Early the next morning, the homeroom teacher came to the dormitory to round everyone up. After calling roll, he ushered them one by one onto the school bus and herded them toward the examination hall.

By the time they reached the school gate, Yan Lie was already there. He stood by the roadside looking sharp and full of life — the very picture of youthful brilliance — though when his gaze landed on Fang Zhuo, it carried a faint trace of grievance.

That was simply unreasonable.

It had been him running that entrapment scheme yesterday, and she had even helped him sort out his troubles.

The homeroom teacher distributed the examination admission tickets one by one. After collecting hers, Fang Zhuo went to confirm the exact location of her examination room on the map, then stood by the flower bed reciting classical poems. Yan Lie walked over with a pen and said to Fang Zhuo: “Hold out your hand.”

Fang Zhuo had no idea what he was up to, but extended her hand anyway.

Yan Lie smiled. “The top student is sharing his aura of glory with you.”

He signed four large characters on Fang Zhuo’s forearm: Must get into University A!

As he capped the pen, he added with complete seriousness: “Write nicely, understood? Use mine as the standard.”

Fang Zhuo thought to herself — childish, and demanding the impossible from others.

Wei Xi spotted it and immediately hollered: “Write one for me too!”

The students nearby erupted into clamor: “Top student! Can you spare me some of those excess points above University A’s admission cutoff? I want to go to Province B!”

Yan Lie instantly became the center of a frenzied crowd, surrounded by a pack of rowdy classmates, drawing curious glances from passersby.

“Line up, everyone! I’ll write for all of you!” he called out, even shouting reassurance to Fang Zhuo as he wrote: “Don’t worry — you’re the first one I wrote for, so you definitely got the biggest share!”

Fang Zhuo: “……” She felt no comfort whatsoever.

After the commotion died down, the bell rang and the announcements began to broadcast. The homeroom teacher urged everyone to go wait outside the examination hall.

Their examination venue was a newer campus, fully equipped with brand-new facilities. The proctoring teacher switched on the air conditioning the moment she walked in.

Though it wasn’t too hot indoors, Fang Zhuo’s palms were already damp with sweat.

Fortunately, the first exam subject was Chinese Language, so even with a feverish mind, it would not affect things too greatly.

By the time she reached the essay section, Fang Zhuo’s fingers had gone sore.

She switched to another pen, lifted her head to check the clock at the front of the room, and found that only about half an hour remained.

In pursuit of neater handwriting, this exam had taken her longer than usual.

With fewer than five minutes to spare, Fang Zhuo finished the paper, reviewed the answer sheet once, and successfully turned it in.

Emerging from the teaching building, she was met with a din of voices — students all around discussing the essay prompt and debating where to go for lunch.

In front of the school’s main gate, a crowd of parents had gathered into a dense mass of heads, impossible to tell apart; one could only locate people by sound.

Fang Zhuo walked in the direction of the school bus, and heard a familiar voice calling from somewhere in the crowd: “Fang Zhuo!”

She first thought she was hearing things, but after walking two more steps, the voice grew noticeably more urgent. She looked up in surprise, swept her gaze in all directions, and finally spotted Ye Yuncheng — leaning on his walking stick, weaving his way toward her in small, hurried steps through the crowd.

Fang Zhuo quickly rushed toward him and guided Ye Yuncheng to an open space at the side, asking: “Uncle, why did you come here?”

“To bring you lunch. I asked around — this school is in a rather remote location with hardly any restaurants nearby. Don’t go eating just anything outside; you might upset your stomach.” In his other hand, Ye Yuncheng was carrying a large black cloth bag. “Your uncle brought three portions, timed to arrive hot — the soup is still warm. Everything you like. Has Yan Lie made any arrangements for his meal?”

Fang Zhuo took the bag and immediately felt how heavy it was. Noticing the sweat soaking Ye Yuncheng’s forehead from his long wait and the effort it had cost him, she couldn’t help feeling a pang of tenderness. “I don’t know. Sit down somewhere first — I’ll call him and ask.”

