“‘And summer is so short. But longing lasts so long.'”

— Sherry Lab, The Ninth Year Past the Dream

The Lunar New Year fell late that year in 2010. When they returned to school on the seventh day of the first month, it was already late February.

February 27th marked exactly one hundred days until the gaokao.

The schedule was so compressed that no one had time to readjust after the holiday. They were like a crew of recruits who had trained for only half a year, not yet cleared for inspection — and yet already being bundled headlong onto a ship that was picking up speed, dizzy and disoriented, hurtling toward the finish line.

The school was holding a hundred-day pledge rally. Class Seven also had its own ritual — one that Old Zhuang performed with every senior year cohort he guided:

Old Zhuang had graduated from Beijing Normal University. As a homeroom teacher he was strict and traditional, but as a Chinese teacher, he privately composed imitation classical seven-syllable verse in the style of the Tang dynasty, and kept a blog for it. A person like that was never without a certain romantic sensibility.

Write a letter — to yourself, to family, to a friend. Whoever you chose.

Once finished, the letter was to be sealed and kept by the writer, to be opened only after the gaokao — when scores came out, or whenever that day finally arrived.

Old Zhuang said, “By then, I hope none of you will have reason to be ashamed of what you wrote.”

To enhance the sense of ceremony, Old Zhuang provided the paper and envelopes — white stationery with blue lines, and the name and crest of Mingzhang High School printed at the top center.

Once the stationery had been passed around, the classroom fell quiet. Only the rustling of paper and the soft scraping of pens against the surface could be heard.

After a while, somewhere in that sound came the low, muffled sound of someone crying.

Xia Li had just been assigned to a window seat in the new semester’s seating arrangement.

Now she sat with her chin resting in her hand, looking out at the basketball court, letting her thoughts drift as she figured out what to write.

We’ve known each other for almost two years now. I hope when you open this letter, you won’t be too surprised.

From the moment she wrote the first word, the thoughts came without stopping.

She had so much she wanted to say to him.

Every time she’d seen him from afar, every chance encounter, every moment they had spent together — all the thoughts that had wound and unwound inside her — she wanted to tell him all of it.

She didn’t know if she was the only person writing a love letter on such serious, official stationery.

When she finished, Xia Li folded the letter in thirds and slipped it into the envelope, sealing the flap with a glue stick.

On the front of the envelope, she wrote: For Yan Sishi’s eyes only.

She decided that after the gaokao, she would hand this letter to Yan Sishi in person.

The hundred-day pledge rally was taken very seriously by the school. The grand auditorium — reserved for major events — was opened for the occasion.

The entire senior class assembled there. Teachers, parents, and student representatives gave speeches in turn. Then everyone recited the pledge together. Many students, swept up by the atmosphere, grew emotional and passionate, some even moved to tears.

Xia Li was standing in the same row as Xu Ning.

Xu Ning tugged at Xia Li’s sleeve when no one was looking, leaning in to whisper, “Am I the only one who finds this a little awkward? I’m getting goosebumps.”

Xia Li whispered back, “Honestly, same…”

“Does it remind you of… Li Yang’s Crazy English?”

Xia Li nearly laughed out loud.

That had been in the second semester of first year. Li Yang had come to the school to sell a course. The entire first year was seated on the sports field under the blazing sun, listening to Candlelight for Mom playing over the speakers, crying their hearts out.

Xia Li had been sitting in the same row as Xu Ning then too.

After the rally, the classes dispersed from the auditorium one by one.

The auditorium was close to the cafeteria, and there was still a little time before the next period, so the three of them decided to stop by the snack shop.

Class Seven had left relatively early. Most of the crowd was still behind them.

There were few people at the snack shop at this hour, and so Xia Li spotted Yan Sishi and Wang Chen immediately — they were over by the refrigerator case, grabbing water.

“Hey.” Xia Li greeted them naturally.

Both boys turned around.

Yan Sishi: “Finished already?”

Xia Li: “Mm.”

Lin Qingxiao: “You didn’t go?”

Wang Chen: “We’re not taking the gaokao.”

“…”

The three of them crowded over and picked drinks from the refrigerator.

Yan Sishi, holding a bottle of mineral water, shifted a step to one side to make room.

He glanced briefly at the “Hundred-Day Sprint Planning Booklet” Xia Li was holding. “You’re aiming for Renmin University?”

The planning booklet’s cover had spaces for class, name, and below that, a line for target university.

Xia Li’s ears went warm. “…Mm.”

“Good luck.”

“…Thank you.”

After they’d all picked their drinks, they walked over to the register.

Then Yan Sishi set his bottle of mineral water on the counter and told the cashier, “Put everything together.”

Xia Li blinked.

Lin Qingxiao said, “You’re paying for us?”

