Guan Che had known all along who he was asking about — the feigned confusion was just deliberate ribbing. After his laugh, he said plainly, “She’s fine. Eating well, sleeping well. I’d say her face looks a little rounder.”

“……” Jiang Yan shot him a look and said nothing.

But Guan Che turned his gaze back to Jiang Yan’s face, studied it carefully, and muttered, “How come I think you look a little rounder too? Is the food at Capital Medical University really that good?”

Jiang Yan pulled out the chair beside him and sat down, and said with no particular feeling, “Enough with the nonsense.”

Guan Che shrugged with a helpless laugh. “Good grief — I haven’t seen you in ages, am I not even allowed to show a little concern?”

“I think your concern is mostly directed at what I’ve been eating at Capital Medical University.” Jiang Yan idly clicked open a game of solitaire on the desktop and asked offhandedly, “When’s your exam?”

This question caught Guan Che off guard. He had been in preparation mode just a moment ago, and it took him a beat to respond. “The twentieth.”

Jiang Yan glanced at the date in the lower right corner of the screen. “That’s soon.”

“Yours isn’t far off either.” Guan Che leaned back in his chair, long legs propped up on the computer tower under the desk, and made a joke: “What do you think would happen if neither of us placed this time?”

“……” Jiang Yan turned to look at him, his tone unbothered. “Don’t drag me into it. The only one who might not place is you.”

“……Damn.”

One game of solitaire ended. Jiang Yan reached up and kneaded his neck and shoulders, then without any further idle chat with Guan Che, rose to his feet, grabbed his luggage, and headed back to his room on the third floor.

Even though he had been away during this period, Lin Tao would occasionally slip into his room when she had nothing better to do — sometimes to work through a practice paper, sometimes to take a nap. So the room was reasonably tidy, clearly aired out regularly, without the stuffy, stale smell of a long-sealed space.

During the two weeks at Capital Medical University’s training camp, Jiang Yan had barely slept more than eight hours on any given night. He was naturally gifted, and the coaches and teachers running the camp paid him extra attention.

Coach Guo Wen, for instance, had privately chatted with him about matters related to the national team. Nothing was said explicitly, but Coach Guo’s meaning was clear.

If Jiang Yan took first place in the competition, he would be given a special exception and brought directly onto Guo Wen’s team.

Placing well was straightforward enough — but guaranteeing first place? If he were being honest with himself, Jiang Yan wasn’t a hundred percent certain.

All he could do was give it everything he had.

When the training camp ended and it was time to head back, Coach Guo Wen had specifically taken Jiang Yan aside to say goodbye, reminding him of a few things to watch out for during the competition.

Several other teachers had been present at the time, and seeing this, they joked that Guo Wen had already claimed Jiang Yan as one of his own.

Guo Wen neither confirmed nor denied it — he simply set a hand on Jiang Yan’s shoulder and said solemnly: “Study hard. Keep in mind what I’ve told you.”

“Today’s pillars of the nation are none other than today’s youth. When the youth are wise, the nation is wise; when the youth are prosperous, the nation is prosperous; when the youth are strong, the nation is strong. If the youth have ambition, all things are possible.”

Guo Wen’s words rang in Jiang Yan’s mind like a constant bell — never letting him forget.

Evening self-study at Tenth Middle School ended at half past ten. The winter night sky was dark and heavy with cold; the biting wind cut like a blade, stinging the face.

During the time Jiang Yan had been away, Hu Hanghang, Song Yuan, and Xu Yichuan had taken to heart the instructions he’d left before departing. Every night after self-study, the three of them would accompany Lin Tao back to the internet café.

The alley route was long and dark. The wiring on the streetlamps had been faulty since before the new year — old and in poor repair. Even when fixed, they only stayed working for a little while.

This had gone back and forth so many times that by now, even when the lights went out, no one was willing to bother filing a repair request.

On the walk back, the four of them chatted and laughed as they went.

Lin Tao had seen a joke on a short-video app earlier that day and nudged Hu Hanghang’s arm. “Pangpang, say ‘moon’ three times.”

“Why?” Without thinking, Hu Hanghang obediently complied: “Moon, moon, moon.”

