About those two days of the major exam, Chen Huan’er only remembers the rain.
Her father especially took leave to accompany them, driving both examinees and their mothers to the exam site that morning. Traffic police in golden-yellow uniforms appeared at every intersection, their faces unclear through the misty car windows. She asked Jing Qichi to recite a poem about rain. He recited one about four hundred and eighty temples of the Southern Dynasties. Mrs. Chen chimed in, saying there wasn’t even any rain in that one. Everyone laughed, and Huan’er secretly tugged at Jing Qichi’s uniform—see, this is why my literature scores are as poor as my mom’s.
The rain was heavier the second day, with windshield wipers swinging frantically in mechanical motion. Huan’er asked if they might test the law of conservation of energy, and he responded by asking her to recall the formula for calculating work. They were so nervous that every detail became a potential exam topic, like hidden clues from heaven—whoever discovered them might gain an advantage.
Fierce winds and sudden rain, torrential downpours, drizzling rain—there was rain on the way to and from the exam site, rain tapping on window frames during the test, and even when the sky finally cleared at the last stroke of the pen, it still felt like a light rain in their hearts. A lingering rain, reluctant to put a period on their farewell.
Afterward came sleep, sleeping through days and nights; watching TV, reversing day and night, and packing up books that were stacked almost as tall as a person. When the results came out, there was neither surprise nor shock. Like the vast majority of examinees, Chen Huan’er simply gave a satisfactory account of three years of hard study.
She filled in her college application for somewhere far away, requiring a day’s train journey. Her parents had no objections—Mrs. Chen optimistically predicted that high-speed rail would be connected before university graduation, while Mr. Chen joked that going separate ways would truly make their shadows cast as three. She had considered staying home to study, as local students had an absolute advantage in admission scores for equivalent universities; or perhaps going to the capital, where Song Cong would certainly be—news had spread throughout the hospital compound on results day that he never disappointed anyone, and transportation would be more convenient. After hesitation, she gave up these options. She wanted to go somewhere further to look around, to hear the ferries and see the Yangtze River, to experience the damp, soft soil and the red and blue minutiae of life described in songs. Moreover, in life, most situations involve being chosen; finally holding a token to choose in return, it would be a shame not to use it.
As for Jing Qichi, he had been quietly disappearing since finishing the exam. His mother said he locked himself in his room every day researching on the computer, nobody knew what he was secretly working on. Once when Huan’er went to his house to find him, his desk was cluttered with HTML and CSS reference books that looked intimidating just from their covers, while he sat in shorts typing away at the keyboard, the screen filled with dense symbols and words. Huan’er asked what he was doing, but he answered mysteriously without turning his head, saying to wait a few more days. This wait lasted until the scores came out. Huan’er knew he scored significantly higher than her, but when asked about schools, he was evasive. When she took advantage of his inattention to grab his application form, she only saw the words “Beijing” before it was snatched away. Jing Qichi said “Don’t look,” as if divulging heavenly secrets would prevent admission.
Chen Huan’er returned to her hometown in Sishui to rest and recuperate. Grandfather had planted several cherry tree saplings in the courtyard, their slender stems clinging tightly to the soil, like distant relatives paying a visit, shy and reserved. He said by the time his eldest granddaughter graduated from university, they would bear fruit. Huan’er smiled foolishly—in the elderly’s world, time always seemed to move faster, turning in an instant from autumn harvest to winter solstice, to another year, from children growing into adults. Her yet-to-begin university life was, in their eyes, merely the time from planting a tree to bearing fruit, passing in the blink of an eye, very quickly.
The ancients said one takes on the color of one’s company. After staying with the older generation for a while, Huan’er found herself becoming more peaceful and gentle. So when her mother called to inform her that the admission notice had arrived but her major had been adjusted to the pharmacy, she didn’t feel much turbulence. Unlike Song Cong, she hadn’t made early life plans. Accept what comes—medicine and pharmacy, still within the same big circle, like the circle Sun Wukong drew for Tang Sanzang; if you can’t get out, just enjoy yourself inside.
She joked with her mother, “This is perfect, you can send over all the difficult cases you can’t cure, and Dr. Chen will cure them with one pill.”
“You,” her mother laughed on the other end, “enjoy these few days while you can, you’ll have plenty to worry about once you start studying.”
Huan’er rushed to end the call, “Got to go, I need to tell Dad quickly.”
“Wait,” Mrs. Chen stopped her, “Qichi is going to the same school as you, you can look after each other, Lin auntie and I are both relieved.”
Now Huan’er was confused, “How did he…”
Jing Qichi was supposed to go to Beijing. No, wrong—with his extra points and such a score, he could choose an even better place.
“Yes, his admission notice arrived this morning, your Aunt Lin can finally relax.” Mrs. Chen chattered on, “How strange, same school same location but delivered separately. At the time I thought, since others had arrived but yours hadn’t, it definitely wouldn’t work out, if you really ended up studying at home we’d have to take care of you for four more years…”
“Mom,” Huan’er interrupted, “did you know earlier that he was going to the same school as me?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Chen said matter-of-factly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What was there to tell? You two had already arranged it.” Mrs. Chen’s voice carried a smile, and then she quickly hung up, “I have another call coming in, tell your dad yourself.”
Arranged it? Nothing of the sort.
Jing Qichi must have told them this, while she had assumed he was going to Beijing and never asked.
