The YCH school forum had gained a few new posts recently, most of them about the sports meet. One in particular was fairly prominent:

Has everyone heard? Class Three-One’s students entered the 4×400 relay — A-students and F-students competing together. This is the biggest spectacle in Shengao’s history. Worth watching.

[Sugar Bubble]: OP, there’s a problem with your framing — the student ranking system has been abolished. Why are you still calling people A-students and F-students?

[2333]: Sorry, clickbait on my part. Even if the labels are gone officially, the bias still exists in practice. Those two groups can’t really blend together.

[Green Rose]: OP gets it. This situation just got interesting.

[Taking the Train to Lhasa]: I feel like Class Three-One will win. The F-students are practical and down-to-earth; the A-students are no pushovers either — they always hold themselves to a high standard, competitive by nature, and very concerned with appearances. You can see them training on the track every day after school now. In a way it’s a good thing — it amounts to a dual powerhouse coalition.

With the sports meet on the horizon, Ban Sheng came down with a bad cold the day before — his voice thick with congestion, lower in pitch than usual. After questioning him, Lin Weixia concluded he’d soaked too long in the swimming pool the previous evening.

“Can you still run? Should we put in a substitute?” Lin Weixia asked, concerned.

“I’m fine,” Ban Sheng said.

The two of them went to the canteen together at noon. Ban Sheng disliked crowds, so he deliberately brought her up to the second floor to eat. But no sooner had they sat down than admiring glances began drifting toward them.

They had entered Year Twelve, and a fresh cohort of lively Year Ten students had arrived. As the two of them ate, murmurs floated into Lin Weixia’s ears:

“That’s Ban Sheng, right? He’s so handsome.”

“He’s seriously enchanting — that pink wristband he’s wearing, paired with his whole vibe, it’s just perfect. I want to go up and ask for his number.”

“But who’s the girl sitting across from him? That little birthmark on her face looks kind of strange.”

Lin Weixia was slowly chewing a green bean. At those words, her lashes stirred slightly — then she continued eating, utterly unaffected.

Ban Sheng glanced up at Lin Weixia at just the right moment, but said nothing.

Lin Weixia had just passed the soup across the table to Ban Sheng when a slender figure appeared in her line of sight, accompanied by a drift of fresh perfume. The girl had her hair in a high ponytail; her cheerful tone carried a thread of nerves.

“Senior, I’m a new student. I’ve just arrived at Shengao and there’s still so much I don’t know. Could I get your number?”

After saying this, the girl’s heart beat frantically — anxious and hopeful. But she waited and waited, and Ban Sheng showed no reaction whatsoever.

Ban Sheng was leisurely drinking his soup, his Adam’s apple shifting as he swallowed — as if deliberately keeping the girl waiting. When he finished, he leaned back against his chair and, without even sparing her a glance, spoke with an air of disdain:

“The wristband — she gave it to me.”

“The birthmark you think looks strange — it’s my favorite thing.”

“As for my number — go ask your senior first.” Ban Sheng’s tone was casual, entirely unhurried.

His sequence of responses left the girl both furious and flustered; the color on her face shifted through several expressions, and in the end she stamped her foot and walked away.

Lin Weixia popped three pills out of each of two blister packs and passed them over, then slid the water his way: “Why did you have to scare her like that?”

Ban Sheng took the pills — didn’t bother with the water — tossed them in his mouth, tilted his head back, and swallowed. Then came a soft, amused sound. Lin Weixia found herself meeting a pair of pitch-black eyes. He gave a light laugh:

“You should feel lucky. Your future partner keeps himself properly devoted.”

The next day, the sports meet officially opened amid the principal’s lengthy speech. Students standing below were drifting in and out of drowsiness, grumbling under their breath: “The principal sure can talk.” “The principal talks more than my mom.”

“The principal can talk because you’re the ones roasting in the sun, while he stands up on the ceremonial platform giving his speech.”

