The other three had not one word, not even one punctuation mark of belief for Jiang Yan’s answer.

But unfortunately, Jiang Yan’s mouth was sealed tight. No matter what they tried to entice him with, he refused to say a single word more — and they didn’t dare threaten him.

Eventually, the conversation ended when Lin Tao pushed open the door and walked back in.

The moment she entered the private room, Hu Hanghang and the other two snapped to attention like a switch had been flipped, grabbed their chairs in a panic, and stood there at a loss.

The three of them shuffled around the table in a full circle.

In the end Jiang Yan kicked Hu Hanghang’s soft bottom, flipped his phone face-down on the table. “We’re just eating. Are you three trying to perform a ritual?”

Xu Yichuan — sharpest mind of the three — was the first to react. He immediately set his chair down, sat up straight with both hands folded in his lap, and intoned piously: “Brother Fish, Brother Chicken — I’m sorry for what we’re about to do. We’ve got to live. Have a good reincarnation, and come back as people in your next lives.”

Lin Tao, watching from the sidelines: “……”

Jiang Yan laughed despite himself, casually grabbed the still-wrapped chopsticks from the table and threw them at Xu Yichuan. “Will you stop being so bizarre and creepy? You’re going to frighten my seatmate.”

Xu Yichuan reacted remarkably fast, catching the thrown chopsticks in a single, beautifully fluid motion. He set them back on the table, turned, and gave Lin Tao a smile. “Little sister Tao, come sit down.”

“……” And what new nickname is this?

The rest of the meal was, aside from the moment when the server brought out Song Yuan’s crucian carp and tofu soup and Xu Yichuan pressed his palms together to recite the same blessing again — earning himself a swift and violent eviction from the private room at Jiang Yan’s hand — relatively peaceful.

Lin Tao did notice, though, that whenever they ate out together, it almost always ate up the entire lunch break. Sometimes when they were heading back, the bell for first afternoon period was already ringing and they were only just reaching the school gate.

Like right now. The five of them had barely ambled out of Chen’s Small Restaurant when they heard, from the direction of No. 10 High’s main gate, Blackie’s earth-shattering voice: “What — is the school cafeteria not good enough for you, or can’t the lunch lady keep you satisfied? You’re out here every single afternoon at noon.”

“……”

Why did that sentence sound so wrong?

There was already a line of students at No. 10 High’s front gate — students who had been late returning for some reason or another.

Jiang Yan hesitated for a moment, weighing “walk up and get lectured and write a self-criticism letter” against “climb the wall, probably get caught, then get lectured and write a self-criticism letter,” and chose the latter.

He patted Lin Tao on the head. “Come on, I’ll take you over the wall.”

“?”

Climb the wall?

Lin Tao was still staring blankly when she was pushed and steered onto a nearby side path.

No. 10 High had three gates in total — west, south, and north. The north gate was the main entrance, facing the lively, bustling street food lane directly in front.

The south gate was the back entrance, generally used as the staff vehicle lane. During the after-school rush, the flow of people got so heavy that the school had restricted cars to the south gate, so students mostly went in and out through the main gate.

Then there was the west gate — which, technically, had been the school’s original main entrance. When the city expanded and urban construction came to this area, the constant noise and dust became unbearable. Concerned for student safety, the school relocated the gate. Over time, it was dismantled and the opening was bricked over.

Now Lin Tao stood at the base of the wall — a wall about one and a half times her height — squinting up against the glaring midday sun.

She looked away after a moment.

Climbing walls — it wasn’t Lin Tao’s first time. Back in middle school, she’d gone through a rebellious phase where she did nothing else but plan how to sneak out and play at the claw machines.

She’d actually met Meng Xin during that phase. Meng Xin was just like her — rebellious, kicked out of class for sleeping, happening to be outside. Lin Tao herself had just been truant, finishing up at an arcade before sneaking back.

The two of them had met face to face at the top of the wall. They’d chatted for a few minutes, clicked immediately, and spent the rest of that half-semester climbing over the wall to go out together every day. When Meng Xin went to the internet café to game, Lin Tao sat beside her and watched TV. When Lin Tao went to the arcade to play claw machines, Meng Xin stood nearby and played kids’ games.

It had been a great time — until the school director caught them…

Lin Tao shuddered at the memory of the suffering she’d endured after that, and didn’t let herself think any further.

