◎Twilight Sky◎

Chun Zao had expected Yuan Ye to laugh.

But she hadn’t expected him to send two thumbs-up emojis in response. This kind of chat style, which was a permanent resident of family WeChat groups, seemed somewhat out of place coming from Yuan Ye, making it difficult to tell whether it was praise or mockery.

Chun Zao could only reply with an “awkward but polite smile” emoji pack—one she had secretly saved from Tong Yue.

Yuan Ye didn’t end their chat there, asking again: Do you hate school that much?

Chun Zao thought for a moment: I wouldn’t say I hate it.

That feeling was hard to describe.

Not quite worthy of liking, not quite reaching the level of hatred.

It was just that ever since she had developed the concept of studying, school had always been more like a protective shell for her, used to ward off external disturbances. The process of learning was continuously widening and thickening that shell, weaving together more security while also sealing herself off—it wasn’t that she hadn’t tried to open skylights for herself, but usually what waited for her behind those windows were Chun Chuzhen’s eyes, like an abyss gazing back.

Stable grades had given her the ability to be immune to all harm, but they had also made her surroundings airtight.

Studying was like using a rock climbing tool that wasn’t quite handy—her palms repeatedly developing calluses and pain, but suspended halfway up the mountain, she had no other choice.

Either keep climbing, or fall ten thousand feet.

How could she willingly retreat to the valley floor? Everyone knew the best scenery was at the summit.

She didn’t believe Yuan Ye could understand this.

So she asked him in return: Do you like school?

Yuan Ye’s answer was surprising: I like it.

Chun Zao was stunned for a moment, a few traces of indescribable bitterness seeping into her heart. Right, they had lived together for half a month now, and she had hardly seen Yuan Ye reading or doing homework. How could someone who effortlessly soared over ten thousand mountains understand her kind of academic grind—one step at a time, diligence as the path, hardship as the boat.

She replied with an “Oh?”

But the other side keenly sensed something: Are you not happy with my answer?

Chun Zao hurriedly typed a denial, “Not at all,” and was just about to send it when another message came from the other side.

Yuan Ye: I like school because I don’t have to go home.

Chun Zao fell silent.

…

I deserve to die. From bedtime to waking up, Chun Zao kept cursing herself. She had learned about his family situation last night, yet she still harbored such dark thoughts about this benefactor who had offered help in her time of need.

Because she needed to deliver homework to Tong Yue, around four in the afternoon, Chun Zao used the excuse of “returning to school early to study more focused” to go to the milk tea shop at the entrance of Yizhong.

Tong Yue had already occupied a booth inside.

As soon as she saw Chun Zao enter, the girl who had been waiting for her for twenty minutes immediately came to life.

“God, you’re finally here.” Tong Yue hurriedly pushed over an unopened large cup of fruit tea with one finger.

Chun Zao took off her backpack, pulled out the handouts she had organized beforehand with binder clips, and handed them to her.

Tong Yue buried her head in “diligent writing”; Chun Zao took a couple sips of fruit tea, having nothing else to do, and took out the portable vocabulary book from her backpack’s side pocket, quietly flipping through it and memorizing words.

The vocabulary book was a compact snap-closure style. After Chun Zao had personally compiled it, it became a thick stack, with every page of handwriting as neat as printed text.

Tong Yue multitasked, asking about Chun Zao’s friend-adding situation.

Chun Zao’s hand paused while flipping through the loose pages, answering: “Already added.”

Tong Yue put down her pen, stretched her neck high, fingers dancing wildly, whispering like a demon: “Let me~ see~ his profile~”

Chun Zao said, “I didn’t bring my phone out.”

Tong Yue’s shoulders slumped: “…What’s the point of borrowing that card then?”

“I’m very disciplined, okay?” Chun Zao said flatly, turning that page over without looking sideways: “But I can describe it to you.”

“Please do.” Tong Yue had a face thirsting for knowledge.

Chun Zao’s gaze stopped on the same letter: “His screen name is X.”

“The letter X?”

Chun Zao nodded: “Mm.”

“Yuan Ye…” Tong Yue furrowed her brow, looking like a street fortune teller as she analyzed with her fingers, “There’s no X in his name.”

“Oh no, does he like some girl whose name has an X? My name doesn’t have an X.”

“Neither do you!” Tong Yue clutched her chest dramatically: “How can this be? Oh no!”

