For the next three days, Chen Huan’er became everyone’s favorite, constantly surrounded, with Qi Qi and Liao Xinyan sticking to her as if they couldn’t even go to the bathroom alone. Knowing the monitor’s secret feelings made everything crystal clear upon observation – like how Liao Xinyan would talk to Song Cong but always used “you all” in her questions; how someone would complain about the heat and suddenly everyone would benefit from ice cream; or how at some point she had given that mosquito repellent to the equally mosquito-favored Jing Xichi, rejoicing for ages over a simple “thanks.” Chen Huan’er felt like an escape room designer who knew all the clues and passwords but had to stay silent while watching players wander inside – sometimes anxiously waiting, sometimes finding it amusing, but most often feeling helpless about that wooden head – if only he’d think a little harder and figure it out.

On the return bus, Huan’er felt car sick. While searching for motion sickness pills, Song Cong found the mosquito repellent and raised an eyebrow at Jing Xichi – this guy was always leaving his things in others’ bags.

Jing Xichi glanced back and jerked his head backward, “It’s the monitor’s.”

“Liao Xinyan!” Song Cong called out and tossed it back, completely missing Qi Qi’s extremely dark expression in the rear.

How did her mosquito repellent end up with Song Cong? This monitor sure knew how to curry favor using others’ gifts.

She unconsciously let out a “hmph,” quickly turning to the window to hide her feelings.

Song Cong passed both medicine and water to Huan’er sitting behind him, watching her take it and asking, “Should we ask the teacher to make a stop?”

“No need.” Huan’er waved her pale face dismissively.

Jing Xichi propped one leg on his seat, turning around to talk while hugging the backrest, “Let me tell you something that’ll cure your carsickness.”

Huan’er, feeling sick to her stomach, squeezed out one word with half-closed eyes, “What?”

“Song Cong’s going to apply to Peking University.”

Even Liao Xinyan, sitting a row away, laughed at this.

He was the only one in the world who thought this was news.

Huan’er rolled her eyes, “What else?”

Weiming Lake, Boya Tower, Flower God Temple, the statues of Cai Yuanpei and Li Dazhao – things that had existed only in pictures were now seen and touched in person. While they represented aspirational dreams for others, for Song Cong they seemed more like a reinforcement of his determination.

Jing Xichi continued, “I might make it into the Sports University so that just leaves you – let’s all go to Beijing.”

“Me?” The girl tugged at the corner of her mouth, “Tsinghua… wouldn’t be bad either.”

“Chen Huan’er, you really,” Jing Xichi exasperatedly poked her forehead, “What are you, a balloon? Getting inflated to the sky!”

Huan’er knocked his hand away and crossed her arms to rest.

Only unreachable things could be joked about – everyone was like this, increasingly so as they grew older.

That summer, Huan’er only spent a week back in Sishui. When leaving, she hugged her grandparents with an urge to cry. Sishui was childhood, a paradise, a life without worrying about the future, but now she was gradually growing distant from it and them. Farewells seemed to follow some natural law, like her developing chest, increasing height, and maturing mind – happening imperceptibly and leaving no room for resistance.

No one truly learns how to say goodbye; we only learn to respect the natural order of things.

After school started, ten students left the class, and twelve new ones joined. The liberal arts classes were all held in the original experimental building, separated from the science classes in the main building by the faculty office area. Huan’er had calculated: if she ran out as soon as the bell rang, went down three floors, crossed the administration building’s garden, and up two floors to reach Qi Qi’s classroom, she could probably exchange five sentences before rushing back without being late. This assumed Qi Qi had no extra activities like using the bathroom, getting water, or discussing questions, and even put strict limits on speaking speed and sentence length. In short, they could barely meet during class breaks.

Then, lunch and dinner times also fell out of sync. Extended classes, quizzes, class meetings, make-up homework – there were always things more important than eating together.

The only thing preserved was going home together after school, that ten-minute drive seeming like a final resistance against separation.

Her new deskmate was named Du Man, long-faced with glasses, who remained silent and buried in books most of the time except for asking a few basic questions about teachers on the first day. What left the deepest impression on Huan’er was Du Man’s right hand’s ring and little fingers, where there was always a black or blue stain from touching wet ink, like some kind of wordless statement.