Lin Tao smiled and said, “Now say ‘mooncake’ three times.”

Hu Hanghang kept going: “Mooncake, mooncake, mooncake.”

Lin Tao tilted her head to look at him. “So what did the archer Hou Yi shoot?”

Hu Hanghang answered without hesitation: “The moon!”

Song Yuan and Xu Yichuan: “……”

Lin Tao couldn’t hold back her laughter. She clutched Hu Hanghang’s arm, her voice shaking with amusement. “But if he shot the moon, what was Chang’e flying toward?”

Hu Hanghang scratched his head, still looking a little puzzled. “Didn’t Hou Yi shoot the suns, not the moon?”

Everyone: “……”

The four of them bantered and laughed their way quickly through the long alley. The internet café was right ahead; warm light filtered through the glass door.

Just as they were almost at the entrance, Song Yuan glanced back while saying something to Hu Hanghang. When he turned around again, his gaze landed casually on Lin Tao’s shoe, and he quietly pointed it out: “Lin Tao, your shoelace came undone.”

“Hmm?” Lin Tao looked down. Sure enough, the white lace had come loose at some point and was trailing long on the ground.

She lifted her foot to take a closer look. The lace had already picked up a fair amount of dirt.

Lin Tao gave an almost imperceptible little frown. She stepped onto the low ledge nearby and, using a tissue to hold the lace, began wiping it clean. Looking up, she saw the three boys still standing there watching, and smiled. “You all go on in — we’re at the door anyway. I’ll just be a moment.”

“Oh, alright.”

The three of them pushed the door open and went inside. The door swung open and shut; the sounds from within leaked out for just an instant before being muffled once more by the closing door.

This pair of shoes Lin Tao had only bought a few days ago — a limited-edition style from a certain brand. Ordinarily she wore them with painstaking care, so this careless moment of dirtying the lace was particularly annoying.

The door in front of her opened again. A figure passed in the doorway.

Lin Tao was still bent over cleaning the lace and didn’t pay much attention — she assumed it was one of the kids inside coming out for some air between sessions. Thoughtfully, she shifted a small step to the side to make room.

But no footsteps followed.

Lin Tao instinctively looked up.

When she saw clearly the figure standing on the front step, she froze.

“……”

When Hu Hanghang and the others had walked in, Jiang Yan had just come downstairs after a shower. He scanned the room and saw only the three of them. “Where’s Lin Tao?”

Hu Hanghang, thrilled to see him suddenly appear, was ready to rush forward and demand a hug. “Jiang Yan, when did you get back?”

“Just now.” Jiang Yan intercepted the approaching embrace and asked again: “Where is my girlfriend?”

“……” Hu Hanghang stopped in his tracks, his expression wounded. “Jiang Yan, you’ve changed. Your eyes only have room for Lin Tao now. There’s no place left for me.”

Jiang Yan gave a quiet laugh. “You’re in my heart. Not in my eyes.”

The hurt on Hu Hanghang’s face was just about to transform into delight — and then he heard Jiang Yan follow up: “So. Where exactly is my girlfriend?”

“……”

In the end it was Song Yuan who spoke up. “She’s outside cleaning her shoelace. When we got back just now, she accidentally got it dirty.”

“Alright, you all go play.” Jiang Yan gave Hu Hanghang a pat on the shoulder as a gesture of consolation, then headed toward the door.

Jiang Yan reached the entrance, hand resting on the door handle without moving. Through the glass pane, he could see the figure crouching on the steps below.

The girl’s head was bowed. He couldn’t make out her expression.

He watched quietly for three or four seconds, then pushed open the door and stepped outside. The girl seemed to notice, and yet seemed not to — she shifted a tiny step to the side, never once looking up.

A smile curved the corner of the young man’s lips. He stood where he was without a word, his gaze dropping to watch her, waiting for the girl he cared for to look over on her own.

He waited. And waited. And waited some more.

At last the girl seemed to sense something. She raised her head and looked over — her expression somewhere between dazed and blank, as though she hadn’t yet registered what was happening.

