“That’s dirty,” Lin Weixia said, pulling her hand back.

“I don’t mind,” Ban Sheng said, his voice a soft rasp.

He raised his gaze to look at the girl before him. Today Lin Weixia had removed her hearing aid for the race, and her silky dark hair had been tied up, exposing the clean line of her forehead — stray wisps kept falling down. She had braided two lantern-style plaits that hung at her chest, paired with the blue-and-white gym shorts she was wearing — pure and fresh, with a lively, endearing charm.

Ban Sheng reached out and tugged at one of the soft, dark lantern plaits hanging at her chest, his eyes moving over her in an unhurried up-and-down sweep, his manner entirely casual as he said:

“Why are you dressed like a mascot?”

Even as he said it, his hand drifted toward the smooth, fair skin of her inner thigh — only for Lin Weixia to bat it away: “You’re the mascot.”

“Come on, we’re going to the hospital.”

The two-day sports meet concluded quickly. As the closing ceremony began, the audience below was in noisy disarray; the school administrator was onstage announcing the overall rankings.

The line of Class Three-One students fell, as one, into complete silence — holding their breath, waiting. When the organizing committee announced from the stage: This year’s sports meet overall champion is Class Three, Year One—

“Ahhhh!!!“

“Yes!”

“When we finally show up, you’ll see exactly what Class One is made of!”

The class erupted in collective joy. Girls kept shrieking and laughing; boys high-fived and cheered. Homeroom teacher Liu Xiping stood at the very back and smiled.

Nobody knew who started it — but one by one, a couple of boys grabbed Teacher Liu by the legs, while two more positioned themselves behind him, and together they launched him skyward.

With them at the center, more and more students ran over to form a ring around Teacher Liu, not wanting to be left out of the chaos. The usually stern Teacher Liu could no longer hold himself together — his face was a mask of pure bewilderment.

Every time they tossed him into the air, a great wave of voices bellowed out:

“We are Class Three-One!”

“We’re number one!”

“Number one!!!”

Bodies packed together, shoulders constantly bumping. The commotion attracted opportunists — a few who had been waiting for exactly this chance to get their revenge on certain classmates under the cover of the chaos.

Somewhere in the crowd, someone was shouting: “Where are my glasses?!”

Someone else struck back: “You’re the one who stepped on my glasses!”

“And you tore a hole in my shirt!” his companion shot back.

Lin Weixia, somewhere in the press of people, looked back to find Ban Sheng — and there he was, standing right where she’d left him.

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

Their gazes met across the crowd. A light smile passed between them.

The breeze came at just the right temperature. The sky was a brilliant, open blue. The laughter of boys and girls rang and 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 back into his signature speech.

Teacher Liu let out two tipsy burps, one hand holding his glass, the other pointing shakily at the students as he said: “You students, you are the most—”

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

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

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

The whole table lit up at that. They raised their glasses, laughter and banter clinking together with the sound of glass.

Compared to the lively noise inside, the exterior of the hotel felt quiet and cool. At this moment, a boy and a girl stood leaning against the wall outside, exhaling slow plumes of smoke.

Ning Chao had a cigarette between his lips. He tilted his face sideways — the angle of his profile sharp and clean — and held a lighter in his hand, orange flame extended.

Liu Sijia leaned down. Between her red lips, a white cigarette; the tip caught the flame and slender threads of smoke rose, curling upward.

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

Liu Sijia exhaled a breath of smoke, satisfaction in her voice. “Of course. Whatever I set my mind to, I do it to the best of my ability.”

“You signed up because of Lin Weixia, didn’t you? Afraid no one would join 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 lowered his head with a quiet laugh, not contradicting her. After that topic passed, the two of them fell into an oddly synchronized silence — neither quite knowing what else to say.

Yet the atmosphere was, for once, genuinely harmonious. Nothing like before, when having both of them in the same space guaranteed a confrontation — always clashing, always finding something to dislike about the other.

The cigarette burned out quickly. Painted nails pinched it off. Liu Sijia extended her hand — fox-like eyes angled upward, expression sincere:

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

A pale, slender hand stretched out. It waited. And waited. No response came. Liu Sijia’s brow furrowed; just as she was about to withdraw it, Ning Chao cut a sidelong glance her way.

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

Ning Chao stepped past her and walked off without looking back, tossing out one last line: “Let’s go. If Teacher Liu comes out and catches us again, I am not putting another mouthful of your arm hair in my mouth.”

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

The group relocated to a karaoke venue. 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 looked like she might pass out at any moment.

Liu Sijia had become intensely obsessed with coffee lately — she loved the feeling of a racing heart, the sensation of dizziness. It felt as though she had complete command over her own life.

