Mei High’s monthly exams were always conducted with great ceremony. They were held on weekends, one student per desk, thirty students per classroom, arranged in a staggered formation. The desks had to be turned around, exam numbers affixed, the contents of everyone’s desks cleared out — everything run to university entrance examination standards.

Moving all the books was always a nuisance, but starting this year, a row of lockers had been installed at the end of the corridor. Each student had one, and before a monthly exam, the locker area was crammed with students from every class on the floor.

“Hey, how are you feeling about this one?” Zhang Xiaoqiang asked Wei Qingyue in a perfectly natural tone. The boy was bent over, packing in textbooks. He had the fewest belongings of anyone — one locker and it still wasn’t full. “Same as always.”

Zhang Xiaoqiang always had a strong competitive streak with him, and sometimes she did edge ahead of him. Wei Qingyue never let it occupy his thoughts. He looked over at her locker — already stuffed full, with more things still waiting — and pointed to his own: “You can use the space in mine.”

“Great, thanks!” Zhang Xiaoqiang handed over her things without any hesitation. Wei Qingyue frowned. “You girls are so much trouble — what is all this?” He took what she passed him — a black plastic bag.

“None of your business!” That came out with an unexpectedly coy lilt, very girlish. Wei Qingyue was used to her no-nonsense, elder-sister manner, and gave her a long, sharp look. Zhang Xiaoqiang grew a little self-conscious under it: “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“You sounded strange just now.” Wei Qingyue said plainly.

The black plastic bag contained sanitary pads and tissues — a girl’s private supplies. Zhang Xiaoqiang gave a resigned shrug and said: “You really have no understanding of girls’ inner lives.”

Wei Qingyue had no interest in the subject and didn’t even respond. Why would he need to understand girls’ inner lives?

From a distance, the two of them looked very close.

Jiang Du had been on her way over with some books, but when she saw the scene, her steps slowed involuntarily. Through the window, a draft of air came in, wave after wave, and something cool pressed into her chest.

She hugged her books closer to herself and watched the two top students talking together with quiet, composed ease. Zhang Xiaoqiang was always so self-assured, her neat white teeth showing in her smile, and she had the confidence to meet Wei Qingyue’s eyes directly. Wei Qingyue seemed very familiar with her — very comfortable. Jiang Du felt something inside her bubbling with a sourness and bitterness she couldn’t name.

If only I had grades as good as Zhang Xiaoqiang’s, she thought. Then the ground we’d be speaking from might be a little more equal.

Only after the two of them left did she walk over. Standing there, she let herself steal a quiet glance at Wei Qingyue’s locker. On it, he had written his name by hand — the same handwriting, the same as on that sheet of scrap paper where he’d worked out the math problem for her, the page she had nearly thought about framing.

Jiang Du looked at the three characters 魏清越 — Wei Qingyue — with an expression that carried a thread of sadness. Three characters — nothing more than that. And yet they were as far away as a great distance of mountains and water.

That letter which would never receive a reply had struck her with sudden, acute embarrassment the moment she’d laid eyes on him again — she’d wanted to die of shame. But now, standing here, the feeling had become something else entirely: it could only ever be this way.

This way, even if he replied, I wouldn’t have the courage to admit that it was me who likes you.

But I can see his locker and his name. I’ve spoken with him. We’ve walked the same roads. We’ve looked at the same scenery. We may even have gazed up at the same square of sky… Jiang Du thought this with a warmth tinged with weariness, and summoned her resolve.

This monthly exam had everyone on edge — teachers were just as eager as the students to take stock of where things stood.

In the classroom, Zhang Xiaoqiang was diligently posting the exam room chart when it was done, and a whole crowd immediately surged toward it. Wang Jingjing was there calling out “Don’t push! Hey, you’re crushing me!” — while pushing harder than anyone else.

Lin Haiyang, tall enough to have already seen the chart, started tapping Wang Jingjing on the forehead — a notably crisp sound — and said: “Push, push, push — there’s nothing to see. You’re sitting in your own class. You’re not in the same room as Wei Qingyue. Give it up already!”

Wang Jingjing clutched her forehead, furious: “You’re so annoying!”

“Hey, hey — we’re in the same class, right, Wang Jingjing? We even have seats one behind the other! Seems like we were made for each other!” Lin Haiyang was truly insufferable.

Which was why Wang Jingjing kept chasing him trying to hit him: “Drop dead! Lin Haiyang, go float away to outer space and eat garbage!”

