If one were to describe Chen Huan’er’s current mood in a single sentence—
No, a single sentence couldn’t do it justice.
And just at this moment, of all times, voices rang out from behind:
“Forget about him, who gives a damn?”
“Just a clown, what’s it got to do with him?”
“Honestly, I hope he gets hit by bird droppings when he goes out. One pile would be letting him off easy—best if it lands right on his head and face…”
The voice cut off abruptly as Chen Huan’er’s line of sight fell upon a boy standing there, mouth agape, holding up his phone.
Birds, birds, birds—damn your birds.
Huan’er mentally performed a 720-degree ultra-high-difficulty rotating eye roll, then slowly crouched down to place the cardboard box full of plates and bowls she’d been carrying onto the ground. Only then did she free up a hand to wipe her right cheek? A sticky, warm, milky-white mess that continued to emit an unpleasantly mysterious odor.
Things couldn’t get any worse.
On a scorching summer day, carrying fragile items while walking to her new home, unfamiliar with the area—yes, even the birds were unfamiliar, which was precisely why one had chosen to bestow such a welcoming gift right off the bat.
Hah, landing on her head and face? The wretched bird had picked the wrong target and the wrong spot.
“Um…” The boy tried to speak but was met with an ashen face—or more precisely, an ashen face with a streak of white—so he carefully stepped back half a pace and turned to leave.
Chen Huan’er searched her entire person but found only a single key. Heaven help her—was the plan to wait for this mess to dry so she could scrape it off with a metal tool?
She furiously kicked the box, then worried about breaking the plates and bowls and getting lectured by her mother, so she quickly withdrew her foot and opened the box to check.
The boy came back at this moment, stopping just half a step away from her. “Are… are you okay?”
Huan’er just pouted angrily without answering.
“I wasn’t talking about you.” As he spoke, the boy first pulled out a towel from his bag, then produced a water bottle, unscrewing the cap halfway before awkwardly stopping—only a few drops of water clung to the bottle’s sides; it was empty.
“I’ll… I’ll look for something else.” He lowered his head to search his bag.
Chen Huan’er now noticed he was wearing a sports uniform, with a large shoulder bag slung across his body, looking as if he’d just returned from the athletic field. As for his age—he seemed about the same as her.
“This will work!” He excitedly held something up in front of her—a bottle of pain relief spray.
“I’m not in pain,” Huan’er responded irritably, straightening up and gathering her hair. It was truly bizarre—what mutant species had such efficient digestion?
“I know, that small amount couldn’t hurt much from impact.” The boy shook the spray bottle twice. “But since it’s liquid, this stuff is safe on your face, just wipe it off and it’ll come right off.”
“No need.” Chen Huan’er didn’t want to deal with him and bent down to lift the box.
He directly grabbed her arm, his expression suggesting he was trying not to laugh. “Plus, it masks the smell.”
Mask… mask the smell? What was this nonsense?
“Close your eyes.” The boy aimed the spray nozzle directly at her, and Huan’er instinctively squeezed her eyes shut.
A cool sensation spread across her right cheek.
Then came the feeling of friction, the fabric fairly comfortable, though the motion was—exceptionally vigorous.
Huan’er opened her eyes and took the towel from his hand, wiping her face and then dabbing at her hair.
“That should do it.” He directly took back the towel, looked at her then glanced down at the box at her feet. “You just moved here?”
“Mm.” Chen Huan’er eyed the towel he’d stuffed into his backpack. “I can wash—”
“I live in this complex too, we might run into each other again.” The boy nodded toward the ground. “Heavy?”
“It’s fine.” She thought he was offering to help and hurriedly added, “I can—”
“Then carry it yourself.”
She’d overthought it.
How kind could someone who cursed others behind their back be?
“I’m off.” He waved while walking backward, then took off running.
Back home, straight to the bathroom—her face was clean, only a few white streaks remaining in her hair. Huan’er took a shower before messaging her mother: “All settled.”
She didn’t particularly wait for a reply—if Dr. Qian had free time, she wouldn’t have disappeared halfway through the move.
Looking around, there wasn’t much: about a dozen packed boxes plus three large suitcases. Her mother had already laid out the moving principles: “Only bring what’s necessary.” Huan’er closed the windows, turned on both the air conditioning and TV and contentedly began the task of unpacking.
Her new home was in the City Third Hospital’s staff housing complex, where most residents were doctors. It was an older neighborhood, with buildings that looked like identical twins—six floors, no elevator, and exterior walls showing their weathered brick-red color after years of wind and rain. Though it was in a place too narrow for trucks to enter, they seemingly had no choice but to live here—her mother had transferred from the county hospital, and through a colleague’s connection, had taken over this top-floor second-hand apartment, saving a large sum in agency fees. It was just steps away from work, and one phone call away from making it to the second half of surgery. The previous owner had moved to a major hospital in the capital with their family, leaving behind all furniture and appliances, essentially making it ready to move in. As for the deeper reason—her mother had declared with absolute certainty that morning, “This apartment has good feng shui—the previous owner’s son got into Peking University Medical School.”
