“Even seven years after graduation, I still dream of him. I used to hate geography most of all, but I was the geography class representative for two years — because going to the humanities office meant passing his classroom. I would walk with a stack of papers in my arms, my heart both heavy and weightless, as though I were carrying an enormous secret. Later, weaving through the grey office buildings of a corporate park, I would often think back to those days. I will never again have a feeling so purely, simply mine — not in that year, not at sixteen, not in the summer that young man arrived.”

— Sherry’s Lab, The Ninth Year Through the Dream

Wednesday was the class meeting, with two items on the agenda: rearranging seats and electing class representatives.

Every semester, the seating plan for Class Seven was drawn up personally by their form teacher Lao Zhuang. It wasn’t based on grades, nor was it the classic one-on-one paired arrangement. Whatever logic governed it, only Lao Zhuang himself probably knew.

One thing was clear, however: like any traditional form teacher of his kind, Lao Zhuang absolutely did not permit boys and girls to sit together.

But with only eleven boys in the class, no matter how you arranged it, at least one boy would inevitably end up paired with a girl.

The boys called this person “the chosen one.”

This semester’s “chosen one” turned out to be Xiao Yulong, who had shared duty with Xia Li just the other day.

Xiao Yulong was somewhere in the middle-to-lower range academically, but his social skills were extraordinary — he had an easy-going, slightly carefree manner that made him perfect for breaking the ice and getting a laugh out of everyone.

While dragging his desk into position, Xiao Yulong performed a little song-and-dance: “Cruising at seventy, feeling free as the wind~”

His good friend, the labour committee representative, gave him an exasperated kick.

Xia Li straightened the few books that had toppled over and repositioned the two Doraemon-shaped bookends at either side.

She turned around and found herself facing Xiao Yulong’s grin.

“Is there enough room between our desks?” he asked, still smiling. “Can we scoot a bit further forward?”

“That’s fine.” Xia Li pushed her chair a little ahead.

A moment later, Lao Zhuang returned to the classroom and everyone instantly fell quiet.

“I’m fine with whatever.” Lao Zhuang nodded. “Then carry on serving your classmates. Organise the class rep elections, and when you’re done everyone goes straight to self-study — keep it quiet.”

He left the classroom.

The class monitor went up to the front and wrote all the positions on the blackboard.

Most of the committee posts carried over from the previous semester, with the exception of the discipline committee member and the geography class representative. The previous discipline committee member was Tao Shiyue, who had transferred to the international class; last semester’s geography class representative said she didn’t want to do it again.

Most of the students in Class Seven, to put it in the language that would later become popular, were pretty “chill.” Everyone’s eyes were set on getting into the top universities, and nobody was very keen on class positions.

Besides, Mingzhong didn’t hand out hollow titles like “three-good student.” There were only scholarship awards each semester, with the sole criterion being grades. Class committee positions earned you no bonus points — they were purely a service role.

The class monitor made several calls for volunteers before one girl finally raised her hand and took on the discipline committee role.

“What about geography class rep? Is anyone willing to take it on?”

Xia Li’s heart gave a sudden, lurching thump. The impulse rose up in her before she could even make sense of it.

In the class, she was the sort of girl who went largely unnoticed. Her grades ranked around eleventh or twelfth, she had no particular talents or skills, and she had a gentle, unassuming nature — not the kind to seek the spotlight or volunteer for service out of some selfless spirit.

It had nothing to do with any of that.

She had only just realised, in that moment, that the route to the humanities office in the admin building passed right by Class Twenty on the first floor.

Xia Li drew a quiet breath and raised her hand. “I’ll give it a try.”

No one else competed.

The class monitor wrote her name next to “Geography Class Representative” on the board.

The next day there was a geography lesson in the afternoon.

After class, Teacher Wu asked Xia Li to come with her to the office.

Teacher Wu had an easy-going personality — of all the teachers, she was the most approachable.

But Xia Li’s combined humanities scores were dragged down most by geography, so geography was the subject she feared most.

