The moment he finished saying it, Ning Chao slapped himself in the mouth — he knew he’d said the wrong thing.

The air went still immediately. The atmosphere was even more strained than before. Everywhere else on the beach was lively and noisy; only the patch of sand where they sat was completely silent.

Nobody expected that it would be Fang Jiabei who broke the deadlock.

“Oh — isn’t it my turn to draw?” Fang Jiabei said, rubbing her nose unconsciously the way she always did in crowds.

“Right,” Liu Sijia said, picking up the cards again. “You go.”

Fang Jiabei’s card was similar in type to Ning Chao’s — a sheep illustration, with the words: What is your wish?

Everyone’s expressions relaxed inwardly. At their age, a wish was typically something like doing well in the university entrance exam, or having the person you liked return your feelings.

Fang Jiabei took a breath, and under her companions’ mild, unsuspecting gazes, she spoke:

“I want to grow up quickly. Do well on the exam. Leave Shengao. And never encounter Zheng Zhaoxing and that group again.”

The group went still — and then, all at once, each of them was reminded of the same thing. Compared to the long, sustained psychological and physical abuse Fang Jiabei had endured, what were their own troubles in comparison?

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” Ning Chao said, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Fang Jiabei said, sniffling.

She lifted her head and looked at each of them seriously as she spoke: “Thank you, Lin Weixia. Ban Sheng. Thank you, all of you. I never imagined an A-student would become friends with an F-student. And thank you even more for leaving something brilliant in my otherwise dim teenage years.”

Being able to skip class together, go to the beach together, sit together and play games, and share the most hidden worries and troubles on their minds.

“I never imagined it either. Honestly, you A-students — so arrogant, every single one of you, too proud for your own good.” Ning Chao said, without the slightest tact.

From the first day he entered this school, Ning Chao had known he wasn’t in the same world as these A-students. He’d looked down on them to his bones. But he hadn’t expected to go through so much with them — or to sit together and talk about the future.

“Watched too many TV dramas,” Liu Sijia said, cutting him a sideways glance.

Ban Sheng gave a quiet smile. “I never imagined it either,” he said, seeming to muse on something.

He held a beer can in his hand and slowly lifted it in a light tap against the side of the can — which Ning Chao, a regular at the family restaurant, immediately understood. He picked up his own drink and clinked it against Ban Sheng’s.

One by one the others raised their cans. The cans met with a series of clinks, white foam flying and landing on everyone’s hands, cool and light. Lin Weixia stared at the single drop of foam on her pale hand, then bent down and licked it off — slightly bitter, ice-cold.

Ning Chao started things off: “Hey — everyone say one toast, one each. No tired clichés like ‘may your fortune be vast as the Eastern Sea.’ Give me something a little more elevated.”

“To seventeen.” Lin Weixia picked up her beer and clinked one more time.

“To paradise,” Ban Sheng said.

“To each one of you,” Liu Sijia said, looking at every face.

“In ten years, I hope everyone is doing well — that everyone has achieved their dreams. Let’s make a pact: ten years from now, we come back to this same stretch of sea.” Fang Jiabei said it a little shyly.

“May our friendship last forever.”

Fang Jiabei was simply very happy — and in her excitement, she’d made the suggestion on impulse.

Then, without warning, a series of booming sounds rang out from nearby, startling the young people mid-toast. They all looked over.

Someone was setting off fireworks on the beach.

Several clusters of red sparks shot into the sky and bloomed into the shape of lush palm trees, a long-nosed elephant — then streaked away, trailing long tails, transforming into shooting stars that fell into the boundless sea.

“I’ll be there.”

“I want to know what I’ll be like in ten years too.”

One by one, everyone agreed to Fang Jiabei’s proposed pact.

“If the opportunity comes,” Liu Sijia said with a smile. She probably wouldn’t have the chance.

“May it last forever,” Ban Sheng said slowly.

After the card game ended, they ran off to join other visitors nearby playing with sparklers. Lin Weixia and Ban Sheng stayed sitting at the edge of the beach. Neither of them spoke first.

Lin Weixia picked up one of the game cards from the ground, shook the sand off it, and said gently: “Let’s play a game — not with the cards anymore.”

“Sure.”

“Have you played ‘Never Have I Ever’?” Lin Weixia brushed the fine white sand from the card and tucked it back into the sleeve.

She thought through the rules and explained: “I say something I’ve never done — if you have done it, you drink. If you haven’t, you don’t. And if you lie, you drink too.”

