For a few seconds, Jiang Yan’s brain was running on nothing.

The girl’s warm breath lingered just beside his ear — she seemed a little nervous, a little at a loss, the rhythm coming quickly, one soft puff after another, barely audible.

Once she jumped back, Jiang Yan moved his slightly stiff fingers, suppressed the urge to reach up and touch his ear, steadied his slightly quickened breathing, and looked at her evasive gaze. He deliberately teased: “What — one accidental grope not enough, now you’ve developed a taste for it?”

“……”

At his words, Lin Tao’s face transformed as if by magic — red from her ears straight down to her neck, mind gone completely blank.

She truly, genuinely had just accidentally kissed him again.

She had already said she could jump down by herself. Who could have known Jiang Yan would suddenly step forward and catch her?

Thinking about it, the tiny sliver of embarrassment she’d felt vanished, replaced by something bordering on righteous indignation. “Who harassed who? You’re the one who walked up to me.”

“I never asked you to catch me down below. I said I could do it.”

The more she said it, the more she felt she was in the right. She couldn’t help standing up a little straighter. “You didn’t trust me! And you took advantage of me!”

“……”

In all his years, Jiang Yan had never seen someone take a dead thing and argue it into life, take something black and call it white, right in front of his face.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, tone going a little cool. “So you think you’re pretty justified here?”

“A little bit, yeah.” Lin Tao’s tone was perfectly earnest, not modest in the slightest.

Jiang Yan rubbed his ear and laughed despite himself. “You believe I could show you what actually taking advantage feels like?”

Lin Tao: “……”

I cannot out-shameless him. This is completely beyond my level.

By the time they made it back to the classroom, the period was half over. The Chinese teacher happened not to be in the room. Lin Tao slipped in through the back door in a low crouch.

She’d barely sat down before Jiang Yan strolled in through the front door, perfectly at ease.

“……”

Is being late really such a glorious thing?

Luckily, by the time they were both settled into their seats, the teacher still hadn’t returned. Hu Hanghang called back to Lin Tao: “How come you two took so long? Did a teacher catch you?”

“No.” Lin Tao ran a hand through her hair. “It’s just… my arm made things awkward. We took our time.”

Jiang Yan was beside her, on his phone. At her words, he glanced up once and said nothing.

“Oh.” Hu Hanghang didn’t feel like digging further. “The teacher just asked where you two went.”

“Ah — what did you say?” Lin Tao still remembered that the last time she and Jiang Yan had overslept in the medical room, Song Yuan’s excuse had been that they’d been fighting.

“I said you both went to the bathroom.”

“……”

What outstanding creativity.

Lin Tao opened her mouth — before she could think of anything to say, the Chinese teacher walked back in carrying a box of chalk. She turned back around and glanced at Jiang Yan, who’d been on his phone since they walked in.

“The teacher’s here.”

The Chinese teacher’s name was Mu Hui — the youngest and most good-looking teacher in the entire Year Two Chinese department.

Reportedly “most good-looking” was a title he’d spread himself, given that he was the only teacher in the department under thirty.

Jiang Yan heard Lin Tao’s warning, put his phone away in his drawer. Meanwhile Teacher Mu had barely stepped through the door before he’d discreetly glanced their way several times.

Lin Tao suspected Teacher Mu was brewing something.

As it turned out — he had barely set the chalk down on the lectern before he spoke: “Has everyone thought about the question I left you?”

A smattering of scattered responses came back.

Teacher Mu nodded, hands pressed on the lectern, and called a name: “Then Lin Tao, stand up and answer the question.”

Lin Tao: “……”

How was she supposed to know what the question was?

She went quiet. Teacher Mu spoke again: “Don’t know the answer? Then the seatmate can stand up and answer instead.”

Lin Tao glanced sideways at Jiang Yan, and immediately spotted a slip of paper spread open on his desk. On it were a few written words:

[Mu Hui wants us to answer: who is the person you admire most.]

“……”

Damn it.

Jiang Yan rose slowly to his feet under Lin Tao’s gaze of “you knew the question and didn’t tell me, so much for having loyalty.”