Liu Sijia, as the student athletics representative, stepped onto the stage looking immaculate. The moment she opened her speech notes, there came a ripping sound — the paper tore clean in half, her beautiful fingers coated in super-glue, which only became stickier the more she pulled in the sunlight.

Students below broke into loud laughter. Some even wolf-whistled. Many pulled out their phones to take photos, all of them marveling: The Ice Queen is embarrassing herself more and more often these days.

“The forum is going to be buzzing again tonight.”

“If I imagine myself in her shoes — making a fool of myself in front of the entire school — I don’t think I could handle it.”

Ban Sheng was standing nearby, arms folded, watching Liu Sijia on the stage — her gaze unwavering, composure unbroken. He said:

“She’s paying you back in her own way.”

The sun was harsh. Lin Weixia looked up, and all she saw was Liu Sijia stepping down from the stage in the midst of all the laughter.

After the school administrators finished their speeches, machines compressed the red and white balloons into bursts — pop, pop — and a crowd of students in uniform stood on the green track, applauding and cheering, like sails of youth lifted by the wind.

Students began setting up their spots on the sidelines. Two boys dragged inflatable mats to claim territory; those not competing simply sprawled across them, hiding under their school uniforms to play on their phones. Someone had even brought a portable speaker.

“Impressive — turned this into a music festival, have we?” Ning Chao gave them the middle finger.

Ning Chao had barely had two sips of water when the broadcast announced names being called to the check-in area to prepare for the high jump. He tossed the bottle. “Someone come cheer me on later — two people minimum.”

The morning was mostly individual events; the relay race was in the afternoon. After Lin Weixia finished her two events, she received a small note — written by Liu Sijia:

The cello — I won’t apologize for that.

The time you were splashed with water in the bathroom — I gave no such instruction and had no part in it. In the end you splashed me back, so we’re even, but the cause was on my side. I’m sorry.

The super-glue incident — returned in kind.

Lin Weixia’s lashes stirred. In the end she folded the note and tucked it into her pocket, then hurried off to the rest area to keep Ban Sheng company.

His cold had not improved — if anything, it seemed to be getting worse. Ban Sheng hadn’t attended the opening ceremony that morning and had been resting in the rest area the whole time.

Lin Weixia pushed the door open. Ban Sheng was sitting in a chair, head tilted back against the ice-blue wall, eyes closed in rest. His dark lashes were pressed shut, and the line of his profile was smooth and sharp.

Hearing a sound, he opened his eyes and looked toward the door.

“Are you feeling any better?” Lin Weixia walked over and handed him a cup of hot water.

Ban Sheng’s expression was languid and pale. His cold white hand closed around the cup; when he spoke, his voice was rough: “More or less.”

He seemed to guess her concern, and gave a faint smile. “I’m not that fragile.”

“Alright. If you’re genuinely feeling unwell this afternoon, tell me.”

The afternoon relay race arrived quickly. Just before it began, the whole class gathered together, surrounding the participants in a circle.

Ban Sheng’s energy seemed much better than before. He wore his usual cool expression, both hands tucked in his pockets, a glimpse of clean wrist bone visible. He stood a little apart from the group.

Li Shengran, in a bright, energetic pink athletic outfit, was pacing back and forth — a clear display of her nervous restlessness.

Liu Sijia was growing uncomfortable watching it. “Stop pacing,” she said. “You’re making my head spin.”

“I can’t help it. I feel like my heart rate is through the roof,” Li Shengran said with great worry. She took Liu Sijia’s hand and pressed it to her chest. “Sijia, feel this — is something wrong?”

“I’m going to get out there and be a total drag, aren’t I? That would be so humiliating.”

Li Shengran kept voicing her anxiety, even trying to drink water to bring her heart rate down. The girls gathered around her, suggesting deep breathing and similar techniques.

Then, all at once, a tentative voice: “Do you want to try this?”

Everyone looked over. An F-student with glasses held out her thermos and said in a friendly tone: “My mom brewed this calming lily-root tea for me. She’s a pharmacist — she added two herbal ingredients to it. Whenever I get nervous before an exam, she makes this for me.”