After Lin Weixia finished laying out all the rules in exhaustive detail, Ban Sheng gave a quiet laugh, his eyes faintly amused:

“I’ve played it.”

He played it with friends when he traveled abroad for the New Year holiday.

Lin Weixia pretended to frown, saying nothing. Ban Sheng reached out and pinched her cheek, indulging her:

“You go first.”

Lin Weixia’s eyes glinted with a flash of cunning. “I’ve never had a tattoo.”

An obvious rule violation.

Click — Lin Weixia twisted open a beer can. Bubbles surged up, and a small amount of white foam landed on her hand again. She held it out to him and raised an eyebrow — a dare: you agreed to play, now take the loss.

Ban Sheng looked over at her. Lin Weixia was sitting across from him, her long dark hair loose over her shoulders, eyes curved downward in a smile. Though she was working hard to keep her expression neutral, a trace of satisfaction gleamed in the depths of her eyes.

Her face rarely showed expressions this vivid.

Like a cat.

Something stirred lightly in his chest. Ban Sheng stared at the cherry-red lips across from him, and his eyes grew briefly, darkly fixed.

Lin Weixia, a beat slow, noticed his gaze had landed on her face — dense with desire, too direct, too warm. Her face flushed. She was about to set down the beer can —

Ban Sheng suddenly tilted his face toward her with complete nonchalance and leaned sharply close. His hand, knuckles prominent, closed over the beer can; his thumb clamped around her hand, not giving her the chance to let go.

After he drank, Ban Sheng leaned directly against her shoulder. They were pressed close; his presence and his breath moved into her space. Her own breathing went uneven. As Ban Sheng swallowed the last of the beer, his jaw tightened, his throat shifting slowly with each swallow.

She glanced up — and saw the vein running along the pale side of his neck, faintly pulsing.

Roguish, and saturated with something restless.

Lin Weixia’s throat went dry. She felt herself drowning in his breath — like a fish on a cutting board, unbearable. She barely managed to wait until he finally finished and lifted his head from her shoulder.

She let out a quiet exhale of relief.

“Who exactly was breaking the rules,” Lin Weixia said softly.

Ban Sheng’s gaze stayed on her face — the corner of his eye slightly flushed from the alcohol. When he spoke, his voice was rough:

“I was breaking the rules.”

Every time I get close to you, I want to break every rule there is.

It was his turn. He spoke slowly, watching her:

“I’ve only ever pursued one person.”

Her heart contracted. Lin Weixia was about to drink the rest of the beer, but Ban Sheng only let her have a small sip — his tone seemingly casual, but leaving no room for argument:

“A girl getting drunk isn’t good.”

When it was Lin Weixia’s turn again, she chose to cause a little trouble deliberately: “I’ve never smoked a cigarette.”

“I’ve never had someone give me a carton of milk,” Ban Sheng returned.

The atmosphere between them grew more and more relaxed. Lin Weixia went on the offensive, seeming intent on prying something out of him. But Ban Sheng always defended with lazy ease — while still managing to lay his own feelings right in front of her, almost without her noticing.

“I’ve never had a truly irreversible regret,” Lin Weixia said, looking at him.

Her amber eyes rested steadily on Ban Sheng — even carrying a note of quiet scrutiny. She didn’t want to miss a single expression on his face.

Ban Sheng was bent over, lighting a cigarette. The flash of red from the flame between his fingers caught against the black of his eyes. His expression in that moment had a cold edge to it — a crack appeared, then vanished quickly.

He didn’t speak. Every flame he lit was blown out again by the sea wind. His gaze paused for a moment, and the hand holding the cigarette picked up a can of beer from the ground.

He had one.

Lin Weixia drank too — she had one too. So they had both lied.

After two sips of beer, Lin Weixia’s eyes turned urgent: “What was it?”

“Your questions are finished,” Ban Sheng replied.

Just as Lin Weixia was about to say something more, voices rang out from not far away — Liu Sijia and Fang Jiabei:

“Weixia — come play with us!”

“Alright.” Lin Weixia called back.

She said a quiet word to Ban Sheng and ran over. The wind off the beach was stronger here, blowing through in a way that eased the mind. The group huddled together to shield against the gusts and finally managed to light the sparklers.

She was given two sparklers. The sparks crackled and sizzled — a silver tree of fire. The sparklers burned down quickly. Lin Weixia stared at a family nearby setting off a kaleidoscope firework.

