The house was pitch black. Only then did Huaner remember her mother was working the night shift.

There was a three-delicacy egg custard on the table, still warm to the touch. She took one bite but found it tasteless. So she poured the whole bowl into a lunch box and put it in the refrigerator—that would take care of tomorrow’s lunch.

Troubled and restless, unable to focus on reading or homework, Huaner paced several circles in the empty house before changing into workout clothes and heading out for a run.

A habit from childhood: when tense, sleepless, or troubled, five kilometers would solve everything.

Being a city person was truly frustrating. If she were still in Shui, she’d probably be asleep by now. The next day she would wake up refreshed, organize everyone for morning self-study, attentively listen and actively answer questions in class, joke around with her deskmate during breaks, go to the cafeteria with four or five friends for a bowl of noodles with sauce—every day passing happily and joyfully.

People are only dissatisfied with the present when they miss the past, and only long for the future when they’re dissatisfied with the past.

At this moment she only had nostalgia, no longing.

The only difference was, that if she were still in that small county, she wouldn’t be thinking about Tianzhong.

Wouldn’t even think about it.

Gaining this, losing that—she seemed to have grasped a tiny bit of life’s meaning.

The phone rang at this moment. Chen Huaner stopped, saw it was a familiar contact, and casually answered.

Hearing the rapid breathing on the other end, Jing Xichi first made an “eh” sound, then asked, “Are you self-torturing?”

“Running.” She wasn’t in the mood to banter, “What’s up?”

“Oh, well,” Jing Xichi hemmed and hawed, “Came back and heard from my mom that auntie’s on night shift, aren’t you home alone…”

Chen Huaner understood—this was a well-intentioned concern call. She gave a light laugh, “Yeah, I’m under the hospital building, looking at the roof—good height, nice and spacious.”

Jing Xichi also laughed, “Wait a bit before jumping, let me tell my dad first, have them prepare for rescue.”

Huaner had run outside the compound. In her view was a neat array of dark red buildings, at this prime evening hour almost every window emanating a warm glow. She suddenly felt melancholy and said softly, “Thanks.”

It wasn’t too bad after all, at least she still had friends who cared about her.

Thinking of this, she asked, “By the way, why did you go back to school just now?”

“Damn!” Jing Xichi exclaimed, “Qi Qi took your physics workbook, and told me to return it to you. The homework, it’s being covered tomorrow.”

Hearing this, Huaner turned and ran back, “I’m heading home now, see you in a bit.”

Even the biggest issues meant nothing in the face of physics homework. Because their physics teacher was a demon who would stare unblinkingly at students for three hours without eating or drinking until the homework was completed.

Jing Xichi waited at the building entrance. Seeing Huaner appear, he stepped forward to meet her, “If you can’t finish, just copy for now—get some sleep early.”

He had brought his homework along too.

Huaner thanked him, took the workbook, and told him, “I’m fine.”

“I was impulsive today too.” The boy rubbed his neck, “Lost control when I got angry, made a big deal out of something small.”

In the few minutes walking from home, he had suddenly realized the consequences. It wasn’t about himself being pointed at or lectured by the director—what people say is frightening, but after this incident Chen Huaner would inevitably become a target, with all the previous behind-the-back gossip placed squarely in front of her. He was afraid she couldn’t bear it.

He only blamed himself for letting anger get the better of him—there were plenty of ways to handle it by holding back for a moment, yet he had chosen the worst option of confrontation.

“You weren’t wrong.” Huaner’s lips twitched in a smile, “If someone talked about you like that behind your back, I would stand up for you too. And I’d be even more impressive—I’d make them search for their teeth on the ground and kneel calling me grandma.”

“Alright, grandmother,” Jing Xichi laughed, “You’re number one in the universe at boasting.”

“A bit exaggerated, but…” Huaner looked at him, “You weren’t wrong. I’m mentally prepared for what comes after, I don’t care.”

“Okay, you’re the strongest.” Jing Xichi patted her head, taking on the air of seeing things through to the end, “Still running?”

“Hm?”

“I’ll go with you for a bit.” He quickly added, “Safer with two people, anyway I need to train too.”

Huaner waved her hand, “I can’t keep up with you.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Jing Xichi gave a half-smile, “Big brother will wait for you.”

“Get lost.” Huaner raised the workbook above her head, turning back to the building, “No more running, going home to copy homework.”

Jing Xichi called after her, “Call me for night runs in the future, you hear?”

Huaner smiled, making an “OK” gesture at the back of her head.

How strange that he seemed to be paying for the trouble caused because of Song Cong.

At least this long and difficult day was finally over.

The school’s closed, concentrated, and monotonous environment was a breeding ground for the rapid spread of topics, and teenagers in puberty didn’t yet understand the meaning of exaggeration. One person’s subjective guess became factual “I heard” in the next person’s ears, and each person arbitrarily added small descriptive words accumulated like sand into a tower. They worked together playing righteous Fa Hai, with Chen Huaner, the person involved, suppressed at the bottom of the tower, powerless to fight back.

Finally, even Qi Qi couldn’t help but ask, “Did you write a love letter to Song Cong?”

That was during morning self-study two weeks later, surrounding classmates covering their ears to recite, the classroom buzzing chaos.

The countdown was written in yellow chalk on the right side of the blackboard, a vertical line of small characters, today’s number not yet reduced, like a kind of self-deception everyone understood.

Chen Huaner raised her head, instinctively looking first at the number on the blackboard before her gaze fell on Qi Qi’s face, “I’d need that ability first.”