The girls around Li Shengran responded with a dismissive sound through their noses — a sardonic jab that the claim was self-defeating. If the tea actually prevented nervousness before important events, how had her grades managed to sink so consistently?

Li Shengran looked back at the girl. The girl instinctively fell quiet. Then Li Shengran turned back around and accepted the thermos: “Thanks, I’ll try it.”

“Oh — you’re welcome, I didn’t expect you’d actually take it.” The F-student’s face showed genuine surprise.

Before long, the participants from Class Three-One were lined up in the competition zone — twelve people in total, split into two teams facing each other, competing against the other classes in the same year.

A gunshot rang out — bang — and six groups of athletes shot forward like arrows released from bows, charging ahead without pause. The class president ran the opening leg, and at a decent speed.

Baton after baton was passed forward. Class One was currently in second place — a strong showing. When the third baton was placed in Fang Jiabei’s hand, she surged forward with her face pulled taut with focus.

Lin Weixia saw how tightly drawn Fang Jiabei’s features were — tense with nerves — but those eyes that had always seemed dim and lifeless now held a spark of light.

She was running with everything she had.

Lin Weixia was standing in position, waiting for Fang Jiabei to pass the baton — when suddenly, with a thud, Fang Jiabei fell in the middle of the track.

The world seemed to go still for half a second.

Classmates watching nearby dropped their jaws open. Students from other classes started talking at once, wearing the expressions of those who live for spectacle.

“Ha — the way she fell is actually kind of funny.”

“Can’t understand why those A-students would mix with F-students for this race. They were always going to be the weak link.”

Over the noise, just as Lin Weixia was about to call out encouragement, Liu Sijia’s voice rang out from across the track:

“Fang Jiabei — keep going!”

Liu Sijia had once only known her by the nickname “freak.” Now she called out her actual name, clearly and without hesitation. Lin Weixia felt a flash of surprise. As if resonating from the same chamber, more voices rose one by one:

“Come on!”

“Get up — run!”

“Go, Fang Jiabei!”

The girl lying on the ground pressed both palms to the track and slowly pushed herself up. She picked up the baton and ran forward, dragging her injured leg in an unsteady, limping gait.

The hearts of everyone watching, clenched tight with dread, finally released in a breath of relief the moment Fang Jiabei managed to pass the baton to Lin Weixia.

The instant Lin Weixia took the baton, she ran with all her strength. She had removed her hearing aid before the race; the cheers around her sounded as though they were coming from somewhere far away.

The wind on her face was scorching. She fixed her eyes on the finish line ahead. Liu Sijia was standing there — red lips parting and closing, as if quietly saying go.

As the baton was nearly in Liu Sijia’s reach, she extended her hand. Breath crossing between them, the backs of the two girls’ hands brushed lightly together.

Lin Weixia stumbled out of the track, gasping, propping her elbows on her knees, her forehead beaded with dense sweat.

No time to drink water — she lifted her eyes to watch the relay race still unfolding in the distance. A classmate stood beside her with a camera, taking photos, and asked if she wanted one taken.

Liu Sijia always ran with her chin raised, her gaze fierce — proud and beautiful, charging forward with full force, like a rose blooming in defiant splendor.

Then, all at once, the crowd erupted. It was Ning Chao — his body bent into the shape of a bow, movements sharp and agile as a cheetah’s.

As he neared the finish line, Ning Chao threw his arms wide and let out a roar. He had actually closed the gap left by Fang Jiabei’s fall.

In the crowd, voices had begun calling out: “Go, Class One!” “Go, Ning Chao!” “Go, Ban Sheng!”

Lin Weixia stood farther back, looking straight into the light.

The sun was blinding. Ban Sheng was in a black athletic uniform — a tall, upright figure running ceaselessly forward. The wind blew hard. At the final critical moment, Ban Sheng — who was always so unhurried — suddenly burst into a full-speed sprint.

He was fast as a bolt of lightning.

The cheering grew louder and louder. Ban Sheng cut through the course like an arrow, overtaking competitor after competitor in the turns. Everyone’s heart climbed into their throats.

