Qiao Qingyu stumbled back three or four steps, stunned. Once she regained her balance, she realized: this person was no ordinary individual.
Not only had he precisely landed on He Kai’s hand from a two-meter-high tree branch, but his landing posture—with one leg inside and one outside the railing, gripping it between his knees—was a feat few could achieve.
He Kai, rubbing his grazed right hand, frowned and was about to speak when the newcomer cut him off: “What’s your name?”
His voice was a clear, slightly deep adolescent tone, barely concealing anger and extreme arrogance.
Qiao Qingyu could only see his lean back. A long-sleeved black hoodie covered his head, concealing his upper body. Light gray athletic shorts reached his knees, revealing thin, straight, pale calves. No socks were visible, but his eye-catching black and white basketball shoes bore the silhouette of a leaping figure holding a ball—the Air Jordan shoes Qiao Jinyu coveted.
“Rich kid,” Qiao Qingyu thought to herself. “No wonder he’s so cocky.”
“I said, what’s your name?” The boy in black raised his voice, seemingly trying to intimidate everyone around.
He Kai remained silent, taking two steps forward to cross the railing.
“Not talking?” The boy coldly blocked He Kai’s path without looking at him. “Want to bet I’ll burn down Shunyun No. 1 High School?”
He Kai was surprised. “You were hiding in the tree, eavesdropping on our conversation?”
“Tell me your name,” the boy’s voice brimmed with impatience. He pointed at the torn notice and added, “And pay for that.”
He Kai glared at him with an anger Qiao Qingyu had never seen before. Standing to the side, she felt helpless, inwardly lamenting that Li Fanghao would likely return home to find nothing. Her earlier fearlessness had vanished, replaced by worry about her predicament.
“You want me to pay for a piece of paper?” He Kai said through gritted teeth. “I—”
Suddenly, he stopped, his eyes first showing realization, then panic. “You… you’re not Mingsheng, are you?”
Hearing the name “Mingsheng” for the second time that day, Qiao Qingyu’s nerves inexplicably tensed. She recalled the mysterious man at the newsstand who had asked about her parents after seeing Qiao Baiyu.
“I’m so sorry, I…” He Kai’s attitude did a complete 180, now full of apology and trepidation. “I didn’t know you wrote this. If I had, I definitely wouldn’t have torn it. I’m sorry, really sorry.”
“Name,” Mingsheng sounded utterly cold. “Third time asking.”
“He… He Kai.”
He Kai’s trembling demeanor made Qiao Qingyu even more nervous. She couldn’t see Mingsheng’s face but thought anyone who could wrap themselves in long-sleeved black clothing on such a hot day must be extraordinary. So, according to Mrs. Feng, this was the person living across from her balcony—someone she’d never heard of but who struck fear into others?
“Two things,” Mingsheng said. “First, when school starts, my friend will find you at Shunyun. Treat him well. Second,” he tore off the remaining large piece of paper, crumpling it in his hand, “replace this with an exact copy within a week.”
With that, he swung his long leg over the railing, cast a fleeting glance at the stunned Qiao Qingyu, scoffed dismissively, and strode through Chaoyang New Village’s back gate.
Qiao Qingyu’s thundering heart skipped a beat when Mingsheng glanced at her. Those eyes, visible for just a moment, were pure black and startlingly bright—
She tried to reassure herself that this sweltering summer without air conditioning was bound to leave a lasting impression on her life. As she inserted her key into the lock, she reflected on the encounter.
The apartment was silent; Li Fanghao hadn’t returned.
Relieved, she threw herself onto the creaky old leather sofa. After a moment, she walked to the balcony to bring in the clothes hanging outside as usual.
The entire Building 38 opposite was bathed in golden evening light. Through the tightly closed blue aluminum windows, she could see the neat kitchen directly across, but the counters were empty, devoid of any signs of cooking. Between the kitchen and living room hung a beige partition curtain reaching the floor instead of a door. The window of the room next to the kitchen was filled with dark curtains as if to block out all light and heat from outside.
Qiao Qingyu couldn’t help but wonder: Does anyone live here?
