After Qiao Qingyu fled that day, she later pieced together what happened in the classroom from snippets of conversations among her classmates. When Ming Sheng picked up his book, a photo fell out. Chen Shen helped pick it up, and Guan Lan’s exclamation drew Deng Meixi’s attention. Ironically, Ming Sheng was the last to see the photo.
His expression changed dramatically when he finally saw it, becoming unusually serious. Some said his face looked different as soon as he saw the book. Regardless, the long-held speculation seemed confirmed: Wang Mumu had cut their old photo in half, returning Ming Sheng’s portion to him, decisively severing their connection. Ming Sheng appeared even more despondent than before.
How easily people are deceived by appearances, Qiao Qingyu told herself rationally. Yet, a needle seemed to pierce her lungs, making her breath painful whenever she overheard others discussing Ming Sheng and Wang Mumu with such certainty.
It seemed everyone understood them better than she did. The facts appeared simple and clear to all but her. Only she, driven by some inexplicable desire and pitiful self-protection, allowed herself to believe in a self-deluding “intuition.”
Hadn’t she relied on this intuition when adamantly denying any relationship between Ming Sheng and Wang Mumu to Guan Lan? How could she be so sure nothing had happened between them? Wang Mumu’s self-harm, the pressure of college entrance exams, and her father’s death – weren’t these enough to awaken Ming Sheng’s heroism?
Crucially, Ming Sheng never refuted any of these claims, did he?
Sometimes, as Ming Sheng walked back to the classroom from the basketball court, Qiao Qingyu’s gaze would involuntarily follow him. Usually, he’d just dribble the ball or casually carry it under his arm. Occasionally, on a whim, he’d toss it high into the air and catch it. Once, Qiao Qingyu felt Ming Sheng noticed her watching as he looked up, but he smoothly caught the falling ball anyway, maintaining his composure and unhurried pace. At that moment, Qiao Qingyu’s heart ached painfully. Wake up, she told herself for the umpteenth time. Ming Sheng truly doesn’t care about me anymore.
Those involved are often blind to the truth. Perhaps her certainty to Guan Lan was just pitiful self-delusion.
These thoughts made Qiao Qingyu feel awkward. Twice when she encountered Guan Lan on the way to school, Guan Lan greeted her with a smile, but Qiao Qingyu shyly retreated. One day at noon, seeing Qiao Qingyu’s desk mate absent, Guan Lan quietly approached, spreading the latest school newspaper before her with a mysterious smile.
“This article,” Guan Lan pointed to a piece titled “One Hundred Times I’ve Heard” on the fourth page, tilting her head to ask Qiao Qingyu, “You wrote it, right?”
Qiao Qingyu’s face flushed crimson. Last week, she had used her green notebook intending to simply record her feelings but ended up writing two pages. That same day, she tore out those pages and submitted them to the school paper’s submission box.
“Why submit anonymously?” Guan Lan laughed. “You’re pretty brave, writing about things we wouldn’t dare say in front of Ah Sheng and publishing them in the school paper.”
“Is it obvious I’m writing about him?”
“Only a blind person wouldn’t see it,” Guan Lan stifled a laugh and began reciting from the article, “Two windows, one bright and one dim, reflecting not…”
“Stop reading,” Qiao Qingyu said, embarrassed. “Is it really that obvious?”
“As obvious as Ming Sheng is in school,” Guan Lan replied. “He read it yesterday. Didn’t he confront you?”
Qiao Qingyu shook her head. “I submitted it anonymously.”
“Well, he is a guy after all, and the subject of the piece. Maybe he didn’t read it that carefully,” Guan Lan nodded. “Hey, didn’t you insist before that there was nothing between him and Wang Mumu? You know how much I believed you?”
Qiao Qingyu felt a mixture of emotions: “I’m sorry, I… because Sister Mumu didn’t mention anything between her and Ming Sheng, so I…”
“I told you you were being naive,” Guan Lan patted her shoulder reassuringly. “But you’re also funny. Most people just talk about these things, but you went and wrote a whole article sympathizing with them. You know, I’m actually like that too. When I watch TV and see a couple that’s perfect for each other but doesn’t end up together in real life, I feel so disappointed. I just want to rush in and tie them together!”
Qiao Qingyu felt Guan Lan’s example wasn’t quite the same as what she had written.
