It was all related to him
That day, Zhou Anran stood there for a long time, her face flushed.
The skin on her lower back felt hot as if that scorching, powerful hand was still wrapped around it through her thin late summer clothes.
Her heart was also beating rapidly.
Her mind was filled with the face she had just seen.
Zhou Anran pursed her lips, suddenly turned, and quickly went downstairs.
She returned to the bulletin board and carefully read through the names one by one, starting from the first row of the class assignment list.
When she finally found the only three characters that were closest to the name she had heard earlier and realized they were in her class, she felt struck by an enormous joy.
She had thought high school would be even harder to endure than middle school, just studying with nothing else.
Chen Luobai appeared like a sudden beam of light, illuminating her dull youth.
Unfortunately, this light was too dazzling.
To exaggerate a bit, he had almost lit up the youth of half the girls at No. 2 High School.
Making him seem unattainable.
Zhou Anran being in the same class as him had likely already exhausted all her luck. Later, when they arranged seating in class, she ended up far away from him, one in front and one behind, one left and one right.
Plus, with her introverted personality, even though the school had been in session for over a month, she had barely managed to speak to him.
They were practically strangers who had only crossed paths a few times.
“Sorry about that!” A voice called out from the basketball court again.
It was a boy from their class named Zhu Ran, one of Chen Luobai’s closest friends.
Zhou Anran snapped out of her memories, realizing she hadn’t thanked him yet.
She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Zhu Ran’s voice rang out again.
“Chen Luobai, why are you still standing there? Come down and play ball!”
Chen Luobai was still holding the ball that had nearly hit her earlier, casually spinning it in his hand out of habit. “Not playing today, my mom’s coming to pick me up.”
“Don’t go, Luo-ge! We’re all waiting to have dinner with you tonight,” another boy named Tang Jianrui chimed in.
Chen Luobai glanced at him coolly. “Waiting to have dinner with me, or waiting for me to pay?”
Tang Jianrui chuckled without a hint of embarrassment. “Same thing, isn’t it?”
Chen Luobai jerked his chin towards Zhu Ran. “I’ll still treat tonight. Let Zhu Ran pay first, and I’ll transfer him the money later.”
“Then hurry up and go, Luo-ge!”
“Yeah, don’t keep your mom waiting.”
Chen Luobai tossed the ball over, laughing. “Have you no shame?”
As the boy raised his arm high to throw the ball, the veins on his arm bulged slightly from the exertion, showcasing a strength completely different from girls.
Zhou Anran couldn’t help but recall the feeling of that hand steadily supporting her that day, unconsciously drifting into a daze.
When she came back to her senses, Chen Luobai had already strode away, several steps distant from her.
Tang Jianrui, who had caught the ball, dribbled it a few times on the spot and called out to him: “See you next week, Luo-ge!”
In the setting sun, Chen Luobai didn’t look back, just raised his hand high to wave behind him. The black backpack hanging on his right shoulder swayed gently with this motion, orange-red light dancing on its surface.
Zhou Anran didn’t dare to call out to him.
The “thank you” that had reached the tip of her tongue ultimately went unspoken.
Yan Xingqian linked arms with her. “Let’s go too.”
Zhou Anran gave a soft “Mm” in response.
The tall, long-legged boy walking ahead was getting further and further away.
Zhou Anran felt increasingly frustrated.
How could she…
Once again fail to say thank you to him?
Yan Xingqian also stared at that retreating figure for a few seconds before suddenly saying, “Anran, I feel so sour.”
Zhou Anran tried hard to suppress her emotions. “Sour about what?”
Yan Xingqian: “Sour about Chen Luobai.”
Zhou Anran: “?”
Yan Xingqian was a fangirl who only had eyes for her idols. She was one of the few girls in their class who didn’t buy into Chen Luobai’s appeal.
They rarely talked about him usually.
“You’re sour about—” Zhou Anran paused. She could have continued the topic by simply using “him,” but out of some inexplicable private desire, she softly repeated his name, “Chen Luobai doing what?”
