The faint scent of oranges still lingered in the classroom. At some point during the evening, Teacher Xiao Xu had come in once. The girls had given him an apple and a few pieces of chocolate. Xiao Xu said: “Don’t try to bribe me with sweet-coated cannonballs.” He let them run wild for a bit, then told them to settle down and focus.

Hearts were not so easy to settle. During the first self-study period, the English teacher came by for a walk through the room, started a listening exercise, and there were still some boys whispering in the back. They endured until the first evening study session ended, then everyone rushed out into the corridors, darting about, exchanging gifts.

The corridor was ice-cold, yet it couldn’t contain the stirring hearts of young people.

“He wrote you back.” Jiang Du pressed the letter — still warm from her body heat — into Wang Jingjing’s hands. Wang Jingjing had been picking at the fluff on her plush toy. She jolted, opened her mouth, made no sound — but her lips clearly formed the shape of “Wei Qingyue.”

Seeing Jiang Du nod, Wang Jingjing let out a string of expletives — “Holy—! Holy—!” — and when she’d finished getting it out of her system, she suddenly sprang up like a coiled spring and bolted out of the room.

Jiang Du didn’t know what had come over her and called out “Wang Jingjing!” chasing after her, but Wang Jingjing had already sprinted off in the direction of the restroom.

She stood at the classroom door. Students from every class were streaming through the corridors, silhouettes flashing past the glass windows, laughing and playing in the lamplight.

Wang Jingjing came rushing back soon enough, breathless, eyes glowing. She had gone to wash her hands. “I should really be bathing and burning incense to show proper reverence — but since that’s not an option right now, I’ve at least given my two paws a good washing. Ha ha ha!”

The classroom wasn’t the safest place. Lin Haiyang was the worst — always sticking his nose into everyone’s business at a moment’s notice. Wang Jingjing swept the room with her eyes. Chen Huiming was over with a group of girls, chattering away nonstop, and she had glanced in their direction several times — no doubt nothing kind was being said. Wang Jingjing took careful mental note, even though she appeared carefree on the surface. When it came to the things that mattered, she was very sharp.

Good news should only be shared with the people closest to you — there weren’t that many people in this world who genuinely wished you well. She felt that the fewer people who knew about Wei Qingyue’s reply, the better. Jiang Du, of course, was an exception — a person who could only write essays from templates would never produce a letter written like a grandmother’s gentle rambling.

“I have a small flashlight. Let’s find somewhere to read it.” Her eyes darted about mischievously.

Break time was only ten minutes — which meant skipping class. Jiang Du’s heart was beating fast. She stared at that thin sheet of paper in Wang Jingjing’s hands, its creases clearly visible. For a brief moment, she had held it. Now, that sheet of paper carried a vast and mysterious world within it — a world she had always longed to plunge headfirst into, yet found herself adrift and unable to reach, like moonlight shimmering on a ferry crossing.

Even the most introverted and timid girl, in a moment like this, could become surprisingly brave. Jiang Du found herself agreeing to Wang Jingjing’s plan as though bewitched — her first time skipping class, and it was all because of Wei Qingyue.

The two girls hid under the trellis behind the main building. Jiang Du held the flashlight; beside her, she could hear the faint, delicate rustling of Wang Jingjing opening the letter. Wang Jingjing’s hands were shaking so much she almost couldn’t get it open. She asked Jiang Du if her hands were cold.

The light fell upon the boy’s strong, confident handwriting.

“To XX:

I didn’t know how to address you, so I’ve used this placeholder — please don’t take offense. After all, you never sign your name.

I received your letters. Honestly, I was not surprised, though you and I may have little connection to speak of. All three letters arrived, and I read each one. What your intentions are in writing to me, I believe I can guess — in the eyes of people like you, I’m nothing more than ‘good-looking and academically accomplished.’ Beyond that, I imagine you don’t know much more.

If those two qualities are what attracted you, let me tell you: they are both superficial gloss, not worth expending hollow enthusiasm over. My face was given to me at birth — I have never felt that my appearance is any great advantage, so much so that it warrants someone’s affection. If one could win another’s love on looks alone, I should have been loved long ago. As for grades — so long as a person isn’t remarkably slow, a bit of hard work yields decent results.

Everyone has a side unknown to others — even an embarrassing side, one might say. I am telling you this candidly because I feel your three letters showed the same candor. I have an obligation to remind you: I am not the perfect image others have built in their minds.

The concerns you raised in your letter, I can answer. I intend to make it to university in America — there is nothing here worth being reluctant about. I generally don’t wipe down my desk or bench. I just sit. Boys don’t really think about these things.

As for the tree outside the library — I’d guess you sit near the window in your classroom, which gives you easy access to the view outside, and therefore many wandering thoughts. I don’t quite understand the way girls can look at a single tree, or a single bird, and draw so much feeling from it — but I respect that. The world is uneven by nature. Each person’s understanding is different. You may be seeing one side of the world, while I may be looking at its reverse.