“How did you feel after reading the article?” she cautiously asked Guan Lan.
“I thought, wow, this kind of vague yet deep love is so beautiful,” Guan Lan said. “It feels so pure. You’re a great writer!”
“Did you think the writer might have ulterior motives?”
“Not at all,” Guan Lan looked at her strangely. “It feels like the writer cherishes this beautiful thing even more than the people involved.”
Qiao Qingyu’s heart eased a little.
“But you were right to submit anonymously,” Guan Lan said seriously, leaning in closer. “Did you know Ye Zilin is giving up on going to America and choosing Australia instead because Ah Sheng dislikes him?”
Qiao Qingyu shook her head. She knew nothing about this.
“Ah Sheng had been ignoring Ye Zilin for a long time, right? So Ye Zilin started hanging out with other basketball team members, often treating them to meals. Ah Sheng usually wouldn’t say anything, but recently, something happened,” Guan Lan frowned. “Ye Zilin was just sitting there watching them practice, and Ah Sheng threw the ball at him.”
“He didn’t hit Ye Zilin directly, just near him,” Guan Lan softly responded to Qiao Qingyu’s shock, “But the intention was clear. Then, when Ye Zilin picked up the ball to return it, Ah Sheng told him to get lost.”
She shrugged, looking confused: “What happened? We don’t know… Ye Zilin didn’t do anything… Then, that day after school, Ye Zilin was at the gate talking to Chen Yuqian about going to America in the future, and Ah Sheng passed by and said, ‘You’re still thinking about going to America?'”
“Two days later, when Ye Zilin was talking to others, he said he was going to Australia next year,” Guan Lan explained, worried Qiao Qingyu might not understand. “It was Ah Sheng’s tone, you know? How to put it… It made Ye Zilin feel like trash like his mere presence would pollute the air…”
Qiao Qingyu felt a torrent rushing through her chest.
“Mm.”
“Why are you so calm?” Guan Lan looked at her reproachfully. “People used to say Ah Sheng would never turn against his classmates. Ye Zilin used to be so close to him. Who would’ve thought… Don’t you find it scary?”
“He’s always been scary.”
“You think he’s scary but still write articles for the school paper?” Guan Lan looked at her incredulously, then quickly smiled. “Wow, Qiao Qingyu, I’m finding you to be quite an interesting person.”
“You’re the interesting one.” Qiao Qingyu smiled genuinely—Guan Lan was cheerful, frank, and innocent, always able to make her laugh. Talking with her was truly enjoyable.
“I wouldn’t dare expose Ah Sheng’s feelings in the school paper…”
“I didn’t name names.”
“Anyway, I admire you,” Guan Lan patted her shoulder. “Just take care of yourself. Let’s hope Ah Sheng doesn’t figure it out.”
This conversation didn’t bring any changes to the stagnant life of a third-year high school student. Days passed, and Qiao Qingyu was sure Guan Lan had worried unnecessarily—Ming Sheng didn’t care who wrote the article. As the city basketball tournament approached, he spent less and less time in the classroom, unsurprisingly making it into the school team’s starting lineup. He doesn’t care about these things, Qiao Qingyu thought, feeling both relieved and dejected. These trivial matters of idle spectators, these little affairs of the heart.
As Qiao Qingyu gazed out the window recently, she increasingly felt a vibrant energy emanating from Ming Sheng. His agile dribbling, athletic leaps, and tireless vitality. His unwavering determination and decisive turns. His carefree hair in the morning light and his slender silhouette against the sun. Every time she watched him jump, she had the illusion that he might fly away. She felt he was practicing flight, preparing to leave everything behind.
All the clamor of the school building, all the dullness of Chaoyang New Village.
For some reason, whenever Qiao Qingyu thought of Ming Sheng’s grandfather, she envisioned an old man in a navy blue cotton jacket. Though his face was blurry, he felt incredibly familiar. After trying hard to remember for a few days, she vaguely recalled meeting such a kind, gentle old man by Qiao Baiyu’s grave when she ran away during Spring Festival.
At that time, he seemed to have awakened her from near unconsciousness, comforted her, and urged her to go home.
