(This chapter is from the male lead’s perspective. It takes place when Lin Weixia has just transferred to Shengao in her second year of high school — the timeline falls during chapters two and three of the main story, around the days that Ban Sheng took leave.)

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The wind raged fiercer and fiercer. The typhoon bore down, and a blinding, white torrent of rain came pouring over everything. Lin Weixia turned her back to them and walked away. She flagged down a taxi, and in the end disappeared from a pair of dark eyes.

Ban Sheng looked away, tossed the rod he’d been holding into a corner, stuffed another cigarette in his mouth, and strode forward with long steps. Qiu Minghua scrambled to keep up, rubbed his round head with his hand, glanced back, and sighed:

“Lord Ban, that’s the first time I’ve ever seen a girl talk to you like that. She’s got some real nerve.”

The eyes under the black cap narrowed. The face from memory and the face he had just seen overlapped. He gave a faint laugh:

“Pretty full of nerve, yeah.”

The large drops of rain drummed against the metal awning over the alley, sending up crisp, sharp sounds. Ban Sheng’s neck dipped slightly as a splash hit the hem of his jacket. He kept walking straight into the darkness of the night.

Qiu Minghua followed right behind him and, thinking of something, asked: “Brother, aren’t you leaving for overseas this week? You’re really going — why the big rush…?”

At that, Ban Sheng’s footsteps paused for just a moment. His lashes shifted slightly. He lowered his head and continued smoking without saying a word.

That night, when he got home, Ban Sheng showered and washed his hair. The transparent water droplets rolled down his long neck. He sat back on his bed, thought quietly for a moment, picked up his phone, and pulled up the class group chat — where people were already talking about the new transfer student. He read every single message, not missing one.

Then Ban Sheng called his father. From the receiver came a cold, steady ringing. No one answered.

He tried again. Same result.

No expression crossed Ban Sheng’s face. He tossed the phone aside, took out drawing paper and a pencil from a drawer, and began carefully sketching a figure. Before long, a cool, composed face appeared on the page.

He turned the charcoal pencil between his fingers, then gripped it and added, at the corner of the girl’s eye, the outline of a butterfly.

When the sketch was done, he checked the time — 11:30 p.m. Ban Sheng called again. This time it connected quickly. His father’s voice on the other end was detached and businesslike:

“What is it? The secretary will arrange your passport and things like that.”

Ban Sheng tightened his grip on the charcoal pencil. His voice stalled for a moment, and the words scraped out of his throat with difficulty:

“Dad — is there any way I could stay in the country for two more years?”

A silence on the other end. Then a sharp rebuke — his father, voice taut with suppressed anger: “How many chances have I given you! And what have you done with them — you just kept making trouble with your aunt, you’ve been causing problems from the day you were born, haven’t you caused enough—…”

The pencil’s tip dug into his palm. Ban Sheng felt nothing. He closed his eyes, absorbing the cursing and the accusations. Darkness all around. Breathing grew harder and harder. He opened his eyes:

“I’ll go and apologize to her.”

The next day at noon, Ban Sheng went to that woman’s place for the first time to apologize — something he had never once done before, had never even set foot in what they called home.

His father had kept Wang Liping in a small Western-style house — the environment was tidy and quiet.

When Wang Liping opened the door to him, she was startled, but still invited him in. Her features were gentle, her nature capable and domestic — but in Ban Sheng’s eyes, however good she was, she was not his mother, and so he had never acknowledged her as such.

“Auntie, I’ve come today to apologize. I shouldn’t have said what I said to you the other day…” Ban Sheng stood at the door — he didn’t choose to go in.

Wang Liping was just about to answer when a sharp, cutting voice rang out — her younger brother. Wang Jun was gnawing on a chicken leg, came sauntering out of a room, took one look at the tall, thin, cold-faced young man standing at the door, and let out a laugh:

“Well, well — if it isn’t the young master himself! Come to grovel, have you?”

“That’s how you apologize? Shouldn’t you be bowing at my sister’s feet or something?”

Wang Liping shot her brother a warning look, but Wang Jun caught sight of his pale complexion and pressed on relentlessly: “Now that you don’t want to go abroad, you know to come and admit your mistakes, do you? Let me make one thing clear — my sister is getting through the door of your family’s house one way or another. Whether you agree doesn’t matter. If you actually had any pull with your father, he wouldn’t treat you like this. Who do you think you are…”

The mockery, the contempt, the pity came crashing down on Ban Sheng like arrows. His jaw tightened. He stood in silence, his entire body radiating contained fury. Even Wang Liping found herself bracing — afraid that with someone as proud as Ban Sheng, the next second would bring an emotional explosion.

