With a tearing sound, her aunt ripped away yesterday’s page from the calendar. Lin Weixia glanced at the new date — this semester was almost over already.

After eating a serving of red rice sausage, Lin Weixia hurried to school. By the time she reached the school gate, the white morning mist had completely cleared.

The moment she stepped through the classroom door, the classmates who had been doing their morning reading lowered their voices in unison at the sight of her — until the sound faded entirely. All sorts of strange, uneven gazes fell upon her, and the atmosphere inside the classroom became oppressively quiet.

Lin Weixia stood at the doorway. Then a figure came up from behind her, and a familiar, faint scent of oud wood drifted over — it was Ban Sheng.

He stood there without saying a word. The moment people saw it was Ban Sheng, they silenced themselves. The stares and scrutiny directed at Lin Weixia all vanished, and the classroom returned to the bright sound of students reading aloud.

As if nothing had ever happened.

“Go in,” Ban Sheng said.

The two of them walked in one after the other, but Ban Sheng had barely sat down before the head of discipline called him away to receive his punishment. Zheng Zhaoxing’s parents had arranged a week of sick leave for him — he had luckily escaped this round, but there would be no escaping the consequences when he came back.

Shortly after, Liu Sijia and Lin Weixia were both summoned by their homeroom teacher, Liu Xiping. Old Liu’s office was a fair distance from the classroom. The two girls walked at slightly different paces, never quite in step, but always shoulder to shoulder, never letting the distance grow too wide.

Neither of them spoke.

As soon as they entered the office, Liu Xiping was sitting there correcting homework. He didn’t look up at the two students who had come in — as if he were deliberately leaving them to stand there. He was wearing a gray padded jacket over a black crew-neck undershirt, and was holding a thermos, drinking tea. With a click, Old Liu tightened the thermos lid, looked squarely at them, and dropped his usual easygoing manner. His tone was stern:

“What was going on with you two yesterday? One after another, openly skipping class — do you still have any regard for Shengao’s school rules? And where is your dignity as top students?!”

With a clang, Liu Xiping slammed his silver stainless-steel thermos down on the desk in frustration. The towering stack of exercise books beside it jolted and leaned to one side.

Liu Sijia kept both hands tucked in her school uniform pockets, her expression cool, wearing the look of someone utterly unwilling to be lectured. Lin Weixia stood with her head lowered, saying nothing. In the end, Old Liu talked until he ran out of steam himself and, with a grand wave of his hand, ordered the two of them to write a two-thousand-word self-criticism.

He made them stand while they wrote it — they could only return to the classroom once it was done.

The class bell rang in a trilling cascade. The teachers of the various classes tucked their textbooks under one elbow, picked up their thermoses in the other hand, and filed out to their respective classrooms, leaving the two girls behind in the office to write their self-criticisms.

One pressed her pen down with a sharper stroke; the other wrote in a slower, more measured hand. The two pens moved across the paper, producing a soft, interwoven rustling. Neither girl spoke first.

As if whoever spoke first would lose.

So they were competing.

After writing for a while, Liu Sijia’s hand ached and her legs throbbed. She shook out her hand, sending her long, tea-brown curls swaying slightly behind her, then continued writing.

Lin Weixia had always had a high tolerance for discomfort. She used to go with her aunt to the market to buy fruit wholesale, and a full day of that was routine, so standing and writing a self-criticism was nothing to her.

She noticed Liu Sijia’s small, repeated gestures — shaking out her hand, shifting her weight from one leg to the other — and paused in her writing. Without a word, she quietly pushed a nearby chair over to Liu Sijia’s side.

Liu Sijia glanced at it. With a turn of the toe of her square-toed leather flat, she kicked away the chair that had been brought to her side. The chair leg dragged across the floor with a sharp, tearing scrape.

The sound was piercing enough to bring the atmosphere to a complete standstill.

Lin Weixia said no more and lowered her eyes to her own self-criticism. Liu Sijia had been coddled and placed on a pedestal for so long that, compared to Lin Weixia’s quiet, restrained temperament, time wore on her more quickly. A hint of impatience crept into her manner. Her tone remained cold, but she couldn’t hold it back any longer:

“Why didn’t you tell me about what happened to you?”