This memory in Qiao Qingyu’s mind was both real and illusory, now seeming almost mystical. Amidst her jumbled thoughts and emotions, she stubbornly chose to believe, beyond all rational thinking, that this was her destined connection with Ming Sheng—that old man who understood her feelings, who brought her inexplicable comfort, must surely carry a soul linked to Ming Sheng’s.
Time and again, as she passed by Ming Sheng’s tidy desk from the back row, she felt an urge to slip a note into his drawer. “For some, death means disappearance. For others, death doesn’t prevent them from living on forever,” she wanted to write. “Your beloved grandfather belongs to the latter. I can prove it.”
This sentence swirled in her mind for days but never made it to paper. One afternoon in mid-November, as rain fell outside, the psychology teacher Le Fan entered the classroom. She handed out blank sheets of paper, asking everyone to draw freely as a stress-relief exercise. Like many others, Qiao Qingyu stared blankly at the paper, unsure how to begin.
“The paper’s too small to express ourselves, teacher,” Ming Sheng called out.
Le Fan laughed along with the class: “Should I give you the blackboard instead?”
As everyone turned to see Ming Sheng’s reaction, Qiao Qingyu lowered her head, feeling inexplicably anxious. In a brief moment, Ming Sheng walked to the blackboard, she gripped her blue pen tightly and drew a transparent raindrop in the center of her paper.
The rain outside grew heavier as the classroom quieted. Qiao Qingyu aimlessly drew raindrops, her ears attuned to every scratch of chalk on the blackboard. When her paper was finally filled with raindrops, she slowly looked up, just as Ming Sheng put down the chalk and turned, their eyes meeting directly.
Their gazes locked, but just as the volcano inside her erupted, he looked away.
Teacher Le Fan tilted her head, examining his chalk drawing on the wall, and asked if it was a soft, magnificent wing.
“No,” Ming Sheng immediately denied, his tone decisive. “It’s a wave.”
“Oh, I see. It’s blue,” Teacher Le Fan nodded in sudden understanding. “What a graceful and powerful wave. The brushstrokes show considerable skill… What made you think of drawing a wave? Since you chose to draw in front of everyone, would you mind sharing your reason?”
“You said to draw whatever we wanted,” Ming Sheng replied. “So I just drew randomly.”
Everyone laughed, including Le Fan.
“But,” Ming Sheng shook his head slightly, his gaze sweeping from near to far, perfectly skipping over Qiao Qingyu staring at him from the middle of the classroom, “my favorite book is ‘The Old Man and the Sea,’ so,” he looked back, smiling with inexplicable joy, “even drawing randomly has its reasons.”
He mentioned his grandfather. He said that as a child, he thought only saving the world made one a hero, but his grandfather showed him this book to teach him that never giving up makes one a hero. Life may be ordinary, but everyone can be their hero, as long as they possess an independent, noble, and resilient soul.
Then he spoke of his grandfather’s end-of-life choice, calmly discussing his past misunderstanding and even resentment, including how he didn’t speak to his father for an entire year in his first year of high school.
“Later, I realized how childish I was,” Ming Sheng said. “I dealt with the conflict with my dad in the most immature way, showing no heroic spirit at all. I should have acted like a mature adult, sat down, and communicated righteously with my dad, letting my anger be heard clearly. If you don’t want to be treated like a child, don’t act like one, right?”
Le Fan nodded approvingly with a smile: “So did you talk with your dad?”
“Yes,” Ming Sheng smiled easily. “He said he had always felt guilty, thinking he hadn’t handled things well and should have let me see my grandfather one last time. He apologized to me.”
“In a hospital like Provincial No. 1, always overcrowded, resources must be scarce. Maybe your dad had difficulties he couldn’t explain,” Le Fan said kindly.
“My dad explained the situation at the time—not enough equipment and a more critical patient with survival chances suddenly arrived,” Ming Sheng said seriously. “But… he could have told me all this at the time, right? Waiting until after the high school entrance exam to tell me only made me distrustful and dissatisfied.”
Le Fan nodded: “You’re right. We humans invented language for communication, after all.”
“My dad and I both reflected on ourselves. Now we don’t argue when we meet.”
Le Fan smiled: “That’s heartening to hear.”
He had thus reclaimed the “secret” he once gave her—Qiao Qingyu thought, her chest aching—but indeed, it was heartening.