As she turned away, the image of Mingsheng’s profile beneath the black hood flashed before her eyes, bringing to mind the phrase “a fleeting glimpse of beauty.” His half-visible face had smooth lines and a high, straight nose, with skin strikingly pale. When he glanced at her, his slightly raised chin exuded an innate, effortless pride. Though it was just a glance, the sudden pressure she felt still left her heart pounding as she recalled it. “He’s so handsome,” Mrs. Feng’s vulgar voice echoed unbidden in Qiao Qingyu’s mind.
She remembered another thing Mrs. Feng had mentioned: “You might even be in the same class.”
This possibility excited her inexplicably—who wouldn’t want a legendary figure in their class? Just watching him and observing his story would make life far less boring.
Moreover, by chance, she now had a strange connection to this legendary person.
Qiao Qingyu worried about He Kai because of Mingsheng’s parting words. Although it seemed unrelated to her, she felt responsible since she had intentionally brought He Kai to the old camphor tree.
Of the two tasks, Qiao Qingyu couldn’t think of anyone but herself who could help with the “replace the writing” part.
The words “No trespassing, consequences are terrifying” were etched in her mind, every detail crystal clear. That evening, abandoning her plan to finish “Les Misérables” before school started, she hunched over her desk, painstakingly transferring the words from her memory onto paper.
For over an hour, sweat beads slid continuously from her cheeks to her chin. It was unbearably hot.
At first, Qiao Qingyu wrote with passion and vigor, but gradually, her right hand became hesitant. The more she wavered, the less her writing captured Mingsheng’s imposing style. Yet it still resembled his somewhat, until eventually the characters on paper blended with those in her mind, blurring even her initial clear memory.
Discouraged by her lack of progress despite hours of effort, Qiao Qingyu consoled herself: “No rush. I can wait until I see Mingsheng the day after tomorrow to write it.”
She thought that seeing Mingsheng in person and understanding his demeanor might help her grasp the essence of his writing style.
After all, one’s handwriting reflects one’s character.
With this in mind, Qiao Qingyu looked forward to the start of school even more—
On the last day of August 2008, a Sunday, Qiao Jinyu returned to their “new” home in Huanzhou. After dinner, while Qiao Lusheng and Li Fanghao were still out, Qiao Qingyu finally got her hands on the computer.
She quickly typed “Huanzhou Mingsheng,” “Huan No. 2 Middle School Asheng,” and “Huanzhou Asheng” into the search bar, rapidly scanning for any information about Mingsheng. Soon, she gathered numerous details from blog posts, forum threads, school message boards, and education news.
Mingsheng had started school at age five, attending Yunhe School adjacent to Chaoyang New Village. After primary school, he entered Huanzhou Foreign Language School in the west of the city. Last year, he graduated from middle school and entered Huanzhou No. 2 High School, ranking third in the city. From a young age, he excelled in calligraphy, painting, piano, and sports. His artwork won awards yearly, and at thirteen, he stood out among many competitors to tour Australia with the city’s youth symphony orchestra. Last year, upon entering Huan No. 2 High, he was immediately recruited for the school basketball team. His English was exceptional—evident from a video of a middle school third-year speech competition posted by the Foreign Language School. Mingsheng won first place, speaking advanced and natural English.
However, most of these accomplishments seemed to have occurred before Mingsheng entered high school, except for basketball.
Shortly after starting high school, Mingsheng received a warning from Huan No. 2 for fighting in the gymnasium. In November, after the sports meet, he received a demerit for leading a group fight. Initially placed in Class 3, he was moved to Class 9 after half a semester due to intense conflicts with the homeroom teacher. In Class 9, he clashed with the class monitor, forcing the top student to request a transfer.
In the second semester, he was moved to Class 7, where his conflicts with the dean of students escalated. During midterms, he incited the entire class to boycott the last exam, sending the dean to the hospital in anger. Under the guise of “protecting Huan No. 2 students,” he engaged in endless disputes with outsiders. His outrageous behavior and striking appearance quickly made him famous on message boards of various schools in Huanzhou. Almost overnight, students across Huanzhou learned that there was a Mingsheng at Huan No. 2 High—one to be admired from afar but never provoked.
