When winter break ended and school resumed, Mei High began piloting the newest arts-science track separation system. In the past, the official separation had always happened at the start of second year. Starting from 2007, a survey would be conducted at the beginning of the second semester of first year, with a one-month adjustment period allowing students to switch — arts to sciences or sciences to arts — though Teacher Xiao Xu advised that switching from arts to sciences required careful thought, as the science track was difficult.

The notice had been officially issued two days before school resumed, posted by Xiao Xu in the class QQ group.

The group erupted into chaos. Everyone complained that the school had sprung this on them far too suddenly — they had assumed the separation was still a long way off. Why were they being used as guinea pigs?

Still, there were those who had already made up their minds long ago — arts or sciences, their direction was clear.

Whatever the case, everyone shared one consensus: the sooner the separation happened, the better, saving them from wasting time on certain subjects.

Fortunately there was still a buffer period before it all took effect. In years past, girls returning from break would love to gather and chat about whatever dramas they had watched over the holiday. Now, every conversation had shifted to the class division. Wang Jingjing held no particular advantage in arts like Jiang Du did, but she couldn’t claim a real advantage in sciences either. So her parents told her to choose sciences, and she herself was inclined the same way — worst case, she could always switch to arts later, and switching from sciences to arts was the easier direction anyway.

Jiang Du, needless to say, would choose arts without question. Arts-track math wasn’t so difficult, and she wouldn’t have to wrestle with the physics that gave her headaches. Any way she looked at it, choosing arts still gave her a chance of getting into a top university.

The two had been classmates for so many years, and this meant that from here on, their paths would diverge. They would still be at the same school, but as coursework grew heavier and they moved to different floors, opportunities to see each other would dwindle.

“Sigh, I feel a little sad about it,” Wang Jingjing said, fiddling with her pencil case. “Most of our class is choosing sciences — I asked around and barely anyone is doing arts. Have you really decided on arts?”

In most people’s minds, students who chose arts were mostly those with poor grades and duller minds. The school had always placed greater emphasis on sciences over arts. Wang Jingjing talked about worst-case switching from sciences to arts, but to avoid being looked down upon, it was only talk.

Jiang Du smiled, pulling out her physics textbook and running her fingers across it. She didn’t actually dislike science at all — she had just never studied it well. A genuine sense of reluctance stirred in her chest at the thought of parting, yet no matter which direction a person flew, they couldn’t remain in one place forever. There was no banquet that never ended.

“Yes, I’ve decided. Choosing arts or sciences — as long as you don’t regret it, that’s what matters.” She reached into her schoolbag and pulled out a small charm pouch, one obtained from a temple, embroidered with the four characters meaning “a bright future ahead.” “Here, for you. Grandmother asked for one for me and one for you — I forgot to give it to you last time.”

“Wow, please thank your grandmother for me — I love it so much!” Wang Jingjing accepted it with exaggerated delight, pressing it to her lips again and again.

“What about mine!” Lin Haiyang’s head suddenly popped up from behind them. With a sharp “smack,” Wang Jingjing hit him with her book. “You always have to be part of everything — you just never go away.”

“Well, next Lunar New Year, I’ll ask my grandmother to get one for you too.” Jiang Du, remembering something Lin Haiyang had done for her over the winter break, felt she owed him a favor and quickly made the promise.

Everyone was still wearing their down jackets, rustling softly with every movement. The classroom hummed with voices. These gatherings — there were fewer and fewer of them with each passing day.

But when it came to parting, classmates were accustomed to it, and had to be. So many people passed through, bringing with them so much laughter, so much sorrow and joy — all destined to come to an end at some particular moment.

The restless first week back passed without anyone quite noticing.

The track-selection survey form required a parent’s signature. Over the weekend, Jiang Du showed it to her grandparents, who of course had no objections — there was nothing to hesitate over.

When she handed it in to Zhang Xiaoqiang on Monday, Zhang Xiaoqiang was busy chasing down classmates for incomplete forms. Some people were never quite careful enough and forgot to fill in the date.

“You’re sure about arts?” Zhang Xiaoqiang asked Jiang Du. Jiang Du nodded.

“There’ll be a placement exam for the class assignments — give it your best shot. You might be able to get into the arts honors class.” Zhang Xiaoqiang didn’t forget to encourage her. Jiang Du smiled and said, “You’ll definitely make it into the sciences honors class.”

“That’s the plan.” Zhang Xiaoqiang said it with complete confidence. When she smiled, the small dimples on her cheeks deepened. Jiang Du’s mind drifted for a moment — she knew that Zhang Xiaoqiang would once again become Wei Qingyue’s classmate.

As much as she liked Wei Qingyue, she knew there was simply no way she would ever choose sciences. Arts was her path forward. If she were good enough, the least she could hope for was the good fortune of sharing a class with him — but unfortunately, she didn’t even have that much to offer.

And with Wang Jingjing choosing sciences, the days of ghost-writing on anyone’s behalf were over. Time stretched endlessly ahead, yet when it came to him, it felt like something increasingly hopeless.