Third place.

Second — then falling back again.

First!

He had overtaken everyone in the very last stretch.

The moment the young man spread his arms and raced toward the finish line, everything around him seemed to freeze — the wind fell silent, the referee still had the whistle between his teeth, the smiles of the students around him stilled.

Only he was blazing, boundless, shooting upward.

Ban Sheng swept his arm wide, and as his body crossed the finish line, a blazing red sun burned steadily behind him.

The light was chasing him.

In this moment, Ban Sheng was not falling, not dissolving — every trace of the brooding heaviness that had clung to him was gone. He was entirely, newly himself.

Lin Weixia raised her camera, and with a click of the shutter, captured his silhouette.

After the race, the group waited in tense anticipation. The usually boisterous crowd was silent — everyone holding their breath for the final result.

When the broadcast announced, “Congratulations to Class Three-One for taking first place in the 4×400 relay race,” the response was immediate:

“Ahhhhhh!“

“Yes!!”

“We knew Class Three-One was the best!”

The whole class erupted. Girls screamed and laughed. Boys clapped each other on the back, celebrating with fist bumps. Homeroom teacher Liu Xiping stood at the far back of the crowd and smiled quietly.

Nobody knew which boys started it — but one by one, two of them hoisted Teacher Liu under his arms, and two more positioned themselves behind him, and together they launched him into the air.

More and more students joined the chaos, swarming around Teacher Liu in a ring. The usually stern Teacher Liu could no longer hold his composure, his face a picture of stunned panic.

Every time they tossed him into the air, a huge wave of voices roared:

“We are Class Three-One!”

“We’re number one!”

“Number one!!!”

Bodies pressed together, shoulders bumping. Because so many people had piled in, a few took the opportunity to get back at their classmates under cover of the commotion.

“Where are my glasses?!”

“You’re the one who stepped on my glasses!”

“And you tore a hole in my shirt!”

In the middle of the crowd, Lin Weixia looked back, searching for Ban Sheng — and there he still stood.

One turn of her head, and she could see him.

Their eyes met across the distance. A quiet smile passed between them.

The breeze came at just the right temperature. The sky was a deep, brilliant blue. The laughter of boys and girls echoed above the school grounds.

This was their seventeen.

That evening, the victory dinner was held at a hotel in the city center. Teacher Liu drank two sips of liquor and was already a changed man — launching into another round of his signature, deeply familiar speech.

Teacher Liu let out two tipsy burps, raised his glass in one hand and pointed with the other, trembling slightly:

“You students are the most—”

“Terrible class you’ve ever taught,” Qiu Minghua said, tossing a peanut into her mouth.

That line had been said at least dozens of times — their ears had practically grown calluses from hearing it. But Liu Xiping let out two delighted chuckles and shook his head:

“Actually — one of the better classes I’ve had. Top three, at least.”

That got the whole room beaming. They raised their glasses, laughter and banter bouncing off the glass cups.

Compared to the noise inside, the area outside the hotel felt quiet and still. A boy and a girl leaned against the wall, exhaling plumes of smoke.

Ning Chao held a cigarette between his lips. Chin tilted sideways, the line of his profile was sharp and clean. He held his lighter in one hand, letting an orange flame flicker out and extend it over.

Liu Sijia leaned in. Between her red lips was a white cigarette — threads of smoke rose softly as the tip caught the flame.

“You’re a pretty fast runner,” Ning Chao said, raising an eyebrow, idly turning the lighter over in his fingers.

Liu Sijia exhaled a breath of smoke, satisfied with herself. “Of course. Whatever I set my mind to, I do to the best of my ability.”

“You signed up because of Lin Weixia, didn’t you? You were afraid no one else would and she’d be left standing there awkwardly.”

“That’s none of your business,” Liu Sijia said.

No. It was because of him.

Ning Chao bowed his head with a quiet laugh, not contradicting her. After that topic passed, the two fell into an oddly synchronized silence — neither quite knowing what to say next.

