“When you look at me, the moon swallows the clouds, the mountains are draped in mist, and a lone boat capsizes in the sea. The entire world is thrown into chaos.”

— Sherry Lab, The Ninth Year Through the Dream

April at Mingzhang Middle School brought a major occasion: the school’s centennial anniversary.

The school treated it with the utmost gravity, planning to invite several distinguished alumni back to attend. Word had it that among them was a young actor who had come out of the art program a few years prior.

In truth, none of this had much to do with the ordinary students.

Based on past experience with this kind of school-wide event, they were mostly there to do the grunt work: a whole-school clean-up, moving chairs and setting up the venue, standing in the blistering wind or blazing sun as background props while the leaders gave their speeches.

The art students, however, had their hands full — they needed to prepare performances for the evening gala.

At breakfast, Ouyang Jing came over from her class to visit Class Seven, venting to Lin Qingxiao and Xia Li. She said that normally the school treated the art students like a corrupting flood of moral degeneracy, yet the moment an event came around, they had no qualms about putting them to use.

“We dance students have to rehearse a piece together,” said Ouyang Jing, who was usually gentle-natured — she was practically rolling her eyes. “The requirement is dignified and grand, and it must embody the spirit of Mingzhong’s hundred-year legacy.”

“Oh, by the way — did you two know that Tao Shiyue is going to speak as a student representative?” Ouyang Jing added.

“No,” she continued. “Literature, science, and international tracks each put forward one person. Apparently, Yan Sishi was originally chosen as the international track’s representative, but he refused, so Tao Shiyue got to step in instead.”

“…Didn’t you say you’d already let him go? You’re still paying this much attention to him.” Lin Qingxiao went straight to the point.

“Oh, come on.” Ouyang Jing smiled sheepishly. “It takes time.”

“Which is exactly what I mean,” Ouyang Jing shrugged. “Honorable tasks like being a student representative are nothing to do with us — we’re only good enough to put on a performance.”

That day was Friday. It was the Qingming Festival holiday, so there was no evening study session.

The final class ended, and within a quarter of an hour, more than half the campus had emptied out.

Xia Li couldn’t leave yet — today was her turn for duty.

As luck would have it, she was on duty with Xiao Yulong again this semester, and they were responsible for the outdoor areas.

Last semester, because of her work as head of the broadcasting station, she had always had to trouble Xiao Yulong to cover her duties. Now that she had stepped down, she had more free time during dinner and activity hours.

But correspondingly, her chances of passing by Class Twenty had decreased.

Without a shared activity like rehearsing for the school play to serve as a pretext, Xia Li had precious few opportunities to get close to Yan Sishi.

At most, she’d sometimes run into him in the corridor or on the way to the cafeteria and exchange a greeting — though at the very least, she could now greet him casually whenever she pleased.

At times like these, she envied students at other high schools, with their choral competitions, cultural festivals, drama festivals — all kinds of events in full bloom.

With the centennial anniversary approaching, the school was clamping down hard on hygiene inspections, especially in public areas. A scrap of litter discovered in some corner or nook would cost points and affect the monthly “Civilized Class” selection.

The flag for Civilized Class had been hanging in Class Seven ever since the second year of high school, and it had never been taken down.

Old Zhuang cared deeply about appearances and carried the pride of an experimental class homeroom teacher — at a time like this, he wouldn’t allow anyone to drop the ball.

Usually, a cursory sweep was good enough to get by with. Now, it wasn’t.

By the time she and Xiao Yulong had combed through the public area assigned to Class Seven as thoroughly as ploughing a field, half an hour had passed.

The sky was darkening. Rose-colored wisps of haze and cloud were scattered across the heavens.

The campus had fallen quiet. Occasionally, a distant peal of laughter drifted over, or the thud-thud-thud of a basketball hitting the ground from the court — and in the air, the scent of the rubber track baked all day in sunlight.

Xiao Yulong said, “I’ll go empty the trash. Can you take the brooms and dustpans back to the classroom?”

Xia Li said, “OK.”

They had always divided the work this way.

