This caught everyone off guard. The impression Wei Qingyue had left on people was, to put it precisely, not one of aloofness — he had an edge to him, prone to a furrow of impatience at the brow. He was not a model student in the conventional sense. Many top students were polite, distant, neither too close nor too far with anyone; Wei Qingyue was more like a plant with thorns.
So for him to openly tease Jiang Du like this left everyone momentarily stunned — and Jiang Du herself wanted to sink through the floor and run.
In the end, it was Zhang Xiaoqiang who smoothed things over: “What are you doing — taking advantage of Jiang Du’s timid nature? Don’t you go making fun of her.”
The mischief in Wei Qingyue’s eyes and brow was unmistakable. He pulled apart his chopsticks and drove them through the plastic film sealed over the top of a drinking glass with a sharp snap — startling Jiang Du all over again.
“Just a joke — don’t mind it. I’m the only outsider here, aren’t I? Thought I’d liven things up a bit.” He offered a brief, off-hand explanation.
Jiang Du had no choice but to smile. Smiling cost her considerable effort; the muscles in her face were not quite cooperating.
Before long, the servers began bringing dishes. Lin Haiyang, seated nearest the door, busied himself receiving the plates. Zhang Xiaoqiang cast a glance or two in that direction and used it as a natural segue into conversation about the food — drawing the table back to life, one exchange at a time.
Since the table had a lazy Susan, Jiang Du always waited until no one was spinning it before gently pressing a finger to the glass plate. But every time she was just about to turn it, she’d find Wei Qingyue reaching in with his chopsticks at precisely that moment; she would have to give way, and he would help himself to his dish without so much as a glance in her direction.
After this happened several times in a row, her plate remained empty. She couldn’t help but look up at him. Across the table, across the laughter and chatter, Wei Qingyue seemed to have been waiting for the glance she finally sent his way. Their eyes met, and his held a barely concealed amusement — a hint of deliberate mischief.
Jiang Du’s ears grew warm. She set down her chopsticks at a loss, and took a sip of her lukewarm juice.
It was Zhang Xiaoqiang who noticed — attentive as always — that Jiang Du had barely taken anything. She stood up, pressed food onto her: slices of beef, ribs of lamb, crowns of broccoli — until a small mountain rose from Jiang Du’s plate.
“You’re like a little child, drinking nothing but juice — you’ll be full on drinks alone.” Zhang Xiaoqiang had birthday accessories in her hair; when she smiled, a flash of bright white teeth showed through — enough to star in a toothpaste advertisement.
Jiang Du felt a little embarrassed but thanked her sincerely, and her heart eased considerably. Now she wouldn’t have to contend with that revolving tray anymore. Truth be told, on the rare occasions she joined her grandparents at a banquet, she had always been somewhat intimidated by lazy Susans. She could never quite find the right moment to turn — and would end up going home half-fed, then quietly eating more once she arrived.
She stole a glance at Wei Qingyue. Nearby, Lin Haiyang had leaned over to ask him about some game; Wei Qingyue was evidently a gaming expert — the type who spent entire weekends at internet cafés. Two of the other girls, seizing their chance, were asking him for tips on studying the sciences.
For the whole meal, Jiang Du scarcely said a word. She was quiet in a way that embarrassed her; she deeply envied the way everyone else could be so animated in social settings — freely venting about teachers one moment, gossiping about who was dating whom the next, and switching without effort into a perfectly earnest conversation about academics.
But this was fine. All around her was sound — bright, animated faces, the glow of youth under the warm light. She could sit here quietly and listen, and from time to time, let her gaze slip past a certain person’s face — the way a swallow’s tail might brush lightly across the tip of a stalk of wheat.
As hostess, Zhang Xiaoqiang made it her duty to ensure no one was neglected, so when she realized Jiang Du had gone entirely silent, she steered the conversation toward her:
“Jiang Du, you must have read so many books growing up — share some of your essay-writing secrets with us?”
Caught off guard, Jiang Du blinked. Under everyone’s eyes, she was never quite natural.
“I don’t really have any secrets. I just—” Jiang Du started stiffly, “—just wrote.” If Wei Qingyue weren’t here, she thought, I would be doing much better.
