When the first monthly exam was held, school had been back for over a month. Spring was changeable, the wind wild, the temperature unstable — but the forsythia had bloomed. Small pale-yellow flowers, one by one, clinging to the bright, clear green branches. Jiang Du loved spring best of all the seasons, but it was her misfortune that this spring was destined to be a season of parting.

The class group chat hadn’t dissolved, but no one was as keen on writing yearbook entries as they had been in junior high. This was only first year — one way or another, they were all still at the same school, and there would always be chances to see each other.

Because the honors classes were at stake, everyone took this monthly exam seriously. Teacher Xiao Xu held a final class meeting, writing “As much as you put in, that’s how much you’ll shine” on the blackboard, rallying everyone’s spirits.

After working through several subjects, Jiang Du felt she had done reasonably well — but whether she could actually get into the arts honors class was hard to say. Mei High had too many students. Of the six arts-track classes, there was only one honors class — the competition was fierce.

Right after the exam, the school flooded with students everywhere.

The newsstand was packed with girls buying magazines. Jiang Du paused nearby and spotted Wang Jingjing. The two of them hadn’t returned to their previous closeness — they maintained just the normal range of classmate interaction. Wang Jingjing had come to buy a magazine without calling out to Jiang Du, going instead with another girl who had also chosen sciences.

With the exam over and everyone briefly relaxing, Jiang Du had nothing in particular to do, so she went to look at the forsythia. She adored forsythia so much — that delicate, pristine yellow, like stars scattered across the branches. When no one was looking, she pinched off one little flower and tucked it into her jacket buttonhole.

“What class are you from? What do you think you’re doing?” A low, commanding voice came from behind her, and Jiang Du jumped — but turning around, she found it was Lin Haiyang. Her heart dropped back into place, though she still felt a little embarrassed.

Lin Haiyang grinned. He said: “Was it convincing? I sounded just like the director of discipline, didn’t I? Last time, he caught us smoking and made us do horse-stance squats as punishment. I could barely walk the next day.”

Jiang Du finally laughed along: “You shouldn’t have been smoking in the first place.” As she said it, someone naturally came to mind, and her smile faltered — from now on, she wouldn’t be seated next to his classroom anymore.

“Hey,” Lin Haiyang nudged her elbow quite unabashedly, “what’s going on between you and Wang Jingjing? It’s not because of Wei Qingyue, is it?”

Jiang Du felt her heart seized. Her expression shifted: “Why would you say that?”

“I ran into Wei Qingyue yesterday. He asked me to pass something along — he said, that thing he asked you to do, have you done it yet? He’s been waiting. He didn’t want to say anything today until after the exam, so that it wouldn’t distract you. Is it something to do with Wei Qingyue that’s caused the falling-out between you and Wang Jingjing? You girls just love to get upset about things — I know how you all are.” Once Lin Haiyang started talking, he couldn’t stop.

Jiang Du wasn’t without her own temper. She thought to herself: what do you mean “girls just love to get upset” — I rarely get upset. But she would never show it. Her expression remained placid: “Nothing like that. Wei Qingyue and I aren’t close.”

“Then what did he ask you to do?” Lin Haiyang was still digging for gossip. Jiang Du was growing exasperated, and held back the urge to snap, saying simply: “It’s not convenient for me to say.” She knew Lin Haiyang meant no harm — he was just too loud. Normally she found it sort of amusing; today, she couldn’t say why, she just felt irritable and on edge, over the class division and countless small things.

The results were posted a week later. The notice board that day was a spectacle. Everyone crowded around anxiously searching for their own name. From time to time a cheer rang out from somewhere in the crowd — and for every cheer, someone else would sigh. That’s how these things always were: joy for some, disappointment for others.

Jiang Du made it into the arts honors class.

The moment she learned the result, she felt a joy like having survived some great ordeal — she had a chance now, a real chance at getting into a top university.