Yet the atmosphere was, for once, genuinely harmonious and at ease. Nothing like before, when the two of them couldn’t be in the same space without clashing — always locking horns, always finding something about the other to take issue with.

The cigarette burned down quickly. Painted fingernails pinched it out. Liu Sijia extended her hand, her fox-like eyes angled upward, expression earnest:

“Let’s make it official and call off the feud.”

She offered her hand — no grudges going forward.

A pale white hand extended and waited. And waited. No response came. Liu Sijia’s brow furrowed; she was about to withdraw it when Ning Chao finally cut a sidelong glance at her.

He reached out and bumped his fist lightly against her open palm.

Then Ning Chao stepped past her, walking ahead without looking back, tossing back one sentence: “Let’s go. If Teacher Liu comes out and catches us again, I am not having another mouthful of your arm hair.”

“How many times do I have to say it — I don’t have arm hair! Your arms have hair!” Liu Sijia followed after him, thoroughly displeased.

The group moved on to a karaoke room. Alcohol has a way of loosening the tightly wound spring in a person’s mind. Liu Sijia drank cup after cup, drunk enough that she might have passed out at any moment.

Liu Sijia had become intensely addicted to coffee recently — she loved the feeling of her heartbeat speeding up, of dizziness washing over her. That sensation, like she could be the complete master of her own life.

But now, it seemed alcohol wasn’t bad either.

As she was thinking about it, a wave of nausea rose in Liu Sijia’s chest. She covered her mouth and ran outside, stumbling down the corridor to the bathroom at the far end, where she collapsed over the toilet and was sick.

When it was over, Liu Sijia made her unsteady way to the sink. She turned on the tap and bent her head over and over, splashing water against her face.

The tap was suddenly turned off. The space went quiet. Liu Sijia raised her head, turned to look at the girl with the gentle face standing beside her, and said with sincerity:

“I’m sorry.”

Lin Weixia didn’t respond. She pulled out a paper towel and dried her hands.

Liu Sijia didn’t react with anger — Lin Weixia had every right not to accept the apology. Lin Weixia crumpled the paper towel and tossed it into the bin, then left without looking back.

“I’ll make it up to you in my own way,” Liu Sijia called after her retreating figure.

Lin Weixia’s silhouette stiffened for just a moment, then continued forward.

Liu Sijia stared at the reflection in the mirror — a face that was vivid and striking, yet undeniably exhausted. She turned the tap back on. When had she realized she was wrong?

Was it when she stumbled across that photo on the forum? Or was it the body that had been growing more and more worn down?

At the sports meet, Liu Sijia had seen that girl clearly for the first time. Running with every last breath of oxygen gone, mind entirely blank, feeling as though she might die at any second — the most important face to flash through her mind had been hers.

At the end of the month, a major mock examination was held. Liu Sijia missed two of the exams. She had locked herself inside the equipment room.

Liu Sijia crouched in the equipment room, arms wrapped tight around her knees. The air was thick with a stale, rotting smell. It was winter, and the cold inside was suffocating.

The deeper she sank into the darkness, the more Liu Sijia kept wondering:

Was she this frightened?

Was she this sad, too?

By evening, Liu Sijia was leaning against the wall — lips blanched white from the cold, exhausted and starving, fading in and out of consciousness. She reached into her pocket for her phone and logged into the Shengao school forum.

It was a photo she had come across by accident in the popular posts before the sports meet — she pulled it up and looked at it again.

The photo featured two girls.

The memory: during a physical education class, Liu Sijia had been conducting her own hundred-meter training. She held herself to a high standard — sprinting was her weak point, so she had to practice it repeatedly.

In the final push toward the finish line, Liu Sijia’s expression was taut as she ran, a strand of hair blown from her gathered ponytail onto her refined face — and then she saw Lin Weixia standing at the finish line, holding her jacket, waiting quietly. Her gaze softened in an instant.

Lin Weixia’s amber eyes had been watching, waiting for her to arrive.

The photo had frozen that moment.

Its title was: Her and Her.