In Nanjiang’s winter, the sun was always warm and golden. The light fell through the window onto Lin Weixia’s face, and the shadow of leaves swayed across her pale, slender neck. Her whole presence had the beauty of a silent sculpture.

The sunlight seemed to bake the air itself, making it grow more still and stifling. Liu Sijia cast her eyes upward with impatience, then seemed to think of something, and her shoulders relaxed slightly downward:

“Forget it —”

“I’m sorry —”

Their eyes collided. First came a moment of mutual surprise, and then they both burst out laughing at exactly the same time. The laughter of two young girls rang out like wind chimes, slowly scattering the frozen atmosphere.

Though only a little.

After both of them finished their self-criticisms, Liu Xiping lectured them once more. Lin Weixia and Liu Sijia walked back to the classroom together, arriving just in time for a break between classes. The hallway was impossibly noisy, with students goofing around or chatting everywhere.

Just before reaching the door of Class One, Lin Weixia noticed that her wrist had grown even thinner than before — her sleeve hung loose and hollow around it. Out of habit, she tilted her head and looked over at Liu Sijia with a small smile. She found that the upward curve of Liu Sijia’s lips had slowly gone flat, her eyes fixed rigidly straight ahead, and her steps had come to a halt.

Lin Weixia followed her gaze.

It was Ban Sheng, who had just returned from receiving his punishment at the disciplinary office. She only now noticed that he was dressed entirely in black today — a black hoodie that made his features appear sharper and more defined, with a high-bridged nose and single-fold eyelids. His black drawstring athletic pants came down just far enough to expose a bit of his ankle, revealing half of a black lily tattoo that was half concealed.

He was leaning there, talking to someone, his posture still that of someone who didn’t care about anything — the casual, unruly ease of someone who played by no one’s rules.

The pink wrist wrap that had been bandaged around his palm yesterday had been removed and now wound around his left wrist, tied in a simple knot.

He was marking his possession.

The black lily tattoo, the pink wrist wrap, the small mole beneath his eye — the unsettling combination made Ban Sheng look even more bewitching and nonchalant, and drew even more girls to circle around him.

At the same time, snippets of chatter reached her ears with perfect clarity:

“Oh my god, how does Ban Sheng look even more handsome?!”

“Is that the pink wrist wrap he started wearing on his wrist after the fight? It goes perfectly with the tattoo — I’m absolutely dying, he’s so gorgeous.”

“First time I’ve ever seen a guy wear a pink wrist wrap and not look the least bit feminine. It’s so him. I’m dead.”

“Don’t die yet — wait to see if that wrist wrap was given to him by a certain someone, then die.” One of the girls nearby shot a glance in Lin Weixia’s direction.

After all, Ban Sheng had gotten into a serious fight for her sake yesterday, and the story had been embellished and dramatized by bystanders until it spread across the entire school. Everyone had been passionately discussing it in the school’s online forums the day before, saying the whole situation was wild, and not-so-subtly mocking Liu Sijia for being the one left behind. Now everyone was secretly waiting to watch this love triangle play out.

But for now, nothing seemed to be happening.

Liu Sijia slipped both hands back into her school uniform pockets, raised her chin, and walked away from Lin Weixia with a beautiful, icy expression, heading back to the classroom on her own.

The ice that had just begun to melt cracked open once more.

Lin Weixia lowered her eyes and walked quickly into the classroom. Before she had taken two steps, she was stopped by a class officer. He was a boy with silver-rimmed glasses and a gentle, fair-skinned face who introduced himself as the arts and culture coordinator.

“Lin Weixia, the school variety show is coming up soon. I’ve heard that you play cello — there’s still over a month left in this semester, and don’t you want to leave a memorable impression before it ends?” the class officer said, doing his best to persuade her.

“Not particularly,” Lin Weixia replied honestly.

Besides, almost every student at Shengao had their own specialized talent. Since when did it fall to her to perform at the school variety show?

“……Uh.” The boy stood in front of her, scratching the back of his head, unable to find a counter-argument but unwilling to leave.

Lin Weixia raised her eyes to look at him and asked, “Who told you I play cello?”

And she was half deaf, on top of that.