She fell in step beside Teacher Wu, anxious.

Teacher Wu asked with a smile as they walked, “What made you decide to become my class representative?”

Xia Li pulled out the response she had carefully rehearsed: “…My geography has been pulling down my humanities total. I want to bring it up.”

Teacher Wu nodded with genuine approval. “That’s the right attitude. But the class representative needs to set an example — you’ll have to work hard.”

Xia Li felt the pressure keenly. “…I’ll do my best, Teacher.”

“Geography analysis is a bit more flexible than history or politics. You need to ask questions about whatever you haven’t absorbed in class — just grinding through practice problems won’t get you there.”

Xia Li nodded along eagerly.

By the time they finished talking, they had already reached the first floor.

Xia Li shot a quick glance into Class Twenty’s classroom.

In that one swift sweep of her gaze, she did not catch sight of Yan Sishi.

She didn’t dare stare openly, and pulled her eyes away at once.

In the office, Teacher Wu selected a set of gaokao past-paper exercises targeting that day’s lesson content and asked Xia Li to hand them out the next day, to be worked through during the geography self-study period.

Xia Li tucked the papers under her arm, walked back through the covered walkway, and passed Class Twenty’s classroom again.

This time, the glance she managed to steal rewarded her with a small, startling joy.

The international class had only about twenty students, each with their own desk, and the room felt spacious and bright because of it.

Yan Sishi’s seat was in the far interior row, third from the last.

He was just in the process of standing up — one hand braced on the desk, the other reaching to push the window open as far as it would go.

Outside stood a tall Chinese honey locust tree. The moment the window swung open, the white pages of a book lifted and turned, and the breeze that swept in seemed soaked through with a cool, living greenness.

Mingzhang Middle School’s uniform was black and white. The summer version was a polo-collar short-sleeve, a somewhat stiff combination of colours and cut — yet worn on him, it had a freshness and ease that no one else could match.

Xia Li’s heart skipped.

She tore her gaze away and walked on quickly, so fast she was nearly running, and only noticed when she reached the staircase.

It wasn’t the first time she had spotted Yan Sishi from a distance. He had been at school for several days now.

During the second-period break, everyone except the third-years had to go outside for morning exercises — and the international class had no exemption.

On one occasion she had finished class just in time and was heading downstairs with Lin Qingxiao and the others. At the landing between the stairs, she happened to spot Yan Sishi stepping out through the exit at the very bottom.

Several people had gathered near him, yet his back somehow gave off an air of solitude.

But chances of running into him during morning exercises weren’t frequent, since Class Seven was on the third floor — by the time they made it downstairs, the students from the first floor were long since lined up on the sports ground.

During exercises, Class Seven and Class Twenty were not positioned near each other either. Whenever Xia Li let her gaze drift toward Class Twenty’s direction, all she saw was a sea of heads.

Then there was the time during PE.

PE lessons at Mingzhong were all fairly low-key. After a group lap of the track, everyone was free to do as they liked.

She had been hiding in the shade of a camphor tree by the basketball court with a few other girls to escape the heat, when she heard someone exclaim under their breath: “Yan Sishi!”

Everyone turned at once.

The tree-lined path beside the sports field fence was the route from the classrooms to the canteen and snack stall.

Yan Sishi was walking along it, a bottle of mineral water in hand.

Beside him was a boy wearing black-framed glasses, who was saying something to him. Yan Sishi would occasionally nod or reply.

No matter how many times she saw him, Xia Li found herself silently marvelling.

His skin was genuinely pale — the entire person as clean and clear as frost or snow.

And now, in this moment, Xia Li was glad she had volunteered to be the geography class representative.

Her small act of courage had received immediate reward.

From then on, whenever she walked back and forth between the teaching building and the admin building, she would often think:

I have a secret now.

Back in the classroom, Xia Li divided the practice papers into four groups by number, handed them to the first student in each row to be passed along, then picked up a piece of white chalk and wrote in her neat, graceful hand in the designated homework area to the right of the blackboard beneath the timetable: “Geography test papers — reviewed during Friday evening self-study.”