Many people in the class turned to look at this pair of seatmates who had been generating one incident after another since school started.

Lin Tao looked down, her fingers unconsciously tapping along the edge of her desk.

The classroom fell silent.

Then Lin Tao heard Jiang Yan, beside her, answer in a completely unhurried tone: “The person I admire most is my seatmate.”

“……” Damn.

Teacher Mu had assumed he wouldn’t know the question either — that he’d make something up on the fly. He hadn’t expected an actual answer, and an answer even more unexpected than that.

He followed up: “And what is it you admire about your seatmate?”

Jiang Yan’s posture was not particularly upright. His tone was entirely solemn. “I admire her for having me as a seatmate.”

Teacher Mu: “……”

The whole class: “……”

Lin Tao: “……”

“Pfft—!”

In the midst of the silence, someone laughed first — no one knew who. Then the entire classroom erupted into laughter, wave after wave, completely out of control.

Lin Tao turned to meet Jiang Yan’s gaze, disbelief plain on her face. “You are so impressive you make me want to disappear.”

“Thank you.”

Jiang Yan looked entirely unbothered. His gaze wandered without meaning to, landing on her rosy lips — and in a flash, his mind went back to that accidental kiss not long ago.

He was faintly unsettled for a moment. He shifted his gaze away and reached up to touch his ear.

Still slightly warm.

Because of Jiang Yan’s unconventional answer, Teacher Mu didn’t make much of their being late. He said a few casual words about it and left it at that.

The remaining ten minutes passed quickly.

The moment the dismissal bell rang, Xu Yichuan’s voice rose from across the room: “Brother Yan, that answer of yours — truly unprecedented, never to be repeated. An absolute peak of human achievement.”

Jiang Yan couldn’t be bothered to respond. He fished his phone out of his drawer, pulled up a random episode of a drama, and started watching.

Less than a minute in, he suddenly looked up at Lin Tao. “Classmate Lin.”

Lin Tao was in the middle of venting to Meng Xin. She looked up at his voice. “Hm?”

“I’m actually pretty loyal.”

“……Do you think I’d believe that?”

“It doesn’t matter if you believe it. But are you willing to be the loyal one?”

Lin Tao’s expression shifted toward impatience. “If you have something to say, just say it. Stop beating around the bush.”

Jiang Yan laughed, reached into his drawer, and pulled out a piece of paper, which he handed to Lin Tao. “Take this to Old Yu’s office for me.”

Lin Tao took it, looked at it, and her expression turned horrified. “What is this? Did you learn some kind of talisman-drawing technique from a Taoist temple?”

“……”

“Old Yu is a bit long-winded, sure, but this still isn’t quite right, is it? And you’re asking me to deliver it — are you trying to make me an accessory to harming a teacher?”

“……”

“You really have no sense of decency or loyalty,” Lin Tao added.

“……”

I give up.

In the middle of their ridiculous back-and-forth, Xu Yichuan wandered over. He looked at the self-criticism letter in Lin Tao’s hand. “Didn’t know you had hidden talents in talisman drawing, little sister Tao.”

Lin Tao watched Jiang Yan’s face darken and couldn’t help but laugh. Out of the goodness of her heart, she informed Xu Yichuan: “This is the great one’s self-criticism letter.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Xu Yichuan gave a rigid little wave and evacuated the area at speed. He didn’t know if he’d eaten too much at lunch and gotten his brain clogged. He’d literally just taken a beating this morning for laughing at Jiang Yan’s handwriting, and here he was doing it all over again. Why couldn’t he ever learn his lesson?

Lin Tao watched Xu Yichuan flee like he was running from something, her smile open and bright — until she looked at the self-criticism letter in her hand, and her brow furrowed slightly.

She looked back at Jiang Yan. “That said — your handwriting really is spectacularly bad.”

Lin Tao had been sent to calligraphy lessons for over a year as a child because her mother thought her characters weren’t pretty enough.

Even before those lessons, her handwriting could have beaten his by several lengths.

Jiang Yan didn’t seem particularly bothered. “As long as it’s legible.”

