After she fled that day, Qiao Qingyu later learned what happened in the classroom through fragments of conversations with her classmates. When Ming Sheng picked up his book, a photo fell out. Chen Shen helped pick it up, and Guan Lan’s startled cry drew Deng Meixi’s attention. Ming Sheng ended up being the last one to see the photo.
However, his expression changed when he saw it, becoming unusually serious. Some said his face had already looked different when he saw the book. But none of that mattered—what mattered was that their previous speculations seemed confirmed: Wang Mumu had cut their old photo in half, returning Ming Sheng’s portion to him, decisively severing their connection. And Ming Sheng was more melancholic than before.
How easily people are deceived by appearances, Qiao Qingyu told herself rationally, though it felt like a needle had pierced her lungs. When she heard others discussing Ming Sheng and Wang Mumu with such certainty, each breath became painful.
It seemed everyone understood them better than she did. Everything appeared so simple and clear-cut to others, exactly as they described it. Only she, driven by some inexplicable desire, some pitiful form of self-protection, allowed herself to believe in her self-deceptive “intuition.”
Hadn’t she relied on mere intuition when she adamantly denied any relationship between Ming Sheng and Wang Mumu to Guan Lan? How could she be so certain nothing had happened between them? Wouldn’t Wang Mumu’s self-harm, the pressure of college entrance exams, and her father’s death be enough to awaken Ming Sheng’s heroic nature?
The crucial point was that Ming Sheng hadn’t denied any of these rumors, had he?
Sometimes when Ming Sheng walked back from the basketball court to the classroom, Qiao Qingyu’s gaze would unconsciously follow him. Usually, he just dribbled the ball or carried it casually under his arm. Occasionally, on a whim, he would toss it high into the air and catch it. Once, Qiao Qingyu felt Ming Sheng noticed her watching when he looked up, but he still caught the falling ball smoothly, acting as if nothing had happened, his steps remaining composed. At that moment, Qiao Qingyu’s heart trembled with pain. Wake up, she told herself for the nth time—Ming Sheng had truly stopped caring about her long ago.
Those involved are often blind to the truth. Perhaps all her adamant assertions to Guan Lan were just her pathetic wishful thinking.
These thoughts made Qiao Qingyu feel wretched. Twice when she encountered Guan Lan on her way to school, Guan Lan greeted her with a smile, but she shrank back timidly. One afternoon, seeing her deskmate wasn’t around, Guan Lan quietly approached and mysteriously spread the latest school newspaper before her eyes.
“This article,” Guan Lan pointed to a piece titled ‘One Hundred Times I Heard’ on the fourth page, tilting her head to ask Qiao Qingyu, “You wrote it, didn’t you?”
Qiao Qingyu’s face instantly flushed red. Last week, using her green notebook for the first time, she had only intended to record her feelings briefly but ended up writing two pages. That same day, she tore out those pages and submitted them to the school newspaper’s contribution box.
“Why submit it anonymously?” Guan Lan smiled. “You’re quite brave—writing about things none of us dare say in front of A’Sheng and publishing them in the school paper.”
“Can people tell I was writing about him?”
“Only a blind person wouldn’t notice,” Guan Lan suppressed a laugh and began reciting from the article, “Two windows, one bright and one dark, reflecting not…”
“Stop reading!” Qiao Qingyu was mortified. “Is it really that obvious?”
“As obvious as Ming Sheng is at school, that’s how obvious your article is,” Guan Lan said. “He read it yesterday. Didn’t he come to trouble you about it?”
Qiao Qingyu shook her head. “I submitted it anonymously.”
“Well, he is a boy 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 instantly felt a mix of emotions: “I’m sorry… since Sister Mumu never mentioned anything between her and Ming Sheng, I…”
“I said you were being silly,” Guan Lan patted her shoulder reassuringly. “But you’re really funny—most people just talk about these things, but you went and wrote a whole article sympathizing with their situation. You know, I’m actually like that too. When I watch TV and see couples who are perfect for each other but don’t end up together in real life, I get so frustrated I want to rush in and tie them up!”
