Jiang Du was completely stunned. She didn’t understand anything — only that, just now, Wei Qingyue had put his arm around her shoulder. His tone had been familiar, as though she were his girlfriend.

The kind you’d find in a school couple — secretly in a relationship, the sort that always gets discovered eventually. Young boys and girls.

Jiang Du stood rigid, staring at him, at a complete loss.

The man was clearly displeased at having his intentions interrupted by Wei Qingyue and shot the boy a vicious glare. From the staircase came the sound of creaking again — the owner was coming back down.

Seeing this, the man hurriedly left. Wei Qingyue immediately turned and walked over to say something to the owner, leaving Jiang Du standing alone in a daze, as though she still hadn’t woken from a dream, her ears burning with heat.

By the time Wei Qingyue’s gaze came back to her, Jiang Du had already looked away, reaching out a hand to pretend she was browsing for books.

The owner handed her the books she’d requested.

Wei Qingyue had come to buy some cut-out CDs. He paid, then turned and glanced at Jiang Du standing in line behind him: “Heading back to school? I have a few things I want to say to you.”

The boy was utterly composed, but the owner’s gaze swept meaningfully over Jiang Du. Jiang Du was worried he might misunderstand and think she was in an early romance with someone. Flustered, a half-beat slow, she said nothing — only nodded.

The two of them came out one after the other. Cold wind and cold rain hit their faces at once. The evening was setting in, and the distant horizon seemed layered in dark, piled ink. The streetlights had already come on.

“That pervert was already like that, so why were you still staring at him?” Wei Qingyue turned his umbrella handle slowly, genuinely baffled. He really had no way of understanding how a girl’s mind worked.

Jiang Du still hadn’t processed what had happened. She pressed her lips together innocently and shook her head: “I didn’t know what was happening.”

Wei Qingyue told her plainly and directly: “It’s called exhibitionism. From now on, stay well away from that kind of disgusting, perverted person. If you sense something is wrong, don’t get into a confrontation with them — just run.”

Jiang Du hadn’t sorted out a single one of those three characters. Wei Qingyue looked at her expression and spelled it out word by word: “The ‘expose’ in ‘expose oneself,’ the ‘hidden’ in ‘hidden agenda,’ the ‘compulsion’ in ‘compulsion or fixation.’ You scored so well in Chinese — this shouldn’t be hard to understand.”

In that moment, understanding, mortification, lingering fear, revulsion… a whole array of emotions erupted at once in her chest. Jiang Du couldn’t help but grip the umbrella handle tightly. Her other hand clutched the books firmly against the front of her chest as she stared at Wei Qingyue in disbelief.

“But… I didn’t see it very clearly,” she said — her mind short-circuiting, she couldn’t explain why she said it.

Wei Qingyue first raised an eyebrow in surprise, then let out a laugh that was not entirely kind: “You wanted a clearer look? What are you thinking.”

The air had turned newly cold, and the girl’s face, which had been ice-pale, now flushed shrimp-red as she realized her slip of words — it burned like a city on fire.

She pressed her lips tightly together, not knowing how to explain herself.

“This bookshop gets all kinds of adults coming through — it’s mixed company. From now on, if you come here, bring a classmate with you.” Wei Qingyue reminded her, then looked at the sky. “Let’s head back — it’s almost time for evening self-study.”

“Thank you,” Jiang Du finally remembered she should express her gratitude. Wei Qingyue looked back; rain dripped from the edge of his umbrella, his features blurred in the dim light, but his clear, light voice could still be heard: “Don’t mention it. Didn’t you play the heroine yourself over the summer?”

His voice carried a teasing thread of amusement. It reached her ears and became a small smile in her mind. She suddenly noticed that Wei Qingyue’s hair seemed to have grown considerably. He had no intention of cutting it — he looked like a freely-drawn tangle of wild grass.

There was a small puddle on the ground, reflecting the hazy glow of the streetlights. Jiang Du stepped right into it, splashing Wei Qingyue’s trouser leg. Neither of them noticed.

The food stalls along the long street outside the school gate were still open, steaming and warm, a misty, hazy stretch of them. Wei Qingyue turned around to face Jiang Du, who had been treading on his shadow the whole way behind him:

“Can I get you a bowl of porridge? You’re shivering.”