A single crystalline tear fell onto the screen of the phone over the photo, instantly blurring everything before her eyes.

Lin Weixia probably won’t forgive her.

But she had to give it back.

Liu Sijia had locked herself in from noon until nearly eleven o’clock at night — twice as long as Lin Weixia had been in there. She missed two exams.

When the security guard making his rounds discovered her, she had already lost consciousness. They pulled her out immediately.

When Teacher Liu heard what had happened, he criticized Liu Sijia sternly and declared he would conduct a home visit.

When Wen Liyan saw the two zeros on Liu Sijia’s report card, she showed no reaction at all. Then she turned around and struck her own daughter hard across the face.

Liu Sijia’s body was already fragile. She lost her balance from the blow and fell to the floor — the fair skin of her cheek rising into a vivid red imprint of five fingers, a thin line of blood seeping from the corner of her mouth.

“Useless,” Wen Liyan said, looking down at her from above with cold, indifferent eyes.

Afterward, Liu Sijia was confined to the house by Wen Liyan for an entire week.

When Lin Weixia heard what had happened, she didn’t say a word. But she snapped a pencil clean in two.

After the storm of discussion died down, everyone refocused and threw themselves into their studies — which at Shengao meant concentrating on one’s own affairs. But the atmosphere in the classroom had grown considerably warmer.

Time passed quickly. In the blink of an eye, November arrived.

Lin Weixia was also studying seriously, but she had run into a dilemma: the teacher she had met at the competition in the capital had recommended her for a brand performance event taking place there.

She spent a full day weighing the invitation letter in her hands and decided to decline. Ban Sheng was marking something on his globe with a marker pen; upon hearing the news he lifted his eyes to look at her and asked:

“Why do you love the cello?”

Lin Weixia paused, then answered with a quiet, level tone: “When I was very small, I lost hearing in my right ear. Because of my surroundings, I always had a very withdrawn personality. In large part—”

“Music saved me.”

It was truly music that had carried her through to where she was now. Lin Weixia spoke of it in a matter-of-fact way, but Ban Sheng understood — the cello mattered to her deeply.

“Then why decline?” Ban Sheng asked.

Lin Weixia rested her chin in her hand and smiled slightly. “Because I’m a realist. I’m not someone who lives inside a fairy tale.”

She knew that pursuing music professionally, chasing it as a dream — that wasn’t possible. Her family’s circumstances wouldn’t allow it, and she wouldn’t do it to them.

Being able to play the cello every now and then was already wonderful. Music, for her, was a sanctuary — a remedy that healed everything.

“The real world can have music in it too. Trust me,” Ban Sheng said, pausing for a moment. “In life, it’s rare to find something — or someone — you truly love.”

“When you find it, hold on.”

His words moved her. Her fingers unconsciously traced the printed characters of her own name on the invitation letter — Lin Weixia — her fingertips growing warm.

In the end, Lin Weixia changed her mind and reached out to the teacher in the capital to confirm she would attend. The teacher, upon hearing this, contacted the brand and arranged accommodation and a plane ticket for her.

The date was set for that weekend.

Ban Sheng gave a slight nod, then bowed his head — his thumb moving across his phone screen, doing something. Lin Weixia asked:

“What are you doing?”

“Booking a ticket to go with you,” Ban Sheng said, completely naturally.

Lin Weixia pressed her hand over his phone. He looked up. Her voice stretched into a soft, drawn-out tone: “There are teachers over there who’ll receive me. And besides—”

“I don’t want to rely on you too much.”

Ban Sheng stared at her for a second — taking it as nothing more than a momentary whim — and reached out to pinch her cheek, letting out a quiet, amused sound:

“That’s exactly what I’m here for.”

Lin Weixia smiled, and didn’t reply.

That weekend, Lin Weixia boarded a flight from Nanjiang to the capital. On the plane, she read for a while before feeling drowsy, pulled down the window shade, and borrowed a blanket from the flight attendant.

She dozed off for a bit, then drifted into a vague, unfocused wakefulness. After lunch was served, the plane finally touched down in the capital.