“All that fawning — I thought you’d pick sciences too just to flatter him.” Chen Huiming’s voice cut through sharply. She slanted a glance over, cracking sunflower seeds with her seatmate.

“She’s the one going into the honors class,” the seatmate chimed in, more subtly.

Zhang Xiaoqiang hadn’t caught this — she had already gone to find someone in the back. Jiang Du turned to look at them and said nothing, uncertain whether they were talking about her, her heart sinking with a small, uneasy lurch.

But Chen Huiming had quite plainly rolled her eyes in Jiang Du’s direction. Jiang Du’s face immediately flushed. Wang Jingjing noticed and gave her a nudge: “Is that insufferable woman talking about you?”

Wang Jingjing had a loud voice. Chen Huiming immediately called out her name: “Wang Jingjing, who are you calling insufferable?”

At that, Wang Jingjing burst out laughing with outrage: “Guilty conscience — so you really were talking about Jiang Du. How petty can you get? Day in, day out, you’re worse than a market gossip — even market gossips aren’t as small-minded as you.”

“Who are you calling petty!” Chen Huiming’s eyes went wide. Just as she was about to argue back, her seatmate shot her a look. Chen Huiming caught on and changed tactics, fixing Wang Jingjing with a sarcastic stare. “You call her a friend — doesn’t mean she sees you the same way.”

Wang Jingjing had no idea what she was insinuating, and couldn’t be bothered. She muttered “freak” and turned back around.

Jiang Du found Chen Huiming’s attempt to sow discord utterly repulsive, yet she had no desire to start another conflict right now. With the class division imminent and Class Two about to be scattered, there was no point in getting into it with anyone.

Just then, the class monitor came over to tell Jiang Du that Teacher Xiao Xu was asking for her in the office.

There was a poverty subsidy for students in need, with at least two spots per class. At this age, everyone had a sensitive pride, and most people didn’t want to admit their family was struggling. In truth, genuinely poor students at Mei High were rare.

“The spots go to waste if no one takes them. Jiang Du, just fill this out.” Xiao Xu laid out the situation plainly and slid the form across the desk.

Jiang Du hesitated — not out of wounded pride, but simply because she genuinely didn’t consider her family to be impoverished.

“Teacher Xu, both my grandparents have retirement pensions, and back home we sold a plot of land to pay for my schooling. My family does have the means. I think this money should go to a classmate who truly needs it.”

Xiao Xu smiled. “I know. But have you thought about this — your grandparents are getting older and older. If either of them has health problems down the road, the expenses can be enormous. You’re young, you don’t know how frightening illness can be. Listen to your teacher and accept this money — not for any other reason, just think of it as doing something for those two elders. Trust me, it won’t steer you wrong.”

The teacher’s intentions were kind — Jiang Du understood that. But still she stood without moving, hesitated a moment, then said, “Teacher Xu, if my classmates find out I’m taking this money, they’ll talk.”

“I’ll explain it to them. Don’t overthink it.” Xiao Xu couldn’t help sighing. “You worry an awful lot for such a young girl.”

In the end the form was filled out. Jiang Du pulled the office door shut behind her as she left. At the corner of the corridor, a strong draft swept through — a gust of cold air hit her and the girl gave a shiver.

Going down the stairs, she nearly walked into someone coming up from the opposite direction. She hadn’t been paying attention, and only caught herself when an arm appeared practically in front of her face.

She looked up, and met Wei Qingyue’s eyes, alight with amusement. He looked her up and down briefly and said:

“Why do you always pretend not to see me?”

The encounter arrived so suddenly — like a wind stirring up a tide. Jiang Du paused, looked at him, and gradually, with a trace of shyness, let a small smile show: “I really didn’t see you.”

“Did you do something wrong?” He opened with a teasing remark.

Jiang Du shook her head, her face reddening. She was terrified Wei Qingyue would somehow find out she had just accepted the poverty subsidy. What would he think of her? She ate, drank, and dressed normally enough — what was there about her that warranted a financial subsidy?

“Teacher Xu wanted to see me about something,” she said vaguely, hoping he wouldn’t press her. To deflect, she quickly asked him, “What did you come to the office for?”

“The teacher wanted to discuss a competition with me. I don’t want to participate, but the school might want me to.” Wei Qingyue was far more candid than she was. “I thought it over carefully, and actually entering might be fine — if I could represent the country, it might be useful when I’m choosing a school abroad in the future.”

This was all very remote and unfamiliar to Jiang Du. She listened quietly to the end, and a deep, unspeakable sadness settled over her heart, like moonset and starfall.

“Heading up?” Wei Qingyue pointed upward when he saw she hadn’t responded.

Jiang Du smiled faintly, gave a nod, and moved past him. A fleeting meeting, a fleeting parting — all of it left no time to prepare for anything.

As she had feared, Xiao Xu read out the poverty subsidy list in class. Even after the explanation, there were still those who whispered about her quietly.

After all, Jiang Du had worn Nike shoes back in autumn — bought during a sale promotion.

For reasons she couldn’t quite pinpoint, Wang Jingjing’s attitude toward the subsidy matter seemed subtly off. She twirled her pen and spoke as if in passing:

“Does Teacher Xu not know your grandparents both have very good retirement pensions?”