The winter sky was a deep, inky black, lit only by a slender crescent moon. Bright moonlight spilled over the vast, boundless earth, and the stars lay hidden deep within the thick darkness, their shapes indistinct.

The young man stood where he was — his features as handsome as ever — and looked at her with warm, gentle eyes. Slowly, he opened his arms and smiled. “It’s been so long. Am I not even getting a hug?”

The words had barely left his lips when Lin Tao seemed to be wound back into motion, snapping out of her surprise and bewilderment. In two quick strides, she threw herself headlong into his arms.

The wind of the winter night was bitter and cutting to the bone. Yet the young man’s embrace was this warm.

“When did you get back?” Lin Tao’s arms wrapped all the way around his lean waist. She tilted her head up, following the sharp, clean line of his jaw, and looked directly into his amber, glass-like eyes.

“Just got back this evening.” Lin Tao was practically draped over him; Jiang Yan had no choice but to curl an arm around her to keep steady. He bounced her a little, gauged the weight, and muttered, “Guan Che wasn’t wrong.”

“Hmm?” Lin Tao pulled back from his embrace slightly. “What did Guan Che say?”

Jiang Yan looked down at her and hooked the corner of his lips. “He said your face got rounder.”

“……”

Lin Tao was convinced Jiang Yan had, in a past life, been an evil star destined to spoil every mood — how else could he be this reliably good at it in this one?

She gave a soft cough and explained, “I did not. It must be an illusion of Guan Che’s. If you don’t believe me, I’ll go find a scale and weigh myself right now.”

Jiang Yan wasn’t bothered by small things like that. He gave a languid smile — effortlessly elegant — and after a moment his gaze wandered from her face downward, finally coming to rest on the shoelace she’d just been cleaning.

The lace had been wiped but not yet retied.

He didn’t hesitate. His figure flashed before Lin Tao’s eyes; by the time she registered what was happening, he was crouched in front of her, his pale, slender fingers pinching the loose lace, turning it over a few deft times, tying it into a neat bow.

Lin Tao’s expression softened, the corner of her mouth curling. “How was the training camp?”

“Good enough.” Jiang Yan finished tying the lace and stood up, taking her hand as they walked inside. “Met a dormitory mate. Pretty funny guy.”

“What was he like?” The inside of the café was warm and well-heated. Lin Tao took off her jacket and held it in her arms. “I’m going to grab a yogurt — do you want one?”

Jiang Yan shook his head and waited for her at the foot of the stairs.

Lin Tao ended up grabbing two anyway.

They went upstairs together, to Jiang Yan’s room.

Lin Tao opened one yogurt for herself, then tore open the other and pressed it into his hand. She settled into the sofa and pressed him to tell her more about his dormitory mate.

Jiang Yan took a small sip of the yogurt he was holding, thought for a moment, then recounted everything that had happened at the training camp, from start to finish.

“Oh, right.” When they got to Yu Hanghang, Jiang Yan set down his yogurt, stood up, and reached over to pull his backpack toward him. “My dormitory mate gave me something just before he left — said it was a gift for you.”

“……”

The moment she heard the word “gift,” Lin Tao couldn’t help thinking of the present Guan Che had brought back when his training camp ended. She asked hesitantly, “Your dormitory mate… wouldn’t happen to be like Guan Che’s dormitory mate — giving out physics notes as a gift, would he?”

When Guan Che had gone to his training camp, he too had ended up with a dormitory mate who clicked with him in certain ways and got along well.

During the program, Guan Che learned that this dormitory mate had originally specialized in physics, but later, realizing his deeper passion lay with numbers, had switched to studying mathematics.

On the topic of physics, Guan Che had casually mentioned that he had a childhood friend who studied physics. His dormitory mate had then promptly given Guan Che the physics notes he’d brought along — saying they were no use to him anymore and would be better off going to someone who needed them.

Guan Che had later looked through the notes and found the content fairly comprehensive — not particularly suited for Jiang Yan, but quite appropriate for Lin Tao, whose foundational grasp of the subject wasn’t entirely stable.

Hearing this, Jiang Yan suppressed the smile forming in his eyes and said flatly, “What a coincidence.”

“It really is.”

“……”