What a clear-minded and resilient person. She gazed at Ming Sheng, mesmerized by his extraordinarily handsome face, completely-
Two or three days before the city basketball tournament began, a piece of gossip reached Qiao Qingyu through Guan Lan. That day, the university recruitment guidelines for arts and sports talent had just been released. Su Tian, who practiced aerobics daily in the gym alongside the basketball team, jokingly asked Ming Sheng whether she should apply to the Beijing Film Academy or the Central Academy of Drama. To everyone’s surprise, Ming Sheng seriously replied that anywhere was fine as long as it wasn’t in America.
Yes, Su Tian was also planning to go to America. Reportedly, Ming Sheng’s answer made Su Tian’s eyes redden on the spot. The conversation happened at the entrance to the boys’ locker room, and seeing the situation, others retreated, leaving just the two of them.
“Why?” people heard Su Tian say coquettishly from around the corner. “My parents have long decided to send me to America. I won’t disturb your studies!”
“You annoy me just by being here,” Ming Sheng said coldly.
“Are you so sure I’d bother you?” Su Tian retorted.
“Wouldn’t you?”
Ming Sheng’s voice was as cold as ice, causing Su Tian to burst into tears. “How can you be like this? Everyone knows I like you, yet you bully me! I’m a girl, can’t you show me some respect?”
“I find this very annoying,” Ming Sheng replied curtly.
By the time Chen Yuqian cautiously approached to assess the situation, Ming Sheng had vanished, leaving Su Tian alone, crouching on the ground in tears.
Guan Lan vividly described this scene to Qiao Qingyu, then crossed her arms, watching Qiao’s face intently as if waiting for a chemical reaction.
“What… what are you doing?” Qiao Qingyu asked, hesitantly shrinking her shoulders.
“Just wanted to see your reaction,” Guan Lan replied.
“What? You told me all this just to see how I’d react?” Qiao Qingyu laughed uncomfortably.
Guan Lan grinned. “Because it’s fun. Don’t you know I’m a bit crazy?”
“I’m not a child,” Qiao Qingyu smiled. “Stop teasing me.”
“Hmm,” Guan Lan said, looking at Qiao Qingyu with satisfaction. “The city basketball league starts on Saturday afternoon. Our school is playing against Yu Cai – it’s a tough match, the first game. Are you going?”
Qiao Qingyu shook her head. “No.”
“Why not? Old Sun is encouraging everyone to go.”
“My mom is very strict with me.”
“Just tell her it’s a mandatory group activity. Plus, Ah Sheng said the first game is important, and we’re taking a group photo afterward.”
Qiao Qingyu smiled helplessly. “Taking a group photo isn’t a valid reason, is it?”
“Want me to be straightforward?”
“About what?”
“Don’t be shocked, but I have a feeling…” Guan Lan raised her eyebrows, deliberately pausing and looking mischievous. “I think Ah Sheng wants you to be there.”
Qiao Qingyu’s heart skipped a beat. She hesitated, then looked at Guan Lan uncertainly. “You’ve got it wrong.”
“My intuition is usually spot-on.”
“Intuition is often misleading.”
“Let’s make a bet then,” Guan Lan said with a meaningful smile, pulling Qiao Qingyu close and whispering in her ear, “If Ah Sheng stands behind you during the photo, I win. Otherwise, you win.”
She released Qiao Qingyu and raised her eyebrows again, looking confident.
“You’re just trying to trick me into going.”
“Are you brave enough to take the bet?”
“I think it’s pointless.”
“If you don’t dare, I’ll think you’re feeling guilty,” Guan Lan said, pulling Qiao Qingyu close again. “It would mean you also have feelings for Ah Sheng…”
“Alright, alright,” Qiao Qingyu hurriedly broke free. “I’ll go.”
Qiao Qingyu was a bit angry at herself for falling so easily into Guan Lan’s trap. But she didn’t dislike Guan Lan’s little schemes; on the contrary, she appreciated her carefree nature.
On Saturday, it was drizzling. Qiao Qingyu left her neighborhood, stepping on fallen leaves. The weather forecast predicted a cold wave next week, so the chilly autumn breeze felt like the last bit of warmth before winter. At the intersection, she lowered her umbrella to cover her upper body – inside the newsstand, Mrs. Feng’s small eyes were watching like surveillance cameras, as usual.