But now, alcohol seemed to do the trick as well.

As that thought crossed her mind, a wave of nausea surged in Liu Sijia’s chest. She covered her mouth and ran out, stumbling down the corridor to the bathroom at the far end, where she collapsed over the toilet and was sick.

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

The tap was abruptly turned off. The space went quiet. Liu Sijia raised her head, turned, and looked at the girl standing beside her with the gentle face. She spoke with full sincerity:

“I’m sorry.”

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

Liu Sijia didn’t get angry — Lin Weixia had every right not to accept the apology. Lin Weixia crumpled the paper towel and tossed it in 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 steps faltered for just a moment — then she kept walking.

Liu Sijia stared at the reflection in the mirror: a face vivid and striking, but unmistakably drained. She turned the tap back on. When exactly had she realized she was wrong?

Was it the photo she had stumbled across on the forum? Or was it the body that grew more exhausted by the day?

At the sports meet, Liu Sijia had looked at that girl with fresh eyes. Running until every last bit of oxygen was gone, her mind completely blank, feeling as though she might die at any second — the most important face that flashed through her mind had been hers.

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

Liu Sijia crouched inside, arms wrapped tight around her knees. The air was heavy with a musty, stale smell. It was winter — cold and suffocating.

The deeper she fell into the darkness, the more Liu Sijia kept thinking:

Had she been this frightened?

Had she been this sad, too?

By evening, Liu Sijia was leaning against the wall — lips bleached white from cold, exhausted and starving, repeatedly on the verge of losing 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 chance in the popular posts before the sports meet. She pulled it up and looked at it again.

The photo showed two girls.

At the time, during a physical education class, Liu Sijia had been running her own hundred-meter training. She held herself to a high standard — sprinting was her weakness, so she had to practice it over and over.

In the final push toward the finish line, her expression was taut as she ran. A strand of hair had been blown from her tied-back ponytail onto her refined face — and then she saw Lin Weixia at the finish line, holding her jacket, waiting quietly. Her gaze softened without warning.

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

The photo had frozen that moment.

Its title was: Her and Her.

A single crystalline tear fell onto the phone screen, blurring everything instantly.

Lin Weixia probably won’t forgive her.

But she had to give back what was owed.

Liu Sijia had kept herself locked inside from noon until nearly eleven at night — twice as long as Lin Weixia had been confined. She missed two exams.

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

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

When Wen Liyan saw the two zeros on Liu Sijia’s report card, her expression didn’t change at all. Then she turned around and struck her own daughter hard across the face.

Liu Sijia’s body was already fragile. She stumbled from the blow and fell to the floor — the fair skin of her cheek rising in a vivid red imprint of five fingers, a thin trail 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 kept in confinement by Wen Liyan for an entire week.

When Lin Weixia heard what had happened, she said nothing. But she snapped a pencil in half.

After the storm of gossip died down, everyone refocused and put their energy into studying — which at Shengao meant concentrating on their own affairs. But the atmosphere in the classroom had become considerably warmer.

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

Lin Weixia was studying diligently too, but she had come across a dilemma: the teacher she had met at the capital competition had now recommended her for a brand performance there.

She spent a full day weighing the invitation letter, then decided to decline. Ban Sheng was using a marker to note something on his globe; hearing the news, he lifted his eyes toward her and asked:

“Why do you love the cello?”

Lin Weixia paused, then answered in her usual quiet, level tone: “I lost hearing in my right ear when I was very small. Because of the environment I grew up in, I always had a very withdrawn personality. In large part—”

“Music saved me.”

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

“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 in a fairy tale.”

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

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

“Music can exist in the real world 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 do, hold on.”

His words moved something in her. Her fingers unconsciously traced the printed characters of her 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 go. 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 lowered his head — thumb working across his phone screen. Lin Weixia asked:

“What are you doing?”

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

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

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

Ban Sheng stared at her for a second — treating it as nothing more than a momentary impulse — 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 — she pulled down the window shade and borrowed a blanket from the flight attendant.

She slept for a bit, then drifted into that vague, unfocused state between sleep and wakefulness. After lunch, the plane finally touched down.

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

Stepping out of the cabin, a gust of cold air hit her immediately. Lin Weixia shivered. Following the crowd to the baggage carousel, she couldn’t hold back a sneeze.

Past the exit gate, a dedicated staff member was already waiting. The reception teacher noticed Lin Weixia’s cheeks, flushed red from the cold, and said with concern:

“There’s a heavy coat in your suitcase, right? Take it out and put it on. This is what the capital is like — people from the south generally have a very hard time adjusting.”

