Ban Sheng let out a low laugh — whether he meant it as a threat or was being entirely serious — and raised both hands to hold her head, making to press it downward. Lin Weixia immediately scrambled upright in a flustered rush.

Ban Sheng then leisurely propped himself up on one elbow from the sofa. His palm slid out, producing a black phone, which he returned to her. Lin Weixia reached out to take it — but it didn’t move.

“Let go,” Lin Weixia said, looking at him, her tone calm.

Ban Sheng did let go and stopped teasing her. Lin Weixia rested for a short while and then continued practicing. She loved it — and she savored every one of these rare hours of practice.

Ever since Ban Sheng had gotten into that serious fight for Lin Weixia’s sake, people at school had been paying attention to the two of them, openly or otherwise. At school, Lin Weixia still had as little contact with Ban Sheng as before — at least on the surface — but some people had pieced together hints: the occasional snacks that appeared on Lin Weixia’s desk, the fact that Ban Sheng never failed to submit any assignments except Chinese, and that it took Lin Weixia personally going to collect it before he’d hand it over. From these small things, people had begun to see through to what lay beneath.

No one could pinpoint quite when it had started, but speculative glances began drifting back and forth between the three of them.

The general opinion held that Liu Sijia had clearly shown interest in Ban Sheng first, and Lin Weixia and Liu Sijia were widely recognized as an inseparable pair. For a time, rumors swirled with endless speculation.

But a queen was a queen — Liu Sijia appeared unaffected by any of it.

From the outside, Lin Weixia and Liu Sijia still seemed to be on perfectly good terms, the two of them as close as ever. But Lin Weixia sensed a blurry barrier that had come to stand between the two of them. Friendship between girls was delicate and sensitive — even the subtlest shifts were felt by both parties.

Liu Sijia had grown considerably cooler and more distant toward her. They no longer met up at the cafeteria for meals at the usual time; Liu Sijia would occasionally go eat with Li Shengran and the others, brushing Lin Weixia off with a vague “I forgot” or “I have plans.”

It was as if a thin thread had wound itself around her heart, making it hard to breathe.

The school variety show came around quickly. One afternoon, the two of them went out together to get dinner off campus. Liu Sijia still had little appetite. She bought a piece of whole-wheat bread at the convenience store, while Lin Weixia ordered a bowl of udon noodles and added two skewers of oden.

The winter wind blew in with a chill. At least the fish cake balls were piping hot. Lin Weixia took a bite and looked over to find Liu Sijia tearing her bread into crumbs, her expression vacant, lost in thought.

“What’s wrong?” Lin Weixia asked, her tone concerned.

Liu Sijia came back to herself, drew the corners of her lips up mechanically, and replied, “Nothing. Oh, by the way — how’s the cello practice coming along?”

“Pretty well. I heard from Fang Mo that you signed up for a performance too.”

“It’s fine,” Liu Sijia said, crumpling up the entire plastic wrapper and tossing it in the trash can.

The school variety show came around quickly. It was held in the school’s grand auditorium — a major event at Shengao, attended by all faculty and students. The school had even invited two journalists to cover and report on it.

Friday evening. The backstage dressing room of the grand auditorium was a scene of pure chaos. Performers were still having their makeup done when they’d be pushed out onstage. Lin Weixia sat in front of a makeup station while someone worked on her face. With every announcement the emcee made, her heart gave a little jump. She felt a trace of self-deprecating amusement — it must be because she hadn’t competed in so long.

Once the makeup was finished, Fang Mo stood to one side and looked at Lin Weixia, eyes going wide and slightly dazed. She murmured softly: “She’s too beautiful.”

The heating was turned up high. Liu Sijia walked over wearing just her costume, without even a jacket draped over her shoulders. She wore a purple dress paired with black knee-high boots, her makeup vivid and striking, giving her a commanding presence. Li Shengran was, as always, at her side.

Li Shengran caught sight of Lin Weixia in the mirror, startled for a moment, then reached out and patted Lin Weixia’s shoulder with a look of obvious reluctance: “Hey, Ning Chao seems to have an urgent matter — he’s looking for you outside. Honestly, how can a person look that fierce and intimidating.”

“Oh. Okay.” Lin Weixia set down the lipstick she’d been holding.

Lin Weixia stood up, grabbed the jacket from the back of her chair and put it on, and — still a little awkward in the long skirt — lifted the hem slightly and headed outside. When she got out there, she found Ning Chao standing under a tree with a group of others, huddled in some kind of discussion that looked like it was probably no good.

She called out: “Ning Chao.”

The boy next to him bumped his shoulder and started whistling. Ning Chao looked up at the sound of her voice and walked toward Lin Weixia. A few steps in, he turned back and spat a string of curses at the rowdy crowd behind him.