“The thing is,” Lin Tao held the self-criticism letter up in front of his eyes, “aside from the three characters self-criticism letter at the top, the rest is, in all humility, completely beyond my ability to decipher.”

“That dramatic?” Jiang Yan reached out lazily with two fingers, pinching the letter and lifting it. “It’s perfectly readable.”

He leaned against the wall, all casual ease, and read: “I, Jiang Yan, should not — shong… should not play on my phone during class, I should n-n-n—”

Jiang Yan stopped.

What in the world had he written?

Lin Tao looked away, shoulders shaking with laughter she couldn’t contain. When it died down, she looked back at his face and still couldn’t stop herself. “I already know what your birthday present is going to be this year — a calligraphy workbook by Tian Yingzhang.”

At those words, Jiang Yan’s smile froze at the corners of his mouth. His expression went dark.

Lin Tao didn’t notice. Still laughing, she asked: “When is your birthday? I’ll order it and ship it straight to your house.”

Jiang Yan said nothing.

Lin Tao looked up. He had already turned to gaze out the window, the line of his profile clean and clear, his voice flat and empty of any emotion.

“I don’t celebrate my birthday.”

The words landed. Lin Tao went still.

Her laughter cut off like someone had snipped a wire. She looked at him with a slightly dazed expression.

She moved her lips, as though she wanted to say something, but in the end didn’t say a word.

Jiang Yan clearly had no intention of explaining himself. After that sentence, he didn’t speak again. When the class bell rang, he put his head down on the desk and slept, saying nothing more.

Lin Tao stared at his crown for a few seconds. When the biology teacher stepped into the classroom, she let out a quiet sigh and looked away.

The teacher’s voice filled the room at a steady, unhurried volume.

Jiang Yan didn’t fall asleep right away. He lay with his head resting on his arms, gaze drifting out the window at the clear blue sky, his thoughts somewhere far away.

The last time he’d celebrated his birthday was when he was seven.

The sky that day had been just as clear and blue as today — vast and boundless, not a single cloud, brilliant from horizon to horizon.

His father, Fang Hai, had gotten off work early and driven personally to pick him up from school.

On the way home, Jiang Yan had thrown a fit about wanting the newest Transformer mecha set. Fang Hai had refused. He sulked the whole ride, his little mouth pouched in a pout.

They pulled up to the entrance of the apartment complex. Jiang Yan realized that Fang Hai truly was not going to buy him the Transformer. The little tyrant, who had always gotten his way, finally couldn’t hold it anymore and burst into tears.

Fang Hai laughed then, and lifted him down from the front seat, his stubbled chin nuzzling against his face. “Little crybaby — your Transformers have been bought and ready for a while.”

The young Jiang Yan hiccupped. “……Really?”

“When has Dad ever lied to you.”

Fang Hai held him with one arm and opened the trunk with the other, lifting out the Transformers toy.

The young Jiang Yan clapped his hands with joy and refused to let go the whole way up.

At home, Fang Hai cooked dinner himself, a full table of food ready quickly — but Jiang Yan’s mother didn’t come home until the evening, then not until after dark.

Jiang Yan sat on the sofa and watched Fang Hai dial again and again, until the line gave the “switched off” message and Fang Hai finally stopped.

Fang Hai smiled at him. “Let’s eat first. We can’t let it hold up your birthday.”

The young Jiang Yan didn’t see the bitterness and grief hidden inside Fang Hai’s smile.

Together with Fang Hai, he had a happy birthday.

Until eleven that night, when the sleeping Jiang Yan was woken by his mother. He rubbed his eyes. His mother, Yu Fenyan, was sitting on the edge of the bed. Fang Hai was nowhere to be seen.

“Mom…” The young Jiang Yan had no idea what was happening.

Yu Fenyan touched his head and smiled gently. “Get up — Mom is taking you somewhere fun.”

“Where’s Dad?” Young Jiang Yan had dressed himself and looked around the house, but there was no sign of Fang Hai. He asked in a small voice.

“Dad stepped out.” Yu Fenyan scooped her son into her arms, picked up her bag, and walked out of the home they had shared for seven years without a backward glance.