But 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 felt that this kind of hazy yet deep love is really beautiful,” Guan Lan said. “It’s so pure. You write well!”
“Did you think the writer had ulterior motives?”
“Not at all,” Guan Lan looked at her strangely. “It feels like the writer cherishes this beauty even more than the people involved.”
Qiao Qingyu’s heart eased a little.
“But staying anonymous was the right choice,” Guan Lan said seriously, leaning in closer. “Did you know Ye Zilin is giving up on America and going to Australia because A’Sheng dislikes him?”
Qiao Qingyu shook her head; she knew nothing about this.
“A’Sheng hasn’t been speaking to Ye Zilin for a while, right? So Ye Zilin started hanging out with other basketball team members, often treating them to meals. A’Sheng usually wouldn’t say anything about it, but the other day, something happened,” Guan Lan frowned. “Ye Zilin was just sitting there watching them practice, and A’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 his intention was clear. Then, when Ye Zilin picked up the ball to return it, A’Sheng told him to get lost.”
She threw up her hands in confusion: “What happened? None of us know… Ye Zilin hadn’t done anything… Then, that same day after school, Ye Zilin was talking to Chen Yuqian at the entrance about going to America and stuff, and A’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 A’Sheng’s tone, you know? How should I put it… it made Ye Zilin feel like trash like his mere presence would pollute the air…”
A torrent seemed to surge through Qiao Qingyu’s chest.
“Mm.”
“Why are you so calm about this?” Guan Lan looked at her reproachfully. “Everyone used to say A’Sheng would never turn against his classmates, and he and Ye Zilin used to be so close. Who would have thought… Don’t you find it scary?”
“He’s always been scary.”
“You think he’s scary yet you still write articles for the school paper?” Guan Lan looked at her incredulously, then quickly smiled. “Wow, Qiao Qingyu, I’m discovering you’re 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 A’Sheng’s love life in the school paper…”
“I didn’t name names.”
“Still, I admire your courage,” Guan Lan patted her shoulder. “Just pray for yourself and hope A’Sheng doesn’t figure it out.”
This conversation didn’t bring any changes to the stagnant life of their senior year. Several days passed, and Qiao Qingyu was sure Guan Lan had worried too much—Ming Sheng didn’t care at all who wrote the article. As the city basketball tournament approached, he spent increasingly less time in the classroom and had unsurprisingly made the school team’s starting lineup. He doesn’t care about these things, Qiao Qingyu thought with both relief and dejection—these idle spectators, these trivial matters of love.
Lately, when Qiao Qingyu gazed out the window, she increasingly felt a vibrant energy emanating from Ming Sheng. His agility while dribbling, the grace of his jumps, his never-ending vitality. His courage to forge ahead, his unhesitating turns. His hair danced in the morning glow, his slender silhouette against the light. Every time she watched him jump, she had the illusion he might fly away. She felt he was practicing to take flight, preparing to leave all this behind.
All the clamor of the teaching building, all the gloom of Chaoyang New Village.
For some reason, whenever Qiao Qingyu thought of Ming Sheng’s grandfather, she would envision an elderly man wearing a navy blue Chinese-style cotton jacket. Though his features were unclear, he felt extraordinarily familiar. After trying hard to remember for two or three days, she vaguely recalled meeting such a kind, gentle elderly man by Qiao Baiyu’s grave during her Chinese New Year escape.
At that time, hadn’t he awakened her when she was about to lose consciousness, comforted her, and urged her to return home?
That memory floated in Qiao Qingyu’s mind between reality and fantasy. Now thinking back, it seemed deeply meaningful. Amidst her jumbled thoughts and emotions, she bypassed all rational thinking and stubbornly convinced herself this was her destined connection with Ming Sheng—that kind old man who had understood her feelings, whose mere memory brought her inexplicable peace, must have carried a soul from the same source as Ming Sheng’s.
Time and again, passing by from the back row, seeing Ming Sheng’s neat desk, she felt the urge to slip a note into his drawer. “For some people, death means disappearance; for others, death doesn’t prevent them from living forever,” she wanted to write. “Your respectable and lovable grandfather belongs to the latter category—I can prove it.”