Ning Chao came to stand in front of Lin Weixia, eyebrows drawing together at the sight of her running out in her performance costume. “Why did you come out? What’s the matter?”

“Weren’t you looking for me? Li Shengran just told me,” Lin Weixia said, a little out of breath. A faint sheen of sweat had appeared on the tip of her nose from hurrying.

“What the — why would I be looking for you?” Ning Chao said, pulling a baffled face. He sneezed. “No, I need to go find that girl…”

Ning Chao was still muttering away when he looked up and found her completely gone, not even a shadow left. By the time Lin Weixia made it back to the backstage area, her throat had gone a little dry. Fang Mo was frantically searching for her, and let out a sigh of relief when Lin Weixia appeared.

“Weixia, where did you go?! You’re almost on — everyone’s been looking for you!” Fang Mo ran over in a panic.

“It’s fine.” Lin Weixia shook her head. She walked to the makeup station and picked up the cello, slinging it onto her back.

The timing was perfect. The backstage coordinator called out for Lin Weixia, and the red curtain was parted by a pair of hands. Lin Weixia walked onto the stage with the red cello on her back. Just before going out, she pressed her hearing aid, turning down the volume of incoming sound.

Lin Weixia’s side of the stage was dim — the audience hadn’t yet noticed her arrival. About two meters from her, the emcee was delivering her introduction. She wore a dark green evening gown with a plunging back, a sweep of snow-white skin showing through. Her voice was lovely, her diction clear and precise, with a warmth that made you think of a cup of heated milk.

After the emcee finished her announcement and stepped to one side, she turned and smiled in Lin Weixia’s direction before stepping off the stage. Lin Weixia gave a small nod. With a sharp click, the spotlight snapped on above her, illuminating her out of the darkness.

Lin Weixia’s amber eyes moved slightly as she looked out at the audience below. The crowd was watching attentively, their full attention on her as the performer.

Her chest tightened a little, inevitably.

Among the tide of faces in the audience, she spotted Ban Sheng in one glance. He was wearing a black cap, half his face visible — the line of his jaw smooth and clean. Lin Weixia exhaled softly. Right hand holding the bow, as the audience held their breath in anticipation, she brought it to the strings, gently closed her eyes, and drew it across.

The low, melodic sound she had expected did not come. Instead, a harsh, grating noise wailed out. Lin Weixia opened her eyes in confusion and drew the bow again. With a sharp snap, the white string broke cleanly — a sound like tearing silk.

In an instant, the string curled up on itself, like a strand of burned hair.

A commotion broke out in the audience below. The murmurs grew louder and louder, with one or two laughs mixed in. Even the teachers sitting in the front rows couldn’t help leaning over to whisper to each other, asking what was happening on stage.

Lin Weixia was in a complete daze. She remained frozen in that position without moving. The noise below grew louder and louder, rushing in like a tide. Her lashes dropped low. She thought back to that bright, sincere smile, and her lashes trembled once.

The female emcee seized the moment and had the lights cut. The stage went dark, and the calls from the audience for Lin Weixia to leave grew even louder. The emcee walked over and whispered a few words in Lin Weixia’s ear, then stepped off the stage.

“Ugh, what is this? What’s even going on? Is that it?”

“Hey, you onstage — can you actually do this or not? If not, hurry up and get down so the next person can go on.”

“Seriously, just get off the stage already. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

The heckling came in wave after wave. Seated nearby, Li Yiran was watching the spectacle with the air of someone who was enjoying every second of it. He lifted his perpetually drooping eyelids and spoke up lazily: “Tsk. You’re not going to go play the hero?”

Ban Sheng sat in his seat, still in exactly the same position he’d been in, unmoved. He replied with breezy nonchalance: “She can handle it.”

“Oh, that much faith in her?” Li Yiran continued his jabs.

Ban Sheng said slowly: “If she couldn’t, she wouldn’t be someone Ban Sheng looked twice at.”

With a boom, the spotlight on the stage blazed back on, and a flowing, melodic sound rang out. Lin Weixia was still sitting in the same spot — only now what she drew from was not a cello, but an erhu.

She had switched her entire performance.

Lin Weixia held her head slightly tilted to one side. Her dark hair was half swept up and pinned behind her, leaving half of her pale, lovely face visible. But her fingertips were firm and strong. A winding melody of “The Butterfly Lovers” poured out from the strings like a gently flowing stream.

The opening phrases were mournful and tender, drawing listeners helplessly in — evoking the story from the pages of history, of gifted lovers forced apart. By mid-piece, Lin Weixia’s bow made a sudden turn, and the tempo abruptly quickened. The tone was pure and clean, clear as pearls of every size falling onto a jade plate, deeply moving.