A gentle female voice came over the cabin intercom: “Ladies and gentlemen, the aircraft has landed at the capital’s airport. The current ground temperature outside is five degrees Celsius. The plane is taxiing…”

Stepping out of the aircraft cabin, a gust of cold air struck her immediately. Lin Weixia shivered. As she followed the flow of passengers to the baggage carousel, she couldn’t suppress a sneeze.

The moment she cleared the exit gate, a dedicated staff member came forward to receive her. The reception teacher noticed Lin Weixia’s fair cheeks flushed red from the cold and said with concern:

“You have a thicker coat in your suitcase, right? Take it out and put it on. The capital is like this — people from the south generally have a hard time adjusting.”

“Alright.”

Lin Weixia crouched down, pulled a heavy coat and a black-and-white plaid scarf from her luggage, and bundled up.

She knew the capital would be cold, but hadn’t expected it to be this cold. Back in Nanjiang, the weather in November was still reasonably warm during the day. Here, it was already on the verge of snow.

Once she was in the car, Lin Weixia finally turned on her phone and went to find the black profile icon. Ban Sheng had told her to report in the moment she landed.

Xia: 【I’ve arrived! The staff and the teacher are driving me to the hotel now.】

A moment later, the screen lit up — Ban Sheng, true to his no-nonsense style:

Ban: 【Mm. Send me the hotel address and phone number.】

Lin Weixia sent the hotel location and number, and then a message notification arrived from the capital’s meteorological bureau:

【Tomorrow temperatures will drop sharply, reaching 0 to -3 degrees Celsius. Snow is forecast. All units and schools are advised to take precautions. Residents, please take care when going out.】

She forwarded the screenshot to Ban Sheng, adding a comment: 【Wow, incredible — I actually arrived just in time for the capital’s first snowfall of the year.】

Ban Sheng didn’t reply. Lin Weixia didn’t think much of it — she turned off her screen and chatted with the teacher on the way.

The next day, Lin Weixia went to the event venue to perform on the cello. When the performance ended, the people present offered her generous praise.

The event was still ongoing. Lin Weixia slipped away to the bathroom to wash her hands. Walking back out into the lobby, she spotted a teacher scolding a boy in the center of the hall.

The boy’s silhouette was tall — his whole bearing exuding an air of I refuse to be managed, his expression languid and reckless. Tattoos climbed across the back of his hand, bold and unmistakable.

“Just tell me — your cello playing is that good, and now you suddenly change your mind and say you want to apply to an aviation academy? Why?!”

“Because,” the boy answered, one word at a time, “I. Want. To. Fly.”

The teacher was left completely speechless. “You — I simply cannot deal with you!”

The boy’s back looked familiar. Lin Weixia called out tentatively: “Zhou Jingze?”

The boy turned around quickly. At the sight of a familiar face, he raised an eyebrow — and seized the opportunity to come over, successfully escaping the teacher’s lecture.

“Well, look who it is,” Zhou Jingze said, lifting his chin at her with a grin. “Here for a competition?”

“Not exactly. Just a small performance,” Lin Weixia replied.

Zhou Jingze gave a light laugh. “Alright. Let me take you to lunch.”

The performance hall happened to be close to Tianhua High School, so Zhou Jingze simply brought her back to have a meal at his school cafeteria. The moment the two of them walked in together, the other boys spotted Zhou Jingze with a girl, and the noise started immediately:

“Brother Zhou, new girlfriend?!”

“Whoa, your taste is on point — she’s gorgeous.”

Zhou Jingze held his tray with easy unconcern and laughed back at them with a few choice words — he was about to tell them not to say anything ridiculous when a slight figure rushing outward slammed straight into his shoulder.

Thwack. Something fell from the girl’s pocket.

She was wearing a white padded coat with a small bear-print scarf wrapped neatly around her neck. Her head stayed low the entire time. She murmured a soft “sorry” and hurried out.

After she left, Zhou Jingze stood watching her retreating figure, expression thoughtful.