Liu Xiaole jumped in: “It’s talent, isn’t it? Writing is all about talent. I set my sights low — I just use a template, won’t get a great mark but won’t fail either. I’ve given up on essays entirely.”
Over at the end, Lin Haiyang was waging a losing battle against a shrimp and had angrily switched to a spoon — yet somehow his mouth was still fully operational:
“How about this — afterward, we all write an essay using Zhang Xiaoqiang’s birthday party as the subject, and see whether Jiang Du is the only one with natural brilliance. Jiang Du, show us what you’ve really got — dazzle us!”
“Get out of here — what do you think this is, a primary school excursion essay? Lin Haiyang, you and that mouth of yours. Go write it yourself. Jiang Du, don’t pay him any attention.” Liu Xiaole laughed and swatted at him.
That was Lin Haiyang — incorrigible, as though he’d itch all over if he went a day without being scolded by a girl. It had started with Wang Jingjing — provoking her until she called him out — and then he’d worked his way through the rest of the class, until nearly every girl spoke to him freely and without restraint. Jiang Du was one of the few exceptions — she was simply too earnest to take his bait.
She rather envied how effortlessly her classmates got along with each other. She genuinely thought Lin Haiyang was a ray of sunshine; his parents, she decided, must be the most easy-going of people, with a lively and affectionate home life — that was the only way someone like Lin Haiyang could have emerged.
That was Jiang Du’s particular habit of mind — she would always observe her classmates and try to imagine what their parents must be like. But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t have imagined that Wei Qingyue’s father beat him.
That thought made her glance at him involuntarily. Wei Qingyue, one leg crossed over the other, seemed to be half-listening, half-lost in thought, his gaze slightly distant — until it suddenly shifted and landed on Jiang Du’s quietly searching eyes, and he smiled again.
Jiang Du immediately looked away.
The meal stretched on for well over an hour, and the cake was cut last. Lin Haiyang smeared a handful across Zhang Xiaoqiang’s face; as she ducked away, she grabbed Wei Qingyue and tried to use him as a shield — and Lin Haiyang’s hand landed squarely on Wei Qingyue instead.
He was wearing a haze-blue padded jacket, a red scarf like everyone else; a streak of cake now ran across him. He didn’t seem to care — simply, quite naturally, pulled Zhang Xiaoqiang out from behind him and pushed her forward: “She’s good-natured. Go ahead, have at her.”
“Wei Qingyue, you absolute traitor!” Zhang Xiaoqiang laughed loudly — the kind of laughter where both eyes shine with unclouded happiness.
Jiang Du watched this and felt something she couldn’t quite name — envy, perhaps, or something else. She had risen from her seat and stood beside her chair. Lin Haiyang would never roughhouse with her that way; nor would anyone else. She was there, but slightly out of place — like a gentle, tame sheep.
The indoor heating was too strong; her face had gone hot and flushed.
Everyone but her had exchanged at least a few words with Wei Qingyue by now. Among students, the top student always arrived with a certain aura — and Wei Qingyue, with that particular personality of his, all the more so. Jiang Du pressed the back of her hand to her cheek and filed out with the others, one by one.
When it came time to pay, Zhang Xiaoqiang headed to the front with Wei Qingyue in tow.
The cold air hit her face — a relief. Jiang Du tucked both hands into her pockets on instinct; the group stood outside in the wind, discussing whether to go sing karaoke next.
When the two top students emerged, the most striking thing was the matching red scarves around their necks — very much a couples’ look. Jiang Du glanced over in what she hoped appeared to be idle indifference, the ghost of a smile on her face. She didn’t know why she was smiling — only that everyone else was smiling too.
“Let’s take taxis! Lin Haiyang, you take Jiang Du and the other two; I’ll go with Wei Qingyue and Xiaole in the one behind.” Zhang Xiaoqiang coordinated with brisk efficiency, already running to the curb to hail a car.
“How far is it?” Wei Qingyue asked. Zhang Xiaoqiang told him: roughly a twenty-minute walk, faster by taxi.
“Let’s walk. We just ate all that — a little movement would be good.” He made the suggestion; Zhang Xiaoqiang put it to the group. As though accustomed to following the top student’s lead, everyone agreed without much objection, and the group set off across the street in good spirits.
