Summer storms always come on like this — sudden and torrential, as though trying to overturn the entire city.

From Liu Sijia’s scheme, to Lin Weixia’s counterattack, to the spectators’ mockery — she could see in their eyes the gleam of “serves you right.” She felt as if she had been through a war of attrition, every ounce of her strength spent.

She knew she looked wretched right now — but she still held her spine straight, maintaining the pride she wore on the surface.

Liu Sijia propped her chin on her hand, turning things over in her mind, but quickly became aware of a foul smell coming from her own clothes. She felt her skin crawl, a wave of goosebumps rising along her arms and back.

With a scrape of the chair, Liu Sijia rose and walked briskly out in full view of everyone. Those around her glanced at her retreating figure and began to murmur.

Ning Chao had been hidden behind a bookshelf playing a violent fruit-slicing game, his phone giving off periodic sounds. He caught a glimpse of the figure rushing out through the front door, pocketed his phone without ceremony, and followed.

The rain had eased. Liu Sijia stood by the row of taps in front of the main building, water gushing from the faucets into the basin.

She splashed a little water over her wrists and the back of her neck. Liu Sijia felt like a drenched phoenix blossom, all the brilliance flattened out of it.

She had never been this humiliated before.

When Ning Chao appeared behind Liu Sijia he startled her. The queen shot him a withering look. “What do you want? Why are you here instead of consoling your seatmate?”

“Do you own this water basin?” Ning Chao shot back without missing a beat.

Ning Chao stood beside her, bent down, turned on a tap, and washed his hands. Liu Sijia’s mood was black. She kicked him and demanded, “Hey — whose side are you on, anyway?”

This had gotten under her skin particularly — she hadn’t been involved, and yet she ended up getting doused in front of everyone. When something went wrong, all fingers pointed at her regardless.

Just then, the sun tore a seam of gold through the cloud cover, and a brief sun shower fell. Ning Chao didn’t answer. His dark eyes slid sideways to where Liu Sijia was scrubbing at her clothes with agonizing slowness, and he spoke: “Let me help.”

Ning Chao bent down, picked up a garden hose from the ground, and as he passed her, stepped on the foot-operated switch on the ground.

Before Liu Sijia could react, he aimed the hose directly at her and soaked her through and through. She stood there stunned — eyes, mouth — everything flooded with water, her clothes growing heavier and heavier.

Cold. Cold and miserable.

For the second time today — wretched.

The water kept coming. Liu Sijia wiped her face and, patience finally gone, stepped forward and shoved him. The bitterness she had been pushing down erupted all at once. Eyes reddening, she shouted, “Are you insane?!”

Ning Chao turned off the tap and tossed the hose aside. He looked at her and asked, “Woken up yet?”

“I’m telling you, Liu Sijia — just let it go…”

Liu Sijia froze, then understood what he was doing. He had put together this whole act just to build up to this moment. Every last drop of resentment and indignation rose to a boil inside her. Her chest heaved violently. Everyone was taking Lin Weixia’s side — her mother compared her to Lin Weixia, the boy she liked only had eyes for Lin Weixia, and now even some nobody from the streets was lecturing her.

Could the world just go ahead and die.

She kept shoving at Ning Chao’s shoulder as she spoke — proud and cutting without a trace of mercy in her voice:

“You don’t actually think that one trip to your family’s stall makes us friends. My family provides me with a privileged upbringing and the finest education — and it’s so I can keep my distance from people like you. But you F-tier students really do all think rather highly of yourselves.”

“Excuse me — who are you to lecture me? Are you qualified?”

Ning Chao let Liu Sijia keep shoving at his shoulder — compared to the fights he’d been in, this was nothing. But what Liu Sijia said — it landed like a rock on the coast.

Each word striking his chest one by one.

A flicker of something strange moved through those bright, deep eyes — gone in an instant. Ning Chao lowered his head and laughed at himself quietly. This was also the first time he had ever addressed her this formally:

“Liu Sijia — I completely misjudged you.”