From a boy seated obliquely ahead in the audience came a low, stunned expletive as he murmured to his companion: “Holy — that’s incredible. I’m officially declaring her my new goddess from this day forward.”

Ban Sheng’s dark eyes swept sideways to that boy. The other finally felt it — a prickling chill — and instinctively reached up to touch the back of his neck.

Ban Sheng pulled his gaze back and fixed it once again on the stage, eyes locked on Lin Weixia.

Lin Weixia sat at the center of the stage in a long red dress with flowing sleeves. As the climax of the piece arrived, the sound swelled and deepened with force. The speed of her bowing increased, her left hand moving fluidly up and down the strings — the motion both striking and beautiful, the style sweeping and grand. And as the piece moved toward its ending —

There was something about her that seemed as though it had been broken, yet her gaze was resolute. The audience felt as if they could see the characters from the piece transforming into butterflies and taking flight, finally fluttering down to land on Lin Weixia’s pale cheek.

Landing right on the red birthmark there.

On the final note, Lin Weixia lifted her bow. Holding the erhu, she rose and bowed deeply toward the audience below. The hall fell into a silence so complete it felt like the depths of the sea.

Half a minute later, the audience below erupted in a wave of applause. The sound lingered. Screams and cheers nearly lifted the roof. It was an extraordinary performance.

That evening at the school variety show, Liu Sijia was not to be outdone — she took first place with a contemporary dance performance. And Lin Weixia, with her sweeping rendition of “The Butterfly Lovers,” made a name for herself across all of Shengao in a single piece. Though the stage accident had forced her to switch performances, her impromptu show was deeply affecting and powerfully moving. The organizing committee specially awarded her a grand prize.

After the show ended, most people surrounded Liu Sijia to offer congratulations, their words flattering and effusive. Lin Weixia sat in her seat alone, quietly removing her makeup. Then the phone on the table buzzed and hummed. She picked it up, glanced at it, finished taking off her makeup, gathered her things, and headed out.

Liu Sijia was surrounded by a group of people, red lips curved upward. Li Shengran was smiling along beside her, and caught a glimpse of the hurrying figure walking away — her smile wavered for a moment.

Ban Sheng had texted to say he was waiting outside. Lin Weixia stepped out and was momentarily surprised to find him standing with a group of people, a cigarette between his fingers. One of the guys had a face that radiated listless detachment in a very obvious, unmistakable way — that had to be Li Yiran. Beside him stood a young woman with a graceful figure and exceptional bearing. Even from behind, she was clearly a remarkable beauty.

Lin Weixia noticed that Ban Sheng’s expression when he was with them was remarkably relaxed. When Ban Sheng saw her coming, the hand holding the cigarette lifted in a gesture to come over. In the crimson glow of the burning ember, she could see the clear, distinct knuckles of his fingers as he held the cigarette.

As Lin Weixia walked closer, she realized the young woman was actually the emcee who had helped her out on stage earlier. She thought for a moment, and then — unusually for her — took the initiative to speak, her tone tentative: “You must be an upperclassman? Thank you for stepping in for me earlier.”

The young woman turned her head. Dark pupils shimmering with warmth: “Don’t mention it. Cheng Wusuan — you can just call me Wusuan.”

“In terms of seniority, I’m something like a distant older cousin of Sheng’s. That’s Li Yiran. We’ve all been close friends since we were little,” Cheng Wusuan explained.

The variety show had ended some time ago, but there were still occasional passersby. Spotting the school’s most talked-about group of people gathered together, people couldn’t help whispering among themselves: “Is that Li Yiran?”

“Ban Sheng’s here too. Worth it — came to watch the school show and ran into two handsome guys.”

“Li Yiran aside, do you even know his nickname? They call him ‘trash.'”

“And senior Wusuan! My goddess, she’s here too, oh my gosh.”

Ban Sheng was about to say something. He glanced over at the bystanders without a word, but those thin, sharp eyelids were like a blade. The girls scattered, their gossip abandoned, and fled.

“Tsk, Ban, do you not know what ‘cherishing beauty’ means?” Li Yiran said with an amused grin.

He didn’t mind being called trash himself.

Cheng Wusuan had no interest in getting involved in their bickering. She patted Lin Weixia on the shoulder: “If you’re going to thank anyone, thank Sheng — he was the one who told me to look out for you.”

“He’s been very attentive when it comes to you,” Wusuan teased.

Li Yiran acted as though he were meeting Lin Weixia for the very first time, rubbing a hand over his cool, pale neck, and asked with mock innocence: “Sheng, is this your girlfriend?”

“No,” Ban Sheng replied.