Then, all at once, he bowed.

In the moment Ban Sheng lowered his head, his whole posture came down — every trace of the arrogance and pride he normally carried stripped away. He gripped his palms tight, as if he might draw blood, and still he kept his head down, acknowledging his fault, willing to yield completely:

“Auntie Liping. I’m sorry.”

Wang Jun stood there, stunned into silence, jaw falling slack. Wang Liping’s voice rose slightly with relief as she spoke:

“You’re still a child. I won’t hold it against you. I’ll go speak to your father about the overseas matter…”

After leaving Wang Liping’s place, Ban Sheng went to the internet café on Yutan Middle Road. The typhoon had been blowing for days, the sky a continuous grey, people moving through the streets with hurried faces, the elevated metro screaming past over his head.

Ban Sheng went straight upstairs to the front counter. He pulled his ID from his pocket and handed it over. The half-circular counter lifted to reveal the face of a young woman he didn’t know.

She took the ID and opened a private booth for him. As she handed the ID back to Ban Sheng, she noticed the tall, good-looking young man staring into space and softened her voice: “Here you are — this is your ID—”

His thoughts snapped back. Ban Sheng took the ID and went to his booth, logged in, and played games. He spent that whole day at the internet café, and Lin Weixia never appeared.

On the third day, Ban Sheng came to the café again as usual — same all-black outfit, same booth, same games. Because he had been sitting in the same spot for a while now, and his looks were striking, with a kind of rakish appeal that was entirely his own, he quickly drew the attention of the other girls in the café.

Outside, the grey sky darkened. Inside the café, the air was stuffy. The young man’s long fingers tapped steadily at the keyboard. His neck had gone stiff from holding the same position for too long. Ban Sheng raised a hand to work out the tension, and then — a can of blue cola, cold mist rising off it, appeared in front of him.

He lazily lifted his eyes to find a young woman with a striking face, one fingernail painted red, tapping against the side of the can with a “tap, tap” sound, smiling up at him:

“A drink for you.”

Ban Sheng curled the corner of his mouth and looked at the can:

“I don’t know how to open it.”

“What? You don’t know how to open a can of cola?” The girl said, looking genuinely shocked.

His booth was directly facing the counter of the café, and close enough for conversation to carry. Mid-exchange, he heard the girl at the counter call out:

“Weixia, you’re here!”

Then came a voice that seemed to carry a gentle mist — something that made him think of rainy days. Someone responded:

“Yeah, I left some stuff here a few days ago.”

His throat moved. Without a single moment’s thought, it was pure reflex — Ban Sheng switched off his mic, picked up his cigarettes and lighter from the table, and walked out. On the large monitor behind him, a message from his gaming partner blazed across the screen:

What the hell, why did you go offline.

Qiu Minghua, sitting in the booth across from him, also looked ready to weep — they were so close to leveling up with a blood boost! Where on earth was Ban Sheng going?

What came into view next was a pale yellow wall, the grout between the tiles a thin black line, the floor slick and wet. And then — the soft parting of her lips as she spoke, the red of mountain berries; the arc of her long neck, the white of fresh snow; and the little movements that came with every word she said.

Every detail was stealing his breath, igniting something deep inside him.

Ban Sheng made his way over, caught a glimpse of Lin Weixia stepping aside, leaning against the shelf nearby. Head down, looking at her phone — she hadn’t noticed him.

“Hello, what can I get for you?” the girl at the counter asked.

Ban Sheng blanked for a second, didn’t quite process the question. His voice came out strained:

“A cola.”

The mist-covered can was handed over. Ban Sheng took it, scanned to pay, turned back the way he had come — and as he passed, he noticed the hem of Lin Weixia’s green sleeveless dress had a small smudge of mud on it. The fabric shifted occasionally, revealing a glimpse of an ivory ankle below.

He wanted something — anything — to connect him to her.

Even if it was just the mud on the hem of her dress.

That was the thought that crossed Ban Sheng’s mind.

Back at his seat, he dropped the original can of cola into the rubbish bin, ignored the chaos of everyone yelling at him, took himself offline, and pulled up a music player to listen to something at random.