When they reached the entrance to the building complex below, Jiang Yan suddenly remembered: “Mom, I left my school bag upstairs. And the Transformer Dad gave me.”

Yu Fenyan stopped. She put him down, crouched to his level, and spoke with deliberate calm. “Baby, Fang Hai isn’t your father. Mom is taking you now to meet your real father. Once we’re there, Mom will buy you all of those things again.”

Jiang Yan was young, but old enough to understand words.

His eyes reddened quickly. He pushed Yu Fenyan away. “I don’t want that. I only want my own dad. I don’t want any other dad…”

Yu Fenyan said nothing more. She lifted him and walked toward the complex gate. Jiang Yan struggled with everything he had, but it was useless.

He didn’t understand why his mother was saying Fang Hai wasn’t his father. But he understood, clearly and completely, that if he left today, he would never see his dad again.

He struggled frantically. Yu Fenyan remained unmoved.

When they reached the gate, he was locked into the car. Through the window, he saw Fang Hai running out of the complex — carrying his Transformer in his hand.

He sobbed his loudest, trying to catch Fang Hai’s attention.

Yu Fenyan didn’t let him out. She got out herself, walked over to Fang Hai, stood a short distance away, and spoke to him. Not long after, she came back to the car, carrying Jiang Yan’s Transformer.

“Drive.”

The car started moving. Jiang Yan went wild trying to get out of the car. His small hands clutched the car door. Tears blurred his vision, but through them he could still see the figure standing not far away.

“Dad…”

Jiang Yan was taken away like that. He went to a new city, settled into a new family, and gained a new father.

He never saw Fang Hai again. And he never went back to that city.

Jiang Yan hated the new city. He hated the new family. He hated the new father.

And he never celebrated birthdays.

He started skipping school, refusing to learn, falling in with delinquent crowds, getting into fights, making trouble — doing everything Yu Fenyan considered wrong.

He was like a fallen angel cast out of heaven into darkness.

Shadowed, violent, listless, jaded.

Yu Fenyan had no way to handle him.

In the end, what changed everything was still Fang Hai.

The year Jiang Yan started middle school, his second year.

Yu Fenyan received a phone call from far away. A few minutes long. After it ended, she sat on the sofa in a daze.

Jiang Yan had come home after midnight — as always, he and his mother, ever since she had brought him to this new city, had barely exchanged a proper sentence in years.

Jiang Yan, as usual, acted as though he hadn’t seen her and started up the stairs. Yu Fenyan stood up and called his name. “Jiang Yan.”

He stopped. He turned back to look at her.

Yu Fenyan looked at the cold, distant face of her son, and felt a sharp pain in her chest. She knew what she was about to say would hit him like thunder out of a clear sky.

Still, she made herself say it: “Your dad — he’s not going to make it.”

The moment Jiang Yan heard it, he understood which “dad” she meant.

Yu Fenyan’s eyes were red. “The hospital over there called. It’s a matter of days. He wants to see you. Go back once — after all, he was your dad for seven years.”

Jiang Yan looked at her. “And what about you? Aren’t you going to go see him? After all, he was your husband for seven years.”

Yu Fenyan’s expression stiffened. “I… I won’t go.”

Jiang Yan looked as though he’d known she would say exactly that. He said nothing. He went to his room in silence.

Early the next morning, when Yu Fenyan came to wake him, she found he had already gone.

Jiang Yan had asked a friend to buy him the earliest available flight.

All these blank and hollowed-out years, he had still managed to make a few friends he’d trust with his life.

The plane landed in Xicheng at past nine in the morning. The early morning mist had lifted. After so many years, Jiang Yan set foot on this soil again.

He didn’t linger at the airport. With the address Yu Fenyan had given him, he quickly made his way to the hospital where Fang Hai was staying.

Fang Hai had stomach cancer, late-stage.

It had been discovered in the same year Yu Fenyan left — initially diagnosed as benign. Somehow it had turned malignant and spread to its final stage, until now, where he had reached the end of his resources.

When Jiang Yan walked into the ward, Fang Hai had just taken his medication. The years had hollowed him out — he was skeletal, eyes sunken deep, nothing of the handsome, refined, scholarly look he’d once had.

