“December 21, 2012 — the supposed end of the world. That day I was in an all-night café, pulling an all-nighter to finish a research assignment. As midnight counted down, I stared into space for a while, because I thought of young Y: Hey. Look — the end of the world never came.”

— Sherry Lab, The Ninth Year Past the Dream

The tears that had been startled back by the sudden footsteps now seemed to well up again. How could it be — his voice was cold, yet his tone was this gentle.

But she was already enough of a mess. She couldn’t keep crying in front of someone she liked.

“Mm…” She held it back, and held it back again. It took a moment before she found her voice, cleared her throat, and chose the least catastrophic of the reasons available. “…The math exam went terribly.”

“…Mm.” Yan Sishi adopted a contemplative tone. “That would indeed be a score I’ve never received.”

Only he could say something like that without it coming across as conceited or boastful.

A breeze drifted in. The smoke from the cigarette between Yan Sishi’s fingers was scattered by it, and the ember briefly glowed brighter.

The classroom smelled of dust, the kind that made a place feel abandoned for a long, long time.

“You seem like you’re in a bad mood too,” Xia Li said, watching that small point of light — it felt like her own heart, resting in his hand, blinking between dim and bright.

Yan Sishi’s tone was flat. “I took a call I didn’t want to take.”

He always had his private boundaries, that impenetrable reticence. And Xia Li would never touch them.

The bell in the clock tower rarely rang when you were inside the building. When it did, the whole structure seemed to tremble faintly — something vast and resonant about it.

Yan Sishi asked, “Not going back for evening self-study?”

“I don’t want to go back.”

“Then go out?”

“…Hm?”

“Get something to drink.”

Coming from the mouth of an honor student like Yan Sishi, even skipping class sounded like something completely reasonable — even romantic.

“Sure.” She said it as if it were nothing.

But her heart was trembling.

How could she possibly refuse — the chance to become his accomplice.

Xia Li took out her phone from her outer jacket pocket and asked Yan Sishi to wait a moment while she called her homeroom teacher to request leave.

The moment the call connected, another gust of wind poured in. She reached up to cover her other ear, afraid she wouldn’t be able to hear.

And Yan Sishi took one step toward the window, snuffed out the barely-smoked cigarette, and then closed the window with one hand. It hadn’t been opened and closed in a long time — it made a dull, reluctant groaning sound.

With the wind cut off, in the sudden quiet, Xia Li could hear the slight tremor in her own voice.

She told Old Zhuang she wasn’t feeling well and would need to come in late to evening self-study.

With the earlier signed leave slip as groundwork, Old Zhuang didn’t suspect anything. He told her to rest properly.

Girls in the arts class were the majority, and as a homeroom teacher, Old Zhuang had seen this kind of excuse more than enough times. He generally allowed it.

After ending the call, Xia Li looked at Yan Sishi. “…Let’s go.”

Yan Sishi nodded.

The two of them left the clock tower and walked toward the school gate together.

When Xia Li had left through the gate earlier, she’d had a leave slip signed by Old Zhuang.

At the time, people had been coming and going, and the security guard hadn’t checked very carefully — he’d glanced at it and let her through without taking it, so Xia Li had absentmindedly pocketed it again.

No one could have predicted it would come in useful a second time.

As for Yan Sishi, the international class’s ID passes were a different color from the other classes — recognizable at a glance.

Leaving turned out to be far smoother than Xia Li had imagined.

She took a deep breath. The air outside the school gate flowed into her lungs — fresh and sharp.

She made a quiet decision: tonight, she would set her guilt aside entirely.

When she got back, she would go back to being the diligent student, the obedient daughter, grinding away at her books.

Nobody asked what they wanted to drink. Without any discussion, they both naturally turned in the direction of Tianxing Street.

Xia Li’s hands were tucked in her school jacket pockets. She hunched her neck slightly against the cold wind, and amid the sound of it, tried to pick out their footsteps — hers lighter, his heavier.

They passed the stationery shop near the gate with its bright lights. Xia Li said, “You’re all starting to apply to schools overseas, right.”

“Mm.”

“When would you get an offer?”

“Before March or June.”

“Have you decided where you want to go?” Xia Li kept her eyes fixed on the ground as she asked this. She didn’t dare look at Yan Sishi. She’d chosen her tone carefully, trying to make it sound like nothing more than casual small talk between ordinary classmates or friends.

“I’ve applied to several places. Whichever one accepts me is where I’ll go. If none of them do, I’ll take the gaokao.”