Xia Li picked up the cleaning tools and headed toward the teaching building. As she passed the basketball court, her footsteps faltered —

On the half of the court nearest the edge, two people were playing: Yan Sishi and Wang Chen.

So that was where the thud-thud-thud had been coming from.

The two of them were not playing one-on-one. Xia Li didn’t know much about basketball, but even after watching for a moment she could tell that Yan Sishi seemed to be teaching Wang Chen how to play tight-body defense — she didn’t know the basketball terminology, but that was roughly the idea.

It was hard to imagine that someone like Wang Chen would have any interest in basketball. His movements were clumsy enough to be a little funny, but he was learning with great earnestness.

As for Yan Sishi — he didn’t seem to mind in the least that his partner was hopeless. Even though he could break through Wang Chen’s defensive line and steal the ball in under three seconds every single time, he would still toss it back and say, “Again!”

Yan Sishi was wearing a loose white short-sleeved T-shirt — not a proper basketball jersey, probably a spur-of-the-moment choice.

Xia Li had already witnessed his athletic ability at last year’s sports meet, and he was no less difficult to take her eyes off now.

The way he leaped and ran was as light and nimble as a white crane spreading its wings to glide across water.

She watched and lost track of time — until Wang Chen dribbled past and, just before Yan Sishi could intercept, jumped up and flung the ball at the basket.

The ball missed by a country mile. It scraped off the backboard and flew far, heading straight toward her.

Frightened, she jerked her head aside to dodge.

The ball grazed past her ear, landed, bounced.

On the court, Yan Sishi and Wang Chen both looked over at the same moment.

Yan Sishi reacted first, with Wang Chen close behind. The two of them ran over to her in a few strides.

“Did it hit you?” Yan Sishi lowered his head, looking at her as he asked.

Xia Li was still holding the broom and dustpan. She didn’t even dare imagine how foolish she must look right now.

At this close a distance, she could feel the warm, slightly stirred heat radiating from Yan Sishi after his exertion. It made it difficult to think. “…No, it didn’t hit me.”

Wang Chen clapped a hand to his chest dramatically. “Thank goodness. I figured — I’m not that accurate.”

“…” Xia Li didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

She was so regretful. Why had she dodged — and dodged with such swift precision at that?

She should have just let the ball hit her. It probably wouldn’t have hurt that much, anyway.

Wasn’t that how idol dramas always went — a nosebleed or a mild concussion, a trip to the infirmary, and from there the story would unfold. It had happened to other girls before.

It seemed, truly, that she was not the female lead of any story.

Yan Sishi held his gaze on her for two more seconds, as if confirming she really hadn’t been hit, and only then stepped back slightly.

Wang Chen jogged off to retrieve the ball.

Xia Li asked Yan Sishi, “Why is it just the two of you playing?”

“Wang Chen said he wanted to learn. We’re just messing around.”

He had a faint sheen of sweat on his fair skin, and the hair at his forehead was damp with it, slightly moist.

Xia Li found it somewhat hard to breathe. She only dared look up at him for a second before dropping her gaze.

Just then, a voice rang out from above: “Xia Li!”

Xia Li turned. Xiao Yulong had both arms propped on the railing of the third-floor corridor, looking down at them.

Xiao Yulong called down with a smile, “Hurry and bring those things up! They’re going to lock the doors!”

“Coming right now!”

Wang Chen retrieved the ball and walked back over. He glanced up at the clock on the clock tower, then asked Xia Li, “Have you had dinner yet?”

“No.”

“Then let me treat you.”

“You don’t have to — it didn’t even hit me.”

“Even so, you were startled.”

“Really, you don’t need to.” Xia Li smiled. “I still have to go back to the classroom to pack up my things. You two continue.”

But Wang Chen was having none of it. “Then I’ll buy you a drink. We’re done playing anyway. You go first, and we’ll meet at the first-floor entrance.”

Xia Li didn’t refuse again — naturally, because it meant she could spend a little more time with Yan Sishi.

She put away the broom and dustpan, then went to the bathroom to wash her hands and face.

Back in the classroom, she began packing up her things.

Since it was a holiday and she’d be going home, she needed to make sure she had everything. Mindful of the two waiting downstairs, afraid they might lose patience if she kept them too long, she was unusually hurried and flustered.