Jiang Yan stayed in the ward. At past three in the afternoon, Fang Hai woke briefly, but his consciousness seemed dim and unclear. Within minutes he drifted off again.

He slept until nine that night.

When he woke, the night outside the window was soft and blurred. Fang Hai opened his eyes and saw Jiang Yan sitting beside him. He smiled the same way he always had, voice faint and weak: “You’re here.”

Jiang Yan said nothing. He kept his eyes on him.

Fang Hai didn’t seem to mind. He let Jiang Yan look, and pushed himself upright. “Your mom said you’re not studying, that you’ve gone off the rails. You’re still so young — you can’t do this.”

Jiang Yan made a sound like he’d just heard something funny, a short, mocking laugh. “You’re not my dad. What does it matter to you?”

Fang Hai didn’t take the sting to heart. He smiled the same quiet smile. “How did you get so difficult? Nothing like how sweet you used to be.”

“……” Jiang Yan looked down, turned his face to the window, his eyes reddening little by little. “If you wanted to take care of me, you had to take care of me forever.”

Fang Hai said nothing. Only one helpless sigh.

The ward was still and quiet, only the relentless, insistent song of cicadas outside the window — a summer night breeze, dry and warm.

Jiang Yan hadn’t eaten all day. He was beginning to feel hungry. He got up to go buy something from downstairs and glanced back at Fang Hai. “Do you want anything?”

Fang Hai couldn’t really eat anything now, but he asked for a bowl of porridge anyway, and added: “The street food lane is right across from the hospital. Be careful crossing the road.”

“Okay.”

Jiang Yan walked out the door.

Half an hour later, he came back out of the elevator with a bag in hand — and saw several doctors rushing into that familiar ward.

Jiang Yan’s heart dropped. He gripped what he was carrying and walked quickly to the ward door. Through the small pane of glass in the door, he could see the doctors gathered around the bed, moving, speaking.

He couldn’t hear a thing.

A single door between them, and it felt like two separate worlds.

Ten-odd minutes later, a doctor came out. He saw the boy standing outside, and took off his mask. “Are you Jiang Yan?”

The boy nodded.

The doctor let out a slow breath, his voice heavy. “Your father is waiting for you.”

Long after, Jiang Yan could no longer recall how he had walked into that room. He only remembered that it had been very hot that night — so hot that his tears ran without control.

Fang Hai’s body had already reached its limit. It seemed he had been holding on by sheer will — and when Jiang Yan arrived, he finally let go.

Jiang Yan walked over and knelt at the bedside. He finally reached out and clasped Fang Hai’s hand — already nothing but skin and bone. His voice was low and rough.

“Dad—”

Fang Hai opened his eyes. He had very little left in him. But there was still a smile on his face. “I know you blame me for not being able to keep you with me then. But what did I have to keep you with?”

“Jiang Yan, don’t hate your mother. Don’t hold onto resentment toward your father either.” Fang Hai lifted his hand and patted his head. “None of this is anyone’s fault. I’ve never hated them for any of it.”

“I don’t blame them…” Jiang Yan’s voice broke, his tears falling onto the back of Fang Hai’s hand.

“Jiang Yan, your dad wants you to be a good person — stand tall, walk straight.” Fang Hai struggled to keep his eyes open, wanting to see him.

“Be kind. Be gentle. Love this world. Love everyone who loves you.”

……

Fang Hai was gone.

He had been an orphan. The funeral arrangements were handled by Yu Fenyan, who sent people to organize it. Not many came — just a few colleagues who had shared an office with him.

From the moment Fang Hai died, Jiang Yan had not said a word. Not until the day Fang Hai was cremated, watching him become a small, quiet container, placed into that cold, narrow space.

He finally could not hold it in. He knelt before Fang Hai’s headstone and wept, the way he had the night he left the house at seven years old — wept until he couldn’t stop.

He had no father anymore.

Jiang Yan looked at the calm, gently smiling photograph on the headstone, and recalled something Fang Hai had said in those last hazy moments.

