The closer the college entrance examination drew, the more her aunt varied her methods of preparing nourishing herbal stews for her — yet no matter how she fed the girl, the aunt found this child’s jawline growing sharper and sharper, as thin as though a gust of wind could carry her away.

The whole family worried constantly that Lin Weixia had been affected by these events. But Gao Hang felt his sister was fine — she attended school and came home as normal every day, her condition so unremarkably stable that the family swallowed back the words of concern they’d prepared.

In the evening, Lin Weixia came home, ate dinner, and returned to her room. Following her usual routine, she reviewed her books for a while, then washed up and went to sleep.

Deep in the night’s silence, Lin Weixia lay in bed, eyes open, surrounded by darkness on all sides. The neighbor’s dog across the way occasionally let out one or two barks.

She reached under her pillow and found her phone. She located that black profile photo and saw the display name above it — “Ban” — and her chest tightened.

She began typing in the message box: Are you right now —

She hit delete and started over: Ah Sheng, I bought milk today.

She deleted that character by character, and finally typed: I’m sorry.

Then she pressed send. After that she tossed the phone to one side, sprawled out flat on the bed, and let the quiet moonlight creep in through the curtains that hadn’t been drawn shut. A single tear slid from the corner of Lin Weixia’s closed eyes.

Lin Weixia received no news of Ban Sheng at all. The message she had sent went unanswered.

In mid-May, after finishing one round of placement tests, she returned home. Lin Weixia sat at her desk after washing her hair, towel-drying it while her hair was still half-damp. Water droplets had soaked through the shoulder of her white dress. She picked up her phone to practice an English listening exercise when the screen suddenly lit up — an incoming call from an unknown number.

Her fingertips trembled. Her chest seized.

Some silent instinct told her it should be him — yet she didn’t dare answer.

Lin Weixia reached out and brushed away the water droplets that had dripped onto the screen, then pressed accept. She spoke softly:

“Hello?”

No response. The other end was utterly silent — silent enough to hear each other’s breathing. Then came a sharp click of a lighter mechanism igniting.

“It’s me.” Ban Sheng’s voice was low, slightly hoarse.

Lin Weixia’s heart trembled. She replied: “I know.”

“Come out and meet me.” Ban Sheng said slowly.

Lin Weixia seemed to hear him toss the lighter onto a coffee table, followed by the crackle of static from the other end. He paused, then let out a light laugh:

“Come to think of it, the two of us have never had a proper date.”

“Okay.”

On Saturday evening, Lin Weixia appeared at the entrance of a cinema carrying a brown paper bag. The shopping mall was busier on weekends — besides couples, there were parents with young children at the cinema.

Lin Weixia was wearing a white spaghetti-strap dress, her long hair falling over her shoulders. She hadn’t put on any makeup — not even lip gloss — her whole appearance clean and unadorned.

The area in front of the cinema hall was packed with people. Lin Weixia was pushed into the crowd and instinctively searched through it for the silhouette of a young man. Her phone let out a gentle chime. She opened it:

To your left.

Lin Weixia gripped her phone and looked over. Ban Sheng was wearing a black T-shirt. His broad shoulders leaned against the wall. He had on a black baseball cap, and the half of his jaw that was exposed beneath it was sharp and clearly defined.

He was standing in the smoking area. Between his fingertips, a lit cigarette was burning — like a forbidden trace of red — scattering ash as it fell.

Lin Weixia walked over. Ban Sheng had just dropped his cigarette into the trash. He lifted his head, and their eyes collided.

It felt like a long time since they’d seen each other.

There was a fresh red wound across his brow bone, extending to his eyelid; his cheek also bore a cut. Ban Sheng still wore his usual air of careless detachment, and yet it made him look all the more weathered.

His complexion was a somewhat sickly pallor, as if something were pulling him downward — his body wrapped in a layer of oppressive, shadowy darkness.

Passersby kept turning to look back at this strikingly handsome young man, then in a moment were drawn in by something about him.

Ban Sheng paid no attention whatsoever. His gaze fell on Lin Weixia’s face, and he said nothing for a long time before finally speaking:

“Let’s go.”

The two walked side by side toward the ticket counter. After buying their tickets, Ban Sheng glanced over and saw other girls in the cinema holding popcorn and cola — so he voluntarily joined a queue to buy some of those as well.

Lin Weixia followed behind him the entire time. She caught a glimpse of a faint crease in the fabric at his shoulder and her pale, slender fingertip moved involuntarily — she wanted to reach out and smooth it flat —

Just then, a child running around inside the cinema hall was about to crash into her — and Ban Sheng, seemingly with eyes in the back of his head, reached back one long arm and grabbed her by the wrist, effortlessly pulling her to his side.

Lin Weixia pressed against his firm chest, the top of her head occasionally brushing his chin. Ban Sheng held her securely in his arms.

Once he had confirmed she was unharmed, the grip on her wrist immediately loosened. Yet Lin Weixia felt the place he had touched on her hand burning with heat. The young man also subtly widened the distance between them.