With that, Ning Chao brushed past her shoulder and walked away. Liu Sijia stood frozen in place, replaying the look in his eyes just then — it left a discomfort in her chest she couldn’t shake.

Nothing much moved on that cold, striking face. Then all at once a wave of nausea hit and Liu Sijia grabbed the nearest bin and retched. But she had eaten almost nothing that morning — it was all dry heaving. The nausea was overwhelming though, and the involuntary physical response brought tears to her eyes.

Liu Sijia stayed hunched in that position, the post-rain light falling on the back of her ear. She didn’t move for a long time.

A new week. After the storm, the sky was clear and open.

Class 1, Year 2 at Shengao returned to its usual atmosphere — none of the tension of the last few days. The students who had been behind the bullying and harassment hadn’t come to school for an entire week.

Their families’ companies had hit snags in negotiations, or the older generation’s social connections had run into trouble. When parents found out what had happened, they came down hard on their children.

Who had done it.

Ban Sheng had — he’d arranged for word to reach their families.

After that blow, the girls stopped looking for ways to torment Lin Weixia. Whenever they saw her, they went out of their way to avoid her. Everything returned to normal.

The bullying was brought under control, and even Zheng Zhaoxing, who had been intermittently hassling Fang Jiabei, quieted down considerably.

The line between A-tier and F-tier students was drawn more cleanly now — each side keeping to their own territory, no longer encroaching.

Below the surface of a perfectly still sea, undercurrents always run.

The same was true among the girls. If it erupted again — it would only be more dangerous.

These days, the school held written assessments in the afternoons, and students were released at 4 p.m. after finishing. Because there was no evening study session, Ban Sheng told Lin Weixia to come to his place to keep watching Game of Thrones.

Only they hadn’t gotten more than two episodes in before they switched to playing video games. Ban Sheng’s living room was spacious. He sat on the sofa, slightly hunched forward, toned arms resting on his knees, gripping the game controller. His expression was relaxed — he looked entirely at ease.

Lin Weixia sat on the carpet with her back against the sofa, white no-show socks bunched at the ankles, a sliver of smooth, round calf peeking out. The corners of her mouth curved softly.

A can of cola sat on each side of the coffee table, a blue straw in one, a red straw in the other. Condensation clung to the surfaces in a fine mist, an intimacy between them that needed no announcement.

Before long, Lin Weixia had lost two rounds and owed a forfeiture. She was afraid of pain, so she made her eyes go pleading, pressing her palms together in deliberate provocation: “Come on, shouldn’t guys let girls win?”

Ban Sheng let out a short laugh and drawled back, “You don’t know that guys love nothing more than competing at games?”

And then, before Lin Weixia could react, a figure came down toward her. Ban Sheng had leaned forward and locked one arm around her neck from behind, the scorching warmth of his breath enveloping her from the back. The familiar cedarwood-and-dark-resin scent of him reached her, and Lin Weixia’s heartbeat skipped — the skin everywhere he touched felt warm and tingling.

Lin Weixia made a show of struggling to break free. Ban Sheng gave a low, quiet laugh, held her head steady, and raised his hand to flick her forehead in mock punishment when —

From somewhere across the room came the sound of a door being pushed open. Ban Sheng looked over, and the smile froze at the corner of his mouth. The housekeeper, Auntie Qin, hurried out to receive the visitor. She bent forward, both hands extended to take the bespoke suit being held out to her, her voice bright with surprise:

“You’re finally home — the Chairman hasn’t been back in over a month.”

Lin Weixia felt Ban Sheng’s body go rigid for a fraction of a second. The arm that had been wrapped around her from behind loosened and fell away, the pleasant cedarwood scent retreating quietly with it.

“Dad,” Ban Sheng said.