Everyone was laughing. Having a crush on Wei Qingyue was such a common, unremarkable thing — so universal that anyone could say it aloud, openly, shamelessly. After all, liking the most outstanding and most handsome boy in school was the most natural, entirely unashamed thing a girl could do.

But for Jiang Du, it was different. He was unspeakable — he was her own private, solitary act of waiting.

I’m an ordinary person, Jiang Du thought, and I’ve gone and fallen for the person everyone else falls for. She so wished she could have found herself drawn to a different boy — one less brilliant, less exceptional, but sweet and interesting in his own small way… No, no — she was still grateful to have met Wei Qingyue. He could make a heart come alive in a way nothing else could. He could make all of Mei High blaze with color. Because of him, all the long hours of study became full and joyful. Because of him, every absence and imperfection felt, somehow, complete.

A tearing sound — Jiang Du came back to the room. Wang Jingjing had yanked the zipper off Lin Haiyang’s school uniform. They both froze. Wang Jingjing declared, without a trace of contrition: “Serves you right for being so annoying!”

“Ugh,” Lin Haiyang said, unbothered, “you’re so aggressive. No boy will ever want to date you.”

“None of your business! Not your problem, you piece of garbage!”

The two were natural-born rivals — not a single day passed without a spat. Jiang Du said to Lin Haiyang: “My grandmother sews. Give it to me, and I’ll have her fix it and get it back to you.”

“See that? See Jiang Du?” Lin Haiyang loved saying this. Wang Jingjing launched herself at his shoulder again.

For this monthly exam, Jiang Du was assigned to sit in Classroom 5. Out in the corridor, some students were chatting, others reviewing notes. She quietly found a spot at the railing, rested her book on top of it, and spent some time going over classical poetry and ancient texts.

Later, the teacher announced it was time to use the bathroom and then find their seats.

The exam room was a jumble of faces — mostly from other classes, no one Jiang Du knew. Coming back from the bathroom, a boy in front of her turned around to ask how she usually did. He was one of the students who had bought his way in — the rare kind who drifted through Mei High without any particular purpose. The boy spoke without any self-consciousness, and casually pressed a drink bottle into her hands: “Let me copy from you later. Don’t cover your paper — I just need a quick look. Oh, and for English, can you pass me the multiple choice answers? I’ll take you to dinner.”

Then what are you even here for? Jiang Du thought. You can’t copy anyone’s answers at the university entrance exams.

She was about to refuse when she noticed that the boy’s attention had already slid off her, following something across the room. She followed his gaze without thinking.

Jiang Du’s heart immediately began to pound. The figure entered her vision with perfect clarity — it was Wei Qingyue. He was in this exam room too.

The boy moved with total ease, having brought nothing but a single pen. He arrived fashionably late and dropped into the empty seat behind Jiang Du, his two long legs sprawled without the slightest self-consciousness out into the aisle.

It took Jiang Du quite some time to fully register: Wei Qingyue had the consecutive seat number directly behind her.

Before she could process this, the boy in front nudged her: “Hey, switch seats with me?”

Jiang Du couldn’t agree — partly because of Wei Qingyue, but more so because swapping seats like this was against the rules, and she knew exactly what he was scheming.

“Come on,” the boy laughed, “the teacher doesn’t know anyone here — who would even notice? This happens all the time.”

“It’s still not allowed.” Jiang Du held firm. The boy made a helpless, mildly aggrieved face — but there was nothing he could do, and he settled back with a sulk.

Behind her, Wei Qingyue had heard none of it. He had walked in with his earphones in, and sat spinning his pen, indifferent to everything around him. He hadn’t noticed who was sitting in front of or behind him.

Yet many eyes drifted toward him, and his name was being whispered around the room.

The teacher walked in with the exam papers, and behind her, Wei Qingyue still had not greeted her. Jiang Du already knew — he simply hadn’t seen her.

For every subject, Wei Qingyue finished and left early. His paper fluttered gently in the air left behind him, rustling softly, until the invigilator walked over and pressed a board eraser down on it.

The dry faint orchid scent of the boy would pass and vanish in an instant. Every time, Jiang Du would look up briefly at his retreating figure, watching him in silence — that, it seemed, was all she could do. But even this was already so much. She couldn’t bear for the monthly exam to end.

Then came the physics paper. Wei Qingyue suddenly noticed that the girl sitting in front of him was Jiang Du. He greeted her offhandedly: “What a coincidence — I never noticed it was you in front of me.”