Lin Weixia’s eyes stung in an instant.

After they entered, Ban Sheng did not fall asleep this time. He leaned back against his seat and attentively accompanied her through the entire film. Lin Weixia couldn’t recall what the movie had been about. The two of them filed out with the crowd.

Couple after couple walked out together, talking and laughing:

“That film was so good. You have to come and watch it with me again next time.”

“Sure. Let’s sit in the same seats next time — just don’t wipe your snot on me again.”

Lin Weixia glanced up. The cinema corridor was narrow. Ban Sheng walked ahead of her, his upright, austere silhouette stretched long by the overhead lights.

She stood within his shadow.

The two of them looked like a couple as well —

But they weren’t.

Coming out of the cinema, Lin Weixia spotted a row of claw machines against the wall. Ban Sheng asked her:

“Want to play?”

“Yes, I do.”

Lin Weixia stood in front of the machine and played through several dozen coins, finally winning a stuffed toy — a dusty gray cat.

She had originally planned to give it to Ban Sheng, but felt too embarrassed to hand it over, so she hugged it against her chest the whole time.

A little girl in a pink skirt nearby was quite envious. With a crafty look, she said: “Big brother and big sister, you two are so well-matched! The children you’d have one day will definitely be beautiful.”

Ban Sheng curved the corner of his mouth and reached out to pat the little girl’s head, laughing softly:

“Too bad big brother and big sister aren’t a couple.”

In the end, Lin Weixia gave the stuffed cat to the little girl. The girl took it happily, stamped her foot in delight, and darted off down the stairs.

The two rode the elevator downstairs. On the way through the market on the ground floor, they browsed for a while. When Lin Weixia’s eyes lingered on a butterfly-shaped hair clip, Ban Sheng bought it outright and gave it to her.

Lin Weixia passed him the paper bag she’d been carrying: “This is for you.”

It was a blue paper-folded shark she had made herself. Ban Sheng took it.

They walked out of the shopping mall building. The air conditioning was gone, and they were plunged into the sweltering heat of reality; it was as if they both came back to their senses at once. The air between them cooled.

The things they had deliberately not mentioned always hung between them like a fine thread.

The two of them had come out today with the intention of revisiting the places they had been to when they first met. So next they went to the Chen Family Dumpling Restaurant on Minle East Road.

That was the place where Lin Weixia, after winning first prize at the school’s joint gala performance, had treated him to a meal.

They hadn’t taken a taxi — they walked the entire way.

By the time they reached the dumpling restaurant, a dim yellow bulb hung at the corner of the eaves. Lin Weixia looked up and found the blue roll-up shutter tightly shut, a red slip of paper pasted on it. The proprietor was probably a sentimental person — he had written:

This shop is being transferred. Thank you for the company all this while.

It had closed.

This meal, it seemed, was not to be.

The things between them — it seemed nothing could end properly either.

Ban Sheng stood at the doorway for a long time. He smoked one cigarette after another. Scattered, still-smoldering cigarette butts littered the ground. Lin Weixia stood there trying to persuade him to leave, wanting to say — let it go — but opened her lips and could not make a single sound.

The night deepened. Only the neon lights on the road flashed past one after another.

A middle-aged man in a blue polo work shirt had come to eat and, finding the place shuttered, was slow to process it. He asked Ban Sheng, who was standing nearby:

“Hey, why is it closed out of the blue? When are they opening again?”

Ban Sheng was leaning against the blue roll-up shutter. He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a cigarette box, absently knocking one out and putting it between his lips.

He bowed his head and cupped his hand around the flame. The orange-red firelight lit up a pair of cold, sharp eyes. The light flickered and vanished. White smoke exhaled from between thin lips. His entire face sank into darkness; the expression on it was impossible to read. All that could be heard was a low voice, hoarse:

“I’m waiting too.”

In the end the two of them went to the park where Ban Sheng had once held a birthday celebration for Lin Weixia. They stood there, looking at the river view on the other side through a white wire fence.

Lin Weixia had never seen Ban Sheng smoke this heavily before. The young man’s back curved as coughs erupted from his throat one after another.

Ban Sheng lifted his eyelids to look at her. The wound on his brow bone was vivid red. He wanted to ask what Liang Jiashu meant to her — but dreaded getting an unfavorable answer. After a long pause, a difficult question rolled out of his throat:

“Ask you something — when was it real, and when was it false?”

Ban Sheng didn’t care that he’d been kept in the dark from start to finish, didn’t care about being used as a pawn, and didn’t care that Lin Weixia had pushed him to the forefront of the storm in order to uncover the truth.

He only cared whether Lin Weixia had any genuine feelings for him.

It was as if the wind had stopped. Lin Weixia was silent for a long time before quietly answering: “Half real, half false.”

When Ban Sheng had pursued Lin Weixia a second time and asked her to think it over carefully, her heart had stirred genuinely during that period — purely — but she had hesitated. She needed to be considerate of her good friend’s feelings, and reminded herself that there were still things left unfinished.