“They say when God closes one door, he opens another window. Well, I certainly haven’t seen my little window,” Yan Xingqian frowned. “But I can see God paved a grand highway for Chen Luobai.”
Zhou Anran couldn’t help but smile. “What kind of strange logic is that?”
“It’s not strange logic at all. Look, his father is a well-known entrepreneur, his mother is a senior partner at the most famous law firm in our city, and I heard his grandparents are both university professors. He’s the typical young master born with a golden spoon in his mouth. In the last monthly exam, he outscored the second-place student by twenty or thirty points. And that handwriting of his on the essay the teacher had us pass around today was bold and beautiful. As for his looks, well, he’s not my type, but he’s undoubtedly our school’s most handsome guy. He could easily hold his own against some idols, and he has that clean, fresh appeal. “
Yan Xingqian paused, counting on her fingers: “Family background, intelligence, looks – if an ordinary person had just one of these, it might be enough to live worry-free for life. But he’s got all three at once. Isn’t that infuriating?”
Zhou Anran felt a bit dejected and mumbled a response, “Yeah.”
He was just too outstanding.
That’s why he seemed so out of reach.
Yan Xingqian seemed to remember something else: “Oh, right, I heard our school’s basketball coach wanted to persuade him to join the school team. Our school team can compete for the top three in the high school league, and the main players all have some prospects of going professional. For the coach to take notice of him means his skill level is already far beyond ordinary people.”
The tall, slender boy in front of them was taking long strides, the distance between them growing larger and larger as if foreshadowing that the gap between them and he would only widen in the future.
Even someone as carefree as Yan Xingqian seemed to sense this point, letting out a long sigh: “Never mind, let’s stop talking about it. The more we talk, the more sour I feel. Let’s hurry and go buy some milk tea.”
Chen Luobai had already left the school gates, completely disappearing from her sight.
Zhou Anran withdrew her gaze: “Mm.”
After walking a few steps with her head down, she heard Yan Xingqian suddenly start humming a song beside her: “Go to your more treacherous mountains and more vicious waters, I’ve faced difficulties, I’ve tasted bitterness, walked out a highway to heaven~ wide and broad~”
Yan Xingqian had a sweet voice, creating a particularly stark contrast when she sang.
Zhou Anran smiled, the stuffiness in her heart dissipating a bit: “Why are you suddenly humming this song?”
Yan Xingqian made an “Ah” sound: “I don’t know either, I just suddenly started humming. Maybe it’s because we just talked about the ‘highway to heaven.’ But the old songs are still better, what’s with these new songs nowadays.”
Zhou Anran teased her with a look: “What if your idol releases a new song?”
Yan Xingqian made a bitter face: “Don’t even mention it, who knows when that’ll happen.”
*
When Zhou Anran got home, neither of her parents had returned yet.
She put her schoolbag on the living room sofa, went to the kitchen first to wash and cook rice, and then returned to the living room, picked up her schoolbag, and went to her room.
Zhou Anran took out her math homework and then pulled out her draft notebook from the nearby bookshelf. When she accidentally opened one of the pages, her fingertips paused for a second.
This entire page was neatly filled with poetry.
But her gaze fell directly on the fifth, seventh, and ninth lines.
The verses there read:
“White clouds still scatter themselves, the bright moon falls on whose home.”
“New leaves in fragrant woods urge on the old leaves, front waves in flowing water give way to later waves.”
“Whose jade flute sends its dark flying sound, scattering into the spring wind, filling the city of Luo.”
She didn’t even dare to write his name openly, each time only able to carefully hide her feelings within like this.
Her mood seemed to become complicated again.
Sour, sweet, and bitter intertwined.
It was all related to him.
But remembering that increasingly distant figure from the afternoon, Zhou Anran pursed her lips, suppressed her complex emotions, and turned the draft book to a new blank page, focusing her mind to start on her homework.
Although it was a bit difficult.
But she still wanted to try harder.
Wanted to catch up to his pace, wanted to get a little closer to him.