His father held his phone, head down, focused on the screen. When he heard his son’s voice — whom he hadn’t seen in over a month — he didn’t so much as look up, just made a soft sound of acknowledgment.

Something was off. This was not the normal dynamic between a father and son.

Ban Sheng appeared unmoved. He set the game controller on the table, and though he didn’t exactly rein in his habitual nonchalance, he cleared his throat and raised his voice slightly, making it sound more deliberate:

“Dad, this is my classmate, Lin Weixia.”

At that, Ban Sheng’s father finally looked over. Lin Weixia saw his face clearly for the first time — he wore glasses, his features leaning toward the refined and scholarly type. She guessed Ban Sheng must take after his mother, given his own deep features and striking bone structure, though the cool, distant expression Ban Sheng’s father wore was exactly the same as his son’s.

“Oh. Hello,” Ban Sheng’s father said, his manner entirely flat.

Unlike other parents who greeted their children’s classmates with enthusiasm, his father didn’t even have the inclination to ask questions. Just a simple, perfunctory greeting.

Ban Sheng was about to say something more when his father’s phone rang. He accepted the call and walked past the two of them, pushing open the door to the right of the floor-to-ceiling window. He stood on the garden lawn to take the call.

Ban Sheng let out a low, quiet laugh, picked up the green apple from the table, and tossed it into the air before catching it cleanly in his palm. He turned the fruit knife once in his right hand and began peeling the apple — wandering, aimless.

More accurately — it wasn’t peeling, it was more like prying the apple open.

Auntie Qin walked over, wiping both hands on the apron tied around her waist. “Young Master, should I add the Chairman’s portion to dinner tonight?”

“Go ahead,” Ban Sheng said, distracted, still in a contest with the apple.

Auntie Qin nodded and turned toward the kitchen. Ban Sheng’s tone paused briefly, then picked up in that offhand way of his: “Auntie Qin — add a coconut milk soup. With water chestnuts inside.”

“Will do.”

Lin Weixia settled back onto the sofa, wanting to rescue the apple in Ban Sheng’s hand. She had just started to speak when a figure passed by — his father, on his way back from the garden, moved to the entryway, lifted his suit jacket from the coat rack, and turned to say something to Ban Sheng:

“Something’s come up at your Auntie Wang’s. I’m going over.”

The door closed with a click. The spacious living room went very quiet. The lean, straight-backed figure of the boy beside her was still, and a long silence settled between them — only the muffled hum of the garden trimmer outside.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Lin Weixia said, breaking the quiet.

Outside the house, the view opened up wide. It had rained earlier in the day, and the ground was still wet. Lush green coconut and palm trees grew close together, their branches and leaves sprawling untamed, sheltering the small patch of sky directly above.

Wherever the eye fell was an endless expanse of humid, dense green.

Ban Sheng walked beside Lin Weixia, and after asking her permission, lit a cigarette. His mood was not great — his expression listless — but he still answered her questions with patience.

Ban Sheng knew a great deal. He could identify which tree had been transplanted from Southeast Asia, tell her what year each tree dated to, and pointed out that three kilometers away, in the bay near his home, the most seagulls would fly in every morning, and they were beautiful in all their variety.

The two of them were mid-conversation when frantic, distressing dog cries erupted somewhere not far ahead — one after another, each more desperate than the last. Lin Weixia’s brows flinched. She hurried toward the sound.

She stood beneath a palm tree. Through a gap in the greenery, she saw a middle-aged man of around forty standing at the entrance to his home, holding a stick and beating a very small German Shepherd.

His face was blank, his expression flickering with a flash of cruelty. Between blows he spat on the ground:

“I’ll beat you to death, you worthless wretch!”

“You animal — are you going to behave or not!”

The dog looked barely grown. Small as it was, it had no concept of fighting back. Its neck was looped in a collar, chained to the tree, and every time the stick came down, the puppy flinched forward instinctively — the collar biting into its neck until it bled, letting out pitiful cries.