Chen Huan’er had teased, “Shouldn’t medical professionals be more scientific?”
“Your mother practices Traditional Chinese Medicine,” Mom had replied mysteriously, shaking her head. “We deal in metaphysics.”
Young Miss Chen had more than once suspected her mother held fake credentials.
In any case, Chen Huan’er’s first life turning point appeared at age fourteen.
Before fourteen, she had lived in Four Waters County, an extremely unremarkable small county under Tianhe City’s jurisdiction. It had no historical stories, no famous people, no impressive industrial or agricultural indices—it didn’t even have any local specialties worth mentioning. Once when Chen Huan’er accompanied her father to a wedding in the city and was asked about her hometown, her incorrigible father played charades with the other guests: “The first character is a number, the second character is flowing liquid.” The uncles and aunts of her father’s age all laughed without answering, while their children—a group of city kids—discussed it for a while before offering their answer: “Uncle, we know, it’s Five Lakes Four Seas!”
“It’s Four Waters,” Chen Huan’er had given the correct answer with a proud face.
At that time, faced with the city kids’ expressions of sudden enlightenment, she had only thought them ignorant, never realizing it was because Four Waters was such a small place.
Chen Huan’er was born and raised here, testing into the best middle school from the county’s best elementary school. She was among the first batch to join the Youth League, her grades never fell out of the top twenty in her grade, and she’d been a class officer since she was little. Barring any surprises, she would test into County No. 1 High School with excellent grades, though she hadn’t thought much about what would come after that.
Children who grow up in happy environments rarely have much sense of impending crisis.
Of course, even the most anxious person couldn’t have anticipated being blessed by an unidentified flying object while walking down the street one day.
“Aiya.” Thinking of this, Huan’er irritably ruffled her hair. What bird business indeed.
The TV was playing a sports brand commercial—a track athlete standing at the starting line preparing to run, the camera zooming in on their solemn expression and determined gaze, then the starting gun firing before the screen faded to black to show the brand logo. Normally Chen Huan’er wouldn’t pay attention to such things, but she suddenly realized that the boy from earlier had been wearing shoes from this brand.
Several hundred or even a thousand yuan—she didn’t have a specific concept, only knew they were very expensive.
So, regarding the summer of 2007, Chen Huan’er had only two memories: students wearing brand-name athletic shoes could be seen everywhere, and due to transferring schools, she had a legitimate reason for not doing her summer homework.
On the first day of school, Chen’s mom took her there, but being busy, her mother received a phone call and left right after handling the enrollment paperwork in the Academic Affairs Office—swift and merciless efficiency. Watching her mother’s departing figure with miserable desolation, young Miss Chen somehow felt like crying. Like Zhu Ziqing watching that figure hobbling to the railway tracks, or like a young child putting on a brave face at kindergarten trying not to call for their parents, the new environment suddenly made the usually confident girl timid. She learned for the first time that here, the third year of junior high was called “ninth grade,” that among the fourteen classes per grade, there were four advanced classes and ten regular classes with different teaching speeds, that the central area of the plastic running track could be a lined green grass field, that every Monday’s English self-study session would feature a blonde, blue-eyed foreign teacher. Coming from a small town, Chen Huan’er’s legs went weak and her army routed before even entering battle.
After handling various matters and following morning exercises, she was formally brought to the classroom by the homeroom teacher. There was no self-introduction; the teacher just announced her name, the students applauded in welcome, and she sat down in the third-to-last row under everyone’s curious gazes as instructed. The homeroom teacher explained, whether intentionally or not, “Seats are arranged by height—tell the teacher if you can’t see the blackboard.”
Chen Huan’er nodded. In the past, she might have quipped, “Why don’t you just write bigger?” Her daring came from confidence; her timidity came from inferiority—during registration, the Academic Affairs Office had asked for last semester’s final exam papers, after which she became the student in the third-to-last row of Advanced Class Three. Every effect has its cause, and Chen Huan’er felt a mountain weighing on her heart.
After the teacher left, the girl next to her leaned over and whispered, “Where did you transfer from?”
“Four Waters.” Chen Huan’er saw her furrowed brow of confusion and quickly added, “Four Waters County.”
Regarding that gentle homeland, she felt lacking in confidence for the first time.
The girl made a couple of “oh” sounds and smiled at her. “Welcome.”
Surrounding classmates whispered amongst themselves, “Where is that? Another county?”
Chen Huan’er pretended not to hear, carefully taking out her textbook and turning the pages.
At this moment, a male voice of moderate volume came from behind: “To the west, the smallest county by area.”
We’re the… smallest? A question mark appeared in her heart.
The class bell rang, and she had no time to turn around and confirm the voice’s owner.