Yan Sishi said “mm.”

Lin Qingxiao brightened up. “Oh wow, thank you!”

Wang Chen was displeased. “Why didn’t you say so earlier! I already paid for mine.”

Yan Sishi: “Haven’t I treated you plenty of other times?”

Wang Chen: “…”

The five of them left the cafeteria and headed toward the teaching building together.

On the way, Yan Sishi’s phone rang.

He took it out of his trouser pocket, glanced at it, and said to the group, “You all go ahead. I need to take this.”

Water in one hand, phone in the other, he stepped aside to avoid the stream of people coming the other way, and walked toward the small plaza where a bronze statue of Mingzhong’s first principal stood.

Xia Li’s gaze followed him through the crowd. She saw him stop at the edge of the steps, standing with his back to her, head slightly bowed.

The afternoon sun cast his shadow long across the concrete.

That silhouette looked somehow solitary.

Who was he talking to?

She couldn’t hear.

The noise of the crowd stretched between them.

After that, Xia Li went an entire week without running into Yan Sishi.

At first she didn’t pay much attention — she was too busy keeping her head down over review materials, and during breaks she grabbed what rest she could. She rarely had the energy to stare out the window waiting for Yan Sishi to pass by.

And corridor encounters had never been something that happened on cue.

But one day became two, became three — until a full week had passed, and Xia Li realized something was wrong.

She found a moment and went to Class Twenty.

Looking in, Yan Sishi’s seat was empty. The desk surface was completely bare — as if no one had ever sat there at all.

Something lurched in her chest.

She called Wang Chen out from where he was bent over a book.

Xia Li got straight to the point. “I haven’t seen Yan Sishi in a few days. Is he on leave?”

“Our homeroom teacher said he went back to Beicheng.”

“The homeroom teacher said?”

Wang Chen scratched his head. “On the day of the pledge rally, he took his call, then came back to the classroom to get his bag and just… left. And then he never came back. Two mornings ago I walked into the classroom and his desk had been completely cleared out. I asked the homeroom teacher — he said Yan Sishi’s family had come to collect his things. Said he was heading back to Beicheng.”

“…Have you been in touch with him?”

“Can’t reach him. His phone’s been off every time I try.”

“Do you know if he’s… coming back to school?”

“No idea.”

Xia Li didn’t know how she made it back to the classroom. Her thoughts were scattered the whole way.

It was like she’d been walking on a familiar road, only to find that someone had taken down all the signs at the intersection, and the fog had rolled in from every direction.

Only disorientation remained.

At the next break, she slipped her phone into her pocket and went to the restroom. In one of the stalls, she tried calling Yan Sishi’s number.

Just as Wang Chen had said — the line informed her the phone was switched off.

She sent a text:

Hey. Ran into Wang Chen. He says you’re going back to Beicheng?

The text sank without a trace, as expected.

The gaokao was bearing down fast. Xia Li had no room to lose focus. She simply made it a nightly habit, just before falling asleep, to try dialing his number once.

The response was always the same mechanical voice: The number you have dialed is currently switched off.

A month later, that message changed: The number you have called has been disconnected.

That was in April.

During a long break, Xia Li had gone to the arts faculty office to pick up papers. Coming downstairs, she ran into Tao Shiyue.

The two of them exchanged greetings the way ordinary classmates would.

As they passed each other, a thought struck Xia Li. “Can we talk for a moment?”

Tao Shiyue stopped. “About Yan Sishi?”

Xia Li nodded.

They moved to the corridor outside Class Twenty.

Tao Shiyue leaned her arms on the railing, facing the courtyard in front of the building where white magnolia trees had been planted. “If you’re asking whether I’ve heard from him — don’t bother. I can’t reach him either. My mom did get in touch with his grandmother, though. She said he’s already back in Beicheng, getting ready to go abroad.”

Xia Li was quiet for a moment. “Do you know why he suddenly left to go back to Beicheng?”

Tao Shiyue glanced at her, as though weighing whether to answer.

But in the end she said, “…His mother passed away.”

Xia Li went still.

“Right around when we finished the pledge rally, I think — I don’t know the exact date. I only heard it from my mom. No public memorial service was held. It sounds like only the Yan family and the Huo family attended the funeral.” Tao Shiyue’s voice was very quiet. “…Don’t tell anyone else about this.”

“I won’t.”

Something like a tide began to rise inside her, washing slowly over Xia Li. “…Was it an illness?”

“Probably. Yan Sishi came to Chucheng because of his mother.”

“Do you know which school he ended up going to?”

Tao Shiyue shook her head. “He’d already gotten offers from several schools before he left. He never mentioned which one he was going to.”

There was nothing more Xia Li needed to ask. That tide-like emotion was already threatening to spill over into her eyes. “…Thank you for telling me all of this.”