Xia Li smiled. “You’ll definitely be fine — please don’t compete with us for the few spots on that single-log bridge.”

As she said it, she couldn’t help thinking: if the gaokao was thousands of soldiers fighting for a spot on a single-log bridge, then wasn’t getting closer to Yan Sishi much the same?

Yan Sishi said, “I’ll take your good wishes.”

In the dim amber light of a street lamp, Xia Li stole a glance at Yan Sishi. She hadn’t missed the moment his lips curved in a quiet smile.

Her heart gave a restless, half-tickling flutter — like the wind scattering a dandelion.

When they turned at the intersection ahead, the wind came rushing straight at them, overwhelming and full-force.

Xia Li couldn’t hold it back — she turned her head away and let out a loud, resounding sneeze.

“Cold?”

Before she could answer, in the next instant, Yan Sishi had already taken off his jacket and was holding it out to her.

She refused it, insisting quickly, “I’m not cold—”

Yan Sishi simply tossed the jacket straight over the top of her head.

It was an autumn-weight gray athletic jacket, the fabric somewhat heavy. The moment it fell, she reflexively shut her eyes. She inhaled the clean, cool scent — like a winter’s day — and last year’s sports meet replayed in her mind.

When she opened her eyes, Yan Sishi was left in only a white hooded sweatshirt.

“Won’t you be cold without your jacket?” Xia Li asked, taking a quiet, deep breath before she could get any words out.

Yan Sishi shook his head. “Keep it on. Don’t get sick.”

“…Thank you.” And so she stopped protesting and put it on.

Even worn over her school jacket, it was much too large, enveloping her entirely.

She tucked her hands into the pockets. They still seemed to hold warmth from Yan Sishi — her fingers touched the shape of the lighter inside, and she curled them around it, holding on.

Turn right, cross a footbridge — the Tianxing Street entrance was right there.

The night market had opened up: cheap clothes, scattered trinkets, little strands of colorful bulbs hung from the stalls, and once lit, they gave the street a shimmer it never had in daylight.

In the midst of all that noise, they stopped talking. They walked in silence all the way to the entrance of the bubble tea shop.

“What do you want?” Yan Sishi looked up at the menu board.

Xia Li considered for a moment. “Red bean milk tea, I think.”

They’d walked quite a way, and she wasn’t really cold at all — wearing the extra jacket, she was even a little warm.

But when she was in low spirits, she needed something hot and sweet.

Yan Sishi ordered a frozen lemon soda for himself.

They took their drinks and continued down Tianxing Street, then turned at the intersection ahead and ducked into a smaller lane — still a pedestrian street, but narrower, selling more eclectic things. Fewer people, giving it a sense of quiet carved out of the noise.

They were passing a music and media shop when Xia Li slowed.

A topic came to mind suddenly. She turned to Yan Sishi. “Have you seen the new film 2012? It just came out.”

“Wang Chen was watching it and I caught a few minutes of it.”

“Do you believe 2012 will actually be the end of the world?”

Yan Sishi was quiet.

Xia Li looked over at him. The music shop’s neon sign blinked out a drifting electric blue and fell across his face. His eyes were cast downward, his gaze half-hidden in a faint shadow — deep and unreadable.

“I hope so,” Yan Sishi said.

The tone was so flat she could detect a thread of weariness in it.

I hope so.

What kind of answer was that.

She didn’t know why, but her heart suddenly felt like a wet paper ball — crumpled, wrinkled, and damp.

It seemed as though this person — this person whom everyone around them saw as something like light itself, someone born to be envied — was not quite what everyone assumed. Not quite so worthy of envy at all.

Xia Li felt as though she had chosen a very poor topic of conversation.

She took a sip of her red bean milk tea. The warm, sweet thickness clung to the back of her throat, and even that had turned faintly bitter.

She sat with a light, quiet guilt.

After they’d walked in silence for a little while, it was Yan Sishi who picked up the thread again — he asked her, “And you? Do you believe it?”

Xia Li shook her head. “The world has already ‘ended’ countless times according to Mayan prophecies. Though — back when I watched The Bucket List, I wrote out my own bucket list too. If 2012 really is the end of the world, maybe it’s a good time to decide to finish what you’ve always wanted to do.”

Yan Sishi glanced down at her. “And your wishes are?”

“Haven’t figured them out yet.”

The moment she said it, her face suddenly flamed.

Because it hit her all at once: if the world were ending, there was one thing she absolutely had to do first — confess to Yan Sishi.

Ideally, she’d know the exact moment the world was going to end, and she’d wait until the final three seconds to tell him — that way she wouldn’t have to face his response.

