On the eve of 2010, Qiao Qingyu received a reply from Wang Mumu, delivered as usual by Guan Lan. After placing the letter on Qiao’s desk, Guan Lan didn’t leave. Instead, she plopped down next to her, resting her head on her hand and watching Qiao with questioning eyes, as if to say, “Caught you again.”
Accustomed to Guan Lan’s mischievous behavior, Qiao Qingyu calmly opened the letter, waiting for her to speak.
“Why did Sheng cause trouble in Jiangbin?” Guan Lan asked. “He hasn’t associated with outsiders for a while. Why suddenly stir up trouble there?”
Qiao Qingyu paused, puzzled. “What trouble?”
“A fight,” Guan Lan sighed, patting Qiao’s shoulder. “You don’t know?”
Qiao shook her head, her expression growing serious.
Excited, Guan Lan pulled Qiao closer, whispering dramatically, “I’m impressed by your cluelessness… Last weekend, there was a brawl in a Jiangbin warehouse. It made the local news! One guy was hospitalized, covered in blood! The rest were all arrested! On Monday morning, when Sheng didn’t show up, it turns out he was called to the police station for questioning. A group claimed he was behind it all! Even Fatty Huang went to the station!”
Seeing Qiao’s increasingly worried face, Guan Lan felt satisfied. “But don’t worry, Sheng wasn’t directly involved. He was just questioned and came out unharmed.”
“Few people at school know about this, but,” Guan Lan’s tone shifted as she tightened her grip on Qiao’s neck, “thanks to my excellent detective skills, I’m certain this has something to do with you. The factory belongs to a company owned by Ming Cang, the eldest of the Ming family. He has a brother formerly known as Ming Jun, now called Ming Zhaoqun, and two sisters: Ming Ya, a professor in America, and Ming Yu, a renowned young artist married to Wen Qiuxin. They have a son named Ming Sheng.”
She paused, looking at Qiao with a mysterious smile. “The guy in the hospital, known as ‘Black Brother,’ is a notorious troublemaker in Jiangbin. Years ago, he bullied Qiao Baiyu when she first entered Huanzhou Tourism Vocational School. A year ago, he even crossed the Min River to bully you at Huan Second Middle School… I get why Sheng did this. If it were me, with family connections, I’d have knocked his teeth out long ago.”
Qiao remembered the young man in the sports car who took Ming Sheng book shopping—likely another cousin. Ming Sheng must have used their family’s factory.
“But I bet Sheng’s parents are furious, especially his dad,” Guan Lan said sympathetically. “His dad’s super strict. In freshman year, when Sheng was even more troublesome, his dad kept coming to school, saying they were too lax. His mom doesn’t interfere much, and his dad’s too busy… Sheng once told me his dad’s method was to set multiple high goals, leaving him no time for mischief.”
“Mm,” Qiao murmured.
“‘Mm’? How can you be so calm?” Guan Lan pouted. “Sheng quietly avenged you. Isn’t that like a drama? You’re not even moved?”
Qiao lowered her head, feeling guilty under Guan Lan’s accusing gaze.
“If he doesn’t want others to know, don’t speculate,” Qiao said.
“Hehe,” Guan Lan grinned. “Protecting him and yourself, I see! I knew it. After what Sheng did, what girl could resist? Alright, I get it~”
Qiao looked alarmed. “Get what?”
“Whatever you say,” Guan Lan raised an eyebrow meaningfully, glancing at the letter in Qiao’s hand. “But why did Senior Mumu cut out his photo and return it to him before?”
Qiao thought silently, “Actually, Mumu gave the photo to me.” After months, Wang Mumu’s gesture seemed clearer—if Ming Sheng was her obsession, cutting out his childhood photo and giving it to Qiao was an act of “handing over.” Qiao realized that perhaps Mumu had long sensed her feelings for Ming Sheng, despite her pretense of indifference. Giving Qiao his childhood photo was both an acknowledgment and encouragement.
“Also, Qiao Qingyu, you’re quite the liar,” Guan Lan continued. “If it weren’t for your article hinting at Sheng and Senior Mumu’s relationship, I wouldn’t have been so sure there was a story between them. You denied their connection, yet wrote about their beautiful bond. You’re something else.”
You don’t know how I felt writing that article, Qiao thought. The pain was so intense that I could only look up to them from a humble, numb perspective.
But Qiao just smiled at Guan Lan, saying nothing.
After Guan Lan left, Qiao unfolded Wang Mumu’s letter, finding a photo inside. The image showed a different side of Wang Mumu—wearing a loose black T-shirt, her hair in a messy ponytail, sitting on the floor with one leg up, exuding a hip-hop vibe.
“Thanks to my roommate, I’m learning street dance at a studio near campus. Surprised?” Mumu wrote. “I studied ballet as a child and always loved dancing, but couldn’t afford lessons later… I chose street dance because it’s cool and fierce. I love the feeling of being drenched in sweat after practice. Beijing’s heated indoors force me to wear short sleeves.”
The mention of “short sleeves” caught Qiao’s attention. She examined the photo closely, noticing that Wang Mumu’s exposed arms were smooth and unblemished, without a single scar.
Qiao Qingyu smiled with relief, then continued reading the letter.
“During our dorm’s late-night talks, we often discuss our high schools. Surprisingly, everyone knows about Huan Second Middle School and its good reputation. They ask if I prefer high school or university, and I unhesitatingly say university.”
