asleep. His situation had given her something else to think about, and she found herself relaxing, a little drowsiness finally creeping in. She lay back down, straightened the blankets, and was about to put the phone away when she saw one new text message.
Yan Chengli: Hello, Teacher. Could we have a chat tomorrow morning?
Fang Zhuo: ???
She scrolled back through the conversation and reread it. The word “sir” at the opening seemed quite unambiguous about who she was — she couldn’t imagine how Yan Chengli had misunderstood.
Unknown number: Hello, sir. I’m Yan Lie’s deskmate.
Several minutes passed with no reply from the other side. Fang Zhuo fell asleep.