Wei Qingyue’s hair had already grown past the school’s allowed length. The homeroom teacher tactfully reminded him: it was time to get a haircut.

His hair was of excellent quality — a deep, lustrous black, full and softly voluminous, striking even from a distance in all its uneven variety. Wei Qingyue went to a small neighborhood barbershop — the ten-yuan-a-cut kind. Quick and simple; just a little trim. He didn’t have it cut short, and it ended up with a certain feel reminiscent of Hong Kong stars from the 1990s.

He had a rust-red shirt — a vintage cut, paired with a jacket. Like a beautiful cactus. The way he looked stood out at school in a particular way. Because no one else his age dressed like that, teachers who saw him didn’t quite know what to say. Wei Qingyue was ranked first; his father was also a well-known local entrepreneur who frequently sponsored the school and occasionally appeared in the news. When it came to his unconventional ways, the teachers largely turned a blind eye.

Until, that is, he was caught smoking on the balcony during a surprise inspection by the dormitory supervisor. The supervisor took one look at how he was dressed, then at how handsome he was, and concluded he must be the kind of student who ignored his studies and only knew how to date — and proceeded to offer him a heartfelt lecture.

At the time, the afternoon sun was bright and clear, but the wind was dry and cold, blowing his hair across his eyes. Between the shifting strands, his sharp eyes occasionally surfaced — like sunlight breaking through cloud cover. The supervisor squinted at him, itching to shear off that whole head of hair entirely.

He stood on the balcony receiving his lecture, and it was during this exact episode that the girls in the dormitory across the way discovered that Class One’s Wei Qingyue lived on this floor. Everyone crowded onto their own balcony to look, buzzing with excitement: “It’s Wei Qingyue!”

It was peculiar — no one was interested in whatever pretty girl was wearing some new outfit, yet here they all were captivated by him. Wei Qingyue’s frequent absence of a school uniform, his hairstyle, his clothes — all became subjects of whispered attention among fellow students. The girls unanimously agreed: the top student was actually quite flashy.

But they were misreading Wei Qingyue entirely. He always just bought whatever caught his eye, wore whatever he felt like — he wasn’t trying to attract anyone’s attention. Not the slightest trace of that kind of intention.

Wang Jingjing had long been hoping some decent-looking boy would show up on the opposite side of the dormitory, but so far had been thoroughly disappointed. The balcony was draped in laundry — boys’ clothes of every description — including someone’s loose, worn-out shorts hanging out there like old rags. A few girls had caught a glimpse by accident and couldn’t help complaining. There was apparently even a bright red pair, which had been enough to make heads spin.

She dragged Jiang Du over to lean on the balcony railing for a look at Wei Qingyue, accompanied by the girls’ giddy, scattered laughter. Jiang Du’s gaze blended in with everyone else’s curious eyes — for once, she could watch him openly and calmly. She gazed at him quietly, the corners of her eyes and brows curving into a small, soft arc.

When she really thought about it — since flag-raising duty had rotated to other classes, her chances of seeing Wei Qingyue had become nearly nonexistent. Every time she passed Class One’s room, she tried to casually glance inside as she walked by, but the moment was always over too quickly to make out whether he was there or not, and Jiang Du would have to quietly look away again.

So, all this time, just one wall between them — and even a chance encounter turned out to be this difficult.

The girls had all put on sweaters and thick jackets. The cold air visited every other day, and those who were susceptible to the cold had already pulled out their light down coats. Wei Qingyue always wore less — still in a shirt under a washed-out pale denim jacket, as though heat and cold didn’t touch him.

Zhang Xiaoqiang was on the adjacent balcony — close to Jiang Du’s dormitory — and the girls from the two rooms stretched their necks to chat across the gap. The topic was Wei Qingyue: which girl from which class was chasing him now, how striking his looks were, how much personality he had — on and on in a disorganized jumble. Then Zhang Xiaoqiang said:

“You’re all really underestimating him. Wei Qingyue is someone with great ambitions — he plans to study abroad. And he’s definitely not the type to deliberately show off or try to look cool. That would be far too childish for him.”

The chatter fell quiet for a moment. Everyone knew Zhang Xiaoqiang and he had a deeper connection — middle school classmates, close enough to exchange questions across classes. It seemed like Zhang Xiaoqiang had more standing to assess Wei Qingyue than anyone else, while the rest of them would forever be stuck seeing only the most superficial version of him.

