On the first day of the New Year, Jiang Du was woken by the sound of shoveling snow. It had snowed all night; the small vegetable garden by the front door was completely buried, and every plant her grandfather had grown was dead. She crawled out of the warm cocoon of her blankets, put on her hat and gloves, and opened the door — only to be momentarily blinded by a world blanketed entirely in white.

After clearing the snow, her grandparents took her to pay New Year’s respects at the home of a great-uncle’s family. In the eyes of the older generation, Jiang Du was still a child. They arrived, exchanged pleasantries, and sat down; she was asked about her grades as a matter of course. Jiang Du was always the most well-mannered of guests — answer one question, offer one gentle reply. If small children tumbled into her or tugged at her, she bore it patiently and played along with them properly, in earnest.

By the third day of the New Year, Jiang Du had begun her math tutoring sessions. The tutor was remarkably dedicated — already holding class on the third day. Morning sessions were concentrated. At the tutoring center, she recognized a few familiar faces; since she normally kept to herself, and they were now all in the same class, simple greetings sufficed. Wang Jingjing was in the room next door, and the two of them would slip out afterward to a nearby shop for a hot drink.

“I’m so sick of it all. Since the second day, there have been relatives coming and going nonstop,” Wang Jingjing said, her expression frazzled, eyes rolling. “You have no idea how terrifying small children can be — climbing all over our sofa, demanding my things — and when I told my mom, she told me I was being unreasonable, said a girl my age should know to let a little kid have her way. Absolutely beyond me!”

Jiang Du smiled gently and said, “Perhaps it gets better as they grow up. Small children are just naturally boisterous.”

“Gets better, my foot!” Wang Jingjing scoffed. “I don’t believe that a child with no manners magically turns into a decent person.”

“But getting children to be quiet really is difficult. Everyone has to go through growing up. Do you even remember what you were like as a child? When you were three or four, I mean?”

Wang Jingjing was actually stumped by that. She shook her head, but quickly made clear that she had definitely not been that kind of insufferable child.

“Oh, stop being so saintly about it.”

Jiang Du’s face went pink. “I’m not being saintly. I genuinely think most children, with proper guidance, can turn out well.”

Wang Jingjing crossed her legs: “Right — assuming they have a pair of normal parents.” She let out a rueful laugh and waved a hand. “Never mind all that. How did we end up discussing parenting? Didn’t you go back to your hometown?”

“My grandfather went back these past few days.”

“So boring!” Wang Jingjing sighed again. “I was going to invite Wei Qingyue out for karaoke on the sixth, but I couldn’t get him to commit. What is with that person? Hey — do you think high school will ever end? I want to go to university now, fall in love, do whatever I want.”

Just one semester in, and Wang Jingjing already found high school unbearably long and drawn-out — like train tracks stretching without end.

Jiang Du watched her, feeling entirely the opposite. She wanted to get into a good university — that was non-negotiable — but the outcome could come slowly. A little slower still. She didn’t want time to sprint forward without pause, day and night; if it would slow down, she could share the same space with a certain someone for just a fraction longer.

But — did Wang Jingjing truly like Wei Qingyue? The thought surfaced briefly in Jiang Du’s mind, then was swiftly pressed back down. And then — did she herself truly like Wei Qingyue? Was it hormones at work? Was it her dull, ordinary adolescence in need of a little color? She didn’t know. What she did know was this: the fluster of those shared glances, the careful, cautious watching, and the immense joy of managing to exchange a few words.

“How about we go sing karaoke on the sixth instead?” Wang Jingjing proposed, interrupting Jiang Du’s thoughts. And suddenly she understood — Zhang Xiaoqiang had not invited her. She had been agonizing over how to broach the subject with Wang Jingjing, worrying that perhaps Zhang Xiaoqiang had invited Wang Jingjing after all and that Wang Jingjing had simply assumed she wasn’t included and was too embarrassed to ask — and that if they happened to run into each other, it would all become terribly awkward. Well. That was settled now. Jiang Du let out a quiet, inward sigh of relief.

“How about the eighth instead? I’ll go with you on the eighth — I have to go to the temple with my grandmother on the sixth.” Jiang Du told an awkward little lie.

Wang Jingjing pursed her lips: “You burn incense? That’s feudal superstition. We never go to temples in our family. I genuinely can’t understand those people who queue for hours on New Year’s Eve to ring the bell in the freezing cold, with snow coming down — honestly, what are they thinking?”

Jiang Du didn’t burn incense or pray; she didn’t believe in any of it. But she understood why elderly people went to temples — to find a kind of inner peace. So she simply smiled and said nothing.

When Wang Jingjing’s mother came to pick them up, Wang Jingjing alternated between complaining that her mother was late and cheerfully announcing she wanted a new pair of earphones; her mother agreed to everything. Jiang Du sat in the back seat and watched Wang Jingjing, who had kicked off her shoes and was curled up completely in the front passenger seat without a shred of proper posture, playing games on her mother’s phone — cackling loudly and swearing in turns.

“You and that language of yours — where did you pick it up?”

“Everyone talks like this. It’s just like a filler word, practically.”

“You’re picking up bad habits. I think you need a lesson.”

“Ah, I said one expression, that’s all — the pressure of school is so intense, and you’re always nagging, I’m on the verge of a breakdown!”

Mother and daughter went back and forth, volley after volley. Jiang Du listened in silence, turning her face toward the window, watching the tall buildings pass by in succession, clouds above them — and then a sentence drifted into her ear:

“I bought you wool socks and you won’t wear them — serves you right if your feet freeze!”