Since she had already been seen, Qiao Qingyu decided to turn towards the noodle shop. The shop had just quieted down, with Qiao Huan calculating accounts behind the counter and Qiao Lusheng washing dishes in the back kitchen. After greeting Qiao Huan, Qiao Qingyu went to the kitchen and hesitantly told her father about going to watch the basketball game at the city sports center.
“You like watching basketball?” Qiao Lusheng asked, bent over the sink, his hands still working.
“It’s a group activity,” Qiao Qingyu explained nervously. “Teacher Sun said we’re taking a group photo and hopes everyone can come.”
“You’ll be gone half a day, alone. Your mom definitely won’t agree,” Qiao Lusheng said while scrubbing dishes. “What about Xiao Ya? Can he go with you?”
“Xiao Ya has a training match today. He’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Oh, right,” Qiao Lusheng turned off the tap, shook his hands, and straightened up. “Here, take my phone from my pocket and call your mom to ask.”
All hope seemed lost, and Qiao Qingyu stood motionless.
“You want to go?” Qiao Lusheng asked.
“I’ll just go for the photo and come back,” Qiao Qingyu pleaded weakly. “Dad, the game ends around 5 PM. I’ll go at 4:30 and be home by 5:30 for sure.”
Qiao Lusheng bent down to wash dishes again. “If you want to go, then go.”
“When Mom comes back, I’ll explain it to her myself…”
“It’s fine, just go,” Qiao Lusheng reassured her with a smile. “We won’t say anything, and your mom won’t know.”
Qiao Qingyu could hardly believe it. To avoid the newsstand, she left the shop and took an unfamiliar route, finding another bus stop. There was no direct bus, so she chose a route with one transfer, arriving at the city sports center around 3 PM.
She heard cheers from inside at the entrance. She stopped, feeling excited, nervous, and guilty – the image of Li Fangho sacrificing everything for their family weighed on her like lead.
She also felt foolish. Everyone was used to her absence at these events, and suddenly appearing at Ming Sheng’s game would surely draw attention.
The cheers from inside came in waves, making her timid. It was still raining, and the path beside the sports center was covered in wet, desolate yellow plane tree leaves. Qiao Qingyu thought about giving up and going home, but as she turned, someone grabbed her arm.
“Ha, trying to escape after coming all this way?” Guan Lan held her tightly like catching a fugitive. “Good thing I came out to look…”
Without another word, she pulled Qiao Qingyu inside and seated her in a pre-arranged spot. Qiao Qingyu felt like she had fallen into a pot of boiling water. People surrounded her, voices rising, the atmosphere so intense it could lift the roof. It was her first time in such an environment, and she felt overwhelmed.
“Do you know which one is Ah Sheng?” Guan Lan asked after cheering twice. On her other side, Deng Meixi also looked over.
Qiao Qingyu was still adjusting to the situation and shook her head, confused.
“The red jerseys are our school,” Guan Lan shouted. “Number 23, Jordan’s number, that’s Ah Sheng!”
Fearing Qiao Qingyu still couldn’t find him, she added, “He’s the one who hates showing skin, wearing a black t-shirt under his red jersey!”
Guan Lan turned back, but Deng Meixi’s gaze lingered for a couple more seconds.
Qiao Qingyu felt uncomfortable. She easily spotted Ming Sheng – at 1.82 meters, he looked small among the tall players, but he was undoubtedly the most eye-catching with his black and white headband, his face and figure exceptionally clean-cut.
Not understanding basketball and unable to be swept up in the atmosphere, Qiao Qingyu felt like a dry piece of wood throughout the game. She kept feeling foolish until the match ended with their school’s victory. When most of Class 5, including Sun Yinglong, gathered on the court, she felt a bit better – at least Guan Lan hadn’t lied; everyone except Ye Zilin had come.
Like during the spring trip, she stood at the edge of the second row. Guan Lan, smiling mysteriously, was in front of her, with Chen Shen and Gao Chi behind. Ming Sheng first took a photo with the team and then ran over to join them.
He stood next to Sun Yinglong, in the middle of the girls in the second row.
The camera flashed twice, and it was over. As everyone dispersed, Qiao Qingyu responded to Guan Lan’s look with a subtle smile, but inside she felt empty, as desolate as the withered plane trees on the street.