◎Summer Sparkling Water◎

The person outside wasn’t a stranger to Chun Zao.

More precisely, most students at her high school weren’t strangers to him.

Initially at school, Chun Zao couldn’t match the real person to the name.

She truly figured it out in the second month of attending Yizhong. At the time, she was going upstairs with a friend who had been chattering away nonstop when she suddenly went silent, repeatedly nudging Chun Zao’s arm with her elbow.

Chun Zao looked at her, puzzled, only to see her whispering shrilly: “Don’t look at me! Look ahead!”

Chun Zao turned around and saw boys walking together as well.

That was the first time Chun Zao witnessed human disparity and species diversity.

Wearing the same blue and white school uniform, everyone else looked like wrinkled cartons of milk, but he was like a glass of summer sparkling water with azure citrus syrup and yogurt, his smile naturally equipped with a light-filtering effect.

No wonder her friend dramatically kept looking back every few steps after they passed by—once your gaze stuck to someone like that, it was very hard to tear it away.

After the boy disappeared around the corner, she immediately leaned close to Chun Zao, seeking validation: “Isn’t he handsome?”

Chun Zao asked: “Who is he?”

Her friend was surprised: “You don’t know?”

Chun Zao glanced at her: “Is it weird that I don’t know?”

Her friend replied: “That’s Yuan Ye!”

Now Chun Zao understood.

Every grade always had those few names passed down among girls—whenever mentioned, everyone would become animated with tacit understanding. They simply represented several male classmates with exceptionally handsome appearances.

Yuan Ye was one of them.

And he was also very much “both beautiful inside and out.”

If grades were also ranked in hierarchies, Yuan Ye would be at the TOP tier level. After major exams, his photo and name would only appear in the leading position on the honor wall. Initially, girls would gather around to look and secretly take photos, but later everyone became accustomed to it, giving cursory glances, only pretending to be reserved with racing hearts when encountering him in person. Chun Zao had also seen his azure-background two-inch photo many times—a face beautiful enough to be unforgettable—but due to its frequent appearances, the boy’s unchanging innocent smile had gradually become increasingly arrogant and punchable.

Apart from occasionally running into him in hallways or hearing him mentioned by companions, Chun Zao had no interaction with him.

If she had to name one, it would be that they had appeared on the same ranking list several times.

In any high school, there’s always that group of inhumane list-dominators. Every exam was filled with invisible gunsmoke, and after all the clashing of swords and sabers, they were arranged according to their achievements. After the arts and sciences division, Chun Zao no longer participated in the general melee but moved to another camp, another mountain peak.

Competition among top students was inevitable—they would develop prejudices against authority, attempting to challenge, attempting to overthrow, attempting to replace.

Chun Zao had once overestimated her abilities, too.

Unfortunately, Yuan Ye’s grades were as stable as the stratospheric atmosphere, and theories about weak subjects didn’t completely apply to him. He was the best representative of comprehensive development in morality, intelligence, physical fitness, aesthetics, and labor in the teachers’ minds. Chun Zao couldn’t forget the 100-meter dash at the high school sports meet—the boy galloped across the field like an elegant snow leopard. At the finish line, the boys buried him in a crowd and lifted him high; the girls’ screams nearly burst eardrums.

After tossing and turning for fifteen minutes and repeatedly confirming no one was outside, Chun Zao finally quickly walked out to resolve her forcibly delayed urgent need.

After coming out of the bathroom, the door to the adjacent room had returned to its original state—making it hard not to suspect that the boy’s earlier appearance was just a hallucination.

But after spotting the extra pair of large white boat-like sneakers on the shoe rack, Chun Zao’s hypothesis was immediately overturned.

Yuan Ye had moved in here.

And he was only separated from her by one wall.

Chun Zao turned to face the inside of her bed and found herself staring blankly at the calendar on the wall. Tomorrow was registration day, and the new journey after class division was about to begin, yet heaven had gifted her with an unexpected back-to-school package.

The new roommate’s attitude was undoubtedly friendly, but she wasn’t good at dealing with interpersonal relationships that fell from the sky.

Like tonight, her reaction and behavior were rather poor, treating him like an unwelcome guest—even one encounter felt like too many.

It probably shouldn’t be this way.

But since it had already happened this way, there was nothing to be done about it.

Chun Zao stopped thinking as her eyelids gradually drooped.

…

The next day, Chun Zao was awakened by her mother as usual.

As soon as she sat up, Chun Chuzhen leaned over to the head of the bed with a mysterious expression: “I saw that boy next door.”