It was on that evening when Fang Mo sent her a text message telling her why no one wanted to choose the swimming class — because something had happened there, something that seemed connected to Zheng Zhaoxing’s group. Later, rumors began to spread that the pool was haunted, and it was sealed off.

The person involved in the incident was Liang Jiashu — Ban Sheng’s former deskmate.

To uncover the truth of it all, Lin Weixia made a promise to Ban Sheng with her own lips. Throughout their time together she had not been without genuine feelings — but because the fog before her would not clear, she kept wavering and struggling. Yet the truth was that she had used Ban Sheng, and had destroyed that promise with her own hands.

Ban Sheng gave a short laugh — in the darkness of the night it carried a somewhat grim edge. He didn’t seem to mind as he pulled one corner of his mouth back:

“That’s fine.”

“I’m going abroad.” Ban Sheng looked at the river view opposite them, not looking at her expression.

Lin Weixia lowered her eyes. Her fingers pinched the corner of her skirt, her expression faint:

“Safe journey.”

Lin Weixia was looking down when Ban Sheng suddenly turned. His tall, upright silhouette loomed over her — an aggressive presence closed in all at once. A face with a delinquent’s edge pressed down, taking her lips without preamble.

The harsh taste of cigarette smoke passed between their lips and teeth — astringent and bitter. Lin Weixia’s fine brows furrowed. He dominated her lips and pulled them in, their breath entangling together.

A hand with prominent veins rested on her snow-white neck. Ban Sheng’s thumb and forefinger pressed on either side of her throat, forcing Lin Weixia to tilt her head back. Wanting air, she could only kiss him back.

The air around Ban Sheng was cold and dark, his shadowy presence enveloping her. In the pitch-black of their pupils, there was only each other — a butterfly finally landing on the tower of spring.

They kissed for a full three minutes.

As if the end of the world were coming.

So one must kiss the beloved until time turns to eternity.

In the midst of that entanglement, Ban Sheng took her lip between his and bit down hard. Blood instantly flooded between their lips and teeth, the tip of the tongue tasting all iron. When they finally separated, Ban Sheng pressed his face into the curve of her shoulder and neck, breathing hard.

By the roadside, a busking singer was performing a song with deep emotion. Passersby kept stopping to listen. The young man’s voice was clear and fervent as it carried over to them.

The singer was performing Longing for You Beneath the Stars — the song that, on that night at the seaside when they had been playing a card-drawing game, when people had asked Ban Sheng what he would do if Lin Weixia ever left him one day, he had sung as a declaration of his feelings.

The singer’s voice carried a note of melancholy. He sang:

The dream that came without warning
is the foam stirred up as you departed

And now —

Each time the singer sang a line: I will press forward without hesitation

Ban Sheng lifted his face and looked at her. His voice was low:

“I will no longer press forward toward you without hesitation.”

The singer continued singing with tender feeling: I will long for you beneath the stars and moon

His voice was hoarse beyond description. When he made this declaration, his tone was resolute. He stared at Lin Weixia and said:

“I will forget you.”

“Alright.” Lin Weixia answered.

Ban Sheng let go of the hand that had rested on her neck. The cold, sharp air of him receded. As he was leaving, his eyes were red. He looked at Lin Weixia and spoke his final words:

“Lin Weixia, you are a heartless person.”

Ban Sheng turned his back to Lin Weixia and left, walking steadily forward. He still held the blue paper-folded shark in his hand. The lights along the road flashed past; the lush green trees looked somewhat dark in the night, like still white statues — all of it fading to blur.

Only he remained in her eyes.

He grew farther and farther away. His receding figure became more and more real, and then the dark silhouette disappeared around a corner.

Gone from sight entirely.

The wind picked up. Dust kept blowing into her eyes. Leaves were lifted into the air and drifted slowly back to the ground. All strength had been drained from Lin Weixia’s body. She crouched down, wrapped her arms around her knees, and cried without stopping — tears wringing her from the inside out.

Lin Weixia thought of that young man’s solitary, desolate silhouette just now, and her heart ached again and again. Even moving felt difficult. What had her most beloved song, Mountains and Sea, said? It was as if it had foretold this very moment —

I hear the voice of that young man,
in a past that still held a future,
longing for a beautiful ending.
He knows. He knows. I cannot give it.
So he turns and walks toward the sea.

Lin Weixia recalled New Year’s on Yinye Mountain — the young man, face full of hope, asking if she could accompany him to look for his mother. She had agreed. The two of them had made so many promises: that after the college entrance examination they would get matching couple’s tattoos together, apply to universities in Jingbei to see the snow, later raise a little white dog together, and spend the next New Year’s together.

She had not been able to fulfil a single one of his wishes.

I have nothing to offer you — so I give you my wishes for happiness, health, and peace. I hope that from here on your path is smooth and free, and that you never again meet someone like me.

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