Jiang Du felt her heart give a sudden clench, folding in on itself. She was fully, completely focused — desperately hoping Zhang Xiaoqiang would say more about him, about the Wei Qingyue they didn’t know. Every breath of air seemed to freeze; every sound of the wind felt like an interruption. She only wanted to hear clearly every single word coming out of Zhang Xiaoqiang’s mouth — as long as it was about him.

The hope quickly collapsed. Zhang Xiaoqiang clearly knew when to stop — as if she only wanted to set the record straight, but had no intention of saying more. A faint, quiet sense of disappointment drifted through Jiang Du’s heart. She looked at Zhang Xiaoqiang with a lost expression, and Chen Huiming noticed. When the others had dispersed, Chen Huiming told Zhang Xiaoqiang:

“Dormitory head, I think Jiang Du seemed a little jealous of you.”

The words came easily enough, as Chen Huiming still remembered every glare and gesture from Wang Jingjing during that earlier conflict.

Zhang Xiaoqiang was mildly taken aback, then smiled and asked: “What do you mean?”

“When you were talking about Wei Qingyue, she kept staring at you with this strange look. Anyway, it felt odd. And your grades are so good, and your parents are so accomplished — honestly, it makes sense if people are jealous of you.” Chen Huiming glanced over at Zhang Xiaoqiang with something slightly ingratiating.

“Maybe you’re reading too much into it — when I was talking about Wei Qingyue, everyone was looking at me, weren’t they?” Zhang Xiaoqiang was tactful, but perfectly clear-eyed inside. She certainly remembered that Chen Huiming had been at odds with Jiang Du and Wang Jingjing before.

Chen Huiming’s face went red with embarrassment. She quickly backtracked: “You’re probably right, I was overthinking it. Too many people like Wei Qingyue — Wang Jingjing even wrote him love letters. But Wei Qingyue would never see anything in her.”

Zhang Xiaoqiang smiled but didn’t reply.

“Dormitory head, have you signed up a performance for the New Year’s show?” Chen Huiming was still trying to fill the awkward silence, and pressed on with another question.

Zhang Xiaoqiang nodded: “I did — not sure if it’ll make the cut.” She hadn’t just signed up — she’d pulled Wei Qingyue in as well, knowing he played an instrument. The two of them performing together would be something meaningful. Looking back on it years later, it would be a fragment of those brilliant young days, belonging to both her and Wei Qingyue.

To say she *liked* Wei Qingyue would be less accurate than saying she *admired* him. Zhang Xiaoqiang had been rule-following and conscientious from a young age, always the model student everyone held up as an example — she did everything perfectly, almost never made mistakes, and was the embodiment of an ideal student: exceptional grades, good with classmates, diligent in all duties. Wei Qingyue was never that. He was the outlier among the high-achievers — and the truth was, everyone envied him. Any student who had ever shared a school with him had found it impossible to ignore Wei Qingyue.

At this age, one’s sense of self was forming rapidly. Everyone wanted to be a little different, or imagined themselves as quite special. Years later, looking back, most people would see that so many adolescences were alike: emotions surging, feelings shifting with extraordinary subtlety and complexity. Once society had knocked them around enough, all of that softened, and people would be astonished at who they used to be. Youth was such a gift — yet so many people, immersed in it, never truly knew it, and by the time they looked back in wonder, they’d already grown old.

Wei Qingyue had never tried to be different. He simply already was, in a class entirely his own. The dormitory supervisor found the Class One homeroom teacher, who could only smile helplessly and say she would speak with him. His dormitory roommates, meanwhile, were talking about the girls — complaining that they were complete fanatics, the way they reacted to Wei Qingyue like fans at a performance. Among boys there was also a subtle undercurrent of envy: Wei Qingyue regularly received love letters, various gifts — a glass jar filled with folded stars, chocolates, handmade cookies, CDs — all the delicate thoughtfulness that girls were capable of. These things all belonged to Wei Qingyue, and when the other boys ate whatever food he tossed their way, they’d make half-joking, lightly sour remarks — though no one really took it too seriously.

That afternoon, back in the classroom, Wang Jingjing’s fleeting enthusiasm had reignited. She muttered under her breath: “I really hope Wei Qingyue would write back. I’d love to know what his reply would look like. Oh, just imagine… Oh…” One long, drawn-out sigh after another. In truth, it had been a while since she’d written to Wei Qingyue. He hadn’t replied — and there was nothing anyone could do about that.