As expected, Wang Jingjing was placed in a regular sciences class, while Wei Qingyue’s name sat at the top of the sciences honors rankings in first place. Not far below, Zhang Xiaoqiang’s ranking appeared.

Her own name felt separated from theirs by a thousand mountains and rivers.

Jiang Du was jostled from side to side in the crowd, yet her eyes were fixed on the three characters of Wei Qingyue’s name the whole time. This was an increasingly rare opportunity — she had to hold onto it. Every one of Wei Qingyue’s subject scores burned itself deeply into her memory. What use was remembering any of this? Not everything had to have a use. Wei Qingyue was simply the meaning of her adolescence.

What followed would be furiously busy: moving dormitory rooms, changing classrooms, everyone officially entering the trial period of the track system. That same day, Class Two held a brief farewell gathering. Teacher Xiao Xu was as witty as ever, and the class laughed and cried through it. A new leg of the journey was about to begin.

After everyone dispersed, Jiang Du lingered and did not leave. She sat in the now-empty classroom, still and quiet, like a cicada pupa deep underground. This was the last time she would sit here. The light of dusk fell through the window, casting long shadows across the desk.

Down the corridor, the lockers had already been moved to the new class’s hallway.

Jiang Du ran her hand one last time along the class schedule posted beside the podium. The joy of making it into the honors class had faded so quickly. She would no longer be able to glance effortlessly at the tree by the library. She would no longer be able to pretend to casually peer into the classroom next door and catch a glimpse of that figure. All she would be able to do was write letters that would never be sent.

“The new issue of Book City after the relaunch is already at the municipal library.” Wei Qingyue appeared at the doorway of Class Two at some point, leaning against the frame, beginning a conversation with her without any preamble.

Jiang Du startled and turned her head around.

She was a little flustered and stumbled over her words: “Really? I haven’t been in a long time — there was tutoring over winter break, and then I was preparing for the placement exam the whole time.”

“Congratulations on making it into the arts honors class.” Wei Qingyue reached into the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out something, and tossed it to Jiang Du. She caught it in a flurry, clasping it to her chest.

It was a new Tweety Bird charm.

“In the first monthly exam last semester, I think I might have knocked your charm and damaged it. Just remembered — consider this a replacement.” He said it very lightly.

Jiang Du gripped the Tweety Bird charm. She was happy — the kind of happiness where, the moment she saw him, all her worries were temporarily forgotten. Wei Qingyue knew she had made it into the arts honors class; he knew her charm was a Tweety Bird; he had even told her about the magazine she loved being at the library. Heaven only knew how long she would carry this happiness around.

“Thank you.” Jiang Du smiled softly — when she smiled, her brows and eyes brightened along with it. But Wei Qingyue said: “You see, I remember that you like Book City magazine, I’ve treated you to KFC, and I walked you home. In that case — can we say we’re friends?”

Jiang Du was caught off guard by the question. Friends? He wanted to consider her a friend? Or perhaps — they could only be friends? What else was there to hope for, then? To begin with, they had been strangers.

Her expression became somewhat unnatural, and she tried her best to hide it: “Of course — if you’re willing to be my friend, then we’re friends.”

Wei Qingyue seemed to find that funny. He laughed: “The look on your face — you seem quite reluctant.”

“No, I’m not, I’m not — I’m very, very willing to be your friend.” Jiang Du rushed to deny it, face going red.

Wei Qingyue nodded slowly, studying her with an unreadable expression: “Since we’re friends now, why haven’t you given the slightest bit of thought to what I asked you to do?”

Jiang Du was struck silent.

She knew what he meant.

Inside, it was like a sudden downpour. Jiang Du gathered her courage and asked: “Why do you want to receive letters?”

“Why do you think?” Wei Qingyue countered with an enigmatic question of his own.

Jiang Du’s breathing quickened. She shook her head and said vaguely: “How would I know.”

Her palm was near-stinging from where she had dug her nails in. She felt that Wei Qingyue’s eyes looked deep and bright — bright enough that they seemed to see through everything in a person’s heart. She didn’t dare meet his gaze.