Ban Sheng sat in front of his computer, idly browsing — while snatches of conversation from the girls at the counter drifted over to him in fragments.

“You really transferred to Shengao?” the girl at the counter asked.

“Yeah, just started a few days ago,” Lin Weixia replied.

“Congratulations — let me treat you to a salty lemon soda then,” the other girl said.

He caught the faint glimpse of the corner of her lips curving up — it brought to mind red evening primrose blossoms, softness that went all the way to the heart — and he heard her say: “Sounds good.”

A low “rumble” shook the sky as several heavy peals of thunder rolled through. Then rain came crashing down in torrents. The ground erupted instantly in endless rising mist, and the white vapor seeped in through the gaps of the cheap window frame, a few drops landing on Ban Sheng.

“It’s raining again — did you bring an umbrella?”

“Ah, I forgot.”

“Then wait a while — go back after it stops.”

Half an hour passed. The rain eased from a downpour to a drizzle. Ban Sheng stood up and looked out the window. There were very few people on the street outside; the rain was still heavy.

“It hasn’t stopped, but I can’t wait too long — my aunt needs me at her shop,” Lin Weixia said to her friend, her voice a little rueful.

Ban Sheng picked up the Brigg black long-handled umbrella leaning against the computer desk and went straight out. He passed by the two girls and headed downstairs quickly. Through the narrow staircase, at the entryway, there was an umbrella stand — and it was empty.

Ban Sheng glanced at the rain still falling without a break outside. He opened the black umbrella, and without looking pained at all about wasting a brand-new expensive umbrella, he deliberately snapped half a rib — the tendons in his wrist standing out as he did — with a sharp “crack,” and a section of the canopy drooped down.

Then he tossed the umbrella carelessly into the corner by the wall.

Dressed up like an umbrella someone had left behind after it broke.

Before long, the sound of footsteps came from behind him, a faint, clean fragrance drifting over. Ban Sheng’s throat suddenly itched. He caught a glimpse of her standing nearby — the two of them keeping some distance between them.

Her soft black hair lay against the curve of her shoulder. Her eyes were an amber color, like a cat’s.

Ban Sheng saw that pale arm reach out to test the rain, then retract. And then — she had clearly noticed the broken umbrella lying in the corner by the wall.

Lin Weixia picked up the umbrella and looked around. Ban Sheng immediately dropped his gaze, turned his face away — cool and unreadable — took a cigarette from his pack and put it between his lips, then ducked his head to light it, one hand cupped around the flame, half-shielding his face from view.

From the corner of his eye he watched her take the umbrella back upstairs to ask her friend if anyone had left it behind. When she got a no for an answer, she came back downstairs, opened the umbrella, and walked out into the rain.

Ban Sheng leaned against the wall and smoked, the white curl of smoke rising in a slow, lazy spiral. He narrowed his eyes and watched the slender figure of the girl disappear.

Before long, Qiu Minghua came downstairs, ready to leave with him. He glanced at Ban Sheng’s empty hands and asked:

“Brother, where’s your umbrella?”

“Broke,” Ban Sheng said.

“No way, an umbrella that pricey can just break?!” Qiu Minghua’s face fell completely. Great — now they were both going to get drenched on the way home.

Ban Sheng didn’t respond. He dipped his head, pulled the zipper of his black hoodie all the way up to the angle of his jaw, leaving only a pair of cold, sharp, jet-black eyes visible. The cigarette was still between his lips. One hand yanked the hood from the back of the jacket up over his head, and he walked straight out into the unceasing rain.

The rain hit him — icy cold everywhere it touched. The black lashes picked up a little moisture. Ban Sheng put both hands in his pockets, keeping a calm and unhurried pace behind Lin Weixia.

Lin Weixia held a black umbrella, wearing a green long dress, spine held perfectly straight. The white of her shoulder and the red of her lips — from the day he had seen her again.

Every night they had moved through his dreams.

And he lay prostrate at her feet.

The phone in his pocket buzzed. He pulled it out to look — it was a message from Li Yiran:

When’s your flight? I’ll see you off.

Ban Sheng looked up. A white car drove past, blocking his view for a moment. Lin Weixia’s silhouette disappeared around a corner. He only caught a last glimpse of the white velvet hair tie she wore behind her ear.

Such a small thing.

Like spring snow falling into the bottom of his heart.

Ban Sheng’s thumb hovered over the phone screen. He typed into the chat:

Not going.