After the provincial high school soccer championship, Tianhe School’s team won third place, ranking only behind the City Sports School and neighboring City Athletic School. Jing Xichi became the first player from a non-specialized institution to win the Best Player award. Previously, the school team had never placed in the top three.

The achievement was announced during morning exercises, celebrated in the bulletin board news, and featured in broadcast station interviews. Overnight, Jing Xichi became Tianhe’s shining star. For the school, this exemplified their commitment to well-rounded education encompassing moral, intellectual, physical, and aesthetic development. For the PE teachers, it was an unexpected delight – like Sun Wukong springing from a stone or a pie falling from heaven. As for the soccer team boys who sweated through daily practice, beyond the honor in their records, they could finally hold their heads high before those who had mocked them as “bookworms trying to play soccer.”

Compared to the excitement around him, Jing Xichi remained notably calm. After returning, he spent two days catching up on homework without setting foot on the soccer field. When recognized on his way to the cafeteria, he’d only exchange brief pleasantries. Even when Teacher Xu joked before class about “another star from our class” and the boys started cheering, he didn’t take the opportunity to show off. Though happy, he wasn’t as excited as one might expect.

Of course, only his close friends could notice such subtle differences.

On the way to school one day, Huan’er asked him, “Are you injured again?”

“No,” the boy counter-questioned, “Why do you ask?”

“Just that you’re being too low-key,” Song Cong chimed in. “Are you sure everything was normal during the match?”

“Oh.” Jing Xichi finally understood their concern, responding casually, “It was normal – better than normal actually.” He thought for a moment before confiding in Song Cong, “There’s a gap between me and the sports school guys, and it’s only going to get bigger.”

“Where’s the main difference?”

Song Cong was always rational.

“Intuition,” Jing Xichi said vaguely. “They all have the right feel for everything – when to run to which spot, how to receive corner kicks, even their technical fouls are perfectly timed. Put me in there, I might not do as well as them.”

The vast difference in training environments between Tianhe and the sports school was undeniable.

Song Cong understood immediately and consoled him, “They have professional coaches for tactical guidance. Can’t compare the objective conditions.”

“Yeah.”

“That intuition thing comes with time.”

“Mm.”

“It’s not all bad,” Song Cong looked at him, “Know yourself and your opponent – consider it a learning experience.”

“I’m thinking about focusing more on targeted training from now on.”

Huan’er, only half-understanding, saw their serious morning faces and interrupted with “Hey hey! Qi’s birthday is coming up, shall we get her a gift together?”

“Sure, I’m in,” Song Cong smirked at Jing Xichi, “Someone might want to prepare something separately.”

“Man, it’s hot,” Jing Xichi ignored him and walked faster.

Another summer had arrived.

The final monthly exam results of the semester were out: Song Cong maintained his first place in the grade, Huan’er stayed in the middle range, Jing Xichi remained near the bottom, while Qi Qi unexpectedly scored highest in both Chinese and English.

It was like an announcement – as subject tracking was being put on the agenda, she would be leaving them.

For some, it was an uncertain choice; for others, it was salvation from a burden.

Huan’er, Qi Qi, and Jing Xichi were among the latter. Song Cong didn’t mind, but he needed to study medicine, so the science track was definite.

The air of separation began to drift about. Like wisps of smoke above a village, it was light, faint, coming and going.

Huan’er missed morning exercises due to a talk with Teacher Xu. When she returned to the classroom, Jing Xichi was hunched over his desk, frantically copying Song Cong’s notes.

Athletes occasionally had morning training, so the school allowed them to use exercise time to catch up on coursework without strict requirements. Jing Xichi hadn’t attended morning exercises all year, firmly holding onto this privilege.

Without looking up, the boy asked her, “What did Teacher Xu say?”

“Just about the exams,” Huan’er sat beside him, “and asked about track preferences.”

Her grades were too stable – though stability wasn’t necessarily bad, Teacher Xu said people must push themselves to charge forward. Staying in the comfort zone wouldn’t do.

“Track selection, huh.” Jing Xichi put down his pen. “Any plans for Qi Qi’s birthday?”

“Qi invited us to dinner at her place, along with some other friends.” Huan’er told him, “I’ve thought of a gift, Song Cong’s okay with it, you…”

“I’m fine with whatever you choose.” Jing Xichi looked around and leaned closer to her, “I’m planning to record a video, having everyone say ‘happy birthday’ and such. Time’s tight, I’ll need your help.”

So he had prepared already.

Huan’er agreed. It wasn’t reluctance – she was naturally eager to help with Qi Qi’s birthday, but something felt odd.

Because when it was her birthday in winter, Jing Xichi hadn’t even given her a gift.

“Doesn’t Uncle Chen have a small DV camera? You figure out how to use it later, as long as it can be recorded. I’ll use a digital camera, then have Song Cong edit them together – he learns things quickly anyway.” The boy stood up and divided the classroom into zones, “From here, you take the left side, I’ll take the right. Doesn’t matter if they speak alone or in groups of two or three. The main thing is don’t let it be discovered, or there’s no surprise.”

Jing Xichi was never one for careful planning. Except on the soccer field, he rarely planned things out clearly and methodically.

A certain question stuck in Huan’er’s throat like a fishbone, impossible to ignore. She steeled herself and asked, “You like Qi, don’t you?”

Yes, or no.

She thought she knew the answer, but had a stubborn need to hear it from him.