When she got to one of the problems, Zhou Anran’s thoughts hit a snag. She bit her lip, reorganizing her train of thought, unconsciously doodling on the draft paper with the pen in her hand.
By the time she realized it, nearly half a sheet of draft paper was filled with the characters for “Highway to heaven.”
On the way home, Yan Xingqian hummed this song the whole way.
It was originally just the ending theme of a TV show she loved watching as a child.
But once it became slightly connected to him, these few characters seemed to take on a different meaning.
They seemed to be tinged with those sour, sweet, and bitter feelings.
Zhou Anran lowered her head, the pen tip touching the paper. She had just written one vertical stroke when the door was suddenly pushed open.
Her heart jolted in panic, and she abruptly covered the draft paper, looking up at the person who entered, with a hint of discontent in her tone: “Mom, why didn’t you knock again?”
Ji Qiaoyi entered without knocking. “Why knock at your own home?” She noticed An’ran’s guilty expression as she placed a bowl of washed fruit on the desk. Standing beside her daughter, she asked, “What were you writing that you had to hide when I came in?”
Zhou An’ran realized belatedly that what she’d written wasn’t incriminating. She obediently moved her hand away.
Ji Qiaoyi glanced at the paper. Half was filled with numbers and formulas, the other half with repeated lines of “Great Pathway to Heaven.”
Ji Qiaoyi frowned. “Why did you write ‘Great Pathway to Heaven’ so many times?”
An’ran curled her fingertips. “No reason. I just suddenly wanted to read ‘Journey to the West.'”
Ji Qiaoyi chuckled. “How old are you? Still want to read ‘Journey to the West.’ You’re in your first year of high school now. Focus on your studies.”
An’ran lowered her eyes. “I understand, Mother.”
“Have some fruit,” Ji Qiaoyi pointed at the bowl. “I’ll start cooking dinner now.”
After Ji Qiaoyi left, An’ran spent another forty minutes on homework. She stretched her stiff neck, tidied her desk, and left her room.
Father had returned home. Her parents were talking in the kitchen.
The kitchen exhaust fan’s hum masked her footsteps. An’ran was nearly at the door before they noticed her.
Their conversation drifted out.
Ji Qiaoyi: “Zhou, guess what I saw in your daughter’s notebook today?”
“What did you see?” Zhou Xianhong asked.
Ji Qiaoyi: “She’d written ‘Great Pathway to Heaven’ on half a page. Don’t worry about her dating early. Your girl hasn’t grown up yet; she’s still thinking about ‘Journey to the West.'”
Zhou Xianhong laughed. “She’s not grown up yet, anyway.”
An’ran paused. Though Ji Qiaoyi hadn’t intentionally snooped, sharing what she’d seen in An’ran’s notebook with her father felt like an invasion of privacy.
An’ran pressed her lips together and reached for the door.
Her parents finally noticed her.
Ji Qiaoyi turned. “Hungry?”
An’ran, not feeling particularly sociable, just shook her head silently.
Ji Qiaoyi gestured to a plate. “If you’re not hungry, take these chicken feet to the Xian family. I’ve got two more dishes to prepare. Dinner should be ready when you return.”
An’ran approached. She saw four dishes already prepared on the stove, all her favorites.
Ji Qiaoyi’s job wasn’t easy either. When she and Zhou Xianhong weren’t working overtime, they often made do with simple noodles for dinner.
But with An’ran home for the weekend, Ji Qiaoyi spent nearly an hour cooking for her.
An’ran’s sullen mood dissipated before it could take hold.
After dinner, Zhou Xianhong put the dishes in the kitchen and returned to the living room to watch TV.
“You’re just leaving the dishes there?” Ji Qiaoyi complained.
Zhou Xianhong picked up the remote. “It’s the CBA season opener tonight. I’ll wash them after the game.”
An’ran, who was about to offer to do the dishes, swallowed her words and sat next to Zhou Xianhong. “Dad, I’ll watch with you.”