She clapped the chalk dust off her hands and went back to her seat.

“Geography class rep,” someone called from the back row.

Xia Li turned around.

Xiao Yulong smiled. “My birthday is Saturday. I’m taking people to a KTV — want to come?”

In a small city where entertainment options were limited, KTV was the most universal choice.

Xia Li was mildly surprised. She and Xiao Yulong were barely even acquaintances.

“Who else is going?” she asked.

“The class monitor, the labour committee rep…”

“Is this a committee bonding session?”

Xiao Yulong laughed. “I’ve invited quite a few people — oh, you’re close with Xu Ning and Lin Qingxiao, right? They’re going too.”

With that, Xia Li stopped hesitating. “Alright, I’ll come then.”

In Year Two, the experimental class had only one and a half days off per week. Sunday afternoon they had to be back at school for lessons, so Saturday was the one real day they could let themselves enjoy.

Xia Li’s family home was in the development zone, far from the school. Evening self-study didn’t end until ten-thirty, and with her parents often staying at the factory, they didn’t feel comfortable letting her commute. Xia Li had been a boarder for the first semester of Year One, but Mingzhong’s dormitory conditions, to put it plainly, were difficult: eight to a room, shared bathrooms, three toilet stalls for half a floor, and a strictly rationed window for washing up each morning that felt more like a battle.

All of that Xia Li could cope with.

The one thing she couldn’t was being a light sleeper — the slightest sound would wake her.

One of her dormitory roommates snored with a volume that shook the ceiling. Xia Li had no choice but to wear earplugs every night to sleep. After prolonged use her ears ached, she developed tinnitus, and then came a bout of otitis externa.

Eventually she had no choice but to mention it to her parents.

Jiang Hong was annoyed she hadn’t said something sooner. With so little time to rest each day, how could her body hold out if even that little rest was disrupted?

After asking around, she learned that near the school there were apartments specifically rented to students. “Apartment” was perhaps too grand a word — it was really a retired teacher who had partitioned an old house into shared rooms. Each room was extremely small, barely enough for a single 1.2-metre bed and a study desk. But the common living room, washing machine, and hot water were available around the clock.

The smallest room rented for two hundred and thirty yuan a month.

In 2008, two thousand seven hundred and sixty yuan a year — for Xia Li’s family, it was a not-inconsiderable additional expense.

But Jiang Hong persuaded Xia Jianyang, and in the end they rented a room for Xia Li.

Xia Li had never once resented her ordinary background.

She knew her parents were already doing everything within their power to give her the best possible conditions.

Living in the student apartment gave her considerably more freedom than the dormitory.

Every Friday, Xia Li would call Jiang Hong. If her parents weren’t going home that weekend, she wouldn’t go back either.

On Saturday afternoon, before going to the KTV, Xia Li stopped by the bookshop.

She was going to Xiao Yulong’s birthday and couldn’t very well arrive empty-handed.

But she barely knew him, and had no idea what to get. After thinking it over, she concluded that a book was the safest option.

A bookshop called Yangfeng Books on Yangfeng Road, one intersection from the school, had a good selection. Xia Li went there often.

She did a circuit of the shop and eventually stopped in front of the Chinese Literature shelves. She picked out Liang Shiqiu’s Elegance in a Humble Dwelling — a choice that couldn’t go wrong.

On her way out, she noticed a book by Bai Xianyong on the upper shelf. She stood on her toes and pulled it out by the spine.

It was still shrink-wrapped, so she couldn’t see the contents.

She was standing there reading the text on the back cover when she heard footsteps approaching from nearby and instinctively shifted aside to make room.

A moment passed. Then a clear, quiet voice fell just above her. “Hello.”

Xia Li’s lashes flickered. She turned sharply.

Not in school uniform today, the young man wore a loose white T-shirt. A single strap of his black backpack hung from one shoulder, and a white earphone cord trailed from the side pocket of the bag.

He had only one earphone in. The other was held in his hand, as though he had just taken it out.

