Uncle Chen’s little restaurant was as packed as ever — an unreasonable number of people, as usual. Luckily, Song Yuan had called ahead, and Uncle Chen had saved them a table upstairs.

Hu Hanghang and the others were regulars. They grabbed a menu and headed straight up, pouring their own water and settling themselves in without needing to be told.

Once they were seated, Song Yuan handed the menu to Tao Jia. “Take a look — order whatever you’d like.”

Tao Jia smiled and waved it off with an easy, unaffected manner. “It’s fine, you all must come here often — just order for us. I’m good with anything.”

“Alright. Any dietary restrictions?”

“None.”

Song Yuan nodded and quickly ticked off several of the dishes they usually ordered. Noticing they had one more person today, he paused before adding two extra stir-fry dishes to the order.

With the food ordered, the four of them fell into casual conversation.

Hu Hanghang looked at Tao Jia. “Why did you suddenly switch from the humanities class to science? Did you pick the wrong track?”

“No.” Tao Jia turned the water glass in her hands. “I just felt like studying pure humanities was exhausting. I figured dealing with numbers in science would be easier for me.”

“A top student — you’re definitely a top student.” Xu Yichuan snapped his fingers. “Ah, someone like me, a hopeless underachiever, will never understand the difference between humanities and science.”

Tao Jia laughed. “I’m not a top student at all. I was in the same exam hall as all of you for finals — or did you forget?”

“Oh, right.” Hu Hanghang picked up the thread. “Come to think of it, Lin Tao and Jiang Yan were both in the same hall as us too.”

“Please. Can you even compare Jiang Yan to us?” Song Yuan kicked Hu Hanghang’s stool. “He was only in that hall because he missed part of his exam. Can you stop trying to make yourself look good?”

Hu Hanghang raised his voice. “When did I try to make myself look good? I was just pointing out the connection between all of us — the fate that brought us together.”

Tao Jia asked, in passing, “If Jiang Yan’s grades are so good, why didn’t he go to the accelerated class?”

“He didn’t want to.” Song Yuan refilled his cup. “He said the atmosphere there was too oppressive — not as comfortable as the regular honors class.”

“Part of the reason is also that some of the teachers didn’t want him in the accelerated class. That class probably hasn’t seen a single argument, let alone a fight — if he went in there, he’d have the whole place in chaos.”

Tao Jia nodded. “I see.”

Xu Yichuan added, “Don’t let that laid-back, couldn’t-care-less attitude of his fool you. That’s only because he’s already finished the entire second-year curriculum. If it weren’t for Old Yu repeatedly reminding him, he probably wouldn’t even bother coming to class.”

“Impressive.”

“Of course. The students in the accelerated class are at best exceptional scholars. Our brother Yan is on a whole different level — he’s practically a genius.”

While the group was practically singing Jiang Yan’s praises to the skies, Jiang Yan himself was standing in the corridor outside, his patience wearing thin as he waited for Lin Tao, who still hadn’t appeared.

He pulled out his phone and called her. The moment she picked up, he went straight on the offensive: “Are you eating lunch in the bathroom?”

Lin Tao, caught off guard by the jab — and already irritable from the arrival of her period — snapped back: “You’re the one eating in the bathroom! You eat in the bathroom every single day!”

“…” Jiang Yan raked a hand through his hair, pushing down the surge of irritation. “Then may I ask why you still haven’t come out?”

A brief silence fell from the other end of the line.

When Lin Tao spoke again, her voice was quieter. “…You’re waiting for me?”

“What else would I be doing? Waiting for a ghost?”

“…”

When she still didn’t say anything, Jiang Yan asked again, more patiently this time: “What are you even doing in there? Are you coming out or not? If you’re not, I’m leaving.”

“Wait.” Lin Tao stopped him, then fumbled over her words for a long moment before finally managing to say: “My period came. Could you… go buy me a pack of… you know…?”

Lin Tao’s period had arrived three or four days early, completely out of nowhere. She’d had no chance to prepare. Her first instinct had been to call Meng Xin for help, but the line just kept ringing and wouldn’t connect.

She wasn’t particularly close with any of the girls in class, and it was lunchtime — there wasn’t another soul in the restroom. Lin Tao crouched there with no other options in sight.

And then, of all moments, Jiang Yan’s call had come through.

She’d hesitated for a long time before finally bringing herself to ask.

It was a little embarrassing, admittedly, but at this point it beat staying stuck in the restroom indefinitely. Embarrassing or not, she was out of choices.

Silence from the other end of the line.

Lin Tao thought the call had dropped and held the phone out to check — it was still connected. She called quietly, “…Jiang Yan?”

He answered. “Yeah.”

“…” Lin Tao had nothing more to say.

After a moment, Jiang Yan spoke again. “Wait for me.”

“Okay.”

He was back ten minutes later. Lin Tao picked up his call. “How do I get this to you?”

“One second.” Lin Tao hung up, did what she needed to do, then pushed open the stall door and walked out.

Jiang Yan was standing right outside, a black plastic bag in hand. He glanced at her once, then looked away, holding the bag out toward her without a word.

Lin Tao took it with a flushed face. “Thank you.”

Jiang Yan gave an indifferent hum. The moment she disappeared back into the restroom, he let out a long breath. He stood there in the corridor, silent for a few seconds — and then suddenly kicked the wall.