Every breath needed to be careful and deliberate, as if a wrong rhythm would give everything away.

“Because,” Wei Qingyue said, leaning against the doorframe and watching her as he spoke, “I suspect the girl who wrote to me might be quite shy — like you, someone who gets nervous easily. What I want to tell her is: I’m not that frightening, and getting close to me isn’t as difficult as she might think. I believe we’d get along well. If she writes to me, I’d be glad to write back. If she’s afraid to speak to me face to face, we could communicate by letter,” he paused for a moment, “as friends.”

The tension in Jiang Du’s body released all at once in that moment. Friends.

Her nose stung. She twisted her hands together, the Tweety Bird charm pressed between them.

“So it’s like being pen pals?” Jiang Du’s voice sounded as though the cold wind had set it trembling.

Wei Qingyue lowered his gaze and smiled. He said “not exactly,” but didn’t say what it was exactly, letting out a long breath: “Have you actually told her yet?”

“The letters were written by Wang Jingjing. You have her QQ number — you could ask her directly.” Jiang Du felt as though her chest was so congested she could barely produce any sound. She lowered her head and tucked a strand of hair back.

Wei Qingyue didn’t contradict her, only said “Is that so?” — and Jiang Du looked up, meeting his gaze as it fell on her, deep and searching. She quickly looked away and changed the subject: “That time, the charm wasn’t broken — but thank you all the same.”

“You’re welcome.” Wei Qingyue smiled, straightened up, and pushed off from the doorframe. “I’ll head off now, get something to eat.”

The mention of food made Jiang Du unable to help herself: “What do you do for meals on weekends when you’re home?”

“Sometimes the housekeeper comes to clean and cooks a meal while she’s at it. Sometimes I go out and buy something. Why?”

Jiang Du’s heart was pounding steadily and hard: “My grandmother always says food from outside isn’t clean — homemade meals are better. You should try to have your housekeeper cook for you more.”

Wei Qingyue looked completely unbothered: “Life and death are a matter of fate — however long I’m meant to live, that’s how long I’ll live.” Then a mischievous look crossed his face: “Or else — I could just go eat at your place. Someone’s always home cooking there.”

Jiang Du took him seriously. Face flushed, but somehow she answered: “That’s not out of the question — my grandparents are very welcoming.”

As soon as she said it, she herself felt it might not be entirely appropriate, and went quiet.

A gentle breeze drifted by, sending her long, soft hair swaying. Wei Qingyue suddenly had the urge to reach out and touch it — wondering whether the feel of it would be as soft and cool as he imagined.

Girls’ hair really is this lovely to look at, thought Wei Qingyue — it was the first time he had ever noticed a girl’s hair.

Having noticed the hair, his gaze wandered, and very quickly he became aware of her slender figure, her long legs, the pale expanse of her neck, her brows that looked as though they had been drawn on, and then — the gentle curve of her chest. The moment he realized what he was looking at, Wei Qingyue immediately pulled his eyes away.

Under his gaze, Jiang Du grew increasingly self-conscious. She asked quietly: “Is there something on my clothes?”

Wei Qingyue’s throat moved. He pointed toward her shoulder, feigning casualness: “You’ve got some hair on your shoulder.”

Hair falling out was a constant in the dormitory — it wound itself around the broom when sweeping; it happened at home too. Jiang Du quickly picked the strand off her shoulder, smiling with slight embarrassment: “Long hair does shed.”

“I’ll be going.” Wei Qingyue coughed softly into his fist. Jiang Du nodded, then stood alone in the classroom for a moment before calculating that enough time had passed, and hurried to the window to look outside.

Wei Qingyue had put his denim jacket back on. His hair was slightly tousled, bouncing lightly with each step he took — full of vitality.