“She loved him, loved you, loved all the beautiful things in this world — only she didn’t love me. That isn’t her fault. It must be that I simply wasn’t good enough.”

This man had loved a woman in his youth. That woman did not love him back. Still, he loved her for the rest of his life.

Jiang Yan thought he was the best person in the world.

Jiang Yan slept through two full class periods. When the third ended, Song Yuan turned to call Lin Tao’s name and asked quietly: “What happened to Jiang Yan?”

Lin Tao’s brow furrowed slightly. She looked up at Song Yuan and lowered her voice. “I don’t know either. It was this afternoon — I mentioned something about his birthday, said I wanted to send him a gift.”

Song Yuan had known Jiang Yan for several years before Hu Hanghang and the others — he had a fairly complete picture of what had happened in his life. The moment he heard those words, he understood.

He gave Lin Tao a small smile. “Got it. He’s fine — he just feels bad inside for a bit, and then he’s okay. It’s nothing to do with you.”

Lin Tao thought to herself: I also know he feels bad inside. The thing is, I want to know why he feels bad inside.

But that was someone else’s private life. Song Yuan’s manner made it clear he knew the truth but wasn’t going to say it. She didn’t push for an answer.

Still, watching the normally languid, detached school tyrant lying slumped at his desk looking like a small, forlorn creature, Lin Tao felt she had to do something.

The final period was Old Yu’s class.

He walked in, saw Jiang Yan face-down on the desk, and looked as though he was going to say something — then decided not to.

Lin Tao had already prepared herself for what she’d say if Old Yu called on him. But the man hadn’t even considered waking Jiang Yan. He taught his lesson and worked his problems as usual.

“……”

The last period flew by.

Old Yu had barely walked out the door before Lin Tao walked out right behind him. Not long after she left, Jiang Yan — who had slept through three full periods — stirred and sat up.

He rubbed his face, fished something out of his drawer, and headed out.

Song Yuan caught up to him, looping an arm around his shoulders, voice casual. “Thinking of your dad again?”

Jiang Yan had only really fallen asleep later on. Now he’d just woken up, his voice still rough. “What?” He glanced back, and asked: “Where’s my seatmate?”

“No idea. Left the moment class was over.” Song Yuan thought of the girl’s worried little expression just now, and laughed. “Lin Tao was pretty worried about you.”

“My seatmate being worried about me — what of it? It means we’re deeply fond of each other.” Jiang Yan let Song Yuan drape an arm over him, and the two of them walked together into the boys’ bathroom.

Jiang Yan pulled a cigarette from his pocket, bit the end of it, then reached into his pocket for a lighter. Song Yuan had already leaned over and lit it for him. “Who carries cigarettes but not a lighter? What, do you also eat without chopsticks?”

Jiang Yan bowed his head slowly and let out a long breath of smoke. “Quitting.”

“So — may I ask — what exactly are you doing right now?”

“Showing you what a failed quit attempt looks like.” Jiang Yan gave a small laugh, amusement not reaching his eyes.

“……” Song Yuan didn’t bother looking at him. He turned to gaze out the window. “Bro, how long have we known each other?”

“A few years now. I’ve lost count.” Jiang Yan had half a cigarette held loosely between his fingers.

He and Song Yuan meeting had been an accident. When Yu Fenyan had first brought him to the new city, he hadn’t known a soul — he’d spent every day holed up inside Yu Fenyan’s villa, going nowhere.

Then one day he’d had an overwhelming urge to get back to Xicheng and find Fang Hai. He stole Yu Fenyan’s wallet and ran. Being young, he had no idea how large the villa complex was.

He ran until he gave up. On the way back, he came across a boy about his own age stuck up in a tree.

Below the tree was an unleashed golden retriever, barking up at the kid every so often.

The kid was howling. Jiang Yan was already miserable. The crying and the barking mixed together — and out of nowhere, that seven-year-old found some kind of bravery, grabbed a stick from beside the path, and charged without a plan.

He flailed wildly. The golden retriever was apparently frightened too, and ran. The kid climbed down from the tree and chased after Jiang Yan calling him “big brother.”

