After the first monthly exam following the start of school, Jing Qichi’s science composite score jumped to the front of the class, with his total score showing marked improvement. Meanwhile, the books on his desk changed to English, and every morning during self-study, one would unfailingly see him reciting English vocabulary.

Jing’s mother said he spent the entire winter break studying chemistry day and night, completing three whole workbooks.

Entering the comprehensive review phase, classes became a cycle of solving and discussing problems. He rarely listened to lectures anymore; when subject teachers got angry, he would obediently pay attention, only to return to his books afterward. He seldom spoke, rarely looked at the playground, and rarely completed assignments. Several times during Teacher Xu’s class, he worked on math problems, and Teacher Xu would only tap his desk as a reminder, neither criticizing nor prohibiting it. Jing Qichi later told Huan’er this was an agreement he had reached with Teacher Xu.

“There’s too much to catch up on, I can only tackle one subject at a time,” he had his plan, methodically executing it, and once his stubborn streak emerged, no one could control him. When he said this, his tone carried neither discouragement nor anxiety, like a weather forecaster stating facts without any emotional coloring.

Adversity changes a person. Those disasters that descend from the heavens might cause an originally pure and kind heart to fill with anxiety and dissatisfaction, leading to conflict with everyone and enmity with the whole world. Or perhaps they might be interpreted as five parts motivation and five parts persistence, ultimately becoming catalysts for maturity, shaping an entirely new, resilient, and steady soul. Fortunately, Jing Qichi was the latter.

Only those who understand gratitude and cherish what they have become the latter.

That day, Huan’er could no longer solve the problem he asked about. After about half an hour, he listed all the steps on scratch paper and pushed it over, saying, “It should be like this.”

The formulas and algorithms were crystal clear, with the answer emerging from the solver’s thought process.

Chen Huan’er felt a sense of being overwhelmed.

She wouldn’t admit that boys had more aptitude for science, but she had to acknowledge that Jing Qichi learned things much faster than her.

Of course, it wasn’t like Song Cong’s exceptional intelligence where one look yielded ten insights. Jing Qichi would study example problems and analyze thought processes; he showed more aptitude in quickly grasping and integrating concepts. Or perhaps with the pressure in his heart, using all the energy from the past dozen years at once, he possessed more strength than ever before.

That day, Jing’s mother was on night shift, and after evening self-study, Jing Qichi came directly over for a late-night snack. Mrs. Chen quickly served two bowls of wontons, sitting beside them with her chin propped on her hand, smiling as she watched the two high school seniors wolf down their food. “Eat slowly, there’s no rush.”

“There is,” Huan’er pointed at the boy across from her with her chopsticks. “Mom, you don’t know, he’s like he’s on steroids every day.”

Mrs. Chen smiled, “At this rate, Qichi could get into medical school, that wouldn’t be bad.”

Huan’er agreed, “Right, he could be your assistant in your department.”

“What’s wrong with our department?” Dr. Qian was greatly displeased. “The young interns this year are all better than the last, much less troublesome than you. Such ignorant prejudice.”

“See my mom?” Huan’er tapped the bowl of the person eating quietly beside her. “Not even her son, yet she’s eager to push him into the pit.”

Seeing Jing Qichi’s rare smile, Mrs. Chen felt a pang of sympathy, and her tone became much gentler, “Your mom used to always worry about you not studying, now that you’re working hard and studying intensely, she’s still worried. When we were in medical school, she lived upstairs from me. Goodness, when she heard there was a fellow townsman among the junior students, she acted like a big sister, practically wanting to bring me hot water. Now that she’s become a parent, she doesn’t know how to be one.”

“Auntie,” Jing Qichi put down his bowl, “my mom hasn’t gotten over it yet, please take care of her.”

“You silly boy, being so formal now.” Mrs. Chen reached out to pat his head, “My relationship with your mom isn’t something you need to worry about.” After a pause, she continued, “Qichi, you need to believe your mom is a person with resilience who can handle things, she’s not as fragile as you imagine. Communicate more with her about everything; the more you keep to yourself, the more worried she’ll be.”

“Yes.” Jing Qichi nodded.

Mrs. Chen asked further, “Do you have a goal with all this studying?”

At this, he fell silent, instead using his chopsticks to point at the girl across from him.

Huan’er immediately countered, “Dream on.”

Though he improved each time, Huan’er’s overall grades were now in the top tier of their grade.

“Give me two more exams,” he answered, with no trace of joking in his expression.

His expression, tone, and choice of words somehow provoked Huan’er; she suddenly felt she needed to work harder, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to keep up with his pace in the future.

Jing Qichi would not stop at this.

After dinner, they both returned to the room to study. Huan’er fell asleep sprawled on the desk, and when she woke up, it was already two in the morning. A fleece blanket was draped over her, and beside her were half-finished math problems, her phone, and a schoolbag, but he was gone.

Her heart skipped a beat. The house was pitch black, and her mother was sound asleep. After searching the living room, kitchen, and bathroom, she grabbed her keys without even changing her shoes and ran out the door.

The night was as cold as a hospital morgue. Only two or three households still had lights on, there was no one around, and no clues to be found.

She ran towards the hospital direction from the building entrance, and just as she stepped onto the compound’s main road, she heard a voice, “Huan’er.”

Standing still, she saw Jing Qichi in the distance, holding a book and walking towards her.

For a moment, she felt immense relief. But immediately after, inexplicable anger surged forth. She walked a few steps towards him and demanded, “Why didn’t you say anything before going out?”