Xia Li’s breath stopped for an instant. “…Hello.”

“…You’re here to buy books.” She felt her language centre had already given up — why else would she say something so idiotic? What else would anyone do at a bookshop?

Yan Sishi gave a quiet sound of affirmation.

Xia Li desperately didn’t want the conversation to fall flat. She latched onto anything, just to squeeze out a few more words: “…You transferred to our school, right? I think I saw you during morning exercises one day.”

Yan Sishi glanced at her. “You’re at Mingzhong?”

“Yes. Class Seven.”

“Class Twenty.”

I know. Xia Li said it in her heart.

“Thank you for the other time,” Yan Sishi said.

Xia Li shook her head. “…I was glad to help.”

“I’m Yan Sishi. I still don’t know your name.”

“Xia Li. Xia as in summer, Li as in the Lijiang River.”

Yan Sishi gave a small nod. His gaze rested briefly on the book in her hands, then he asked, “Are there any other bookshops nearby?”

“There’s a Xinhua Bookshop on Tianxing Street. What kind of book are you looking for?”

“Manga. This shop doesn’t seem to have any.”

Xia Li felt a weightless dizziness, and in that moment she was profoundly grateful to Xu Ning for having turned her into a half-decent two-dimensional-world devotee.

“There is one, at the corner ahead…” She stopped herself, then continued, “The shop is quite small and hard to find. Shall I take you there?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all… then wait a moment while I pay.”

Xia Li took both books to the counter, paid, and found that Yan Sishi had already stepped out of the shop.

He stood at the doorway. The setting sun gilded the outline of his figure with a fine thread of light, thin as a cicada’s wing.

Xia Li tucked her books into her backpack, took the three steps down off the entrance in one stride. “Ready to go.”

God only knew how much effort it took to appear as though she were simply wandering along with nothing on her mind. Her heart was beating harder than it did at the end of an eight-hundred-metre run; even the breathlessness was the same.

Yan Sishi nodded, then paused. He took out the other earphone too, pulled a silver iPod from the side pocket of his bag, wound the earphone cord neatly around it, and slipped it into his trouser pocket.

Xia Li walked with both hands resting lightly on her bag straps, stealing glances at Yan Sishi only through her peripheral vision.

She didn’t know what to say. Asking why he had transferred from Beicheng felt far too abrupt.

She could sense that Yan Sishi was not someone easy to get close to.

Though he didn’t exactly brush people off — he’d handled even the awkwardness with Luo Weiguo with a kind of courteous composure.

His courtesy, she realised, was actually a reflection of his attitude: the same even-handed warmth concealed the same even-handed distance.

In the silence, they had already arrived at the corner ahead.

Rounding the bend, a fragrance wafted over. Xia Li’s feet slowed on their own.

In front of a cylindrical grill, a woman in a red cloth mask worked a pair of tongs with efficient, practised movements, pulling out corn cobs with their leaves still attached one by one. Beside her — probably her husband — wore thick gloves, peeled away the husks in a few quick pulls, slipped each cob into a bag, and handed it to a customer.

The stall was small but the queue was long. A biscuit tin stuffed full of small-denomination notes and coins sat nearby; customers paid and found their own change in a self-serve system.

Xia Li pointed at the corn stall. “Their corn is really delicious… you should try it sometime.”

The moment it came out she felt a pang of doubt.

She couldn’t quite picture someone like him gnawing on an ear of corn.

But Yan Sishi said, “When I get the chance.”

Flat-toned as ever, but he’d said it.

They turned into a narrow lane. On both sides, tall wutong trees cast a deep, layered shade across the ground.

Shops of every kind lined the street in a close, cheerful row — selling practically everything imaginable.

The bookshop was wedged in among them, its worn sign reading “Shangzhi Books” in four characters. Easy to walk right past.

The shop was probably only ten square metres at most. It was so cramped that turning around was difficult, and when the shelves ran out of room, books were simply stacked in tied bundles on the floor — casually, as though sold by the kilo at a salvage yard. But rummage through them and everything was a treasure.