“Someone mentioned it. There’s a generous prize for the best act at the show. Most importantly — just consider it doing a classmate a favor. And don’t you want to perform on stage, to give a real, proper performance on cello…”

Lin Weixia’s attention began to drift as she listened, and somehow, by the end of it, some phrase or other had persuaded her, and she agreed. By the time two classes had passed and she had come back to her senses and wanted to back out, he had already submitted the sign-up form.

From that day on, after Ban Sheng began wearing the pink wrist wrap on his left wrist, he never took it off again — not even when Qiu Minghua teased him about it, calling it feminine, and not even as people speculated endlessly about who had given it to him.

He was entirely unmoved.

Zheng Zhaoxing returned to school a week later, a little better-behaved than before. His temper was still terrible — he flew off the handle at the slightest thing — but he held himself in check somewhat when Ban Sheng was around.

Yet the look in Zheng Zhaoxing’s eyes when he looked at Ban Sheng had taken on a deeper layer of hatred, more intense than before.

On Friday after school, Ban Sheng walked Lin Weixia home as usual. Just before they parted ways, Ban Sheng glanced at his phone to check the time. Lin Weixia stood at the roadside, her fingers pinching the shoulder strap of her bag, sliding it back and forth.

Ban Sheng scrolled his thumb across the screen, and noticed that the faint, sweet fruit fragrance at the tip of his nose had not yet faded. He looked up to find that she hadn’t left, and raised an eyebrow:

“Can’t bear to see me go? Fine, I’ll keep you company a little longer.”

With that, he tucked his phone back in his pocket, striking the pose of someone graciously granting a favor. Lin Weixia looked at him: “It’s still daytime. The sun hasn’t set yet.”

After the lighthearted exchange, Lin Weixia brought up the real matter: “It’s just… I have an old instrument. It’s broken, though. Do you know how to repair a stringed instrument?”

Lin Weixia had noticed that he liked to assemble and take apart drones in his spare time, and the hearing aid from before had been fixed by Ban Sheng, so she thought she’d ask whether he could repair an instrument too.

“No,” Ban Sheng said frankly.

“Oh, then…” Lin Weixia lowered her eyes.

“But there’s a pretty decent cello at my house. You’re welcome to use it,” Ban Sheng said, looking at her.

Lin Weixia looked up and met his eyes, then shook her head: “Thank you, but I —”

Ban Sheng cut her off: “That instrument at home — I don’t even know who gave it to me. If you don’t use it, it’ll just sit there collecting dust. Come practice at my place. Think of it as me lending it to you.”

“And remember to win a prize. Split the prize with me fifty-fifty,” the boy said, watching her with languid ease.

That was how Ban Sheng was — thoughtful and considerate, never making anyone feel embarrassed or awkward.

From that point on, outside of study time, Lin Weixia went to Ban Sheng’s house to practice cello almost every week. There were several times she tried to tell Liu Sijia about this, but every time, Liu Sijia would cut off her opening sentence and change the subject.

On a Friday after school, there were only a few students left in the classroom. Lin Weixia, who was always slow to pack up, was leisurely gathering her things when Qiu Minghua suddenly appeared at her side and lowered his voice: “Lin Weixia, what kind of spell have you cast on our Ban?”

“Hm?” Lin Weixia replied, a beat late.

“He’s stopped playing basketball. He doesn’t go to the observatory anymore. Ask him why and all he says is he’s busy. I don’t see him doing anything, except walking you home. Ban has the worst temper in the world, but in front of you he’s like some giant lapdog. You’ve definitely put a hex on him!”

“Ban Sheng is just a very helpful person,” Lin Weixia said, carefully choosing her words.

Qiu Minghua was about to say more when he suddenly felt his throat clench. A black shadow loomed over him — Ban Sheng, taking advantage of being a head taller, had come up from behind and locked him in a chokehold.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong,” Qiu Minghua immediately dropped to his knees, his neck caught in a powerful arm, throat constricting.

After Ban Sheng had roughed him up a bit, Qiu Minghua half-rolled, half-stumbled out of the room. The empty classroom was left with just the two of them. A round, tangerine-red sun shone through the windows. Lin Weixia was still packing her textbooks, and the two of them walked out one after the other.