Chun Zao glanced at her, maintaining silence about her theatrical personality and triple-jump thinking: “…”

Tong Yue reorganized her thoughts: “Let’s put the name aside. What about his profile picture?”

“Anime avatar.”

“Male?”

“Mm.”

“Who?”

“How would I know?” Chun Zao looked at her friend with confusion. She was clearly someone who knew very little about Japanese anime.

Tong Yue quickly pulled out her phone, focused intently on scrolling for a while, then held it up facing Chun Zao: “Is it this person?”

Chun Zao focused on the image on the screen, recalling: “It seems like that’s the one…”

Tong Yue instantly went cold-faced, turned off her phone, placed it face down on the table, and lowered her head to write.

“What’s wrong?” Chun Zao was amused by her rapid temperature drop and heart-dead expression: “Does this avatar have some backstory?”

Tong Yue looked at her and sighed: “Oreki Houtarou. Users behind this avatar are either ugly or scumbags.”

“My CP died the day after I started shipping them. I’m very sad.” She sniffled hard twice, pretending to cry, continuing to write furiously: “Focusing on studying now, do not disturb.”

Chun Zao’s smile deepened as she picked up the phone to study it: “Scumbag? This guy in the picture looks decent enough?”

“You don’t understand. The character is fine, but guys who use this avatar are too prone to being problematic.” Tong Yue snatched her phone back: “If Yuan Ye chats with you again, I suggest you just read and don’t get too involved.”

Regardless of whether her friend’s words had merit, Chun Zao quite agreed with this suggestion.

How to describe life after Yuan Ye’s appearance? Ripples, cracks, and not-so-obvious but not-to-be-ignored level-three tremors—all unstable factors.

Instability equaled insecurity.

Exactly.

Once the promised treat was over, she would return to the familiar stability.

—

Tonight’s evening self-study was supervised by their homeroom teacher.

Chen Yuru was always stern and unsmiling, with sharp eyes that could rival museum infrared alarm systems.

So from start to finish, the entire Class Three was pin-drop quiet, with only the rustling sound of writing, and no one dared to whisper.

Near the end of class, she stood up from behind the podium and called out, “Tong Yue.”

Tong Yue was the class troublemaker. Though her grades didn’t drag the class down, she constantly tested the boundaries of rules and regulations, making her the number one minefield jumper in Chen Yuru’s mind.

Thinking some “crime” of hers had been exposed and reported, Tong Yue felt a chill in her heart and slowly stood up, supporting herself on the desk.

Chun Zao turned to look at her, also silently sweating for her friend.

The anticipated public execution didn’t happen. Chen Yuru simply gave a brief instruction: “National Day is coming up, and next week, leaders will visit the school for inspection. It happens to be our class’s turn to do the public corridor bulletin board. You, as publicity committee member, can get started.”

“Go to the academic affairs office tomorrow during break to get materials,” she said, looking around. “Find two or three more people from the class and finish it early.”

Tong Yue relaxed and readily agreed. Just as she was about to sweet-talk and flatter the homeroom teacher, Chen Yuru had already disgustedly told her to sit back down.

Tong Yue immediately sealed her lips.

—

Without Tong Yue needing to say more, from the moment she accepted the task, Chun Zao, with their years of understanding, was mentally prepared to be a helper.

During Monday morning’s exercise break, with the homeroom teacher’s permission, she accompanied her friend to the supply room. Another female classmate was also drafted for volunteer labor.

Her name was Ding Ruowei. Her artistic skills surpassed even Tong Yue, who had studied traditional Chinese painting at the Children’s Palace since childhood. Reportedly, she had started selling avatars online for extra money since middle school.

The three had a clear division of labor.

Tong Yue was responsible for planning sections and main titles; Ding Ruowei handled illustrations and coloring; Chun Zao was in charge of lettering.

Finally, if there were detailed issues, they would all check for omissions together.

Tong Yue and Chun Zao carried large bags of art supplies back to class, one on each side.

Ding Ruowei walked alongside, searching online for patriotic-themed reference images on her phone for inspiration, occasionally showing them to Tong Yue for her opinion.

Because the public area blackboard was large and would be displayed for a long time, they couldn’t just use simple chalk like classroom bulletin boards.

Back in the classroom, the two “masters” counted art supplies, chalk, and gouache paints in the back row while complaining.