Jiang Du immediately felt embarrassed again. *When was I shivering?*

A cup of warm porridge was placed quickly in her hands — warm, traveling from her palms all the way to her heart. The weather had turned cold so suddenly, but Wei Qingyue was wearing only a thin long-sleeved shirt, as though cold meant nothing to him.

“Over the summer, those people…” Jiang Du’s tongue felt stiff — she was trying to find something to say.

Wei Qingyue glanced over at her words, and replied indifferently: “That incident? Didn’t you give a statement too? Those vocational school thugs tried to extort money from me. Did they really think money from me was so easy to take?”

There was a cold, sharp edge in his voice as he said it.

His tone made Jiang Du’s heart give a hard lurch. She fell silent, but in her mind: the image of the man kicking him, sending him stumbling.

“Why did that person hit you?” she finally couldn’t help but quietly ask.

Wei Qingyue instantly became a thin blade, his gaze cold: “You mean Wei Zhendong?” The two of them were strangely in sync — he knew exactly who she meant.

Ah? It sounded like family. But the way he spoke the name so directly, Jiang Du looked at him.

“Since you already saw it, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. That’s my father. As for why he hit me when I was the one being extorted — honestly, I don’t know. He doesn’t need a reason to hit me,” Wei Qingyue said, his expression sardonic — aimed at Wei Zhendong, and also at himself. “Surprising, isn’t it? Someone who’s always ranked first still gets beaten by a parent.”

Jiang Du fell completely silent. She looked at him quietly.

Rain drummed against the umbrella fabric with a clear, crisp sound. The whole world seemed to drift and float inside a curtain of water, as though carried along by a current with no destination.

“I won’t tell anyone.” Jiang Du felt that any words of comfort would ring hollow. This was the only promise she could make.

Wei Qingyue smiled lightly, noncommittal. But he said: “Prying into other people’s private affairs is actually quite impolite.”

Jiang Du’s expression became, predictably, deeply awkward.

“It happened by coincidence that you saw it, and then you asked — that’s why I said it. But I don’t like talking about my own affairs with people. It’s pointless.”

Jiang Du felt something lodge itself in her throat. An inexplicable urge to cry came over her. She spoke in a low voice: “I’m sorry.”

She had just realized that, without meaning to, she had overstepped with Wei Qingyue.

The wind was fairly strong, stirring the hair at her forehead. She looked utterly at a loss for what to do with herself.

Wei Qingyue still smiled faintly, and said: “You go ahead. I’ll come in a bit later.” Jiang Du hesitated and looked at him. Not far away, a row of shop fronts displayed their neon signs — red, green, purple — lights blinking on and off, setting off the lean silhouette of the boy in the light, making him look solitary and apart from the world.

“Are you… angry with me?” Jiang Du asked weakly. “I’m genuinely sorry — I spoke without thinking.”

“Hmm?” Wei Qingyue raised an eyebrow, as if finding it somewhat amusing. “No. We’ve known each other for a while now — did I say I was angry?”

Jiang Du lowered her eyes, fixing them on the scattered patches of light on the ground, and gave a soft “mm.”

“Don’t worry — I’m not that petty.” The warmth returned to Wei Qingyue’s voice. His moods were unpredictable — when he was bad he was truly cold, but when he was good he was genuinely warm. At this moment, he teased Jiang Du gently; beneath his smiling eyes lay a deep, quietly flowing light. “Don’t look like someone who’s been wronged. I just needed a cigarette — my craving started acting up. See — and now you know this secret about me too.”

The boy raised a hand and swept his hair back from his forehead in one smooth motion. For that one instant, there was an indescribable spirited energy about him.

Jiang Du’s heart was going thump-thump-thump — it felt like eating passion fruit: sweet and fragrant and a little intoxicating.

She did her very best to hold back the corners of her mouth that were trying to curve upward. She nodded, wanting to say *then I’ll be going* — but in the end said nothing at all, and walked away under her umbrella.