Wang Jingjing’s mother bought her wool socks, she thought. They must be so warm. If my mother bought me wool socks, I would definitely wear them. The thought arrived for no reason at all — and then, with a jolt, she caught herself: that could never happen. So she became what she always became — a cricket that had lost the will to sing — and turned quietly back to watching the scenery.

And then, quite suddenly, she knew what to give Zhang Xiaoqiang.

It had been troubling her for some time. A snow globe, a journal, a pretty hair ornament — all of it seemed too childish. And she knew Zhang Xiaoqiang came from a well-off family, so whatever she gave would probably seem unremarkable. Better, then, to give something practical.

That afternoon, she got in touch with Zhang Xiaoqiang. Zhang Xiaoqiang’s username was a statement all its own — absolutely nothing like “Light Dancing in the Wind” or “Crystal Love.” She called herself “Hopelessly Vulgar” — and yet she was, in reality, a girl of considerable charm and grace, the sort everyone admired.

Jiang Du asked: What’s your favorite color?

Zhang Xiaoqiang immediately guessed she was looking to give a gift. She sent a cute emoji first, then replied:

Please don’t go to any trouble — if I tell you not to buy a gift you won’t listen, so just something small is more than enough. I’m actually a very simple person, haha.

In the end, though, she did share the color she liked: purple.

So Jiang Du bought a pair of purple wool socks, packaged in a beautiful bag. On the sixth, she slipped out half an hour early by asking the tutor’s permission — running out like someone up to no good, terrified of Wang Jingjing spotting her and asking questions. Besides, lying to Wang Jingjing already weighed on her conscience.

The restaurant they had agreed on was reachable by bus. When Jiang Du arrived, Zhang Xiaoqiang was already standing outside the entrance — poised as though welcoming guests — dressed in a long white down jacket with a red scarf, impossibly conspicuous.

Jiang Du also owned a white down jacket, bought the year before; she’d barely worn it, afraid of getting it dirty. After a single day, her hair alone would leave faint traces along the collar — which was mortifying. But white down jackets really were beautiful. She looked at Zhang Xiaoqiang and said sincerely: “Your jacket is lovely.”

“Thank you! I wore it specially today.” That was Zhang Xiaoqiang — generous as always, accepting a compliment with open warmth, never with affected denial.

One by one, several more people arrived — all classmates from their year. Of them all, Jiang Du was closest with Lin Haiyang.

Once they entered the private room, she met Zhang Xiaoqiang’s mother. Her mother had excellent bearing — tall, fair-skinned, with a soft and warm voice when greeting them. Jiang Du liked her at first glance.

Most importantly, this aunt was considerate: after greeting everyone, she moved to leave, saying her presence would make them all awkward, and told them to eat and enjoy themselves to their hearts’ content. Everyone put on their most well-behaved faces — “Thank you, Auntie” — especially Lin Haiyang, who made a great show of wanting to persuade the woman to stay, delivering the obligatory pleasantries with convincing flair:

“Auntie, why don’t you stay and eat with us?”

“No, no, you’re all the same age — you have so much to talk about. I wouldn’t want to be in the way. If you need anything, just tell Xiaoqiang. Don’t be shy.”

“Then please drive safely, Auntie.” Lin Haiyang didn’t forget to see her off; the girls and the class representative followed along, and the aunt had to wave them all back.

“Look at you, Lin Haiyang — ‘Auntie, why don’t you stay and eat with us,'” Zhang Xiaoqiang’s deskmate Liu Xiaole turned to mock him the moment they were back inside, and Lin Haiyang was indignant: “That’s called being polite. You can all tell you’re just bookworms — no social grace whatsoever. Standing there like posts, staring blankly at each other.”

The girls promptly descended on Lin Haiyang to rough him up; the class representative, ever the peacemaker, hurriedly pulled him aside and told them not to knock into the servers.

Because she knew there would be food, Jiang Du had worn her old black down jacket, not wanting to stain anything. She was slender to begin with; the contrast only made her face paler, her features more defined. But everyone else seemed to have dressed up in their finest; Jiang Du felt a pang of regret — she was afraid it might seem as though she hadn’t taken the occasion seriously.

Very quickly, she found herself regretting something far more than her choice of outfit.

The last to arrive, fashionably late, was Wei Qingyue. The moment the boy stepped through the door behind Zhang Xiaoqiang, the private room — which had been a cheerful, noisy tumult — fell abruptly silent.

“No need for introductions, right? Wei Qingyue, Class One — our uncatchable number one.” Zhang Xiaoqiang gave his sleeve a playful tug and pushed him to the front.

Wei Qingyue was holding a gift box, the tip of his nose lightly flushed as though from the cold, his hair wind-tousled. He raised his hand in a casual wave to everyone seated — by way of greeting.

He sat down wherever he liked — which happened to be directly across from Jiang Du. The light fell over him; beneath his eyes lay a faint, small shadow.

Jiang Du quickly withdrew her gaze, pressed a hand to her chair, and felt her heart give a sudden, involuntary squeeze.

Beside her, Zhang Xiaoqiang settled in close to him and began making introductions one by one. When she reached Jiang Du, Jiang Du had no choice but to look up — but Wei Qingyue spoke first: “I know this one.”

The air went momentarily still.

The blood rushed straight into Jiang Du’s face. Everyone saw it plainly — how color flooded that pale, unadorned complexion in a purely physiological response. Wei Qingyue blinked with playful mischief and leaned back at ease:

“Don’t the boys in your class call Jiang Du ‘Little Sister Lin’? This little sister’s essays have been read aloud in our class too.”