In the silent night, her voice seemed particularly jarring.

Jing Qichi was stunned for a moment, waving the thing in his hand, “I just went home to get a reference book, I took your aunt’s keys, saw you were asleep so…”

“Then why didn’t you just go straight back!” Huan’er berated him harshly, “Pack up your things and leave directly, and bring your phone, don’t you know!”

“I forgot…”

He had forgotten. Writing halfway, he got stuck and remembered he had had similar problems before, so he hurriedly went to look for it, thinking he’d come back to continue. Jing Qichi looked at her appearance – her hair was messy from just waking up, wearing her school uniform with slippers on her feet. His heart softened, “I’m sorry.”

He knew she was afraid he would do something foolish again.

But Chen Huan’er, I won’t anymore.

Huan’er’s anger hadn’t subsided, her hands tightly gripping her pant legs, “When I opened my eyes and you weren’t there, you know I… I…”

Jing Qichi suddenly pulled her into his arms, “I’m sorry.”

A comforting embrace that wasn’t quite an embrace.

Chen Huan’er pressed against his chest, hearing his heartbeat through the school uniform. The vigorous heartbeat of an adolescent of the opposite sex.

The feeling of fear lingered, intertwining with this rhythm making everything beautifully unreal. Like a fairy tale dream built before bedtime as a child, afraid that waking would lose the beloved prince and princess.

Huan’er’s body was still tense, she said quietly, “You must report in before going out in the future.”

“Yes.”

“Phone calls, text messages, or notes are all fine.”

“Okay.”

“Jing Qichi,” she gradually relaxed, “I was terrified.”

“I promise you,” the boy released her and pinched her nose, “I won’t do it again.”

Only then did Huan’er truly feel relieved, taking the book from his hand, “What problem was it?”

“Let’s go up and talk about it,” Jing Qichi steadied her shoulders and made her turn around, “It’s cold.”

If the loss were a bet, Chen Huan’er would choose to forfeit at the very beginning.

She couldn’t afford to gamble.

Day after day, each day repeating. Endless poems, vocabulary, and equations to memorize, endless test papers, homework, and practice problems to complete. Occasionally during self-study, looking up, those faces buried in books seemed unfamiliar. When her head was splitting with pain, Huan’er had thoughts of throwing down her pen and giving up completely – why torment oneself on this single narrow bridge in this wonderful world? But turning to glance at Jing Qichi immediately dispelled such thoughts; if he could persist, why couldn’t she?

Support and encouragement were mutual, as were competitiveness and unwillingness to yield.

Bedtime stabilized at midnight, occasionally writing past that allowed them to witness the sunrise. The countdown calendar was hung up, the hundred-day oath-taking ceremony was held, the coffee aroma in the classroom grew heavier, and the endpoint that once seemed endless began to emerge faintly. Parents said persistence is victory, teachers said patience brings reward, while those involved sometimes felt confident, and felt lost as they held their warm time.

In the second mock exam in early April, Jing Qichi ranked one place higher than Huan’er, at 107th in the grade.

One monthly exam, one mock exam, completely validating what he said about needing two more exams.

Within Class 5, there was only a slight shock. Everyone had noticed that since the end of last semester, Jing Qichi had become a learning machine, silently opposing all teachers, with his scores steadily rising – he was no longer the same student who excelled in specialized subjects. But there was quite a stir throughout the grade level. No one had seen the gradual progression from 800 to 500 to 200, nor had anyone seen the thick stack of draft paper in his desk drawer and the used-up pen refills. He was an unexpected dark horse rising to prominence.

Jing Qichi became a legendary figure at Tianzhong just before graduation.

Legends always carry many stories. Lower-grade students looked at the name on the ranking board with sudden realization – wasn’t this the captain who led Tianzhong to third place in the football league that the PE teacher always mentioned? An even more interesting version was that he and the original top student in the grade were inseparable friends, and after the other transferred schools, he transformed his grief into strength and began his unstoppable rise.

Groups of onlookers began appearing at the back door of the classroom. Brave young girls would call out “Good luck, senior” with blushing faces, while the more shy ones would leave drinks and chocolates on his desk when he wasn’t around. Jing Qichi mostly responded with a smile and gave all the food to Huan’er and Du Man, maintaining the appearance of one who had renounced worldly affairs. However, Liao Xinyan secretly complained to Huan’er, “Each batch is bolder than the last.”

She seemed to have no intention of confessing either. Sometimes Huan’er felt she was very similar to Jing’s mother, with a child coming of age, her words carried a motherly love throughout.

Of course, she didn’t dare ask – disturbing military morale during special times was taboo.

On the way home, Huan’er spoke about these rumors with a smile, accompanied by sighs from the depths of her soul, “I am a lucky clover, you all are so fortunate to have met me.”

Jing Qichi ignored her, “Old Song is going to Peking University Medical School, have you decided?”

Song Cong had always been stable; he certainly could go to the top university.

Huan’er shook her head, “Anyway, when the time comes, we’ll part ways, don’t miss me too much, you two.”

“Chen Huan’er, you and I both need to push a bit harder.”

“Still not enough?”

She had stabilized around the hundredth place, and not to mention there were key universities right in Tianhe, at this rate she was sure to get into a good first-tier university.

“Not enough.” Jing Qichi pondered for a moment, “We need ten more points.”

“Why ten points?”

“Never mind that just remember it.”

Because I can score ten more points because I know what I want.