Back in the classroom, her heart was still jumping around in a scattered, unruly way, and it refused to settle for a very long time. Wang Jingjing was sneaking snacks again and sharing them with the boys behind her. She asked Jiang Du if she wanted some, but Jiang Du kept glancing over at her, looking like she wanted to say something and then stopping herself.

“What is it?” Wang Jingjing tossed a chip into her mouth.

“Are you going to write another letter… to that person?” Jiang Du felt ashamed of her own small scheming. She kept her voice carefully neutral.

Wang Jingjing understood immediately. She rummaged in her desk drawer as if suddenly remembering something, and then — like a sudden burst of fever — her energy returned in full: “You just reminded me — I had completely forgotten! I will! I have to use up this whole stack of letter paper. You told me that phrase last time — *靡不有初，鲜克有终* — ‘Few things lack a beginning; few things have an end.’ That’s it! If only for the cost of this paper I can’t let it go to waste!”

“It’s *that* thick!” Jiang Du said with a red face, pretending to protest. “Well, fine — I’ll treat it as a writing exercise.”

The rain continued without stopping. The school was blanketed in the mood of autumn, the wind joining in with a rustling sigh.

She knew that some things, once written down, would be better. Written down — and she could return to her studies with a clear, undivided heart. As if it didn’t matter whether Wei Qingyue ever read them or not.

—

*”Hello.*

*I saw your name at the notice board — first place. Congratulations. Perhaps this kind of recognition is routine for you, but for those of us on the outside looking in, it is genuine, heartfelt admiration. I believe you will have a brilliant future — the brightest of futures.*

*That probably sounded very official. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.*

*It rained today. A little chilly. I think you should wear more layers so you don’t get sick easily. I’m not particularly fond of this kind of bleak autumn rain, but today I felt unexpectedly happy and found the rain rather lovely. I wonder if you’ve noticed — the sound of rain landing on the school’s bicycle shed is much louder than when it falls on the ground. That’s what I mean by comparing the two. (I noticed it on my way back to the classroom, passing the bicycle shed — it just struck me suddenly.)*

*The letter before this one — I don’t know if you saw it. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t. What matters most is that I recorded everything I wanted to say to you. It may not be a masterpiece, but the moment you’re able to write something down, it becomes a kind of permanence for the one who wrote it.*

*Today I’ve been feeling pensive, and I wanted to share those thoughts with you.*

*It seems like high school life doesn’t have anything particularly momentous in it — besides studying. In the eyes of teachers, or parents, our emotions seem like complaints with nothing behind them, like teenagers lamenting sorrows they haven’t yet earned. But I don’t think it’s like that. Everyone has their own struggles, unknown to others. In the same way, I’ve never believed that a person who takes their own life because of enormous pain is simply a coward. Sometimes adults — even people our own age — underestimate how complicated a person’s emotions can be, which only makes a person feel lonelier. I write this not to suggest I am a pessimist at all — what I’m really trying to say is that no matter what a person is enduring right now, as long as they still have a healthy body and a keen mind, they should take stock of what they currently have in their hands, rather than drowning in despair — and from that, find the confidence to keep living.*

*I’m sorry — I feel like I sound like a teacher again. I hope you don’t think I’m some tiresome old scholar.*

*Let me say something different. Every word I write to you now matters deeply to me — second in importance only to studying. As long as I can write them, I am deeply, genuinely happy. That you are well is my wish for today. This wish will not expire. It won’t become stale like medicine or food. It is without limit.*

*The rain hasn’t stopped. I’m not fond of autumn rain, but I do love falling asleep to the sound of it. I hope this rain will last all night. Oh, by the way — can you see the tree near the school library from your window? I can see it from mine — a faint, shadowy outline. Every time I pass by during evening self-study, even though I know perfectly well it’s a tree, I always think it’s a person standing there and get a fright. I really am so foolish.*

*That reminds me — something similar happened at home once. I got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. In the living room, a family member’s large coat was hanging up. Half-asleep, I thought someone was standing there. It frightened me terribly, and even now, thinking back on it, I still find it funny.*

*Without realizing it, I’ve written another heap of idle chatter. I always fall into this when I put pen to paper — like an overflowing, ungovernable river.*

*This is the second letter I’ve written to you. Wishing you well.”*

—