Finally the dog lay in the mud, eyes brimming, whimpering, the ground beneath it darkening with blood.

Lin Weixia’s breathing grew heavy, her chest rising and falling sharply. A profanity escaped her lips: “Bastard.”

She was about to step in to interfere when an arm caught her elbow. She whipped around, and found herself looking into a pair of jet-black eyes. Ban Sheng ground out his cigarette and gave her his assessment:

“If you just charge in like that — trust me — nothing good will come of it.”

Lin Weixia struggled and got nowhere — Ban Sheng held on firmly. The dog’s cries kept flooding her ears. Her eyes grew hot. She shot him a look, his expression blank, devoid even of feeling.

She said, “So we just watch with cold eyes? I suppose that figures — you’ve always been indifferent.”

Ban Sheng raised a brow in something like surprise, then gave a quiet laugh, his eyes on hers with a sideways look: “Is the world really that black and white? That’s genuinely naive.”

Of all the things about Ban Sheng, what she liked least was this — the attitude that said whatever happens to all of you, even dying in front of me, is no concern of mine. Lin Weixia held his gaze with her amber-colored eyes:

“Is that so? Being so shrewd and calculating, indifferent to everything — what has it gotten you?”

The words were out before Lin Weixia could stop them. Almost immediately she regretted it. In nearly the same instant, she felt the grip on her arm loosen — Ban Sheng slowly let go. They had been standing close, but she suddenly felt as though a distance had opened between them.

Ban Sheng was lean. He stood there and smoked a cigarette. The silver lighter slipped from his palm to reveal a flare of orange at the tip, and he exhaled a slow breath of white smoke.

He glanced at her once, then looked away again, and said:

“Suit yourself.”

With that, Ban Sheng turned his back to her, leaving her alone in that spot. His frame was slight, his damp hand still holding the cigarette, the scarlet ember burning steadily higher — as though it would climb all the way to his knuckles.

In the distance, that black figure was nearly swallowed up by the dark green of the palms — carrying something of a solitary, forlorn quality.

By the time Lin Weixia gathered herself and went to intervene, neither the German Shepherd nor the man were anywhere in sight. She searched three times and couldn’t find them. She gave up and went home, heavy with disappointment.

That evening, Lin Weixia sat at her desk working through an exam paper. Reading aloud as she went: “Each year, nearly a hundred million sharks are caught worldwide. After they are caught, people…”

She trailed off, drifting. She picked up her phone from where it lay face-down and checked whether Ban Sheng had sent her anything. She tapped on that dark-colored profile picture.

He had not messaged her.

Normally at this hour, Ban Sheng would reliably send her a goodnight message without fail — but not tonight. After confirming this, a swell of dejection rose inside Lin Weixia.

She worked through her test paper for another half hour. Progress was slow. Lin Weixia kept drifting, her mind returning to Ban Sheng’s lonely, cold silhouette from the afternoon.

The more she watched her phone and received nothing, the more restless and unsettled she became — as if something was lodged in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Lin Weixia gave up and went to shower. When she was in the bathroom drying her hair, she thought she faintly heard her phone ringing in the bedroom. She quickly set down the hair dryer and ran in. Her heart was beating fast and without any particular rhythm.

In her eagerness she lunged toward the edge of the bed, didn’t even glance at the caller ID, and answered immediately. Her throat was dry from the nerves as she said softly:

“Hello?”

“It’s me — Ning Chao. Can you bring me some breakfast tomorrow? I’m suddenly craving that rice noodle roll from near your place.”

Lin Weixia’s raven-feather lashes lowered. So it was Ning Chao. Water droplets kept falling from her hair, soaking into the back of her clothes, leaving behind a spreading chill.

“Sure,” Lin Weixia replied.

Ning Chao seemed to pick up on something and made a little joke: “What — you actually sound a bit disappointed it wasn’t someone else?”