This sentence circled in her mind for several days but never made it onto paper. One afternoon in mid-November, rain began falling outside the window. The psychology teacher, Le Fan, entered the classroom and handed everyone a blank sheet of paper, telling them to draw freely as a way to reduce stress. Like many others, Qiao Qingyu stared blankly at the paper, having no idea how to begin.
“How can we express ourselves on such small paper, Teacher?”
The voice came from Ming Sheng. Le Fan laughed along with everyone else: “Should I give you the blackboard instead?”
Everyone turned to see Ming Sheng’s reaction, but Qiao Qingyu lowered her head—for some reason, her heart was racing. During the brief moment, Ming Sheng walked to the blackboard, gripped her blue pen tightly, and drew a transparent raindrop in the center of her white paper.
As the rain outside grew heavier, the classroom quieted down. Qiao Qingyu drew raindrops aimlessly, her ears catching every sound of chalk scratching against the blackboard. When her paper was finally filled with raindrops, she slowly looked up, just as Ming Sheng put down the chalk and turned around, their faces meeting directly.
Their eyes met, and just as the volcano inside her erupted, he looked away.
Teacher Le Fan tilted her head to examine his chalk drawing on the wall, asking if it was a soft and gorgeous wing.
“No,” Ming Sheng immediately denied, definitively. “It’s a wave.”
“Oh right, it’s blue,” Teacher Le Fan nodded in sudden realization. “What a graceful and powerful wave. Such brushwork clearly shows considerable skill… What made you think of drawing a wave? Since you chose to draw in front of everyone, you wouldn’t mind telling us your reason, would you?”
“Didn’t you say we could draw anything?” Ming Sheng said. “I just drew randomly.”
Everyone laughed, including Le Fan.
“However,” Ming Sheng shook his head, his gaze traveling from near to far, perfectly skipping over Qiao Qingyu who was staring at him from the middle of the classroom, “my favorite book is ‘The Old Man and the Sea,’ so,” he drew back his gaze and smiled, revealing an inexplicable joy, “even drawing randomly has its reason.”
He mentioned his grandfather. He said that when he was young, he thought only saving the world made someone a hero, but his grandfather showed him this book and told him that never admitting defeat makes one a hero. Life may be ordinary, but everyone can be their hero, as long as he, or she, possesses an independent, noble, and resilient soul.
Then he spoke about his grandfather’s end-of-life choice, and amid the slight surprise of his classmates, he candidly discussed his past incomprehension and even resentment, including how he didn’t speak to his father for an entire year during tenth grade.
“Later I realized how childish I was,” Ming Sheng said. “Using the most primitive method to handle conflicts with my father showed no heroic spirit at all. I should have acted like a mature adult, sat down, and communicated righteously with my father, letting my anger ring true. If you don’t want to be treated like a child, don’t act like one, right?”
Le Fan nodded approvingly with a smile: “Did you talk with your father then?”
“Yes,” Ming Sheng smiled easily. “He said he’d felt guilty all along, thinking he hadn’t handled things well and should have let me see Grandfather one last time. He apologized to me.”
“In a hospital like Provincial No. 1, always overcrowded, resources must have been scarce. Perhaps your father had difficulties he couldn’t explain,” Le Fan said kindly.
“My father explained the situation—there weren’t enough machines, and suddenly a more critical patient with survival chances came in,” Ming Sheng said seriously. “But… these practical circumstances could have been explained to me right away, right? Waiting until after the middle school entrance exam to tell me only made me distrustful and dissatisfied.”
Le Fan nodded: “You’re right. We humans invented language for communication, didn’t we?”
“My father and I both reflected on ourselves and 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, yes, how heartening.
What a clear-minded and resilient person. She gazed at Ming Sheng absently, completely captivated by that extraordinarily handsome face—
Two or three days before the city basketball tournament began, a piece of gossip reached Qiao Qingyu through Guan Lan. That day, just after the universities’ art and sports talent recruitment guidelines were released, Su Tian, who practiced aerobics daily in the gymnasium alongside the basketball team, jokingly asked Ming Sheng whether she should apply to the Beijing Film Academy or the Central Academy of Drama. Unexpectedly, Ming Sheng seriously replied that anywhere was fine as long as it wasn’t America.