Especially in that stretch from after the National Day holiday all the way to New Year’s — the whole of November and December with no holiday to break it up. Wang Jingjing felt bored, and when she was bored she needed an outlet. *When one person is bored, they start getting restless* — that was Lin Haiyang’s insufferable way of putting it, and the first time Jiang Du heard it, she was completely stunned.

And yet she also found herself strangely impressed that Lin Haiyang could make something so crude sound so… oddly fitting for adolescence.

Wang Jingjing dredged up old business, and before long, Lin Haiyang seemed to have grown donkey ears — he drifted over with a knowing grin, asking whether the two of them were conspiring over how to pine after Wei Qingyue again.

“Mind your own business!” was Wang Jingjing’s stock response. She had good relationships with most of the boys — one of the pack, rough around the edges, the kind of girl whose gender the boys tended to forget — after Zhang Xiaoqiang, she was also well-liked. She had a boyish energy about her.

All this noise and roughhousing — and Chen Huiming kept glancing over at them from her seat, a faint curl of contempt at the corner of her mouth. Wang Jingjing was an idiot. Jiang Du played the fragile, delicate act. They were made for each other — a perfectly matched pair of terrible friends.

Because the weekend was approaching, and New Year’s was almost here, everyone was restless and unfocused. The class committee was discussing how to decorate the classroom, who would host, how to write the script, who to borrow the speakers from… Only Jiang Du sat quietly behind a mountain of study materials and began to write a letter.

She wanted to tell Wei Qingyue *Happy New Year* a little ahead of time.

Such a simple, small wish.

“Jiang Du?” Zhang Xiaoqiang came to find her, giving Jiang Du such a fright that her whole body went rigid — her mind seemed to rust over completely. Her pen stopped mid-stroke. She instinctively pulled over a geography atlas to cover the letter paper. She smiled awkwardly. Zhang Xiaoqiang had of course noticed this peculiar reaction, but she had no interest in prying into other people’s private affairs. Her eyes were full of warmth and openness:

“Would you write the script for our class New Year’s performance?”

Jiang Du blinked.

Zhang Xiaoqiang smiled: “Oh, I nearly forgot to ask — are you planning to perform in a number?”

Jiang Du let out a quiet breath and shook her head: “I have no talents whatsoever — no sense of pitch, and my limbs are completely uncoordinated.”

That made Zhang Xiaoqiang laugh out loud — her gums showing. She glanced outside and said: “Come with me to buy balloons? I can fill you in on what performances we have lined up, and we can talk through the script.”

Jiang Du wanted to decline — she wasn’t really one for these kinds of activities; she was happier as an audience member. But she was the class’s unofficial top essay writer in everyone’s eyes, so of course she had to show up for this sort of event.

The sky darkened early. The small shops near the school gate were blazing with light, doing their busiest business of the season. With New Year’s approaching, every class at Mei High — except for the third years — was buzzing with infectious energy. The shop was crammed with girls. The two of them wove through the crowd among dazzling decorations and music thumping loud enough to shake your eardrums. Zhang Xiaoqiang swayed to the rhythm as she asked, casually, which Mandopop singer Jiang Du liked.

“I don’t really have a fixed favorite — lately I’ve been listening to Huang Jiaju.” She replied honestly, then asked: “What about you?”

Zhang Xiaoqiang’s eyes lit up, as if something had come to mind. “I like Pu Shu — he’s truly unique, don’t you think? I like people who are special. The kind who never go along with the crowd.”

For some reason, as she said those words, her smile grew even brighter — like a dazzling star.

Jiang Du wanted to say something complimentary, but she wasn’t good at that sort of thing. After a pause, she managed: “I think you’re pretty special too.”

“Really? What a coincidence — I feel the same way about you! Ha!” Zhang Xiaoqiang laughed again, and somehow Jiang Du ended up the embarrassed one.

When the two of them came out of the shop, the food stalls had thinned out. Steam rose quietly and steadily into the air — it was past the peak hour for students eating, and the street had grown more still. In one of the canopied stalls selling stir-fried noodles, the light was dim and mellow, and inside sat a boy eating with great enthusiasm.

“Wei Qingyue!” Zhang Xiaoqiang called out suddenly. Jiang Du startled along with her, and looked up. Sure enough, the boy’s gaze came over to them.

The long-awaited chance encounter arrived with no warning at all — and yet Jiang Du’s first thought was that she was completely superfluous here. Wei Qingyue and Zhang Xiaoqiang were the ones who actually knew each other.