Tong Yue: “Tsk, what cheap stuff is this? The brush handles don’t even have brand names.”

Ding Ruowei: “Be grateful we have anything. What more do you want?”

Chun Zao quietly listened while gathering all the cleaning rags used for classroom duties.

At noon going home, Chun Zao informed her mother in advance that she wouldn’t return for dinner before evening self-study. She didn’t dare say it was to help Tong Yue with the bulletin board, or her mother definitely wouldn’t agree and would nag for a century.

Tong Yue had prepared bread and boxed milk in advance as rushed meals for the small team.

After hastily filling their stomachs as quickly as possible, three heads stood before the large blackboard, motionless for a long while, then looked at each other.

The Party and Army founding bulletin board left by Class Four last semester had barely faded, at least eighty percent new.

Just cleaning it would be a major project.

Tong Yue sighed in despair, pretending to roll up her sleeves, pumping herself up: “Sisters, let’s get moving.”

Chun Zao distributed wrung-out rags to both of them.

For efficiency, the three took responsibility for one section. In less than ten minutes, the patterns and text in the lower half of the blackboard were wiped completely clean.

Ding Ruowei, over 1.7 meters tall, had cleaned much more area than the other two sides.

The tall girl stepped back a few paces, looked at the uneven “bar chart” in front of her, and smiled: “I’d better go get two chairs.”

Tong Yue looked at her: “You’re going to carry them alone?”

Ding Ruowei shrugged, her tone indifferent: “Two chairs aren’t that heavy…”

Tong Yue stuffed the rag into the chalk tray: “I’ll go get them with you.”

Tong Yue chased after her as they left.

For a moment, only Chun Zao remained in front of the blackboard. The sudden quiet was somewhat disorienting, especially at this time before evening self-study, with students occasionally passing by behind her, all curiously glancing in her direction.

Chun Zao held the damp rag in her hand.

Just standing there doing nothing seemed even stranger…

She looked at the black “high-rise building” on the left that Ding Ruowei had created, obviously two “floors” higher than hers, stood on tiptoe, and drew a wet curved rooftop for the “bungalow” in front of her.

Then she hopped twice, struggling to smear on a pair of uneven, thick antennas.

Someone suddenly stopped beside her.

In her peripheral vision, the rag that was half-stuffed in the chalk tray was casually picked up. Chun Zao thought Tong Yue and the others had returned, and turned her head to greet them: “Hey, you guys…”

The motion stopped abruptly, and her words stuck in her throat.

The person standing next to her was Yuan Ye.

The boy raised one hand high, easily reaching the very top of the blackboard.

He didn’t look at her or speak, focusing intently on wiping.

From Chun Zao’s position, beyond his straight nose bridge was the twilight sky, cut into sections by the high buildings and corridors.

It was like a lake in an oil painting—large swaths of warm tones, thick, tranquil, unmoving.

Staring too long would steal your breath away.

Chun Zao felt her heart’s presence had become overpoweringly strong, as if gripped by some invisible force.

With just a few simple strokes, the boy had cleaned Tong Yue’s section. Only then did he lower his head to look at her, his brows and eyes appearing even darker against the light.

Chun Zao hurriedly averted her eyes, afraid of being slow.

She discovered her right hand was still pressed against the blackboard with the rag, unmoved for a long time.

Chun Zao hastily put it down, thinking about how to start a conversation with him.

But he spoke first.

“May I borrow a path?”

With people coming and going in the corridor, he asked her this in a voice only the two of them could hear.

“Otherwise it’s hard to help you.” He indicated the high areas in front of Chun Zao.

“Ah… okay.” Chun Zao came to her senses, shifted two steps to the right, making room.

The boy also moved closer to her.

Even closer than before.

If she raised her arm, she might touch his body, but if she moved further away, it would seem inappropriate and deliberate.

Chun Zao stood frozen, bewildered and nervous.

The arm above continued making large movements, along with his cuff and the clean white hem of his school uniform, all moving. Though there were so many undeniable presences, her gaze could no longer find a resting place.

Finally, it settled on the lower spot she had pressed for so long just moments ago.

A small patch of deep black wetness remained there, looking closely like a heart shape.

Chun Zao’s pupils tightened. She quickly glanced up to observe Yuan Ye. Confirming he hadn’t noticed this spot, she raised her left hand and casually rubbed it twice, making its outline completely distorted.