Yan Lie didn’t turn his phone on until he was in the car. Yan Chengli, sitting in the front passenger seat, asked how the exam had gone; Yan Lie gave a perfunctory “so-so.”

Traffic was backed up ahead and behind; their car was wedged in the middle and had come to a standstill.

Yan Chengli rested both hands on the steering wheel, ready to chat with him, when Yan Lie’s phone began to vibrate. Whatever the person on the other end said to him, the weariness that had settled over his somewhat somber face swept clean away. He patted the back of the seat to signal his departure, then simply jumped out of the car.

Yan Chengli had never seen such an animated expression on his face. He glanced at the rearview mirror several times, but before he could get a word out, the boy had already vanished. He rolled down the window, tempted to follow, but there was nowhere to park nearby, and the driver behind kept leaning on the horn, so he had no choice but to follow the flow of traffic and move on.

Yan Lie followed the directions and found Fang Zhuo from a distance, then broke into a quick stride toward her.

Fang Zhuo handed him a thermal container, and the three of them sat in the shade of a tree to have lunch.

The air was somewhat stifling. Fang Zhuo sipped her chicken soup and persuaded: “Uncle, please don’t come tomorrow. We can take the school bus back to campus — lunch is at our own cafeteria, perfectly safe.”

“I must come. How could I not be here for something as important as the college entrance exam? Look at all these parents around — there are people everywhere. If I wait outside, you can feel at ease.” Ye Yuncheng took out paper and pen and asked earnestly: “What would you two like to eat tomorrow? The vendors at the market already know you’re sitting the exam today — they gave me discounts when I bought groceries. Whatever you want, just say.”

Yan Lie raised his hand: “I want more chicken soup! This soup is absolutely delicious, Uncle. I really wish I could be one of your family’s children!”

Ye Yuncheng nodded with a smile: “Then I’ll prepare chicken soup for you again tomorrow.”

Fang Zhuo said: “I want shrimp soup.”

Yan Lie, his allegiances shifting in an instant: “Then I want that too.”

“There’ll be plenty for everyone!” Ye Yuncheng laughed twice, then his expression faltered slightly, as if he were unsure whether to say something.

Yan Lie volunteered: “Anyway, I did pretty well.”

Fang Zhuo said: “I did well too.”

“Wonderful!” Ye Yuncheng was glad for a moment, then said carefully: “Of course, the occasional lapse in performance doesn’t mean anything either — our abilities are what they are, no need to be nervous.”

The first day of examinations went smoothly in every respect.

After the second day’s final subjects were finished and she walked out of the exam hall, Fang Zhuo had a feeling — she sensed that University A was well within her reach.

The sun had not yet set; the sky was still blazing bright. A few pale grey clouds drifted in from the long-rainless sky, carrying a trace of coolness through the chorus of cicadas.

Ye Yuncheng was again waiting at the school gate, head bowed as he watched Yan Lie eat. Spotting Fang Zhuo coming out, he quickly handed her a bottle of cold milk.

Yan Lie had finished his paper early and was likely among the very first batch of students to emerge; he had just finished an interview with a reporter. He bit into a piece of bread and raised an eyebrow: “Do you need me to forcibly walk you through the answers?”

“No need,” Fang Zhuo said. “Let me stay happy a little longer.”

Yan Lie smiled. “Quite confident, I see.”

Ye Yuncheng smiled as well.

The homeroom teacher stood at the assembly point, waving a small yellow flag.

Fang Zhuo packed up Ye Yuncheng’s bags and helped him sling them over his shoulders, saying: “Head home first — I’ll go back to school and sort out my things.”

Ye Yuncheng asked: “Do you have a lot of stuff? Can you manage to carry it all? Should your uncle call a small truck?”

Yan Lie volunteered eagerly: “I’ll help her move it. It’s fine — my dad’s coming to pick me up, and I promise to deliver Fang Zhuo right to her doorstep.”

Ye Yuncheng said: “Then I’ll trouble Mr. Yan.”