“…What about you?” Xia Li asked.

Yan Sishi said, “I don’t have any wishes.”

Xia Li was slightly taken aback. “Nothing at all? Nothing you feel you absolutely have to do?”

Yan Sishi’s expression and voice were both utterly calm. “My wishes don’t move according to my will.”

The atmosphere seemed to sink a little lower.

Xia Li bit lightly on her straw, at a loss for what to say. It really was her fault — she shouldn’t have brought this topic up at all.

She didn’t dare say anything rash. She fell silent for a while, and gradually, without noticing, they arrived at a crossroads.

If they kept going straight, the next small lane was where Shangzhi Bookstore was.

Xia Li quickly asked, “Want to go pick out a couple of books?”

Yan Sishi nodded.

There were no other customers in the bookstore. The owner, an older woman, was quietly reading on her own.

They browsed in that palm-sized space, each searching through the shelves the way you’d mine a mountain — picking out whatever treasure appealed most to you.

Outside, a car would occasionally go by with a whooshing sound. Apart from that, it was utterly still.

Xia Li would steal a glance every now and then, looking past the shelves to Yan Sishi on the other side — standing in the pale light, quiet and solitary, head bowed, carefully reading the text on a book’s band.

No exams, no review sessions, no pressure of senior year, no chaos waiting for her at home…

In this tiny world right now — only her and him.

And then a sudden, quiet sadness came over her, because she realized she had become a little greedy.

How could she dare be greedy.

She was the most practical-minded person she knew. How could she, at a moment like this, fantasize about being able to catch the wind — about being able to hold the moonlight?

Time passed without either of them noticing.

It was the bookstore owner’s phone that broke the spell — the ringtone cut abruptly through the silence, and Xia Li snapped back to the present.

She took out her phone to check the time. It was already past nine.

“I think we should probably head back,” Xia Li said softly.

“All right. Let’s go.”

They brought the books they’d chosen to the counter and paid.

Walking out of the bookstore, Xia Li asked Yan Sishi whether he was going back to the classroom.

Yan Sishi said, “Not going back.”

Xia Li quickly started to take off his jacket.

Yan Sishi asked, “You live near the school?”

The question was less of a question and more of a confirmation — he’d sent her home in his family’s car once before.

Xia Li nodded.

“Keep it on for now.”

Xia Li paused mid-motion.

Then Yan Sishi said, “I’ll walk you.”

On the way back, they exchanged a few words about the books they’d each bought.

It felt as though they hadn’t said all that much, really. The short distance seemed to be over almost before it began.

Yan Sishi walked Xia Li to the entrance of Huafeng Supermarket.

When she took off the jacket, it felt as though she hadn’t quite come back to herself yet.

She held it out to him. “Thank you.”

She’d been wearing it for so long, she’d grown accustomed to its warmth. When the wind came now, she felt the cold again.

Yan Sishi took the jacket back. He didn’t put it on — just held it in his hand. “I’m heading off.”

Xia Li, almost involuntarily, made a soft “oh” sound.

Yan Sishi stopped. “Mm?”

“…Are you feeling a bit better?” She lifted her eyes — but didn’t dare meet his directly. Her gaze grazed his face for just a moment, then retreated.

“Mm.”

“That’s good, then.”

Yan Sishi looked at her. He paused, as though he was about to say something more. But at that moment a taxi was pulling past, its green “available” sign lit up.

Yan Sishi raised his hand to flag it, stepped back, and said, “Take care. Get some rest.”

Xia Li lifted a hand. “Bye-bye.”

She stepped back and turned, then couldn’t help glancing back over her shoulder. She saw Yan Sishi pull open the car door and get in. Only then did she look away and walk on.

Around the side of Huafeng Supermarket, to the back of the residential building, through the iron gate — the student apartment.

That stretch of road was quite dim. Good, then — she could take her time arranging her thoughts.

Through the iron gate, Xia Li stamped her foot. The motion-sensor light didn’t come on.

She leaned back against the wall instead, letting the cold of the concrete seep through.

Her eyes closed. She waited for the thundering of her heartbeat and the tangle of sweetness and ache to slowly settle.

Years later, Xia Li heard a song.

I can follow behind you / like a shadow chasing the light, sleepwalking. That’s how the song went.

Those lyrics always took her straight back to this night of skipped classes.

With time, many of the details dissolved into the haze of memory. But she still remembered the feeling, there in the dark, of falling endlessly:

Wind rushing toward wind. Night fleeing toward night.

I am running toward you.