Jiang Du caught the strange note in those words immediately — on certain things, she was as sensitive as a princess and the pea.

“I told him,” she explained slowly, “but couldn’t get him to back down. Teacher Xu gave me the same explanation he gave the class — I didn’t ask for it on my own initiative.”

Wang Jingjing gave a short laugh, an expression that was hard to read. If friendship develops a hairline fracture at some particular moment, it was surely this one. Jiang Du felt it, yet couldn’t make sense of it.

“Can’t blame people for talking behind your back — during winter break you went to celebrate Zhang Xiaoqiang’s birthday. People saw you two out on the street together. What kind of poverty subsidy student does that?” Wang Jingjing finally let it out, though she didn’t mention that Chen Huiming had come to her.

Sometimes, a bond is as strong as gold — and as fragile as paper.

She fixed Jiang Du with a searching look. “That was the sixth day of the new year, wasn’t it? And Wei Qingyue was also at Zhang Xiaoqiang’s birthday gathering — yet you told me you went to the temple with your grandmother.”

Jiang Du’s heart thudded with sudden urgency. She wanted to explain, but didn’t know where to start. She thought it through, then spoke anyway:

“The reason I lied was because I knew Zhang Xiaoqiang hadn’t invited you, and I was afraid—”

“Forget it. You’re underestimating me. Zhang Xiaoqiang didn’t invite me, but she invited you — you think I’d be jealous of you? Besides, you and her aren’t even that close normally. That part is genuinely strange.” As Wang Jingjing spoke, an edge crept into her voice without her quite meaning it to.

The strange tensions between young girls arise for reasons that are baffling yet traceable at the same time. Moods shift in an instant — Wang Jingjing could stand up for Jiang Du without a second thought and take on anyone to do it, yet equally, she could feel hurt by Jiang Du’s concealment. As for exactly why she felt hurt, she couldn’t quite explain it herself.

Jiang Du opened her mouth, then after a long pause said softly: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to deceive you. I hope you’re not angry with me.”

“Read your book.” Wang Jingjing’s voice was still cool and clipped. She looked down.

Jiang Du sat frozen. Seeing that Wang Jingjing had no intention of continuing, she sat there dully for a while before getting up and walking out of the classroom alone.

With the class division, all the first-year students were in a state of restlessness. Some were still agonizing over their choices even now. The school building blazed with light, divided floor by floor, and on each floor sat classroom after classroom of grid-like boxes, filled with a dense sea of heads and churning emotions. Youth was very much in full swing.

The weather was still very cold. The streetlamps cast a dim, frost-bitten light. When Jiang Du stood in the corridor and looked outside, her gaze drifted involuntarily toward the tree by the library, its outline hazy and shifting.

Passing by Class One, she found the bright light inside the room falling through the window onto her. She looked at it, and in that instant, some emotion suddenly swelled with an intensity that could bear no more.

She missed Wei Qingyue so much.

She wanted to see him smile; she wanted to hear his voice. She wanted him to keep her company — even just walking with her down the hall to the restroom would be enough.

Driven by this feeling, Jiang Du turned her head and, bold and rigid at once, peered into the Class One classroom for a couple of seconds.

Class One was fairly quiet; most people were busy with their own things. No one looked up toward the window. What she had in mind — clearing her head — was just a trip to the restroom, where maybe the cold air would help her feel a little better.

Wei Qingyue sat in the very back, tall as he was. He was wearing earphones and had just closed his English newspaper.

Perhaps because he was thinking of stepping out, he looked outside first before preparing to stand.

Their gazes collided. Jiang Du forgot to look away. For a split second she thought she was hallucinating — that her longing for Wei Qingyue had conjured him in her imagination, lifting his head toward her.

Wei Qingyue stared in puzzlement at Jiang Du gazing at him through the window. He was mildly surprised. Almost immediately, he smiled at her — and then he saw that face, which had been holding no particular expression, suddenly become stricken with panic, before the owner spun around and hurried away.

He was a little baffled. He stood up and headed in the direction of the restroom, and halfway there he spotted Jiang Du’s figure ahead.

“Jiang Du!” Wei Qingyue raised his voice.

The sound came from behind her. The moment she heard it, a sting surged up through her nasal passages, threatening to spill over into her eyes. She fought to control her emotions and turned around.

Wei Qingyue walked over, both hands tucked in his pockets, unhurried. He hadn’t noticed anything unusual about her — he simply asked: “What were you looking at in Class One just now?”

She could hear his voice now — the same as ever. He spoke to her just as he would to any ordinary classmate, with no particular obligation to treat her differently, and she harbored no delusions about that. Jiang Du blinked rapidly — whenever she was about to cry, she blinked hard — and quickly swiped the back of her hand across her nose.

“What’s wrong?” Wei Qingyue leaned slightly forward, arching an eyebrow, his gaze traveling over her face. “Are you unwell? Or did someone bully you?”

With him asking like that, everything inside her collapsed. Jiang Du’s small face crumpled, and she could no longer get out a single word. She cried.