Damn it!

That had been absolutely mortifying.

The memory of the stares he’d gotten in the convenience store made the embarrassment surge all over again. He kicked the wall a few more times in quick succession.

Ugh—!

If the timing hadn’t been so completely wrong, he might have actually yelled out loud.

This was beyond humiliating.

He was about to deliver another kick out of pure frustration when he caught a figure in his peripheral vision near the restroom door. He reined himself in, turning to look at her with a carefully composed expression. “Come on — let’s go eat.”

He said it and walked off downstairs on his own.

Lin Tao quietly exhaled with relief and fell silently into step behind him.

They walked side by side through the campus. The autumn leaves had already begun to yellow, and a gentle breeze swept a few loose ones along the path. Jiang Yan had calmed down considerably. He glanced down at Lin Tao.

He hadn’t noticed earlier, but now he could see it clearly — the girl’s face was faintly pink. Even her ears, peeking out into the open air, were tinged red.

Jiang Yan stared for a moment, and something about the sight made him feel an inexplicable urge to laugh. Eventually, he did — a low, quiet sound.

Walking beside him, Lin Tao only heard what seemed like a brief exhale of breath. She didn’t dare say anything.

By the time they reached the restaurant, the others were nearly starved. Hu Hanghang exploded the moment he saw them: “What the hell — were you two actually trying to starve us to death?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. You’d be worthless dead.” Jiang Yan pulled out two empty chairs and dropped into one. Lin Tao sat in the other.

Jiang Yan picked up his chopsticks and placed a piece of spare ribs into Hu Hanghang’s bowl. “Eat up. I’ll find you a decent slaughterhouse afterward.”

“Hey, that’s not a nice thing to say.” Hu Hanghang raised his meaty hand, hesitated for three full seconds, and then lowered it. “Let’s just eat, everyone.”

Everyone: “…”

The group’s tastes ran toward spicy dishes, and what Song Yuan had ordered reflected that. Before they dug in, he opened a bottle of fruit juice and stood to pour everyone a glass.

When he got to Lin Tao, Jiang Yan suddenly reached out and stopped him. “Does this place have anything warm to drink?”

Lin Tao’s hand stilled. Her eyelid gave a small twitch.

“Yeah — corn juice. But it’s not really the season for hot drinks yet, is it?” Song Yuan paused, hand still raised. “Alright, I’ll go ask.”

Jiang Yan set down his chopsticks. “Don’t bother. I’ll go.”

Song Yuan watched him head downstairs. “Strange. He never drinks corn juice. Why the sudden craving today?”

He was mostly talking to himself — nobody answered him. Beside him, Lin Tao heard every word. Her cheek puffed for a moment, then relaxed.

Jiang Yan was back quickly, carrying freshly pressed corn juice. He poured half a glass for himself, then — quite naturally — poured a full glass for Lin Tao.

The others were all focused on eating and didn’t notice.

Across the table, Tao Jia took in the scene, and something shifted behind her eyes. She said nothing.

The corn juice was warm. After one cup, Lin Tao felt warmth spreading through her whole body. She set down the empty glass, ready to pour herself another.

Then, without warning, Jiang Yan’s hand reached over from beside her. He picked up the corn juice and refilled her cup without looking at her. He went right back to chatting with Song Yuan, relaxed and unhurried, leaning loosely against the back of his chair.

Lin Tao glanced at him, then noticed the glass sitting in front of him — still mostly untouched. Something gave a quiet, unexpected lurch inside her chest.

It was a peculiar feeling, there and gone before she could even grasp it.

By the time they’d finished eating, it was quite late. Everyone hurried back to the classroom, and the bell rang almost as soon as they were seated.

The first class was Old Yu’s mathematics lesson.

Lin Tao hadn’t rested over lunch, and with her period now in full swing, she felt distinctly off — she slumped against her desk, listless.

Old Yu stood at the podium introducing the new chapter: “Trigonometric functions cover a very wide scope and will likely appear in the college entrance examination’s main problem sets with great frequency. While the material has many components…”

Old Yu had a habit of talking at length — even his preambles were lengthy.

An opening remarks section of a few hundred words stretched into more than ten minutes.

Lin Tao found herself growing drowsy listening to it. She yawned several times in a row. She forced herself to focus for a little while longer, but in the end, she couldn’t hold out — her eyelids closed, and she drifted off to sleep.

Jiang Yan only noticed his deskmate had departed for the land of dreams when his phone died and he turned to ask Hu Hanghang for a power bank.

The girl had her head resting right on her books, face turned inward, sound asleep. Her long, curling lashes trembled lightly, casting a soft shadow beneath her eyes.

Sunlight came through the window and fell directly on her face. Lin Tao’s skin was very fair, almost luminous in the light, and every tiny hair on her cheeks was visible in perfect clarity.

Jiang Yan sat there with his head tilted, staring at her — until something struck the top of his head. Half a piece of chalk tumbled down through his hair and fell onto the desk.

He looked up to find Old Yu standing at the podium, watching him with a genial smile. Before Jiang Yan could react, the teacher spoke first.

“Is your deskmate really that pretty? I’ve been watching you for a while now, and you’ve been staring at Lin Tao the whole time. What are you thinking about, student Jiang Yan?”