While she’d been lost in her thoughts, Xu Yichuan and the others had already made it over. From behind the wall, their voices came in hushed tones: “No one’s around — come on, you two hurry. We’ll go back first and cover for you.”

A moment later came the sound of retreating footsteps, growing quieter until they faded away entirely.

Lin Tao glanced at Jiang Yan standing beside her. “You go over first — with this arm of mine, I can’t climb.”

“Do I really look like someone without loyalty?” He gave a low click of his tongue. “Like you could climb this without the cast, either.”

“……” Lin Tao had no rebuttal.

Jiang Yan looked up to gauge the height, then gave Lin Tao a once-over. He reached back, pulled off his school uniform jacket, and tossed it up — it landed draped over the top of the wall.

Underneath, he was wearing only a plain white short-sleeved shirt. Nothing on it at all.

Then Lin Tao watched him walk to the corner of the wall, lower himself into a half-crouch, head bowed, the line of his neck and one raised knob of his spine visible as he spoke into the wind: “Come here.”

“Huh?” Lin Tao stood frozen in place.

In the quiet noon sunlight, against the whitewashed wall, the boy’s smile was clear and bright as breeze and moonlight. “Come step on my shoulders and climb up — unless you’d actually rather go write that self-criticism.”

Lin Tao thought of the three thousand words of self-criticism still waiting to be written. Whatever hesitation she’d felt evaporated in an instant. She stepped toward him quickly, then looked at his clean shirt and couldn’t bring herself to put her foot on it.

“Should I maybe put a cloth down first?” Lin Tao didn’t understand why he’d taken off his school uniform jacket earlier.

The shirt was so white. If she stepped on it, who knew how dirty it would get.

Jiang Yan crouched there without moving, gaze dropping to an ant making its way across the ground, and gave a low laugh. “Didn’t know you were so particular. You need to lay down a cloth before you step on someone’s shoulder? By that logic, why don’t you lay out a red carpet every time you walk somewhere?”

“……”

Get lost.

Telling herself it’s not my shirt so it doesn’t concern me, Lin Tao planted one hand against the wall for balance and stepped onto Jiang Yan’s shoulder.

“Keep your hand on the wall.” Jiang Yan reached up and wrapped his hand around her ankle over her pant leg.

She looked slight — and sure enough, she was slight. His hand circled her ankle easily, middle finger and thumb touching.

She ate well enough. Where did the weight go? Jiang Yan found himself wondering about all sorts of things.

Then a voice came from above his head: “I can reach now.”

“Okay.” Jiang Yan’s fingers closed a little tighter, and he let the thoughts go.

Once Lin Tao was sitting up on the wall, she realized why Jiang Yan had taken off his jacket and tossed it up earlier — it was to cushion the top of the wall for her when she climbed over.

The wall was about two meters high. When she looked back, she saw Jiang Yan step back slightly, then make a short running start, push off a pile of loose stones and broken bricks at the base, and spring up onto the top of the wall in one fluid movement.

She was sitting up there on the wall. With a somewhat exaggerated expression of admiration, she clapped twice. “Impressive.”

Jiang Yan smiled slightly, didn’t linger on top, and dropped lightly down. He looked up at Lin Tao from below. “Can you get down?”

“Of course.” Lin Tao looked down at her feet. This spot looked like it had been tramped on often — the sparse, clear-green grass shoots were all crushed and chaotic, the soft soil beneath laid bare.

She lowered her head, and inched forward with careful, tentative movements.

Jiang Yan watched her fumbling from the side, sighed with resignation, and stepped forward, opening his arms. “Forget it, I’ll just—”

He hadn’t finished the sentence before a figure dropped from above.

Straight into his open arms.

Lin Tao hadn’t expected him to suddenly step forward. When she jumped, she landed right against him, her cheek grazing his thin shirt.

From this close, she caught a faint scent — something like orange blossom mixed with cedar, a clear and clean smell.

Assuming he’d let go, Lin Tao quickly steadied herself. As she turned her face back toward him, she was already saying, “I really could have made it without the cast—”

The word that came next — “over” — couldn’t make it out, stopped by a brief, fleeting sensation against her lips.

“……”

Lin Tao froze.

Had she just accidentally kissed the great one’s ear?

Author’s Note: Jiang Yan: “…damn.”