Chun Zao ignored last night’s encounter and pretended complete ignorance: “What’s he like?”

Chun Chuzhen said: “Tall and thin, quite good-looking, takes after his father, and he even said good morning to me.”

Chun Zao glanced toward the door: “Where is he?”

Chun Chuzhen said: “Back in his room. He went out shortly after I got up and brought back two boxes of breakfast for us when he returned.”

Chun Zao pressed down her messy bangs: “He’s that polite?”

“Yes, calling me ‘auntie’ so sweetly—I would have felt bad not accepting,” Chun Chuzhen muttered helplessly, then frowned and added: “And oh, he’s living here all by himself.”

Chun Zao was surprised: “Huh?”

Chun Chuzhen lowered her voice to minimum: “I asked him, I said where are your parents, are they coming this afternoon, and he said he’s living alone.”

Chun Zao asked: “No one accompanying him for school?”

“Seems like it,” Chun Chuzhen snorted: “I said, how could they manage the older one when they have a little one at home. But doesn’t he have any grandparents either? His parents didn’t look that old.”

She empathetically sighed with maternal feelings: “He’s the same age as you—how can he take good care of himself?”

Chun Zao fell silent. At this moment, she didn’t know what to say. Perhaps accustomed to her mother’s meticulous care and attention, she felt a surge of compassion.

And a trace of inappropriate envy.

After changing into her school uniform, Chun Zao’s bangs still stubbornly maintained their original appearance like several restless sprouts. She raised her hand to cover them and walked out with feigned casualness.

The living room was very quiet with no one in sight, and only then did Chun Zao relax her nerves.

After coming out from washing up, her mother had already placed two bowls of steaming white congee on the table, with freshly heated steamed dumplings and shumai beside them—these should be the pastries their “new neighbor” had bought.

The breakfast provider’s room door was wide open, with brilliant white light streaming out, hazy and soft.

Chun Zao didn’t look further and sat down at the table.

Chun Chuzhen came out of the kitchen carrying fried eggs. At the end of last year, she had learned how to make “sun eggs” from a recipe app, and the finished product looked as good as those from restaurants outside. Ever since being praised by her daughter once, she has shown off her skills at breakfast whenever possible.

Chun Zao noticed two fried eggs stacked on the plate and preemptively refused: “Just saying upfront—I can’t finish two.”

“Who said they’re both for you?” Chun Chuzhen turned and walked away.

Stopping at Yuan Ye’s door, she poked her head in without any awkwardness: “Hey, come out and have breakfast with us.”

“Auntie, I already ate outside.” The boy’s clear voice came through the wall, neither high nor low.

Chun Chuzhen persuaded: “Have a little more. You bought so much, we can’t finish it all anyway. I made extra congee, so come drink some with us.”

The room was silent for a while before the boy agreed: “Thank you, Auntie.”

To avoid complications when serving food later, Chun Zao immediately moved the top fried egg back to her bowl and lowered her head to eat.

Her apparent lack of distraction was an illusion—her peripheral vision constantly monitored the activity to her side.

The shared rental’s communal dining table had a simple appearance, the most common type of pine wood table, rectangular, seating at most six people.

The boy went to sit across from her.

Because it was registration day, he wasn’t wearing the formal school uniform, still in the same white short-sleeve shirt as last night.

The congee bowl in the center of the table was moved away by Chun Chuzhen with one hand and placed in front of him.

“Eat this, and tell me if you need more—there’s still some in the pot.” Chun Chuzhen’s tone was warm.

The boy thanked her again.

When mother carried the empty congee pot to the kitchen, the living room suddenly became quiet. Only the intermittent sounds of bowls and chopsticks remained at the table, with a subtle awkwardness hidden in the delicate noise.

Chun Zao couldn’t relax, keeping her eyes on her nose and nose on her heart, and her usual voracious eating became a “pigeon stomach performance.”

She found it difficult even to observe secretly, let alone take the initiative to make conversation.

Fortunately, Chun Chuzhen soon sat down, breaking the deadlock by asking Yuan Ye his name.

The boy looked up: “Yuan Ye.”

“Yuan Ye? Ye as in wilderness?”

“Yuan as in ‘originally,’ ye as in the ye from classical Chinese particles.”

“Oh, those two characters.” Chun Chuzhen had a moment of realization and pointed to herself with the end of her chopsticks: “My surname is Chun, chun as in spring. You can call me Aunt Chun from now on.”

