Qi Qi finally discovered where the long-sought “The Catcher in the Rye” was located.

That day, while Huan’er stayed at the library to read, she returned to the classroom after an unsuccessful search. Passing by a certain desk, she caught a glimpse of a book cover half-hidden under test papers, showing the name “Salinger.” Qi Qi instinctively pushed aside the test papers, and the title she’d been yearning for appeared before her eyes.

If it had been anyone else’s desk, she wouldn’t have thought much of it, but this desk belonged to Liao Xinyan.

The person who collected the books, who delivered them to the library, who could know what everyone submitted and borrow them first.

At that moment, being struck by five thunderbolts wouldn’t be an exaggeration to describe her feelings.

The cute girl with round cheeks, famous for being well-liked. Teachers adored her, praising her strong sense of responsibility and attention to detail; classmates loved her, constantly calling her “Monitor” this and “Monitor” that. Though not outstanding, her grades consistently stayed in the class’s top ten, and her family background seemed quite good too—Qi Qi glanced at her desk, where a phone lay face-down on the pencil case, the latest smartphone model that Jing Xiyi had been desperately wanting.

How could it be her?

But it was indeed her.

Returning to her seat with a heavy heart, Qi Qi unconsciously recalled many moments involving Liao Xinyan. Like how she had “happened” to walk with them several times when claiming to visit her aunt’s house; how she always liked to chat by the back door of the classroom, her voice and laughter always particularly loud; or how she frequently occupied the seat behind her to ask questions, questions that weren’t even that difficult.

It felt like watching someone else covet a beloved dress in the shop window, and that person had even paid a deposit to claim it first.

Both angry and frustrated.

During that evening’s self-study, Qi Qi didn’t turn a single page of her book, her gaze barely leaving Liao Xinyan’s silhouette in the front rows. In two self-study periods, she looked this way six times.

After class, she even brazenly stood next to Song Cong, speaking to Jing Xiyi, “You’re starting the official competition tomorrow, right? Good luck.”

“Thanks, Monitor.” Jing Xiyi made a saluting gesture. He would be going to another city with the school team for, a minimum of four days, and a maximum of two weeks—entirely dependent on their match results.

Liao Xinyan showed no intention of leaving, “How are you getting there?”

“Bus, all together.”

“What about accommodation?”

“The school’s arranged everything.”

The girl nodded, “If there are any problems while you’re away, feel free to ask me anytime, you have my number, right?”

“No need, I’ll message you online if anything comes up.”

“No problem.” Liao Xinyan smiled, “Of course, for studying, you might prefer to ask Song Cong. Right, Academic Representative?”

Song Cong hurriedly shook his head when he heard this, “Study? You’re overestimating him.”

All that fuss just to say a few words to Song Cong. That’s what Qi Qi thought, her expression darkening. She pulled Huan’er along, “What are you dawdling for, planning to live at school?”

Chen Huan’er, being dragged out the door, was completely clueless about the situation, “I’ve been packed and ready, wasn’t I just waiting for those two? Hey, you guys hurry up.”

“Coming!” Jing Xiyi waved to Liao Xinyan and ran out of the classroom shoulder to shoulder with Song Cong.

That evening, Teacher Xu posted a message in the class QQ group, reminding everyone that Cultural Month was ending soon and asking everyone to return their drifting books on time. Jing Xiyi was startled and quickly called Song Cong, “There’s a book in my desk drawer, from the drift, help me return it later.”

“You borrowed someone’s book? You didn’t even submit one yourself, did you?”

Song Cong remembered clearly, that on submission day Jing Xiyi had come empty-handed, and to get past the check, this guy had taken his book to the podium and secretly ticked off two names.

“Never mind that.” Jing Xiyi carefully instructed, “Don’t let anyone see you. Then write a message for me, make it sincere, with the main point being that this book is excellent, chosen with great taste.”

“Fine.”

Back when they were young, he had to think of ways to imitate different handwriting when doing his homework for him. Song Cong had done similar things countless times, it was nothing new.

“Write it as soon as you get to school tomorrow, don’t forget,” the boy on the other end reminded.

Song Cong answered “okay” with a laugh, then added, “Be careful, especially your knees.”

“Come on, just wait for my triumphant return.”

There was indeed a book hidden in the deepest part of Jing Xiyi’s desk drawer. The next morning, Song Cong stealthily moved the book to his lap, wondering where this guy had gotten it while peeling away the newspaper with Torres’s portrait—it was “Taipei People” by Pai Hsien-yung. He suddenly remembered the details from book submission day, unconsciously glanced in Qi Qi’s direction, and then quickly stuffed the book into his school uniform.