No wonder her neck had been cold — Jiang Du suddenly stopped in her tracks, looking apologetic: “I’m so sorry, everyone — I left my scarf behind. I’ll just pop back and get it. You go ahead.”
“I’ll go — I’m fast!” Lin Haiyang volunteered immediately, and before the words had fully left his mouth, his long legs were already carrying him back at a sprint.
Jiang Du grew even more embarrassed and apologized again for her carelessness.
“Never mind — here, wear mine for now, don’t let yourself get cold.” Zhang Xiaoqiang was already unwinding her own scarf as she spoke and wrapping it around Jiang Du’s neck. Jiang Du was not good at making a fuss over refusals — and so that strip of red came to rest at her throat.
For a brief spell — perhaps five or six minutes — she and Wei Qingyue wore the same color scarf. It was someone else’s, yes, but that coincidence of color was still, in its way, something rare. She drifted toward the back of the group, watching everyone’s backs in her usual way, including Wei Qingyue’s.
The wind lifted his hair — it flew lightly, freely. She could see, with perfect clarity, every individual strand moving in rhythm, matching the beats of her heart.
Lin Haiyang returned breathlessly, exactly as promised, and pressed the scarf into Jiang Du’s hands. She looked at his flushed, steam-rising face and suddenly felt like laughing: “Really, I’m so sorry — putting you to all this trouble.”
“Why are you always so formal about things? How about your grandmother makes another batch of that sauce and you bring me a jar?” He said it like a dare. Behind them, Liu Xiaole called out: “Lin Haiyang, that’s too much — he runs to get her scarf and then extorts a jar of sauce out of her!”
“Deal — when grandmother makes her next batch, I’ll set a jar aside for you.” Jiang Du agreed without hesitation.
Lin Haiyang fell into step beside her: “I’m always starving after evening study. You have no idea how much guys can eat. After evening study, a big flatbread dipped in sauce — I could eat three, easy. You believe me?”
Jiang Du stifled a laugh: “I believe you. You’re so tall.”
“Let me tell you, guys are basically born starving. We do so much exercise. How do you eat so little? I watched you at lunch — you eat like a bird.”
“Not at all — I eat a normal amount. Birds eat practically nothing.”
On the walk to the karaoke bar, she passed the time in conversation with Lin Haiyang — trivial, meaningless little details. From time to time she looked ahead. Wei Qingyue never once turned back.
He can’t see me.
But at least I can see him. And besides — the stretch of road underfoot is one we’re walking together. She didn’t ask for much: a small happiness, like the single note of a plucked string that swells, against all expectation, into a great surging melody.
Entering the karaoke venue, shimmering, restless lights traced their way across every face. Down the corridor, a door left ajar let through music that was ear-splitting — and what could only be described as howling.
Jiang Du couldn’t sing — she only ever hummed quietly to herself. But the meaning of today was not in eating, and not in singing either. She didn’t feel the slightest bit of reluctance; she only felt that this entire day was an extraordinary stroke of luck.
The sixth is an auspicious day, her grandmother always said. More newlyweds get married on this day than any other — every year it’s the same.
New Year’s Eve had its beauty, and so did the first day — but neither could compare to the beauty of the sixth.
Once they settled into the private room, countless tiny spinning stars fell across their faces in deep ocean blue. Jiang Du sat at the very end, listening to everyone argue over which songs to choose.
“You still owe me a song,” Zhang Xiaoqiang said quietly, the shimmering light all around her. She looked at Wei Qingyue with a smile; he feigned ignorance, a slight frown: “What do you mean I owe you a song?”
Zhang Xiaoqiang hushed him: “The New Year’s showcase. You stood me up.”
Only then did Wei Qingyue smile — briefly, deflecting: “My voice isn’t great today. Don’t feel like singing. How about this — you pick a song, and I’ll give you my critique?”
“Look how full of yourself you are,” Zhang Xiaoqiang said, clearing her throat. “My English pronunciation is more accurate than yours — don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Truly impressive. Is that a London accent?” Wei Qingyue popped open an easy-pull can with a smile; the crisp sound split the air and the cold liquid traced its way down into his lungs.