The boy made an acknowledging sound.

Chun Chuzhen then turned the conversation to Chun Zao: “This is my daughter. You’re in the same grade, right? She’s in Class 3. Which class are you in?”

Hearing this, the boy gently set down his chopsticks, as if preparing to listen attentively to the elder’s words.

Chun Chuzhen was impressed by his manners: “Hey? You eat first.”

The boy didn’t pick up his chopsticks again, only replied: “I’m in Class 1.”

“Class 1?” When it came to school and studying, Chun Chuzhen couldn’t control her mouth and had to get to the bottom of things: “Class 1 is the science experimental class, right?”

“Yes.”

She also took the opportunity to share the private gossip she’d heard from the landlord: “Didn’t you win some kind of olympiad gold medal? Aren’t you guaranteed admission to Tsinghua or Peking…”

“Mom—”

Chun Zao couldn’t stand it and interrupted her.

Chun Chuzhen was startled and turned to look at her daughter, who had exploded for no apparent reason: “What?”

Chun Zao usually found her mother’s endless chatter annoying, and now, feeling empathetic, she became displeased: “You invited him to eat, so just let him eat properly, okay?”

Chun Chuzhen realized her mistake, was silent for two seconds, then laughed embarrassedly: “Yes, yes,” she switched to a more familiar form of address: “Xiao Yuan, you eat. I just saw that you and Chun Zao are in the same grade and wanted to ask more questions. Don’t mind me.”

“It’s okay, Auntie.” The boy’s tone was mild, and he answered the questions that had been cut off earlier: “I don’t have guaranteed admission—I still need to take the college entrance exam.”

Having gotten angry just now, Chun Zao had straightened her neck to intimidate her mother with sufficient force. When she looked back, she met the gaze of the person across the table.

The boy’s lips curved upward—still the same natural, sincere smile from last night that was completely flawless, his black and white eyes seeming to speak, thanking her.

Chun Zao’s face warmed slightly, and she hurriedly returned a polite pressed smile.

Then she lowered her eyelids and continued spooning the white congee in front of her.

Absentmindedly stuffing her pencil case and handouts into her school bag one by one, Chun Zao was still reviewing her own dry, ugly smile. The more she thought about it, the more unbearable it became, so she quickly shook her head to clear the image.

She had arranged to meet her friend Tong Yue at the stationery store outside the residential complex. As soon as they met face to face, the two girls who hadn’t seen each other for nearly half a month had endless things to talk about, especially Tong Yue, who had gained five pounds during her ten-day vacation and was currently dieting. Her bitter complaints could write a thousand-word essay discouraging weight loss.

“Next time, let’s travel together, and you can stop me. My parents just tell me to eat more if I like it.” Tong Yue nibbled on soda crackers with an expression comparable to eating raw vegetable leaves.

Chun Zao brushed it off as a joke: “First, ask if Ms. Chun agrees.”

Tong Yue said unhappily, “Your mom is something. Your grades are already so good, yet she still keeps you tied up at home during vacation. It’s not like there’s too much homework to finish.”

Chun Zao glanced at her: “Have you ever finished yours?”

“…” Tong Yue was embarrassed: “Don’t I have you?”

She broke off half a cracker and handed it over: “Come, my exclusive answer supplier, eat some for comfort.”

“Forget it,” Chun Zao shook her head. “I ate quite a lot this morning. You should eat it instead—don’t get low blood sugar.”

…

After passing through an old narrow alley heavy with the scent of daily life, they reached the towering buildings and commercial district that opened into another world. Thousands of window panes showed their cold, aloof side even under sunlight, while the century-old Yizhong was embedded among them, its buildings mainly white and ochre, like bicolored chalcedony in a gold and silver crown, detached from worldly concerns, enduring through time.

Tong Yue was an optimist, perpetually cheerful, and her mood about going to school wouldn’t be like attending a funeral.

She bounced along, jingling and jangling.

Chun Zao somewhat envied this friend. She envied how her backpack could be covered with everything Disney-related—Star Lou, Cookie, Angela Belle. Whether she was eating and drinking freely or doing light fasting, her parents didn’t mind. She was like a beautiful, light Christmas tree full of radiance.

While she was distracted, the traffic light across the street had already changed from red to green, and Tong Yue quickly pulled her into the flow of people.

This was when all grades were returning to school, so the campus should have been bustling, but because the sun’s power was no weaker than midsummer, few people could be seen on Camphor Boulevard—everyone had basically hidden in the shade on both sides.