Du Man lived in the school dorms, going home once a week. One Saturday, when Huan’er was sent by her mother to buy garlic at the supermarket in front of their compound, she saw a father and daughter walking ahead. The girl wore skinny jeans and a plaid shirt, her hair tied in a small brush at the back of her head, her silhouette somewhat resembling Du Man. Since everyone usually wore loose school uniforms, she wasn’t sure if that slim, tall figure belonged to her deskmate, and being far away, she didn’t call out. At home, she mentioned this to her mother, casually inquiring if there were any doctors named Du in the hospital with children around her age. Chen Mama thought for a moment and shook her head, “Most kids at Tianhe went to that summer camp, except for a few in their final year… Come on, you three parade around here like you own the place, if they lived here they would’ve said hello to you by now.”

That made sense. Besides, who would live in the dorms if home was so close? Huan’er didn’t investigate further.

There’s actually quite a distance between classmates and friends, crossing it takes time and communication, and this opportunity cost is essentially a two-way choice. Needless to say, the college entrance exam has no questions about friendship, and never will.

For this season’s sports meet, Jing Xichi put considerable effort into investigating other classes’ registrations, then arranged their lineup based on Tian Ji’s horse racing strategy, leading Class Five to absolute victory. While pleased, Teacher Xu gave him a thorough scolding: “Why can’t you use that brain for studying? You can’t even write the character ‘ji’ from Tian Ji!” Whether finally moved by constant scolding or inspired by the summer camp visit, one time after freeloading dinner and notebook use at Huan’er’s place, the webpage he opened was the Sports University’s historical admission score lines. This behavior was so shocking that Huan’er quickly took a photo to commemorate, and even the usually calm Song Cong asked more seriously than usual, “Really going to try?”

“Want to give it a shot.” Jing Xichi looked at them both. “You guys have it easy, such a big city with so many schools, good ones and average ones, all kinds of choices. But me… I’m afraid I won’t get into any school.”

In the most recent monthly test, Jing Xichi ranked third from last in the class.

“It won’t be that bad.” Huan’er teased him, “If you can’t get in anywhere, you can work in the city, and we’ll support you.”

Jing Xichi grabbed a cushion and threw it at her; Huan’er dodged nimbly. Just as she was about to throw it back, Song Cong blocked her, “How old are you two?”

“The professional subjects aren’t a big problem, and my training condition is better than before. But these cultural subjects… they’re killing me.”

Setting your heart on one school is like falling for someone – the filter gets thicker and thicker until everything about it looks good, and as for others, no matter how good they are, they’re just substitutes.

Song Cong pondered for a moment, “Chinese and English require time for memorization, don’t look for patterns, just memorize first. Biology just started, shouldn’t be a problem if you can keep up now. As for other subjects… see which one you want to start making up first.”

The implication was clear: you decide, I’m ready anytime.

“Math, math has the most points.”

“Okay.”

Huan’er threw the cushion back, “Jing Xichi, I’m lending you, my private tutor, remember this favor.”

“I’m lending him to you, you heartless thing.” Jing Xichi rubbed his shoulder, “What did you throw, nitroglycerin? Always so much force.”

“Want me to throw some cyanide instead?”

“Then I’ll drink some hydrogen peroxide.”

Huan’er and Song Cong stared at each other in surprise, then laughed, “Not bad, you even remember chemical equations.”

“Can’t I save myself?” Jing Xichi showed deep disdain for their astonishment, “Besides, doesn’t everyone have a doctor at home?”

“My Dream” was an essay topic they’d written about since childhood. It was like a downward curve, mentioned less and less, until finally people could neither write nor speak about it. Adults are far less brave than children – they care about face, fear embarrassment, and know too much about honor and shame, so they keep more and more things in their hearts, living increasingly lonely lives. At the middle of this curve, at some point between bravery and loneliness, dreams would don a coat and be conveyed to close friends. That was the age of fearlessness about the future yet just beginning to understand the need to be practical, the age of slight arrogance yet able to withstand mockery, the age of striving toward maturity while constantly revealing childishness.

Yes, it was the age of contradictions, the best age that you start missing as soon as it’s passed.