Yes, Su Tian was also planning to go to America. Reportedly, Ming Sheng’s response made Su Tian’s eyes redden on the spot. The conversation happened at the boys’ locker room entrance, and others withdrew upon seeing this, leaving just the two of them.
“Why?” People heard Su Tian ask coquettishly from around the corner. “My parents decided long ago to send me to America. I won’t disturb your studies!”
“Because you annoy me.”
“Are you so sure I’ll bother you?”
“Won’t you?”
Ming Sheng’s voice was ice-cold, causing Su Tian to burst into tears: “How can you be like this? Everyone knows I like you, but you’re bullying me! I’m a girl, can’t you give me some face?”
“I find it annoying.”
Incredibly cold, and by the time Chen Yuqian tentatively went around to check the situation, Ming Sheng had vanished, leaving only Su Tian crouching on the ground, crying.
Guan Lan vividly described this scene, then crossed her arms and stared at Qiao Qingyu’s face like waiting for a chemical reaction.
“You,” Qiao Qingyu hesitantly drew back her shoulders, “what are you doing?”
“Just want to see how you react.”
“What?” Qiao Qingyu laughed awkwardly. “You told me all this just to see my reaction?”
“Because it’s fun,” Guan Lan grinned. “Don’t you know I’m crazy?”
“I’m not a child,” Qiao Qingyu also smiled. “Stop teasing me.”
“Mm~” Guan Lan looked at Qiao Qingyu with satisfaction. “The city tournament starts Saturday afternoon, our school against Yu Cai, tough opponents, first game. Are you going?”
Qiao Qingyu shook her head: “No.”
“Why? Teacher Sun encouraged everyone to go.”
“My mom is very strict with me.”
“Just tell your mom it’s a mandatory group activity, and A’Sheng said the first game is important, there’ll be a group photo afterward.”
Qiao Qingyu smiled helplessly: “A group photo can’t be a reason, can it?”
“Want me to be direct?”
“What?”
“Don’t be scared when I say it, I, well, feel,” Guan Lan raised her eyebrows at her, deliberately leaving spaces in her words, her eyes full of mischievous light, “I feel A’Sheng wants you to come.”
Her heart skipped a beat, and Qiao Qingyu hesitated, her eyes wandering uncertainly before settling on Guan Lan’s face: “You’re mistaken.”
“My intuition is very accurate, you know.”
“Intuition is most likely to be wrong.”
“Let’s make a bet whether I’m wrong,” Guan Lan smiled meaningfully, hooking an arm around Qiao Qingyu’s neck and whispering in her ear, “If A’Sheng stands behind you during the photo, I win, otherwise you win.”
She released Qiao Qingyu and raised her eyebrows again, looking completely confident.
“You’re trying to trick me into going.”
“Are you brave enough?”
“I think it’s silly.”
“I’ll tell you what, if you don’t dare, I’ll think you’re feeling guilty,” Guan Lan hooked Qiao Qingyu’s neck again. “It means you also have feelings for A’Sheng…”
“Alright, alright,” Qiao Qingyu hurriedly broke free. “I’ll go.”
She was a bit angry at herself for being so easily drawn in by Guan Lan. But she didn’t dislike Guan Lan’s little schemes at all; on the contrary, she liked her carefree nature.
That Saturday brought light rain, and Qiao Qingyu stepped on decaying leaves as she left the residential complex. The weather forecast predicted a cold wave next week, so the chilly autumn wind now brushing her face carried the last hint of warmth before winter. Reaching the intersection, Qiao Qingyu 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’d already been seen, Qiao Qingyu thought, her body turning a corner, she might as well head to the noodle shop.
The shop had just quieted down, Qiao Huan was calculating accounts behind the counter, and Qiao Lusheng was washing dishes in the back kitchen. After greeting Qiao Huan, Qiao Qingyu went to the kitchen and hesitantly told him about going to the city gymnasium to watch the basketball game.