Lin Weixia crouched down and picked up what had fallen — something resembling a student ID card. Looking closely, she read the neat writing on it: Year Three, Class One. Xu Sui.

Beside the name, small stickers had been pressed on — a little rabbit, a head of cabbage.

She was still looking at it when a hand with clearly defined knuckles plucked it away. “My classmate,” Zhou Jingze said, completely offhand.

Pocketing your classmate’s meal card — Lin Weixia noted this silently to herself.

The two of them collected their food and found a place to sit. Lin Weixia, recalling what the boys had joked about earlier, said:

“Aren’t you going to clarify? We’re just friends.”

Zhou Jingze’s eyes carried a look of complete indifference. “And if I clarify, will they believe me?”

“Besides, people have been saying I’m dating twenty different girls at once lately.” Zhou Jingze rubbed the back of his neck and sighed lightly. “I’m switching my plans anyway — looking at the aviation academy now. Who has the time for a relationship?”

Lin Weixia nodded. She didn’t ask why he’d changed his mind about applying there — with Zhou Jingze, doing things against expectations was the norm.

But whatever he set his sights on, he would do it perfectly.

The two sat across from each other, catching up on each other’s recent lives. Before long, a bespectacled boy with a clean-cut, refined appearance walked into the cafeteria.

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke: “Zhou Jingze — that is… Xu Sui asked me to come get her meal card back.”

Zhou Jingze looked up at him with a dark, unhurried expression.

“Tell her to come get it herself.”

The bespectacled boy trembled slightly, nodded repeatedly, and bolted.

The two of them continued eating. Halfway through the meal, Zhou Jingze set down his chopsticks, leaned back in his chair, and said with a lazy smile: “Your boyfriend? He’s been standing outside for a while.”

Lin Weixia followed Zhou Jingze’s gaze.

Standing not far away — someone who by all logic should have been thousands of miles from here. Ban Sheng was in a black overcoat, fingers damp from the weather, holding a cigarette between them, knuckles reddened from the cold.

His posture was upright — brow and eyes sharp as ever — thin streams of white smoke curling slowly from his lips, his manner radiating an indolence that was, simultaneously, utterly captivating.

Girls passing by kept stopping to look. A bold few even approached to ask for his number.

He truly did have the kind of face that made people want to throw themselves at a flame.

Something shifted in Lin Weixia’s chest. She turned to Zhou Jingze: “Sorry — I need to step out for a moment.”

When Lin Weixia came out of the cafeteria at a near-run, she found Ban Sheng standing not far from the exit.

The capital’s winter always presented something at once bleak and breathtaking.

He stood on the open steps, the bitter wind tugging the hem of his coat with sharp, restless snaps.

Lin Weixia paused on the steps. At the sight of Ban Sheng, she felt a small flicker of guilt — though when she thought about it, there was nothing for her to feel guilty about. So she asked:

“What are you doing here?”

Ban Sheng said nothing. He simply looked up at her from below, this unhurried, upward gaze — he was standing two steps lower than her, and yet somehow, across those two steps of distance, an inexplicable pressure had materialized.

His expression was cool, impossibly composed. Lin Weixia made a show of nodding deliberately. “You’re not saying anything? I’m leaving, then.”

She moved as if to go — and immediately, a long arm reached out and caught her by the scarf, pulling her toward him. Lin Weixia let out a startled cry and fell straight against Ban Sheng’s chest.

He wrapped an arm around her waist. Lin Weixia’s forehead connected with his collarbone. She caught the familiar scent of dark sandalwood on him — and then, with the most disarming intimacy, he leaned in close, his warmth brushing her ear, his low, resonant voice pressing into it:

“Didn’t you say it was going to snow? I was at the villa in the coastal area, about to go surfing — the whole group assembled, my shirt already off—”

“I got your message and left everything behind to fly over here.”

And she had been inside, having lunch with some other guy — and then asked him why he’d come to the capital.

He was furious enough to feel it in his chest.

Ban Sheng said through clenched teeth, voice low: “Lin Weixia. Do you have any conscience at all?”