The radio calisthenics had reached their final cooling-down exercise. The classroom was quiet, with a light breeze lifting the corner of the light blue curtain. Sunlight, as if curious about the answer, eagerly slipped into the space occupied by just the two of them.

The clock’s second hand on the right side of the blackboard ticked steadily as always – one, two, three, four.

Jing Xichi looked at her without speaking.

He… had admitted it.

Huan’er couldn’t quite describe her feelings. It was like swimming back from the ocean – just as you’re about to stand up, a wave catches you from behind, and the sudden force pushes you onto the shore, mouth full of sand and salt water. She reflexively asked, “Why?”

“Why…” Jing Xichi repeated the question. Yes, everything has a why. Because they’d been in the same class all along? Because she had talent and wrote beautifully? Because she was pretty with a nice ponytail? Because she had a good personality and never truly got angry? Did these count as reasons? Were these why he liked her?

The question caught Jing Xichi off guard – before this, he had never thought about the reason.

“Kids don’t need so many whys.” He ruffled Chen Huan’er’s hair, her mushroom spikes fun to mess with.

Morning exercises ended, and the hallway grew noisy again.

Huan’er tidied her hair, “Do your best on these finals. No need to let Qi win – she has the ability.”

“I know.”

“Let me play with your new phone when you get it.”

“Making fun of me, huh?”

Huan’er thought of what Teacher Xu had just said – track selection was a watershed moment, competition would only get fiercer. But Jing Xichi’s current preoccupations would distract him. She felt inexplicably angry and worried, so she said, “Don’t you have a Plan B? What if you really can’t play soccer anymore?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized they were too harsh and quickly added, “I mean, just what if. Of course, I hope you become famous, succeed in everything, and reach life’s peak with endless wealth.”

“Oh, you little flatterer.” Jing Xichi messed up the mushroom hair again, smoothly avoiding the question.

He certainly knew about “what if,” but at the current he refused to make even the slightest preparation for that possibility – he feared that preparing for it would make it come true.

Qi Qi’s birthday fell on a Wednesday. Fifteen minutes before dismissal, Liao Xinyan stood at the podium, “Everyone, spare a few minutes. The school wants to show a video.”

USB plugged in, screen pulled down, lights off.

Qi Qi was still holding a grudge against the class monitor and didn’t even look up.

But in the next second, a voice rang out, “Qi Qi, happy birthday.”

Familiar faces began flashing across the screen. Someone said you write essays so well, heard you want to be a writer, it’s a heavy responsibility, keep going; someone said look everyone, this is the legendary luxury men’s room, Qi Qi, we even exposed our base just so you wouldn’t find out, don’t cry from emotion when you see this; others said next semester you’ll be in the liberal arts class and we’ll see less of each other, want to tell all the liberal arts brothers and sisters to come back and visit, Class Five’s doors are always open.

Huan’er said, my Qi, meeting you was my luck.

Song Cong said, Qi Qi, may you cut through thorns and build your tower high.

Jing Xichi said, happy birthday.

Everyone was saying happy birthday.

Qi Qi cried, and by the window, a girl also heading to the liberal arts class had red-rimmed eyes. Growing a year older, stepping closer to independent adulthood, choosing tracks and subjects, moving closer to brilliant dreams – yet at such a moment, someone cried.

They were laughing in the video, but in the classroom, they laughed through tears.

Sadness seemed to be the most contagious of all emotions. Thinking of growing up, of leaving, of grades that wouldn’t improve, of that person you’d never see again when you turned around – everyone seemed to have a reason to cry.

Director Fu’s voice came through the broadcast, “Class Five, Class Five, what are you doing? Quickly turn off the projector, class isn’t over yet, you know?”

A boy in the back directly covered the camera with his uniform. The youths shifted from crying to laughing, their revelry growing louder.

At sixteen or seventeen, they were learning to endure, not knowing it was a hundred times harder than those unsolvable physics problems.

Qi Qi wiped her tears and stood up, “Thank you, everyone, this is my most unforgettable birthday.”

Having lived just a small portion of life, naturally, everything was “most.” The best friends, the worst cafeteria food, the most anticipated gift, and the moments they most wanted to preserve.

Someone chimed in, “Qi Qi, are you choosing liberal arts?”

“Mm.” The girl sat down, nodding to the questioner. Despite all the reluctance, the reality was just like this – she couldn’t switch to another track because of her present attachments. That wouldn’t be rational, or mature.

In the future, Qi Qi thought, I will meet you all, and you, in a better place.

After class, when only two or three people remained in the classroom, Huan’er brought out the gift she’d hidden behind the storage cabinet all day, “This is from the three of us. You’ve always wanted to learn the ukulele, right? If not now, then later.”

Qi Qi was moved again, “Was the video your idea too?”

Huan’er looked at Jing Xichi, and seeing him nodding continuously at her, could only muster a mosquito-like “mm.”

Qi Qi hugged Huan’er tight, leaving a heavy kiss on her right cheek. Letting go, she wrapped her arms around Jing Xichi, saying “Thank you, thank you.” At the last moment, she gathered her courage to hug Song Cong – a light embrace between classmates, in friendship, with gratitude – saying “thank you.”

Huan’er rubbed her cheek, “That was my first kiss.”

Jing Xichi picked up Qi Qi’s backpack and tossed it out lightly, “Silly, only kissing on the lips counts as a first kiss.”