Chen Huan’er didn’t look back once all morning. The teachers taught well, but fast, too fast. They wouldn’t write out the solution process for every problem on the blackboard, replacing it with verbal explanations instead. When everyone else was giving answers in unison, she was just beginning to understand the question. Two class periods showed her the gap—the gap between her and city children accumulated over two years of middle school and even the past fourteen years.
That feeling could be described as a blow to the head.
She desperately took notes, trying to write down every sentence and every knowledge point she heard, her handwriting crooked and messy, her hand numb to the point of losing feeling, but she still couldn’t keep up.
If you don’t understand, just write it down first—even the learning methods she’d accumulated since childhood hit a bottleneck.
Chen Huan’er was severely impacted. Both physically and mentally.
During the lunch break, she received a text from her mother: “I just learned from a colleague that this school doesn’t have a cafeteria. Buy something to eat for now.”
See, even moms from small towns are a beat behind city moms.
“Got it.” Worried her mother would be concerned, she quickly replied.
The classroom was filled with chatter and food aromas rising together as everyone gathered in small groups to eat. Huan’er hugged her phone, never having wished so strongly as now that her mother would reply with just one more message. Then she would have a proper and genuine reason not to think about eating—I’m busy chatting, the topic is so interesting I don’t even feel hungry.
However, after waiting for quite a while, the phone remained motionless.
She couldn’t help but type another line: “Mom, what’s for dinner?”
Like a pickup artist who keeps trying but never quite gets it right, she might as well add: “Don’t tire yourself out, remember to drink plenty of warm water.”
But Mother Chen, this middle-aged girl, was indeed steady as a mountain—the message went out and sank like a stone, with a demeanor that suggested even a magnitude 10 tsunami couldn’t move her.
Expert level. Chen Huan’er stared at her phone, not knowing whether this assessment should go to her mother or her superior father.
Just as she was spacing out, the girl in front of her turned around with a smiling face and gentle voice: “Want to eat together?”
“I… didn’t bring lunch.” Huan’er felt inexplicably embarrassed, feeling like an outsider who didn’t understand the rules.
The girl immediately covered her lunchbox without hesitation, standing up as she did so. “Let’s go buy something together then.”
“You don’t have enough?” Chen Huan’er asked without thinking.
The other girl paused, then burst out laughing. “If there’s not enough we can share. Come on.”
Only then did Huan’er understand the other’s kindness. The middle-aged girl she’d been worried about a second ago was instantly forgotten as she tossed her phone into her desk drawer and stood up. “Let’s go!”
“Your name is Chen Huan’er, right?” the other girl asked.
“Mm, and yours?”
The two were talking as they walked out of the classroom door when a boy in the hallway called out, “Qi Qi, Qi Qi, buy me a meat sandwich!”
The voice was very familiar.
“Get it yourself.” Qi Qi grabbed Huan’er’s arm without looking back. “Lazy bum.”
A tall, thin boy carrying a soccer ball took a large stride to block their path, grumbling, “Always with the personal attacks. Bring it to the field after you buy it, okay?”
The person looked even more familiar.
He ran off after speaking, without glancing at Huan’er—or perhaps he had looked but had no impression of her and thus didn’t let his gaze linger.
“Jing Qichi, our class sports representative,” Qi Qi introduced.
It wasn’t exactly a pleasant encounter, and besides, what right did he have to declare Four Waters the smallest? Maybe one day they’d annex Tianhe, and then you’d all have to change your birthplace on your household registration.
Qi continued, “He’s a soccer sports special recruit, he can get into Tianhe First just by showing up for the exam.”
Now Huan’er was shocked. “Tianhe First?”
The reputation of Tianhe No. 1 High School was legendary—a provincial key school, frequently in education news, their self-produced test papers sold out completely. Even the top student in all of Four Waters County could barely test in; it was a place that small-town girl Chen Huan’er didn’t dare to even dream about.
“Not impressed?” Qi Qi clicked her tongue twice. “Hidden depths, eh, lady warrior?”
Chen Huan’er very seriously waved her hand. “Can’t reveal them—I’d be even less likely to get in if I were exposed.”
Qi Qi laughed so hard her teeth showed but not her eyes, her ponytail swaying back and forth with her body. Finally, she commented, “You didn’t say anything all morning, I thought you were pretty introverted.”
“How could I be?” Huan’er answered softly. Qi Qi’s friendliness made her feel especially close, and she momentarily returned to her usual personality. “I even participated in a talent show back home.”
“Really?” Qi Qi covered her mouth with both hands. “Quick, tell me, tell me, what kind of show?”
“The Flower of Four Waters.”
“Four Waters…” This time Qi Qi laughed so hard tears flew, and after a while, barely catching her breath, she replied, “Now that’s a… major competition.”
Huan’er didn’t feel offended at all. She desperately needed a friend like this—someone who could catch all her jokes, no matter how bad, and end up laughing together about everything.