She and Xiao Yulong were the only ones left in the classroom. He was also packing up.

When she finished, he was done too.

He stood at the classroom door and waited for her to walk over before turning off the lights.

After locking the door, the two of them went downstairs together.

Xiao Yulong asked with a smile, “Want to go to Tianxing Street for dinner together?”

“I need to stop by my place first to grab a few things, then catch the bus home. Next time.”

“You live in the development zone, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s pretty far.”

“Yeah.”

Talking as they went, they reached the first floor.

At the exit, Wang Chen and Yan Sishi were waiting.

Xiao Yulong called a greeting to them.

Wang Chen looked a little blank.

Xia Li prompted, “He played Yang Hucheng.”

Wang Chen: “Oh! Oh! Right!”

As they spoke, Xia Li stole a glance at Yan Sishi without making it obvious.

She noticed that the hair at his forehead was a touch more damp than before — he’d probably just washed his face. His features had a kind of washed-clean, restrained clarity.

The four of them walked out together: Wang Chen and Yan Sishi in front, Xia Li and Xiao Yulong behind.

Xia Li couldn’t remember what she and Xiao Yulong talked about along the way. Her mind wasn’t really there the whole time — she was focused only on Yan Sishi ahead.

The two of them seemed to be talking about the SAT exam.

Yan Sishi wore only one strap of his backpack, his jacket not on but carried in his hand. His loose white T-shirt billowed slightly in the dusk wind, and when the wind died down, it settled back against his shoulders and traced the distinct outline of his shoulder blades against his straight back.

They soon reached the school gate. Wang Chen led the way and stopped at the drinks cooler outside the stationery shop.

“What do you want to drink?” Wang Chen asked Xia Li.

“Green tea.”

“Master Kong or Uni-President?”

“Uni-President.”

Wang Chen pulled open the cooler door and rummaged around inside.

Yan Sishi glanced in, reached out, and smoothly lifted out a bottle of Uni-President green tea.

He turned slightly and held it out to Xia Li, who was standing beside him.

From his forearm to his wrist, the line of his arm was lean and taut, and the long fingers gripping the plastic bottle were lightly dusted with cold condensation.

“…Thank you.” Xia Li took it.

Her fingers closed around the spot where his had been, pressing in slightly.

The bottle was ice-cold, yet the tips of her fingers felt like they were burning. That fluttering sensation was like spring coming alive inside her — orioles in flight, grass running long.

Xiao Yulong and Yan Sishi each picked up a drink for themselves, and Wang Chen paid for Xia Li’s bottle.

Xiao Yulong asked with a smile, “Are you two heading somewhere else? Going home?”

Xia Li said, “I’m going to my place.”

Wang Chen said, “Yan Sishi and I are going to Shangzhi Bookshop to pick up a couple of science fiction novels.”

Xiao Yulong: “Shangzhi Bookshop? Never heard of it.”

“It’s a small place — not easy to find. Do you want to come along?”

“I’ll pass. I still haven’t finished reading the books I got for my birthday last year.” Xiao Yulong smiled and touched the tip of his nose, casting a glance at Xia Li.

And Xia Li, the moment she heard Wang Chen say “Shangzhi Bookshop,” looked instinctively toward Yan Sishi.

Yan Sishi looked back at her — as if he understood perfectly what that glance meant. He tilted his head slightly lower, and his voice dropped with it: “Do you mind sharing it with someone?”

Xia Li shook her head. “…If it’s Wang Chen, I don’t mind. Someone else…”

Someone else…

She imagined for a moment — what if “someone else” were Tao Shiyue…

She couldn’t picture it. Not Tao Shiyue, or any other person she barely knew. Just imagining it felt like something twisting painfully in her chest.

The sky was deepening into dusk, a dark blue. She looked up at him for a moment, then quickly looked away.

Her confidence faltered.

It was just a bookshop that anyone could visit, as long as they knew where to find it. It wasn’t privately hers.

And yet — Yan Sishi nodded. His voice dropped lower still, like a faint coolness touched by the thin mist of the coming evening, and he made her a promise: “Then I won’t tell anyone else.”