Was this serious?

Last time when he’d jokingly probed, he was immediately silenced, so Song Cong hadn’t thought much of it. Jing Xiyi was playful, laughing and joking with everyone, so you couldn’t tell if he particularly liked anyone. Of course, Chen Huan’er was an exception, that was Mama Jing’s strict order, and he wouldn’t dare disobey.

But if he had feelings… what message would be best to write for him?

Song Cong looked up and saw Chen Huan’er’s mushroom-like back of the head, with a few strands of hair sticking up as if still asleep, as peculiar as their owner. He couldn’t help raising his hand to smooth them down, but as soon as he touched them, Huan’er slapped the back of his hand, continuing to do her problems without turning around. Song Cong held back his laughter and suddenly had an idea of what to write.

On book retrieval day, Qi Qi easily found her copy of “Taipei People.” Without even opening it, she went to join Huan’er at the front shelves, where her friend was puzzling, “Strange, my neurology book doesn’t seem to have come back.”

Qi Qi’s eyes were fixed on “The Catcher in the Rye” in Huan’er’s hands, and she asked despite knowing the answer, “That’s Song Cong’s book, right? Wonder who took it, I never got to read it.”

“Here, read it.” Huan’er handed it over, “I was going to borrow it from him anyway, you can give it to me after you’re done. Qi, help me look for…”

Before Huan’er could finish, Qi Qi had already hurried away with the book.

At this moment, she was desperate to know what her “rival” had written.

The hallway outside the reading room was empty. Qi Qi stood against the wall, knowing that prying into others’ privacy was despicable, but she couldn’t help it, like an arrow drawn to its maximum tension, about to snap, she really couldn’t resist.

After checking once more that no one was around, she opened it.

The inside page had only one line in English:

“Make sure you marry someone who laughs at the same things you do.”

The handwriting was neat. This meant Song Cong hadn’t written anything, and this “review” came from Liao Xinyan.

Make sure you marry someone who laughs at the same things you do.

How could she write something like this, how dare she write something like this? Qi Qi’s hands holding the book trembled uncontrollably, her whole body shaking, wanting nothing more than to tear out and shred the entire page.

Liao Xinyan was using a silent way to guide Song Cong—look, we’re equally matched, we’re the same kind of people.

Cunning, scheming, full of calculation.

But then a strong sense of defeat welled up in her heart, something she’d never felt before, not even when she ranked last in class.

The pathetic and laughable thing was, in this smokeless battle, she discovered she didn’t even qualify to be a rival.

Huan’er came out and found her, muttering, “My book must have been too good, so good someone can’t bear to return it.”

Qi Qi answered dully, “Yes, too good.”

“Does yours have a message? Let me see.” Huan’er took “Taipei People” and quickly read aloud, “Thank you for letting me read about a passionate and righteous time gone by. I hope I can also remain in your time, growing more precious with age.”

After reading, she exclaimed “Wow!” “This is written so well!” She stared at the line, talking to herself, “But Qi, look at this handwriting…”

Qi Qi finally leaned in, reading each word carefully, her heart racing.

Song Cong’s handwriting, she could recognize it even upside down.

Her book had gone to Song Cong! But he probably didn’t know, right? Wait, why write “hope I can also remain in your time” if he didn’t know? Perhaps he did know? How did he know?

Her ice-cold heart was suddenly doused with a bucket of boiling water, unsure whether to cry or laugh.

The only certainty was that her heart was about to explode.

“It looks like…” Huan’er was still puzzling over it. The writing style suddenly looked very similar to Song Cong’s, but this guy usually wrote quickly with connected strokes, even his exam essays weren’t this neat—how would he have time to write such a long message so meticulously for a stranger?

Maybe she’d seen it somewhere on a class bulletin board?

Qi Qi snatched back the book, holding it preciously against her heart like a treasure, “Let’s hurry back, we have an English quiz.”

Chen Huan’er started running, “Quick, quick, I forgot, haven’t memorized the text at all.”

Compared to the merry-go-round, many people prefer the pirate ship.

Qi Qi was one of the latter.

Started slowly, getting faster and faster, plunging from one peak to another, vision blurring under the intense weightlessness, the heart continuing to pound as if it might burst from her chest at any moment.

Intense, brave, no way back.

She had longed for such a life.