Lin Weixia’s lashes moved. She looked over. Ban Sheng’s face was entirely calm: “Still pursuing her.”

Li Yiran gave a thumbs-up with his middle finger, expression utterly resigned, then pulled Wusuan along and left. Only the two of them remained. An awkward silence settled over the air. Ban Sheng looked at Lin Weixia’s brilliantly red lips and spoke:

“You look like a female ghost in that lipstick. Terrible.”

Ban Sheng raised his hand, pressing his thumb to her lips to wipe it away. Lin Weixia was momentarily stunned, standing there and letting him do it. His rough thumb pressed against her red lips, his fingertip instantly stained crimson. She actually looked wonderful like this — nothing like a female ghost at all. Her skin was so fair, and with the red lips it was cold and beautiful at once, like white snow in March, elevated to something close to a work of art.

Her lips were very soft, like jelly. The further he wiped, the more his fingertips felt as though they were catching fire. Ban Sheng abruptly pulled his hand back and looked away: “Let’s go.”

The two of them walked side by side down the tree-lined path of the school. Lin Weixia kept feeling as though the warmth of his fingers was still there. Her lips tingled. On instinct, she rubbed at them with her sleeve.

“Oh — by the way, the prize money this time is one thousand yuan. As agreed, I’ll give you half. It might not be enough to replace your cello…” Lin Weixia tugged at his sleeve and held out five hundred yuan to him.

Ban Sheng stopped and looked at the money she was holding out without taking it, laughing faintly with an air of ease: “That broken instrument is nothing. Keep the money — just take me out to dinner.”

Lin Weixia looked at him. “What would you like to eat?”

“Dumplings,” Ban Sheng said. And inexplicably, he found himself thinking of those steaming hot dumplings from Winter Solstice.

Even though winter was almost over.

Lin Weixia was bewildered: “Huh?”

For someone as sharp and calculating as him, shouldn’t he have seized the chance to make her treat him to something extravagant?

“What do you mean ‘huh’ — keep stalling and I’ll change my mind,” Ban Sheng said, hands in pockets, walking straight ahead.

Lin Weixia had no choice but to fall into step with him. The two of them made their way to a dumpling restaurant on Minyue East Road. The shopfront sign was old and worn, but the place was clean and tidy, and it had a decent number of customers.

Lin Weixia ordered two servings of beef dumplings, asked Ban Sheng if he had any dietary restrictions, then sat down. Ban Sheng had a mild case of mysophobia, repeatedly rinsing the cups and spoons with boiling water.

Then his phone screen lit up. Lin Weixia unlocked it and found a congratulatory message from Fang Mo, her excitement practically leaping off the screen:

[Ahhh, Weixia, you were absolutely stunning on that stage, I could die! Did you know you’ve exploded on the school forum?! Everyone’s talking about you. Are you happy about winning the prize?!]

Lin Weixia tapped out a reply and sent it: [It’s fine.]

Fang Mo had also sent her a link to the forum. Lin Weixia didn’t click it. She didn’t care about other people’s eyes or opinions, had no interest in being the center of attention, and being noticed was never something she sought or wanted.

She just wanted to do what she loved without any pressure. The switch from cello to erhu tonight was a small regret.

Ban Sheng took a sip of hot buckwheat tea, the steam rising around his lazy, half-lidded eyes. He thought of something and said: “You play erhu too?”

Lin Weixia took a bite of a plump, round dumpling and immediately scalded the tip of her tongue. He promptly slid a cup of water toward her. She took a sip, and replied — in a tone that was somewhere between genuine and modest:

“When I was little, I studied cello with a teacher. Whenever I arrived at his house early, he’d always be in the middle of teaching his daughter erhu and wouldn’t have finished yet. Eventually my hands got itchy and I started learning along with them. I didn’t study properly though — I only know this one piece.”

“Pretty quick thinking in the moment,” Ban Sheng commented.

After finishing the dumplings, Lin Weixia and Ban Sheng headed out together. She settled the bill with the proprietress at the door. The proprietress was busy, dabbing her hands on her apron, then looked up at the two young people in front of her with a smile of admiration:

“Your two siblings are really something — like a movie poster.”

The girl was wearing a dark navy school jacket over a light-colored knit, a plaid narrow skirt showing off a pair of long, fair legs — her looks fresh and striking. The boy was a full head taller in the same school jacket, with the upright build of someone who carried himself well.

The two of them had strikingly similar features — the same quiet coolness.

The proprietress couldn’t stop marveling: “Your parents must have been very good-looking in their day. Look at you two siblings —”

Ban Sheng had had one hand in his pocket and was just about to step outside, but he stopped at that. He turned back, expression like someone who had been biting their tongue for quite some time, and asked:

“Do we really look like siblings?”