“Do you want to head back first?” Zhang Xiaoqiang asked considerately. The balloons she’d been holding were, quite naturally, transferred into Jiang Du’s hands. In her mind, Jiang Du and Wei Qingyue had no connection — and standing there together might be awkward for Jiang Du.

The offer was made with kindness. She was looking out for Jiang Du.

And yet that kindness sent Jiang Du plunging into a bitter, muffled place. She was a little flustered, but the darkness helped conceal it:

“Mm — I’ll go on ahead then.”

She made every effort to suppress the urge to steal one more look, straightened her back, and walked in the direction of the school without turning around. Behind her, she heard the faint sound of voices beginning. She knew they had started talking — but she couldn’t make out a word.

*How pathetic.* Jiang Du walked in silence to the school gate. The wall by the gate cast a shadow across the pavement. She stepped into the shadow — and only then turned to steal a glance back.

The distance had grown. She could only make out the owner’s busy figure passing back and forth inside the stall, and the iron wok with sparks scattering beneath it from the flame — but Wei Qingyue was nowhere to be seen. That feeling was like those sparks extinguishing in the palm of her hand — the warmth, every trace of it, gone.

She turned back, dejected, and walked out of the shadow. The streetlight stretched her shadow out long behind her.

Back in the classroom, Jiang Du noticed Chen Huiming standing beside her seat, holding something.

In that instant, Jiang Du felt all the blood in her body rush to her face. She was nearly out of control — she ran over and snatched the thing out of Chen Huiming’s hand.

It wasn’t the letter. Chen Huiming had only accidentally knocked one of her study materials off the desk. But Jiang Du didn’t know that.

Jiang Du’s movement had been visibly rough and forceful. Her face was burning red, heart still slamming hard against her chest. Chen Huiming looked at her in shock, and a few boys nearby had seen the whole thing.

“Was that really necessary, Jiang Du?” Chen Huiming was clearly unhappy and let out a sound of disdain.

The fierce instinct to protect herself had taken over Jiang Du completely — her voice had even changed: “What are you picking up my things for?”

“What?” Chen Huiming rolled her eyes irritably. “I knocked it off by accident, and I picked it up for you. What is wrong with you — getting angry over something this small? Which eye of yours saw me randomly taking your things?”

“Jiang Du,” the class monitor stepped in to smooth things over, “what Chen Huiming said is true — I saw it. You might have misunderstood.”

Jiang Du felt deeply embarrassed. She opened her mouth, wanting to say *sorry*, but Chen Huiming was already sneering: “Since when do you have such a loud voice? You always look so soft and quiet.”

And then she fixed Jiang Du with an expression that said *you absolute hypocrite*.

Wang Jingjing was nowhere to be found. If she’d been there, it would have turned into a full-blown confrontation. Jiang Du knew she was in the wrong — she didn’t argue back, only said softly: “I’m sorry.”

“Please — always playing the gentle, refined girl,” Chen Huiming complained, going on about it. “Acting vicious when it counts, then sweet as anything in front of boys. One personality for boys, a completely different one for girls.”

“Alright, Chen Huiming — it’s a small thing, we’ve cleared it up, haven’t we? We’re all classmates here — let’s keep the peace.” The class monitor stepped in to stop her. Chen Huiming was far from appeased and glared at the monitor. She was deeply dissatisfied with this brand of fence-sitting. “Who do you think you’re playing neutral for? Everyone can see through it.”

The class monitor heard that and was unhappy too: “What are you saying? I’m just addressing the situation — how did I become what you’re making me out to be?”

Chen Huiming didn’t want to fight with the class monitor. Face dark as a thundercloud, she slammed her own books down hard onto her desk. The classroom fell silent for a moment — then, when everyone looked back up, Chen Huiming had already stormed out in a fit of temper.

And walked straight into Zhang Xiaoqiang and Wei Qingyue coming down the corridor side by side.

Seeing that something was wrong, Zhang Xiaoqiang called out: “Chen Huiming, what’s the matter? Where are you going — class is about to start.”

Chen Huiming stopped short, her eyes going abruptly red. “I accidentally knocked Jiang Du’s book off and picked it back up for her, and she grabbed it out of my hands and started yelling at me for no reason. The class monitor took her side too. I know how this works — whoever puts on the weakest act is whoever gets protected. Jiang Du just acts like that — all innocent and pitiful in front of boys. I don’t put on that kind of act, so I’m the one who gets pushed out!”