After a few more busy days, Jiang Du arrived in her new classroom, with a new seatmate — a girl who didn’t talk much and seemed mild and composed, with a distinctive name: Zhu Yulong. When Jiang Du entered the class, her grades ranked at the very bottom. Every year in the sciences honors class, some students who found themselves unable to keep up quietly transferred down to a regular class, but that was rare in the arts honors class. Looking out at the sea of unfamiliar faces, Jiang Du silently resolved to work far harder.

Zhu Yulong wasn’t one to talk. She seemed cool and aloof, maintaining a calm and undisturbed manner whatever was said to her. If Jiang Du didn’t initiate conversation, she would absolutely never speak to her first. As chance would have it, they turned out to be in the same dormitory. Once she had moved in, Jiang Du realized that the atmosphere truly did feel different from the parallel classes she had been in before. In other words, every student in this year’s arts honors class seemed remarkably singular, each one strikingly distinctive.

Because Jiang Du had a talent for essays, some people in the class had heard of her by reputation from first year — but that didn’t mean they were actually impressed by her. These were people who, since primary school, had been reading the most popular Sprouts literary magazine of the time and trying their hand at writing in its style, composing misty, drifting descriptions of youth. In junior high, they had entered the New Concept Essay Competition and won first prize in Group B. When it came to writing, their standards were very high.

And the academic competition was fiercer still.

Jiang Du went through a period of not adapting well. She told herself repeatedly that everyone faced the same thing — it just took time to settle into a new class. But with the class group chat already set up, she didn’t feel like getting to know anyone. On the contrary, she rather missed Wang Jingjing, Zhang Xiaoqiang, and the others. Yet once you were separated, it seemed everyone had moved into new lives and new circles of their own. Was she the only one still feeling nostalgic?

Every time there was a long break between classes, Jiang Du found herself involuntarily going downstairs to wander, her heart quietly hoping for something. But unfortunately, not once.

It wasn’t until late April, when the arts honors class timetable shifted slightly due to a teacher’s circumstances — P.E. class moved from the afternoon to the third period in the morning — that she discovered, by chance, their schedule now coincided with the sciences honors class from Class One.

In P.E., Jiang Du always ran only one lap. Once the warm-up was done, she had half the time as free activity. When she spotted Zhang Xiaoqiang, she raised her hand and gave a slightly shy wave in her direction. The girls from the sciences honors class were quite formidable too — there was a basketball game going on, and though Zhang Xiaoqiang was on the short side, she was quick enough to be a force to reckon with.

Over on the other side, the boys occupied a separate court.

Jiang Du saw Wei Qingyue — he was dribbling. She, like the girls from the arts honors class, naturally found herself looking over at the sciences honors boys. Everyone said that this year the arts honors boys looked like dinosaurs.

Wei Qingyue kept lifting his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, flashing his lean, taut midsection for an instant.

The girls immediately erupted in whispers.

During the break, Wei Qingyue continued wiping sweat carelessly under his shirt as he walked toward the school gate.

At the gate, the security guard was being pestered by a man.

He had only meant to glance over idly, but quickly, upon hearing a familiar name, he turned to look.

“I’m a parent — I can even say her name. Jiang Du, the one in the arts key class, first year. That’s my daughter. I’m telling you, my daughter is in the honors class at Mei High — what the hell gives you the right to keep me from going in to find her?” The man speaking was someone Wei Qingyue recognized at a glance.

The exhibitionist — the one encountered at the bookstore. Wei Qingyue had always remembered him. Including later, when he had come across him near the school gate — those hollow, shadowy triangular eyes, the long, gaunt face.

In this season, the man was wearing only a white button-down, filthy and wrinkled. The exposed half of his arms were covered with needle marks, the skin mottled and bruised.

He was causing a scene, demanding to be let in to find someone. The security guard refused. The guard had seen this man more than once before — he had been lurking near the school recently, and the school had even reported it to the police.

Wei Qingyue came to a complete stop. His gaze sharpened as he stared at the cursing, raving man — the one who had nearly assaulted Jiang Du — claiming to be her father.

He was saying he was Jiang Du’s father.