Some of the small details you shared in your letters were quite interesting. Your parents must love you very much — people who grow up in happy families have the capacity to notice the fine texture of everyday life, and to draw out its most beautiful qualities.”

At this point in the letter, Wang Jingjing could no longer contain herself and burst out in a tremendous exclamation: “Ah — he really understands me! How did he know my parents absolutely adore me?!”

Jiang Du’s eyes burned. She gripped the flashlight as tightly as she could. Wang Jingjing didn’t seem to need any response from her — she exclaimed to her heart’s content, then quickly shushed herself, whispering “quiet, quiet.” In truth, Jiang Du hadn’t made a single sound.

The cold wind seemed to pass straight through her core — icy inside and out, her cheeks numb with cold. Two fuzzy-haired heads huddled back together.

“You lamented the passing of time in your letter — there is no need for excessive sorrow. The future is full of promise; one should look forward. Dwelling on the past serves little purpose. At least for me, the past holds nothing worth cherishing. I place my hopes in a life yet to come. But our experiences growing up were different, and your perspective may not match mine — everyone values different things.

The three letters caused me no trouble. I am probably much less sensitive than you imagine — I am not easily troubled by things.

I’m not good at offering well-wishes. If something must be said in closing, then — I wish you academic progress. That is likely the thing you care about most. I’ve left a messaging account number on the back of this page. You can add me. If you prefer to continue corresponding by letter, that’s up to you.”

The letter ended here. Wang Jingjing flipped the page over sharply, creating a gust of air that startled Jiang Du. Her instinct was to want to read it once more.

Sure enough, on the back was a string of numbers.

Wang Jingjing wielded it like a victorious little banner: “Ah — Wei — ” her voice dropped sharply. She grabbed Jiang Du’s sleeve and pulled it violently, her eyes blazing. “Wei Qingyue’s messaging account number! Oh my god, I got his messaging account number!”

Jiang Du was being yanked so hard she swayed from side to side. She worked to sculpt a mask onto her face — composed, fitting — to meet her best friend’s joy appropriately.

But her mind was somewhere far away. Was this really Wei Qingyue? Did he truly write this?

It was as though she had touched a more intricate texture, a clearer grain — as though Wei Qingyue were a tree, and she was pressing her hand against its bark for the first time. Jiang Du’s eyes ached. She couldn’t even manage to freely ask Wang Jingjing: “Let’s read it one more time.”

Strange — she didn’t actually need to read it again. She had already memorized every word. Every character he had written, every stroke, every pause in the brushwork, was imprinted in her heart rather than on the page.

Jiang Du had always had a good memory. But it was the first time she discovered that she was capable of memorizing something at a single glance.

In her ears, Wang Jingjing’s incoherent stream of words floated in from somewhere distant, like voices from across a hazy sea. Jiang Du remained submerged in that letter she had just read — the letter resonated like an immense echo, reverberating again and again against the four walls of her heart.

He said he was going to America. He said, your parents must love you very much. No, Wei Qingyue — in the letter, I only pretended to have parents who loved me. What I was actually describing were my grandparents. Does anyone love you? Why do you feel not the slightest reluctance to leave your hometown?

Jiang Du’s heart was tugged with sudden pain. She stiffened and pressed her hand to her lips, breathing softly into it. Then Wang Jingjing’s hand came down on her shoulder with a pat.

“Hey, hey — what do you think this letter means? He’s allowing me to keep writing to him, right? Does this mean Wei Qingyue has feelings for me? Lin Haiyang told him — he knows it’s me who wrote the letters. He knows me, doesn’t he?”

Wang Jingjing was talking too fast. Jiang Du came back to herself, not knowing which question to answer first.

“Tell me — how should I reply?” Wang Jingjing struggled to keep her excitement contained. She hadn’t expected Wei Qingyue to write her such a long letter at all, or that he would have so much to say — though some of what he’d written, she didn’t entirely understand his true meaning.

That didn’t matter. What mattered was that she had received Wei Qingyue’s reply. She was one of a kind — Wei Qingyue had looked upon her with special regard. The vanity particular to young girls rose naturally to the surface.

In that instant, a small thought stirred in Wang Jingjing that she had never had before. She considered carefully, then said to Jiang Du:

“Actually — maybe from now on, I should write back to him myself. You can give me some suggestions, but I think it would be better coming directly from me. Otherwise, wouldn’t it seem like I have no sincerity? What do you think?”

Jiang Du’s heart was pierced in an instant. For several seconds, she couldn’t speak. Each breath felt suspended — as though something was being stripped away without mercy. But this was her own doing, a trap she had set for herself. She had lacked courage, so naturally she had no right to anything.

“Alright,” she said, with a serenity too perfect to be real, quietly. “Then let’s do that.”