“Lin Weixia.” Ban Sheng called out to her in a lazy drawl.

Lin Weixia was carrying her books and instinctively made a sound of acknowledgment. Totally without warning, Ban Sheng turned to face her, and suddenly his face appeared right before hers, breath to breath, his voice landing right beside her ear — warm and tingling:

“Did you actually think I’m that helpful to everyone?”

“Go ask whether I treat anyone else the way I treat you.”

Ban Sheng’s home had a music room. When Lin Weixia practiced there, he usually kept her company from the adjacent room, passing the time by watching movies or playing games.

Or he would simply do nothing at all — he’d have a U-shaped sofa moved into the room and sit there, one hand propping up his head, watching her play beside him. After a while, his thin eyelids would droop, and he’d drift in and out of drowsiness.

During one mid-practice break, Ban Sheng called her over for some water. Lin Weixia put the bow down and settled onto the sofa. Ban Sheng leaned forward, about to prepare a salted lemon soda for her.

He got up to take the preserved lemons from the fridge and walked back toward the sofa. A shadow fell across the room. The boy settled back into the sofa, and just then, Lin Weixia’s phone, lying on the table, buzzed with a message. A slender, pale hand reached over to pick it up. He glanced at the screen.

Lin Weixia picked up her phone and typed a reply, her expression focused, her long lashes lifting and trembling like butterfly wings.

Ban Sheng picked up a can of Sprite. His fingers, knuckles clearly defined, looped through the silver pull tab and were just about to open it when he paused and, feigning indifference, asked:

“Who are you chatting with?”

Lin Weixia was absorbed in typing her reply, barely looking up:

“Zhou Jingze.”

With a “pop,” the pull tab snapped open, and countless white bubbles surged upward. Ban Sheng’s expression remained neutral. Lin Weixia seemed to remember something, and looked up to tell him:

“Oh, I forgot to mention — he’s a friend I met when I went to Jingbei for a cello competition. He’s incredibly talented at cello — a natural. He just happened to have a competition coming up, and I have some questions I need to ask him.”

Lin Weixia finished speaking and bent her head back down. Ban Sheng’s expression showed no change whatsoever. His face was perfectly composed — yet without drawing any attention to it, he wrenched the short, small pull tab clean in two. The corners of his mouth curved into a faint, barely perceptible smirk:

“Hm.”

Lin Weixia was still in the chat window with Zhou Jingze. The other person had asked her to record a practice video in a little while and send it over so he could identify any problems for her to work on.

She typed “Okay” in the chat box and was about to send it when a dominating shadow fell over her. Before she could react, a long arm reached out and snatched her phone away.

“Give it back.” Lin Weixia immediately reached out to grab it.

Ban Sheng, taking advantage of his height and long limbs, held the phone up out of Lin Weixia’s reach. Seeing that Lin Weixia’s normally indifferent expression had finally been disturbed, he grew amused and decided to tease her — holding it up in one direction, then swinging it in another.

But Lin Weixia was no docile little cat — she was a butterfly that could sting. She sat there and scrambled for it for a moment, then ignored Ban Sheng entirely. The moment his guard relaxed, she immediately spun around to grab the phone.

Ban Sheng was faster. He swung the phone upward. Lin Weixia lunged for it without any hesitation — and with a thud, the two of them tumbled together onto the sofa. Lin Weixia landed on top of him, and she caught the faint scent of body wash rising from him, mixed with the pleasant oud wood fragrance, teasing at her heart, little by little.

Lin Weixia’s hands pressed against his chest. Their eyes met, and she realized for the first time that he had single-fold eyelids, his eyes deep black, like an unfathomable night sky. The mole on his cheek made him look even more bewitching — another look, and she felt she might be pulled in entirely. The palms against his chest grew hotter and hotter.

Her heartbeat grew increasingly clear and strong, faster and faster.

Ban Sheng stared at the cherry-red lips right before his eyes — just an inch upward and he’d be able to reach them. His sharp jawline moved as he swallowed, then he reached out and cupped the back of her head, making as if to press her downward. When he spoke, his voice was low and husky, yet his tone was maddeningly casual:

“Right now, shall I lean up to kiss you, or would you like to lean down and kiss me first?”

“Your choice.”