Ji Qiaoyi, heading to the balcony to collect laundry, paused to ask, “Have you finished your homework?”
An’ran nodded obediently. “Yes, I have.”
Ji Qiaoyi: “Then go prepare for tomorrow’s lessons. You’re in high school now, why are you watching TV?”
Zhou Xianhong interjected: “She’s only in her first year. Besides, she needs to rest after dinner. Watching a basketball game with me isn’t like watching a drama. They have PE classes at school, maybe they’ll learn basketball too.”
Ji Qiaoyi considered this. “Alright, but only for half an hour.”
Zhou Xianhong: “Half an hour isn’t even half a game.”
Ji Qiaoyi glanced at her daughter’s small face. “Forty-five minutes, no negotiation.”
An’ran’s lips curled into a slight smile, then she heard Zhou Xianhong speak again.
“Why the sudden interest in watching basketball with Dad? I thought you weren’t interested before.”
An’ran’s mind flashed to a tall figure running on a basketball court. She answered reflexively, “It’s quite cool.”
Zhou Xianhong put down the remote, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s cool?”
An’ran: “…”
Affection is truly difficult to conceal. Something always slips out unintentionally.
An’ran tried to cover her slip, but she realized she only knew one current player’s name: “Yi Jianlian.”
Zhou Xianhong looked at her, amused. “Not bad taste, but Guangdong isn’t playing tonight.”
An’ran didn’t even know what Guangdong was. Her heart still racing, she nodded vaguely. “I’ll just watch whatever with you, then.”
An autumn rain brings cooler weather.
After Sunday’s downpour, Monday dawned much cooler in Nan City. When Zhou An’ran and Yan Xingqian arrived at school early, they noticed most students had switched to their autumn uniforms, just like them.
At 7 AM sharp, they reached the classroom.
Yan Xingqian immediately buried herself in unfinished math homework.
An’ran sat beside her, about to review English vocabulary when a classmate, Wang Qintong, approached quietly. “Zhou An’ran, could we switch seats temporarily? I need to ask He Mingyu about some physics problems.”
He Mingyu was the class physics representative.
An’ran nodded, gathering her English book and a notebook before standing to let Wang Qintong take her seat.
As she walked towards Wang Qintong’s desk, An’ran’s heartbeat quickened.
Wang Qintong’s seat…
Was diagonally in front of Chen Luobai’s.
His seat was still empty, just as she’d last seen it on Friday.
An’ran glanced at it briefly before quickly averting her gaze and sitting in Wang Qintong’s place.
Although early self-study at No. 2 High School was voluntary, nearly all students in Class 2, an experimental class, arrived early.
The early study period hadn’t officially begun, but most students were already present.
Monday mornings after a break always brought a livelier atmosphere, even in experimental classes.
The classroom buzzed with chatter.
But nothing distracted An’ran more than the empty seat behind her.
It took her longer than usual to focus.
An’ran first reviewed the vocabulary in order, then grouped words with similar prefixes and suffixes for deeper analysis. Finally, she copied easily confused words into a dedicated notebook.
Once engrossed, the surrounding noise seemed to fade away naturally.
Until a name suddenly caught her ear.
“Chen Luobai.”
The name seemed magical, instantly pulling her from her concentrated state. All the surrounding sounds rushed back.
Chatting.
Moving about.
Chairs scraping.
She wondered if any of those footsteps belonged to him.
An’ran was tempted to look back.
But it seemed too obvious.
She didn’t need to look back to know the answer, though.
The chair behind her moved, its scraping sound close by. The fresh scent she’d caught a whiff of on Friday wafted near.
An’ran had never sat so close to him before. Her back tensed.
Just then, Zhu Ran, sitting behind her, spoke up.
“Chen Luobai, why do you look so exhausted? What were you up to last night?”
An’ran’s pen froze mid-word.
The boy behind her didn’t respond, but Zhu Ran paused, his voice taking on a teasing tone: “Don’t tell me you were chatting with that pretty senior from last week?”
An’ran’s pen suddenly carved a glaring line across her notebook.