“Alright.”

Lin Weixia crouched down, pulled a thick coat and a black-and-white plaid scarf from her luggage, and wrapped herself up.

She had known the capital would be cold, but hadn’t expected it to be this cold. Back in Nanjiang, November days were still reasonably warm. Here, it was already on the verge of snow.

Once in the car, Lin Weixia turned on her phone and found 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, as always, no wasted words:

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

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

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

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

Ban Sheng didn’t reply. Lin Weixia didn’t think much of it — she switched 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 praised her warmly.

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

The boy’s silhouette was tall — his whole presence radiating an air of I’m unmanageable — expression languid and carefree. Tattoos ran 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 aviation school?!”

“Because,” the boy answered, one syllable at a time, his tone perfectly unbothered, “I. Want. To. Fly.”

The teacher was left completely speechless. “You — I give up trying to manage you!”

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

The boy turned quickly. At the sight of a familiar face, he raised an eyebrow — and seized the moment 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. I’ll take you to eat.”

The performance hall happened to be close to Tianhua High School. Zhou Jingze took her back to eat at his school cafeteria. The moment the two walked in together, the other boys spotted Zhou Jingze with a girl and immediately started up:

“Brother Zhou, is this a new girlfriend?!”

“Your taste is seriously impressive — she’s stunning.”

Zhou Jingze held his tray with easy unconcern and called back a few words — just as he was about to tell them not to say anything ridiculous, a slight figure rushing outward collided straight into his shoulder.

Thwack. Something fell from the girl’s pocket.

She was in a white padded coat, a small bear-print scarf wrapped neatly around her neck. Her head stayed down the entire time. She murmured a barely audible “sorry” and hurried out.

After she left, Zhou Jingze stood staring at her retreating figure for a moment, expression unreadable.

Lin Weixia crouched down and picked up the fallen item — something resembling a student card. Looking closely, she read the neat handwriting: 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 studying it when a hand with prominent knuckles reached over and plucked it away. “My classmate,” Zhou Jingze said offhandedly.

Pocketing a classmate’s meal card. Lin Weixia noted this quietly to herself.

The two collected their food and found a seat. Lin Weixia thought of what the boys had joked about earlier and said:

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

Zhou Jingze’s expression held complete indifference. “And if I clarify, will they believe me?”

“Besides, people have been saying I’m dating twenty girls at the same time lately.” He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a quiet sigh. “I’m rethinking my applications anyway — who has time for that right now?”

Lin Weixia nodded. She didn’t ask why Zhou Jingze had decided to switch to aviation school — with him, acting against expectation was simply how he operated.

But whatever he set his sights on, he would do it better than anyone.

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

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

Zhou Jingze looked up at him, expression dark and unhurried.

“Tell her to come get it herself.”

The bespectacled boy flinched, nodded frantically, and bolted.

The two continued eating. Halfway through, 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 his gaze.

Someone who should have been separated from her by an entire country’s distance was standing not far away. Ban Sheng was in a black overcoat, fingers wet from the weather, a cigarette between them — knuckles reddened from the cold.

His posture was upright, brow and eyes sharp, thin threads of white smoke curling from his lips with an air of absolute unhurried ease — mesmerizing in a way that was almost dangerous.

Passersby kept stopping to look. A few bold ones 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 stirred in Lin Weixia’s chest. She turned to Zhou Jingze: “Sorry — I need to step outside for a moment.”

She half-ran out of the cafeteria, and there — not far from the entrance — was Ban Sheng.

The capital’s winter had its own particular quality: desolate and grand all at once.

He stood on the wide, open steps, the bitter wind snapping at the hem of his coat with sharp, restless tugs.

Lin Weixia stood at the top of the steps. The moment she saw Ban Sheng, a small flicker of guilt crossed her — though when she thought about it, there was no reason for it. So she asked:

“What are you doing here?”

Ban Sheng said nothing. He simply looked up at her from below — a slow, unhurried gaze. He was standing two steps lower than her, yet somehow, across that short distance, a quiet pressure had materialized out of nowhere.

His face was cool and impossibly composed. Lin Weixia made a show of deliberate nodding. “Not talking? I’m leaving, then.”

She moved as if to go — and immediately, a long arm reached out and caught her scarf, pulling her in. Lin Weixia let out a startled cry and fell straight against his chest.

He wrapped an arm around her waist. Her forehead connected with his collarbone. She caught the familiar dark, woody scent of him — and then, in the most disarming way, he leaned close, warmth grazing her ear, his low resonant voice settling into it:

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

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

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

He was furious enough to feel it deep in his chest.

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