Obscure genres not found at the Xinhua Bookshop, the Yangfeng Bookshop, or the newsstand near school — science fiction, manga, mystery, and more — were all here.

Foot traffic was sparse. The place felt more like a secret hideout for devotees of a niche taste, known only to those who already knew.

The shop’s owner was a woman with a permanently stern expression who never spoke to customers unprompted — she sat behind the single narrow counter and read her own book.

Xia Li took it upon herself to play host, lowering her voice to tell Yan Sishi: “They have all the popular manga… and the obscure ones too, in the back rows — you have to look for those yourself.”

Yan Sishi nodded. “Thank you. I’ll have a look.”

The shop had a faint smell of dust mixed with printer’s ink — like sitting by a window on a rainy afternoon writing in a diary and knocking over a bottle of carbon-black ink.

Xia Li didn’t follow Yan Sishi down the aisles. That would have been impolite, like a sales assistant trailing a customer. She stood in front of a shelf of her own and began browsing.

She heard his footsteps circle around the shelf into the other side.

The sound of a book being slid out. Pages turning with a faint, whispering rustle — like a dragonfly’s wings.

Those small, delicate sounds made Xia Li afraid to breathe too loudly.

The evening sun outside had tilted further and fallen behind the buildings across the street. The light dimmed in what felt like a single instant, and the interior of the shop went shadowy and still.

In this moment, Xia Li felt the world had gone very quiet.

The footsteps drew near, then retreated. Ten or so minutes later, Yan Sishi had made his selections and emerged from behind the shelves.

Xia Li looked at what he was holding.

The complete single-volume edition of Mushishi.

“Do you follow manga?” Xia Li asked.

“I read it occasionally. A friend recommended it — something to pass the time.”

“Mushishi really is good.”

“Then I’ll be sure to read it all the way through.”

Yan Sishi laid the complete set on the counter and scanned the magazine rack by the door. He picked up the latest issue of Film Review and PC Software & Hardware on a whim and set those on the counter too.

Xia Li felt a little burst of delight, like scratching a lottery ticket and winning: Film Review was her favourite monthly read, the one she never missed.

Yan Sishi laid both magazines on the counter, glanced at what she was holding in her hands, and said: “Let me pay for it all together.”

Xia Li took this entirely at face value and simply passed over the new volume of Soul Eater she was holding.

The shop owner’s auntie punched it all into the calculator, rounded down a little at the end.

Yan Sishi paid, took the change, and handed Xia Li her book.

The two of them walked out together. Xia Li swung her bag around to the front and unzipped it, slipped the manga inside, then took out her wallet and pulled out a ten-yuan note to hand to Yan Sishi.

Yan Sishi stopped briefly, a small flash of surprise. “I meant I’d pay for yours as well. To thank you for bringing me here.”

“I… only did what anyone would,” Xia Li stumbled slightly.

“Keep it.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, and didn’t argue. She tucked the ten yuan away.

It was her own selfish wish, she admitted it — at least she now had something in her possession that had passed through Yan Sishi’s hands. A “gift” from him.

A Nokia ringtone sounded.

Yan Sishi slid his manga into his bag, took out his phone, and stepped slightly to one side. After picking up, he glanced at the street sign ahead and read out the address for whoever was on the other end.

When he hung up, he looked at Xia Li. “I’m waiting here for a car. Can I drop you somewhere?”

Xia Li believed that he would have offered the same polite, passing question to any classmate from Class Twenty. She had no intention of taking advantage of a courtesy rooted in nothing more than good manners, or making things inconvenient for him.

“No need. I arranged to meet a friend on Tianxing Street — it’s just nearby.”

Yan Sishi said nothing more.

“Then I’ll head off,” Xia Li said. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

Xia Li turned and walked away, and only allowed herself to look back when she reached the mouth of the alley.

The young man had put his earphones in. He stood under a tree, head slightly bowed, waiting for his car.

A breeze passed through. The sky had gone completely dark. The streetlights lit up behind him.