“University is so different from high school. The campus is huge, classes are in various rooms, and classmates come from all over. There’s more freedom to arrange your time, and life feels more fluid… Unlike high school, where you face the same blackboard and faces daily, with unchanging worries for three years.”
“Huan Second is good, but also frightening. Some students can influence others’ judgment—perhaps high school life is too boring. Such students, regardless of their character, turn the school into an invisible jungle with clear hierarchies. Looking back, while others envied me, thinking I was on cloud nine, I mistakenly believed I was above this jungle. That feeling harmed me so much…”
“You know, other high schools don’t have this situation,” Wang Mumu wrote. “Leaving Huan Second’s social atmosphere, I’ve become myself again. It feels great to be authentic.”
“Why am I rambling about this? You’re different. Your sense of self is strong; you’re not easily influenced by others.”
That’s not entirely true, Qiao thought.
“I’m thrilled you want to come to Renmin University,” Wang Mumu concluded. “But I have a feeling you’ll go to an even better school. Good luck!”
Qiao put down the letter and gazed out the window. After the midterms, she had moved from her window seat to the fourth row, fourth column—the center of the classroom, just like this time last year. But her mindset had changed. The glass was spotless, and on the last day of 2009, she felt as light as the brilliantly clear sky outside.
During the final exams, Qiao repeatedly heard that Su Tian was applying to the Beijing Film Academy. As a dance student, this wasn’t surprising, but some photos of her in traditional costume had sparked wild rumors. Some said the academy specifically requested her, others claimed she’d be filming in Hengdian during winter break, and some even said a fortune teller predicted she’d become famous within three years. Regardless, her decision not to go to America and her increased visibility was, according to Guan Lan, revenge for Ming Sheng’s rejection.
“She wants to prove she’s adored, a goddess who outshines Sheng, making him regret his decision,” Guan Lan scoffed. “As if Sheng would fall for that.”
“You should apply to the Film Academy too, Guan Lan,” Deng Meixi, sitting beside her, chimed in. “You could become a screenwriter.”
“Really?” Guan Lan’s eyes widened. “That’s a great idea, Meixi! The university should be interesting, and the Film Academy is full of attractive people. Perfect!”
Deng Meixi glanced up, exchanging an amused look with Qiao Qingyu sitting across from Guan Lan. Both girls smiled, with Meixi quickly lowering her head to eat, seemingly embarrassed.
The three of them eating together had only started a week ago. Initially, Guan Lan did most of the talking, with Qiao being naturally quiet and Meixi seemingly avoiding conversation. Things became more natural later, especially when the outspoken Guan Lan suddenly asked which of them Ming Sheng would choose as the class, grade, or school beauty.
This resulted in Guan Lan being playfully beaten by Meixi. Afterward, Meixi glanced at Qiao with a self-deprecating smile, saying, “I’m just a joke, I accept that.”
“It’s because I hang out with you!” she yelled at Guan Lan, hitting her again. “I used to be so cool! You troublemaker, always stirring things up…”
“Oh~ Save me, my concubine!” Guan Lan reached out to Qiao. Proud of bringing together the two prettiest girls in class, she declared Meixi her “empress” and Qiao her “favorite concubine.”
It was silly but relaxing, and Qiao enjoyed their company.
Thanks to them, Qiao finally felt part of the class community.
Classmates would approach her during breaks to discuss studies or chat. When walking across the plaza before or after school, girls would run up to walk with her. She learned that Gao Chi, sitting behind her, was also from Shunyun, and Qin Fen, already guaranteed admission to Tsinghua for her physics competition performance, was an avid reader of classics.
Before winter break, the class held its traditional tea party. Qiao was chosen to write “Spring Tea Party” in large characters on the blackboard. Many students took photos during the event, often catching Qiao in candids or asking her to pose. The previous invisibility and coldness were gone, replaced by everyone’s goodwill. When they learned Qiao would soon go to Shanghai for the New Concept Writing Competition finals, the class applauded and cheered “Good luck!” in unison.
Qiao memorized each face that wished her luck, but felt a void in her heart—Ming Sheng wasn’t among them.
He had disappeared after the final exams, flying to New York for his second SAT. The tea party coincided with his test day. According to classmates who had taken the SAT II, he had scored well on his first attempt in Hong Kong during the June gaokao, but it didn’t meet his father’s expectations. In October, his father wanted him to retake it for a higher score to ensure admission to a top university, but Ming Sheng refused, focusing on the city basketball tournament instead. No one understood why he was pushing himself so hard on the court—winning wasn’t difficult for Huan Second, and qualifying wasn’t a challenge for him.
“Sheng’s dad is too strict,” a classmate said. “He’s forcing him to take the test even after submitting applications, saying Sheng hasn’t proven his abilities yet.”
“There’s a saying, ‘A tiger father has no weak sons,'” Guan Lan nodded. “But Sheng has it tough.”
“Don’t you think they’re quite similar?” Qiao mused. “They both push themselves to the limit in everything they do, never stopping just because they’ve met the standard.”
Her rare comment drew surprised and admiring looks from the others, who then exchanged meaningful glances.
Immediately after, Guan Lan’s tactless remark made Qiao blush intensely.
“Yes, yes, we’re all just guessing. You understand him best.”