Of course, there was no information about Mingsheng’s father.
“Sis, what are you looking at?” Qiao Jinyu’s voice came from behind. Fresh from the shower, he walked in to get his clothes, mimicking TV shows by wrapping the house’s only bath towel around his waist, looking quite impressive.
“Do you know Mingsheng?” Qiao Qingyu asked without turning, clicking again on Huan No. 2’s message board.
“I’ve heard of him,” Qiao Jinyu peered at the screen, then exclaimed after a few seconds, “Wow, sis, he’s in Class 5 of the second year too, same as you!”
“Where?” Qiao Qingyu asked urgently. Qiao Jinyu pointed, and she saw a new post at the top titled “Heard Asheng’s in Class 5 now, lucky Class 5 students!”
Just as Mrs. Feng had said, they were in the same class. Qiao Qingyu felt her eyes had been slow to notice, and a strange pressure filled her chest, though a small voice in her mind cheered.
“He’s super handsome. They say girls faint just looking at him,” Qiao Jinyu said, hiding behind Qiao Qingyu as he dressed. “There are photos of him online, haven’t you seen them?”
“No,” Qiao Qingyu replied flatly, “but I saw him in person this afternoon.”
“What?!”
“He lives across from us.”
“Isn’t a working couple living opposite us?”
“Not directly opposite, across the balcony,” Qiao Qingyu explained, carefully filtering through Mrs. Feng’s words from yesterday in her mind. “Third floor of Building 38.”
“Really?” Qiao Jinyu rushed out, pulling down his shirt.
Meanwhile, Qiao Qingyu suddenly remembered something and quickly typed “Huanzhou Director Wen” into the search bar. Related pages popped up immediately, and the first result showed a photo ID of the middle-aged man she had seen yesterday afternoon.
It was the official website of the Provincial No. 1 Hospital.
“Wen Qiuxin, Hospital Director, Chief Physician, Doctoral Supervisor, fully responsible for the hospital’s medical care, teaching, research, administration, and logistics,” Qiao Qingyu read the opening lines softly. “Specializes in diagnosing and surgically treating various common and difficult diseases of the nervous system, particularly experienced in treating various brain tumors, spinal cord and spinal diseases, facial spasms, and trigeminal neuralgia…”
“There are two households opposite, which one is it?” Qiao Jinyu poked his head back in. “One looks uninhabited, the other is full of messy stuff. Doesn’t look like a rich person’s home at all. Are you sure you’re not mistaken, sis?”
“The empty one,” Qiao Qingyu replied quickly, continuing to browse the webpage. The resume was long, listing positions from various committee memberships to provincial political consultative committee members, including awards received and papers published, filling nearly an entire A4 page. This lineup undoubtedly belonged to a prominent figure.
Qiao Qingyu carefully examined the middle-aged man’s photo ID. Although she hadn’t seen Mingsheng’s full face, and despite Mingsheng and his father having different surnames, there was no doubt they were father and son—their intimidating coldness was identical.
“Sis,” Qiao Jinyu rushed back just as Qiao Qingyu closed the webpage, “I told you, the apartment directly across from us is empty… The curtains are drawn so tight, not even a crack in the windows, no light inside at all… I’ve heard Mingsheng’s family is quite wealthy, how could they live in this run-down neighborhood like us?”
“It’s their old house.”
“How do you suddenly know so much when you’re usually so focused on your studies?”
Qiao Qingyu ignored him. Recalling Mrs. Feng’s words, a question arose in her mind: Why ask her to check if Mingsheng was home? Don’t his parents have keys?
“You’re in the same class as him, so you’ll meet him tomorrow. Introduce me to him too!” Qiao Jinyu approached her. “I want to play games now.”
Qiao Qingyu stood up to let him take her place, lost in thought: “Didn’t you used to be in Weiai Hospital?”
“Yeah,” Qiao Jinyu looked at her with confusion and reproach, “Why bring that up out of nowhere?”
Qiao Qingyu said nothing more. Her thoughts drifted back to two and a half years ago, to that most gloomy Spring Festival.
That was when Qiao Baiyu left this world.