“You like watching basketball?” Qiao Lusheng bent over the sink, his hands not stopping.
“It’s just, a group activity,” Qiao Qingyu explained guiltily. “Teacher Sun said there’ll be a group photo, hopes everyone can come.”
“Half a day went just like that, you alone, your mom definitely won’t agree,” Qiao Lusheng said while scrubbing dishes. “What about Xiaoyu? Let him go with you.”
“Xiaoyu has a training match today, and won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Oh right,” Qiao Lusheng turned off the tap, shook his hands, straightened up, and nodded his chin. “Here, take the phone from my pants pocket and call your mom to ask.”
All hope suddenly crumbled, 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 five, I’ll go at four-thirty and be home by five-thirty.”
Qiao Lusheng bent down to wash dishes again: “If you want to go, then go.”
“When Mom comes back, I’ll explain to her myself…”
“Don’t worry about it, just go,” Qiao Lusheng comforted her with a smile. “We won’t say anything, your mom won’t know.”
It was almost unbelievable. To avoid the newsstand, after leaving the shop, Qiao Qingyu didn’t take her usual route but chose a different direction, arriving at another unfamiliar bus stop. There was no direct bus on the stop sign, so she picked a route that required one transfer, reaching the city gymnasium near three o’clock.
She heard cheering from inside at the entrance. She stopped, excited, nervous, and guilty—the image of Li Fang’s hard work and sacrifice for the family hung like lead weights on her feet.
Also, she felt stupid. Everyone was used to her absence from these activities; suddenly appearing at Ming Sheng’s basketball game would draw attention.
The cheers from inside came in waves, making her timid. Rain was still falling, and the path beside the gymnasium was covered in phoenix tree leaves, a wet and desolate yellow. Qiao Qingyu thought about giving up, treating it as just a walk, and going home. But just as she turned, someone caught her arm.
“Ha, came but trying to escape?” Guan Lan gripped her tightly like catching a fugitive. “Good thing I came out to look…”
Without another word, she pulled Qiao Qingyu inside and settled her in a pre-saved seat. Qiao Qingyu felt like she’d fallen into a pot of boiling water—people everywhere, waves of sound, the atmosphere so intense it could blow off the roof. Being at such an event for the first time, she felt overwhelmed.
“Know which one is A’Sheng?” Guan Lan asked after cheering twice. Another pair of eyes looked over from her other side—it was Deng Meixi.
Their seats weren’t close to the court, and Qiao Qingyu hadn’t adjusted yet, so she shook her head bewilderedly.
“Red jerseys are our school,” Guan Lan said loudly. “Number 23, Jordan’s number, that’s A’Sheng!”
Worried Qiao Qingyu still couldn’t find him, she added: “The one who’s most afraid of showing skin, wearing a black T-shirt under his red jersey!”
She turned back afterward, but Deng Meixi took two more seconds before withdrawing her gaze.
Qiao Qingyu felt quite uncomfortable. She easily found Ming Sheng—among the tall players, at 1.82 meters he looked small, but was undoubtedly the most eye-catching on the court, wearing a black and white headband, his face and figure exceptionally clean-cut.
Not understanding basketball and unable to be swept up in the surrounding atmosphere, throughout the game, Qiao Qingyu felt like a piece of dried wood. She kept thinking herself foolish until the game ended with Second High’s victory. When Class Five’s students, including Sun Yinglong, mostly gathered at the court, she felt a bit better—at least Guan Lan wasn’t wrong, everyone except Ye Zilin had indeed come.
Like during the spring tour, she stood at the far side of the second row. Guan Lan with her mysterious smile was in front, Chen Shen and Gao Chi behind. Ming Sheng first took photos with the team and then ran over to join them.
He stood with Sun Yinglong, in the middle of the second row of female students.
The camera flashed twice and it was over. Everyone dispersed, and Qiao Qingyu responded to Guan Lan’s gaze with an inconspicuous smile, but inside she felt bare, as desolate as the phoenix trees along the road.