Huan’er thought about it for an entire afternoon. A thought fell into her heart like a seed, taking root and growing into vines that made her itchy and restless, unable to find peace. By evening, she couldn’t help but call Jing Qichi, but when he answered, she was at a loss for words. The silence made the vines grow more wild, wrapping around her entire heart until it contracted, with nowhere to retreat.
“About the school?” Jing Qichi asked first.
“Mm.”
“Auntie told you?”
“Yes.”
“When are you coming back?”
“Before school starts.”
He laughed, “That’s too long.”
Huan’er gripped the phone tightly, “Jing Qichi, why did you choose to go to the same school as me?”
Grandmother hadn’t turned off the faucet properly before going for a walk, and she could hear water drops hitting the ceramic basin.
Drip, drip.
Only this sound.
After a long while, a smiling counter-question came from the other end, “Why do you think?”
He wanted to continue speaking. Huan’er even heard the beginning syllables of what would come next, but she inexplicably interrupted, “Don’t say it. Don’t.”
The other end fell quiet; she knew Jing Qichi was waiting for an explanation.
“Because…” Huan’er’s heart raced, her palms inexplicably sweaty, “Because I’m not sure, not sure about anything.”
She pressed the end call button right after speaking.
And he didn’t call back.
Two days later, Jing Qichi messaged asking if she was going to the teacher appreciation dinner. Liao Xinyan had already announced the time and place in the group chat and had privately messaged Huan’er insisting she must come. So Huan’er replied “Going,” and another message came: “Then let’s go together later.”
Standard dialogue, questions, and answers showing no emotion, that phone call that had almost crossed a line along with that afternoon full of thoughts seemed to have been forgotten by those involved, or perhaps it was just an imagined scenario that had never actually happened in reality.
About thirty people came to the teacher appreciation dinner. Some were going traveling, some going abroad to visit relatives, and others single-mindedly preparing to repeat the year. Some joys couldn’t be shared; forcing them would become high-handed showing off.
The main character, Teacher Xu, attended in casual sportswear. Whether because this class had yielded abundant results or because he was about to lead a new batch of tenth graders with half the pressure, after drinking halfway through, he actually started complaining, “I know you all privately call me Yu Chengze, good grief, you even took away my double-person radical. How could you do well in exams with me releasing the light of humanity every day?”
Everyone pounded the tables and bowls, erupting in laughter.
“I often say these are the most important three years of your life, but actually they’re not, or probably won’t be the most important.” Teacher Xu took a drink, “Your lives are still very long. I just hope that when you’re my age and look back, you’ll think, oh, that was a worthwhile time that I can be proud of—that’s enough.”
People are multifaceted; perhaps it takes thousands of days and nights to see another side of someone. Not all concealment is hypocrisy; whether due to duty, morality, or more distant pursuits, who can say?
Teacher Xu accepted every toast, seemingly determined to enjoy it with everyone, his face turning completely red after one round. Several boys sent him off first, and as soon as he left, the private room became even noisier. Classmates began switching seats to talk about little things that had happened, or bumping heads and glasses while speaking farewells and sending blessings. Du Man came over from another table and nudged Huan’er, who shifted to make room on half a chair. She squeezed in, her index finger circling the rim of her glass, “Did you… not know that I live in the same compound as you?”
Huan’er looked at her in surprise and shook her head.
“My home is also in the Third Hospital staff quarters, in the building at the very edge past the main gate.” Du Man smiled slightly, “I barely count as staff family too.”
“Why are you only telling me now?” Huan’er felt somewhat dejected, “We could have gone back together on weekends.”
“Me and you, and Song Cong and Jing Qichi, we’re not quite the same.” Du Man’s voice lowered, “You know that small shop beside the emergency entrance? My mom rents that. My dad used to drive trucks at the factory, but when the factory went under last year, my mom pulled some strings to get him a job driving ambulances, as a temporary worker.”
Huan’er responded quietly, “What’s different about that? You’re even a double-working family.”
Only then did she notice that Du Man’s pupils were an exotic deep brown, with thick eyebrows and eyelashes, the black-framed glasses truly hiding the girl’s originally intense and lovely features.
“Just…” Du Man tugged at the corner of her mouth, “felt a bit embarrassed, I guess.”
Huan’er nudged her, “Your parents are going to be genuine staff members now.”
Du Man was going to study at Capital Medical University; she had turned her obsession into reality.
“Huan’er,” the girl became somewhat emotional at this point, “that time when I had stomach problems and you went to the medical office to buy medicine for me, didn’t you fall on your way back?”
Chen Huan’er would never admit to such an embarrassing incident, “Impossible, I’ve trained my lower body.”
She had long forgotten about buying medicine for Du Man.
“Anyway, I decided then that I must properly thank you after graduation.” Du Man remembered it was when warmth was just returning but cold still lingered, when the ice in the campus hadn’t completely melted, and her deskmate had returned breathlessly holding medicine, with muddy water on the knees of her uniform pants.
“Why wait until after graduation?”
Du Man tilted her head and smiled, “I told myself not to make new friends, because having friends creates the desire to talk, and I couldn’t afford that distraction.”
Her gaze was sincere and open, seeming to have known the outcome of her choice from the beginning. Huan’er had no right and no desire to question the right or wrong of this choice, only feeling that she had been too subjective. This deskmate had appeared in her eyes as just a bookworm buried in studies without any joy, never imagining that the other person also had a rich inner world and had used such great willpower to forcibly make herself appear as she did.
Lack of understanding was just an excuse; not wanting to understand was the root cause.
As the two were talking, there was a commotion behind them, and a clear voice rose above all the laughter, distinct and clear:
“Jing Qichi, I like you. I like you.”