That kid was the future Song Yuan. After Jiang Yan saved him, he trailed behind him everywhere for two solid years.

Then Song Yuan went back to Xicheng for school, and Jiang Yan spiraled into his worst years. Aside from school breaks, they’d essentially lost contact.

Song Yuan thought of all that, and smiled. “The look on your face back then — I honestly thought you must have had some ancient blood feud with that dog.”

“Oh, we absolutely did.” Jiang Yan pinched the cigarette out and dropped it in the trash, then rinsed his hands at the sink.

Song Yuan stood beside him. His phone in his pocket buzzed. He flicked his hands dry, pulled it out, and glanced at it — a message from Lin Tao.

[Does Jiang Yan have anything he likes to eat?]

He laughed quietly, glanced at the person beside him conscientiously washing his hands, and typed back a reply.

[He likes to eat crap.]

Out beyond the school, Lin Tao read the message.

“……”

After Lin Tao finished buying what she’d gone out to get, she and Meng Xin grabbed dinner. By the time they came back to the classroom, it wasn’t early anymore. Everyone had eaten and returned; the room was a lively mess of activity.

The arts committee representative, Zhou Xin, was at the back of the classroom with a few other girls, working on the Mid-Autumn Festival bulletin board display, the group lined up in a row.

Lin Tao came through the door carrying a shopping bag, glanced toward the seats, and didn’t find Jiang Yan. Her gaze swept the classroom.

Eventually she spotted him over near Xu Yichuan — surrounded by a ring of boys, phone in hand, expression distant and composed, seemingly deep in a game, his long fingers flying over the screen.

The boys were arranged in two concentric layers.

The inner circle held Hu Hanghang and the others. The outer ring was the rest of the boys in class. Even that group kept their distance from him — leaving a clear gap directly in front of him, facing the back door of the classroom.

Lin Tao didn’t call out to him. She carried her bag to her seat and sat down. Then she heard Hu Hanghang call out from behind: “Hey hey hey hey hey, Yan-man, how come you stopped playing? You were practically at the boss stage…”

She turned around. Jiang Yan was already right there. There was a faint smell of tobacco on him — not strong, more like something accidentally caught in passing.

“Where’d you go?” Jiang Yan sat down at his seat.

“Went out to get a few things.” Lin Tao turned and looked at him. “When did you wake up?”

“A while ago.”

Lin Tao studied him for a moment. The deflated, listless look he’d had earlier was gone — he seemed back to his usual self.

She felt a small, fleeting disappointment. She’d bought a whole bag of things intending to comfort him, and now they’d be wasted. She asked casually: “Have you eaten?”

Jiang Yan shook his head. “No.”

“Then have these.” Lin Tao lifted the shopping bag from her desk over to his, grabbed the bottom edge with her fingers, and tilted it — everything came rattling out.

A pile of things, covering his entire desk.

Jiang Yan curved the corners of his mouth upward. “Are you fattening a pig?”

“No.” Lin Tao blinked. “I got them for you.”

He raised an eyebrow, not quite following. “Hm? What?”

Lin Tao rubbed at her brow. “This afternoon, I saw you weren’t in a good state.” She licked the corner of her mouth, and looked at him directly. “I wanted to buy some things to…”

Cheer you up.

Before she finished, Jiang Yan had more or less understood. “Wanted to buy some things to… comfort me?”

Lin Tao felt like comfort was a slightly odd way to put it — but it was essentially what she’d meant. She answered vaguely: “Ah… something like that. You seem fine now anyway, so think of it as dinner.”

Jiang Yan looked at the snacks spread across his desk — jelly cups, chips, sour plum candy, an array of brightly-colored sweets. Then, out of nowhere, one word dropped from his lips:

“Want.”

“What?” Lin Tao looked at him as he said it.

In the noisy, clamorous classroom, the boy’s eyes were low and gentle, bathed in the last of the evening light, warm and self-contained. He suddenly lifted his head.

He looked at her.

“Want to be comforted.”

Author’s Note: Little sister Tao: !! This old lady will comfort him!! This old lady is doing it RIGHT NOW!! — Thank you all for your support. Full red envelope chapter!