Chun Zao followed behind Tong Yue into the classroom.

Most of the classmates had already arrived. Three or five boys gathered together, and when passing by, she vaguely heard words like “Nike” and “Converse”—they were discussing newly purchased shoes. The girls were chatting about summer blockbuster dramas or which handsome male stars, then screaming and stamping their feet together.

Chun Zao’s seat was on the inner side, right next to the hallway window. She sat down, unzipped her bag, took out exercise books and handouts from various subjects, and arranged them by category for easy submission to the group leader later.

Within a few minutes, her deskmate Lu Xinyue also arrived. Chun Zao was surprised to discover she had cut her hair short, only reaching her chin, tucked behind her ears on both sides, looking particularly refreshing.

“You cut your hair?” Chun Zao stared intently: “It looks really good.”

Lu Xinyue put down her school bag and touched her head with a smile: “Really? I cut it last month. Right after cutting, it was so ugly.”

“I’m not lying,” Chun Zao looked left and right: “I’m even thinking of getting mine cut.”

Lu Xinyue crossed her arms dramatically: “NO! You’ll regret it after cutting. I did—I cried for several days. Only now that it’s grown out a bit does it look decent.”

“Don’t court disaster,” Lu Xinyue blinked with sincere expression: “Your current hairstyle is perfect.”

Chun Zao didn’t say anything more.

She was naturally just talking.

Changing her appearance was not a whimsical decision for her. She wore medium-length hair, had worn the same ponytail for years, with bangs—the Korean-style air bangs that had been popular for some years, not overly thick, able to softly conceal her somewhat high forehead. In middle school, she had always worn the “big bright” style that female elders loved exclusively. Only after the high school entrance exam did she use her Yizhong acceptance letter to earn her mother’s permission to change her hairstyle. But the day she went to the salon, Chun Chuzhen was still accompanied and supervised throughout. Chun Zao didn’t dare state her needs directly and expressed them as euphemistically as possible. Fortunately, the stylist could get it and gave a fairly satisfactory result.

At nine o’clock sharp, the commotion suddenly stopped as their homeroom teacher arrived punctually.

After the usual opening speech that never changed, group leaders began collecting summer homework, and some idle boys were assigned to go to the library to move this semester’s new textbooks and distribute them to each student. Lu Xinyue accompanied Chun Zao to deliver two thick stacks of English handouts to the second floor, where the new office for sophomore year teachers was located.

The two girls who had been laughing and talking simultaneously became solemn when they were one meter from the door.

Lu Xinyue had the natural fear most students had of the teachers’ office and handed back the stack of handouts in her hands early: “I’ll help you just to here.”

Chun Zao smiled her thanks and farewell. As soon as her left foot stepped into the doorway, her pace slowed.

She glimpsed an extremely noticeable figure standing with his hands behind his back beside a middle-aged male teacher in the third row on the left.

Chun Zao’s English teacher was across an aisle from them, bent over her desk with only a bun secured with a milk tea-colored shark clip visible outside.

The air conditioning in the office was very strong, creating a world of ice and fire with the outdoors. Goosebumps rose on Chun Zao’s arms as she hugged the test papers to her chest and walked over.

The male teacher’s lips moved constantly, his expression serious.

The boy hadn’t moved at all, standing sideways like a sword tempered in white flames in her blurred peripheral vision.

What had he done wrong?

Chun Zao, who never got in trouble with teachers and never caused trouble for teachers, was puzzled.

She stayed as far to the side as possible, avoiding the battlefield.

Stopping beside the English teacher’s desk, Chun Zao greeted her.

The woman smiled and thanked her, organizing her desk to help make space where the handouts could be placed.

Chun Zao waited absentmindedly.

At this moment, Yuan Ye was right behind her, back to back, less than half a meter apart.

Her curiosity continued rising, and Chun Zao couldn’t help but hold her breath, unconsciously catching their conversation.

It turned out Yuan Ye wasn’t being scolded. Though the teacher’s voice was gruff and his expression angry, his tone held no displeasure—on the contrary, there was a bit of persuasive reasoning.

During the conversation, he mentioned “guaranteed admission strong foundation program” and “just a little short,” which seemed related to competitions.

The boy remained silent throughout.

When Chun Zao put down the test papers, the conversation between teacher and student seemed to have reached its conclusion.

The male teacher was delivering an ultimatum: “I’ll ask you one more time—are you not participating?”

“Yes, I’ve already decided.” The boy’s voice was calm without hesitation: “May I return to class now?”