Of course you’d never notice me. Jiang Du thought this quietly, and the instant their eyes met, a surge of panic swept through her — as though if she held his gaze even a second too long, the fierce, helpless secret burning inside her would be seen through entirely. Her eyes shifted away:

“Oh — you’re in this exam room too?”

Jiang Du summoned all her effort to look as though she had just discovered this herself.

Wei Qingyue gave a small pull of his lips. That slight gesture gave Jiang Du a small measure of courage. She made herself ask, with the air of a casual question: “You must have done well?”

“Well enough.” He didn’t bother with false modesty, but hearing it from him, no one would have taken it as arrogance or self-congratulation — Wei Qingyue said it the way he might answer “Have you eaten?” — “Yes” — completely matter-of-fact.

This left Jiang Du uncertain how to continue. She gave a constrained little smile, and when it became clear he had no intention of carrying the conversation further, she turned forward again in the awkward quiet — though her heart was still hammering against its walls.

The exam papers were distributed, and the room fell silent. Physics wasn’t as freely improvised as the humanities — Jiang Du found herself unconsciously furrowing her brow.

She wore her hair long — dark and smooth, spread thickly across her shoulders. The sunlight wrapped a soft, faintly hazy halo around the crown of the girl’s head. When Wei Qingyue glanced up, he took in the narrow line of her shoulders, her falling hair, and beneath the oversized school uniform, the vague suggestion of a shape… He caught himself perceiving it before he’d meant to, and a moment of inexplicable discomfort passed through him, after which he pulled his gaze away.

Wei Qingyue didn’t know much about girls, but he knew some things — the boys’ dormitory was always consumed by discussions of girls, and even without wanting to listen, a person absorbed a sentence here and there. Most disruptively, even he, in the deep of night, caught between sleep and the muttered nonsense of others, would feel something stir — hormones of adolescence with nowhere to go, making their presence known. He wasn’t exempt. Not exactly, or at least — in certain moments.

His legs were too long for the desk, and no position was comfortable. He stretched them out idly into the aisle. At the edge of Jiang Du’s peripheral vision, without warning, came the sight of his shoes — black canvas uppers, brilliant white laces. Wei Qingyue was genuinely strange about some things — sometimes immaculate, other times seemingly without a care. One Monday at flag-raising, his shoes had been clearly dirty and scuffed.

The rambling thought jolted Jiang Du. She reined herself in and forced her attention back to the exam paper.

But the classroom was so quiet — so quiet she could hear him set his pen to the paper, hear the moment he put it down, and, when he rose to leave, the barely-there movement of air as the dry scent of him dispersed.

Because someone had left mid-exam to use the bathroom and was making their way back, they brushed past Wei Qingyue in the narrow aisle. He stepped aside to let the person through, but the other student was broad-shouldered, and the space forced him to brace one hand briefly against the corner of Jiang Du’s desk — knuckles well-defined, veins threading along the back of his hand like a winding river.

Jiang Du’s heart shot up into her throat. She could barely breathe as she watched it unfold.

Wei Qingyue had pressed his palm down right onto her pencil case. On the case was a small charm — a cute cartoon bird. His palm had fallen squarely on it, and the hard little figure had pressed painfully into his skin, leaving behind the bird’s impression.

He frowned and gave a small smile, shaking out his hand. Jiang Du came back to herself as though surfacing from a dream — and the boy was already walking toward the door.

After the bell, Jiang Du ran out. She scanned around — Wei Qingyue was leaning alone on the railing at the far end, looking out at the distance. He leaned forward slightly, his earphones in their usual place, no one around him.

Jiang Du felt that her own head had stopped working properly. The thoughts of a young girl defied all rational explanation. She desperately wanted to walk up to him and ask: that little bird on my pencil case — did it hurt your hand?

It was the kind of thing that could be said or not said. Too small to matter — small enough that saying it would read as nothing but forced conversation, an excuse to approach. Everything was of her own invention and no one else’s. Jiang Du hesitated where she stood, not far from him and yet impossibly, immeasurably far. Wei Qingyue seemed to sense something, or perhaps it was entirely coincidental — he turned his head and saw Jiang Du.

The girl immediately clutched the hem of her clothes, her eyes flickering — startled and evasive as a small creature suddenly exposed, who in an instant vanished back into the deep grass. She turned and ran back into the examination room.