In front of her lay the Chinese practice test, the essay only getting half points. The teacher’s red-ink comments read: Seriously off-topic, words fail to express meaning.

She didn’t blame Qi Qi at all. Versions of the story were flying everywhere, it should have been asked long ago—she didn’t know why the other had held back until now.

Qi half-turned her body, one arm draped over, using a book to block surrounding views as she whispered, “People who don’t know might think you’re pursuing Song Cong.”

She stared at her friend without blinking, feeling similar to waiting for test results.

A bit nervous, a bit flustered, and a bit expectant.

However, Chen Huaner was currently wrestling with her off-topic essay, completely unaware of Qi Qi’s thoughts. She wrote furiously while snorting a laugh in response, “I’m not blind.”

“Why not? Song Cong is pretty good.”

“Good, good, good, fine, let’s say I’m blind then.”

“Hehe.” Qi Qi gave a secret laugh, but immediately controlled her expression, feeling she’d been too obvious. She knocked on the desk, “Use more parallel sentences in essays and more quotations, these are all bonus points.”

This time Huaner raised her head, in a pleading tone, “How can I stop going off-topic?”

It wasn’t the first time. While other subject scores were becoming stable, those good test results all came from high essay scores.

Qi Qi looked aggrieved, “How does one even write off-topic?”

Well, fifty-kilogram class versus eighty-kilogram class, completely different leagues.

Whisper time ended. Chen Huaner wrote several lines with her head down, then suddenly remembered and tapped Qi Qi’s back, “Don’t tell Song Cong.”

“Relax, this lady doesn’t do things that trouble people.” Qi leaned her body half backward, “But Song Cong’s class is really amazing, such a big commotion and they’re all completely deaf to outside matters.”

Huaner put down her pen, “Their class must be one hundred percent going to Tianzhong, right?”

“Tianzhong? You don’t understand the situation.” Qi Qi shook her head while educating, “Their class competes for city-wide rankings—the top ten in the city get into Tianzhong’s Olympic class without testing, Tianzhong Olympic class equals Tsinghua, Peking, Renmin, Fudan—”

Small-town girl Chen Huaner was shocked once again.

No matter how legendary Fast Class 1 was, she had always been indifferent to this special group. They were like creatures from another world, each with their trajectory, not interfering with each other. But at this moment she was incredibly envious of the people there, envious to the point of almost jealousy, almost resentment at the world’s unfairness—what she looked up to, what she had to jump with all her might just to touch, was merely a small springboard for others. What hurt her even more was that springboards only existed for those who knew exactly where they were jumping to.

The taste of catching up wasn’t pleasant, and on this sunny morning, Chen Huaner seemed to see the destiny she had been chasing.

She suddenly felt very sad. She even began to hypothesize: What if I hadn’t been born in Shui?

If I had the same starting line as them, would I be sitting in that top-floor classroom now? If I raised my head then, what kind of vast, bright future would I see?

Qi Qi waved her hand in front of her, “What are you spacing out about?”

The morning self-study end bell rang. Some tilted their heads to catch up on sleep, some got up to fetch hot water, and two or three gathered to chat. During break time, the classroom instead became quiet.

“Nothing.” Huaner shook her head, then asked her companion, “What do you want to do in the future? I mean after we don’t need to study anymore.”

“I want to be a writer.” After saying this, Qi Qi seemed to amuse herself, “In the future when my kid takes tests with reading comprehension, ha, it’ll all be written by their mom.”

Jing Xichi heard and came over, “That’s the most vicious wish I’ve ever heard.”

Qi Qi picked up her book to hit him, and he grabbed it, deliberately teasing and not letting go.

“What about you?” Huaner took the opportunity to ask, “Play soccer?”

He suddenly let go, and Qi Qi, still using force, tilted backward, while the boy smirked but instinctively grabbed her arm, casually answering the question, “Probably.”

Huaner paid no attention to their horseplay, continuing to ask, “What does Song Cong want to do?”

“Old Song?” Jing Xichi noticed both girls staring at him and shrugged dismissively, “He doesn’t want to do whatever whatever yet. Why don’t you ask him directly after school?”

Chen Huaner’s mood hit rock bottom. Forget Fast Class 1, even the good friends she hung out with every day had their own ideas—was it really because she was born in a small place that her horizons were so narrow?

But she immediately despised herself. Shui was her hometown that had given her so many beautiful memories, how had she become an ungrateful white-eyed wolf blaming her origins?

Jing Xichi and Qi Qi exchanged glances, both thinking her silence was due to Song Cong reminding her of the unfinished storm.

Qi Qi pinched her nose, “Don’t think about it, walk your path and let others talk.”

Huaner’s eyes swept over both of them, knowing they misunderstood but not knowing how to explain, she could only nod.

The class bell rang, and everyone in the classroom returned to their seats.

The English teacher stood at the podium, “Take out yesterday’s homework, first section multiple-choice, who has questions?”

Someone raised their hand, “Teacher, number five.”

“This tests relative clauses.” The teacher turned to write on the board, then noticed the countdown days in the corner of the blackboard, took an eraser to erase it, and wrote a new number. “Let’s review relative clauses…”

A new day had begun.

A paper ball flew onto Huaner’s desk. She turned to look behind her, Jing Xichi glancing at the teacher while raising his eyebrows to signal her to open it.

Just three words—Don’t think much.

She knew his meaning, and picked up her pen to write back, “Won’t.”

The teacher kept lecturing to the class, there was no chance to send the message back.

So Huaner casually tucked the note between the pages of a book, secretly tapping her chair rhythmically twice in his direction.

No, will.

She knew Jing Xichi would receive it.