His tone wasn’t something people generally warmed to — call it sarcasm and Wei Qingyue would only say there was no such intention; one explanation was his absolute limit. He genuinely just spoke however the words came. In short, Wei Qingyue was not the sort of person who knew how to please others, nor did he much bother with their feelings.
Zhang Xiaoqiang shot him a look, then glanced over to where Lin Haiyang was already itching to sing a Cantonese song. The moment he opened his mouth, he was clearly imitating the accent — certain sounds twisted in peculiar ways — and yet Lin Haiyang sang with total abandon. She and the other girls burst out laughing.
Afterward, Liu Xiaole pushed the class representative and Zhang Xiaoqiang into a duet. They were both top students and had worked so well together on class affairs all term — it would be a shame not to sing at least one song together.
“What though? All the duets feel kind of corny?” Zhang Xiaoqiang scrolled through the song list, genuinely baffled.
“Yearning in Wind and Rain?”
“You Are the Most Precious?”
“My Confidant and Dearest, haha!”
“You all love those old songs, don’t you? Someone who didn’t know better would think it was grandparents making the requests.”
Jiang Du listened to everyone chime in from all sides. As usual, she had no way to join. She sat very straight, her back a perfectly even line. Next to her, Wei Qingyue had already half-reclined on the sofa, hands crossed behind his head, his long legs stretched out and folded over each other.
The duet began. The class representative’s vocal talent was — difficult to endure. Lin Haiyang was already doubled over with laughter, offering zero sympathy; the class representative grew so mortified he nearly gave up. Lin Haiyang waved him back: “No, no — you have to see it through to the end.”
The music boomed and crashed in every direction. Liu Xiaole suddenly said she wanted fruit — she thought she’d forgotten to order a fruit platter. Wei Qingyue stood up directly: “I’ll go. You all keep singing.”
Whether he was bored or the room was too stuffy, Jiang Du couldn’t tell. She summoned her courage and finally spoke to him:
“Why don’t I go instead? I can’t sing anyway.”
“Then what did you come for?” Wei Qingyue asked with a laugh. Jiang Du was immediately flustered. She pressed her lips together and muttered vaguely, “I’ll go order the fruit platter.”
But the moment she actually stepped into the corridor, a wave of disorientation washed over her. The hallway was a swirl of extravagant, otherworldly light — and she immediately got lost.
“If you can’t sing, why did you come? Zhang Xiaoqiang invited you for her birthday for a reason. You’ve gone the wrong way.” Wei Qingyue’s voice came from behind her — she had no idea when he’d appeared. He gave the hood of her down jacket a light tug — not hard at all, but it startled Jiang Du thoroughly. She turned around and stood there for a long moment.
In the ensuing fluster, it took her a while to find her voice: “I’ll just order the fruit platter.”
Wei Qingyue let out a soft, amused sound: “I’m going to the bathroom.”
Oh? Jiang Du froze. So it was her own presumption all along. In an instant, a wave of mortification crashed through her — how embarrassing.
A few drunk adults stumbled past down the corridor, one of the men nearly careening straight into Jiang Du. Wei Qingyue reached out and steadied her in passing, saying, “You even get lost in here?”
Jiang Du murmured: “I’ve never been here before.”
“You barely ate anything, you don’t know how to sing, you don’t talk much — are you really this shy? Aren’t they all your classmates?”
The bit about the food… Jiang Du gave him a searching look, hesitating, then let her lashes fall.
“Jiang Du.” Wei Qingyue suddenly said her name. She looked up and watched the light pass across his face.
“Are you nervous every time you see me?” He asked with complete directness — so direct that Jiang Du felt, for a split second, as though her soul had left her body.
On pure instinct, she stumbled over her denial: “No — I’m not.”
Wei Qingyue smiled — a contained, subtle sort of smile. He glanced around, then turned back to her and said:
“If you feel constrained talking to me, you can—” he paused deliberately, watching her expression. Sure enough, Jiang Du went rigid, as though at his next word she might simply snap. Her eyes were beautiful — irises dark as ink, pooling with bright, vivid light. At the center of that light was his own reflection.
“Write me a letter.”
Those four words, the boy said with quiet certainty. He was still smiling, still watching her eyes.