A boy of about twelve held a kaleidoscope firework that kept changing shape. Lin Weixia was drawn in and kept drifting closer, as the waves lapped at her feet.

The boy noticed her curiosity and offered enthusiastically: “Want to try? If you’re scared, I can set it off and let you watch.”

Lin Weixia nodded.

The boy lit the firework. In less than two seconds, with a whoosh, the sparks flew outward, and the firework burst into the shape of a small rabbit.

Lin Weixia was close enough that she gradually stopped being afraid. The boy held it right in front of her eyes. Before long, the kaleidoscope seemed to stop releasing sparks.

Everyone thought it was finished. Just as Lin Weixia reached out to take it to help throw it away — bang, bang — a burst of sparks exploded straight in front of her face.

In a flash, a tall, upright figure pressed forward. The boy raised his left arm to push her away from the firework, his whole body cutting in front of her — using himself as a shield.

Lin Weixia’s mind went blank. In a moment of danger, her brain couldn’t process anything fast enough. She only knew that Ban Sheng had pulled her into his arms, that she was breathing in his familiar tobacco scent, that her face was resting against his broad chest, that she could hear the strong, steady heartbeat that made her feel safe.

Laughter and noise drifted from farther away. The boy’s startled cry, the violence of the misfired firework — in the middle of the chaos, a hand with clear, prominent knuckles gently pressed over her right ear.

A moment later, the others rushed over, voices overlapping: “Are you okay?”

At the sound of their voices, Ban Sheng released the hand shielding the girl. Lin Weixia seemed to still be shaken — she looked up at the boy in front of her, dazed, seeing only the line of his throat moving as he swallowed.

She couldn’t quite hear what her companions were saying; her ears were ringing. Then Fang Jiabei said sharply: “You’re hurt.”

Ban Sheng’s right arm, on the outer side below the elbow, had been burned by the firework. From just below the elbow joint, the skin was bright red — in some spots the flesh had been scorched open, blood welling outward.

Lin Weixia snapped back to herself.

“It’s nothing serious,” Ban Sheng said, his tone completely unbothered — as if it wasn’t even his own injury.

He raised his hand and gave her thin ear a light rub, his concern turned toward her instead: “Are you alright? Did your ear get hurt?”

“How can it be nothing serious,” Lin Weixia said, looking up at him, eyes brimming with moisture.

Fortunately, Kuichong was a well-developed scenic area with fully equipped facilities. Lin Weixia accompanied Ban Sheng to the twenty-four-hour clinic.

A nurse came over to examine his wound and apply treatment, smiling as she said: “Luckily it’s only a surface burn — if it had been worse, we’d have had a real problem.”

Lin Weixia stared as the cold forceps gently opened a small section of peeled skin, and drew a sharp breath — she couldn’t look any further. Ban Sheng, meanwhile, didn’t make a sound the whole time.

After the nurse finished treating the wound, she brought over some anti-inflammatory medication and painkillers, going through the aftercare instructions. Once she left, Lin Weixia poured a cup of warm water and pressed two pills out of the blister pack, passing them to him.

Lin Weixia sat beside him, not having said a word the whole time. The silence was heavy. She sat with her eyes lowered, thinking about something she couldn’t name.

Ban Sheng reached over and pinched her fingers lightly, then said to reassure her:

“I’m fine.”

Lin Weixia was still somewhere far away. Her face had gone pale. She said suddenly: “I’m sorry.”

The clock on the wall ticked steadily. Ban Sheng noticed the girl’s mood wasn’t good and raised an eyebrow:

“Hey — suddenly I’m craving soup.”

Lin Weixia straightened up at once, her expression so obedient it was almost absurd. She was already about to head out when she asked:

“What kind of soup do you want?”

Ban Sheng laughed in spite of himself — what restaurant would still be open at this hour? She’d actually taken him seriously. He called after her as she headed for the door:

“Come back. I was joking.”

Lin Weixia sat back down on the sofa. The weight of her low mood lifted at least a little, softened by him. She noticed that Ban Sheng was wearing a plain silver ring on the index finger of his left hand. She said quietly:

“Could you give that to me?”

Apart from the crystal music box he’d given her on his birthday, the two of them didn’t seem to have exchanged gifts. She had a small, selfish wish — she wanted something to keep.

Ban Sheng lifted his eyes, thin and cool, to look at her — and felt a vague, unpleasant premonition stir in his chest. He seemed to see straight through her intention. “Yes.”

“Come find me next week and get it yourself.”