He held onto Fang Zhuo’s arm and glanced at the noisy crowd nearby, sensing there was something he ought to say. He pressed his lips together and spoke with heartfelt sincerity: “Say a proper goodbye to your classmates, and take a few more photos. Don’t leave regrets behind.”

Yan Lie said: “It’s not time to get sentimental yet — we haven’t even received our diplomas. There’s a class dinner in a couple of days.”

“Is there?” Ye Yuncheng laughed shyly and gave her a gentle push: “Off you go, then.”

The atmosphere on the school bus from the examination hall back to the school shifted from exuberant to quiet.

When they arrived at the school gate, the principal and a group of teachers who had stayed on campus were standing in the doorway with two red banners, welcoming their return.

In the amber light of the setting sun, Shen Musi pressed his face against the bus window and let out a wail — bursting into tears.

The homeroom teacher placed a specially made yellow cap on his head and said: “Hold it together — we’re not at that part yet.”

Shen Musi wiped his face, hugged his schoolbag tighter, and reined in the emotions welling inside him.

They filed back into the classroom in formation. The curtains were drawn open; the lights came on.

The desks were still piled high with practice papers and textbooks, as they always had been — but from this day forward, these things that had tormented them in their dreams would have nothing more to do with them.

The homeroom teacher scratched his forehead, and under the expectant gaze of the whole class, after a long pause, finally spoke: “This is truly the last speech I will give. Honestly, I don’t have much to say. First, congratulations to everyone on finishing the college entrance exam! From now on, whether you fall in love, smoke, drink, or get up to mischief — none of that is my business anymore. And from the bottom of my heart, I thank all of you!”

The class erupted in indignant desk-slapping.

“Old Gao!” Zhao Jiayou called out. “At a time like this, can’t you say something nice about us?!”

“Fine! A sincere compliment!” The homeroom teacher planted both hands on the desk, his expression solemn. “I believe you will all become the backbone of our nation’s future construction — because you are the finest class I have ever taught! Diligent, earnest, warm, and grounded… you have grown into exactly the people I hoped you would be, and even surpassed that. You are rare and precious treasures of your generation!”

The class felt a flicker of genuine emotion at the first part, but the phrase “rare and precious treasures” struck a complicated chord, and it was hard to bring themselves to applaud.

“I apologize for every way in which I may have hurt you. Perhaps I’ve yelled at you, scolded you, and struck you — but I truly, sincerely cared about each one of you.” The homeroom teacher pointed at them: “Don’t you dare cry. You are a pack of unruly rascals — you don’t get to be that sentimental.”

The room fell silent.

The homeroom teacher spread his hands and sighed: “Graduation. That’s it. Now start cheering.”

After a moment of silence, someone flung a stack of papers into the air and shouted: “We’re free!”

The room erupted. Everyone was on their feet, letting loose.

Students from the neighboring class had reached this same moment too. White papers went flying through the corridor, some slipping through the railings and drifting down in a cascade toward the open terrace below.

The younger students on the lower floors poked their heads out, craning upward to look.

The homeroom teacher stood at the podium with perfect calm and called out: “Tear away! Tear them up with joy! Just know — if the classroom isn’t cleaned up spotless, nobody goes home today!”

The class surged out through the door and leaned against the railing, bellowing down below.

“Big brothers are graduating! Juniors, keep it up!”

“Juniors! Sing us a song! Give this cursed third year of high school the sendoff it deserves!”

“Old Wang! Be honest — did you smoke those cigarettes you confiscated? You can tell us today, we won’t blame you!”

“Farewell, youth!”

“Who the heck says farewell? My youth is just getting started!”

The corridor in the golden hour, figures weaving through it, young people celebrating as though a revolution had just been won.

The homeroom teacher took a sip from his wolfberry-water cup and said with feeling: “Truly wonderful.”

Fang Zhuo was not sure what exactly was so wonderful about it.

Reckless, unpolished, green — pent-up emotions burst forth like a flood, roaring out in all manner of ungainly phrases.

But she thought: someday, she might forget every formula and law, every theorem and theorem proof. But she would always remember — eighteen years of life, crystallized in this one frozen moment, suspended in the corridor.