Tao Shiyue’s expression clouded with a faint, quiet sadness. “It’s nothing. I… wanted to find someone to talk about him with too.”

Xia Li understood that feeling.

Even just finding someone to mention his name to.

Otherwise, the hollowness of having a living, breathing person simply vanish without a trace would drive her to doubt whether she had ever done anything more than dream.

Neither of them spoke again.

Two people who were, by all accounts, rivals — in this silence, they resonated in the same quiet grief.

Like a distant ocean tipping itself into the heart, while from beyond some far cape, a seagull called out a long, mournful cry.

She hadn’t known.

That afternoon had been the last time she would ever see Yan Sishi at Mingzhong.

Good luck.

Those were the last words he had said to her alone.

Three days before the gaokao.

Morning self-study and evening self-study had both been canceled to give students time to rest and adjust to the exam schedule. All classes were converted to self-study sessions, with teachers remaining in the room to answer questions one-on-one at any time, and occasionally addressing a question to the whole class if it seemed worth it.

During one of the breaks, someone hadn’t plugged in their earphones properly, and music began to play out loud:

“Finally we’ve walked to this day — rushing off to each our own world. No one can take the place of you as you exist in my memory, and that stretch of youth…”

In an instant, the classroom — slightly noisy just a moment before — went completely still.

Xia Li had been doing English reading comprehension to keep her skills sharp. She put down her pen and propped her chin on her hand, listening.

No one spoke. They let the song play on.

“Go ahead and fly, be brave and chase it — chase every dream we never finished. Go ahead and fly, wave goodbye with courage — we promised this time we wouldn’t cry…”

Some of the girls had already buried their heads in their arms and were sobbing. The silence only grew heavier.

Then Xiao Yulong spoke: “Hey! Chen Tao, your earphones aren’t in! Stop the music! We haven’t even graduated yet! You’re messing with our heads!”

The boy named Chen Tao finally registered what was happening and quickly jammed in his earphones.

Xiao Yulong said, “Lucky you were playing a song — what if it had been something you shouldn’t be watching…”

Chen Tao: “Get lost! You’re the one who shouldn’t be watching things!”

Everyone burst out laughing.

Xia Li smiled along with them.

The day of the gaokao finally came.

The weather was cooperative — rain fell, bringing the temperature down by several degrees, as though smoothing out some of the nervous energy of the students sitting for the exam.

Xia Li’s exam venue was at Yizhong.

Xia Jianyang and Jiang Hong made the trip back from Yutang County, but Xia Li didn’t let them accompany her to the venue. She didn’t go home to sleep there either — she was afraid that a sudden change in environment might disrupt her rest.

The school had arranged shuttle buses running between each exam venue.

On the bus, teachers reminded everyone over and over to check for their ID cards, exam admission tickets, 2B pencils, and so on.

Xia Li rode the bus to her venue alone. At midday and in the evening, Jiang Hong brought food from home in an insulated container.

The two intense days passed.

Sitting in the exam room, Xia Li found herself surprisingly less nervous than she’d expected.

She couldn’t quite say how well she’d done. She had answered everything she knew how to answer.

On the afternoon of the eighth, after the exam ended, Xia Li went back to the apartment to drop off her things. After dinner, she went to school.

Just as she’d expected, the ground in front of the senior year teaching building was covered wall to wall in white paper — there was barely a place to step. Test papers and textbooks kept flying down from above, accompanied by cathartic shouting from the floors above.

Answer keys for all subjects had already been released, with startling efficiency.

When Xia Li got back to the classroom, some students had already estimated their scores. For one of them, it clearly hadn’t gone well — they were in a friend’s arms, crying.

Xia Li went back to her seat, took out the test papers for all four subjects from her bag while her memory was still sharp, cross-referenced the answer key from the newspaper, and estimated her score.

Old Zhuang came to the classroom.

He walked around and asked each student how they’d done. When he got to Xia Li, she said, “The essay and the comprehensive social science open questions are hard to estimate precisely — but in a good scenario, I’m looking at 585 or above.”

Old Zhuang said, “Our assessment is that this year’s cutoff will be around 535, similar to two years ago. You’re 50 points above the first-tier threshold — that’s solid. Many schools would be within reach.”

Sitting in front of her rough-estimate totals, Old Zhuang — now that the gaokao was over — seemed as though he had finally put down a great weight. His entire bearing took on an unfamiliar quality that was almost… grandfatherly.

Xia Li looked at the number she had written out on her draft paper.

A string of schools she could apply to flashed through her mind. But Renmin University — her original gaokao target — was not among them.

Going by the admission score cutoffs from previous years, Renmin University had never dipped below 595 in their province. Some of the more competitive programs required 600 or above.

The score estimates, naturally, brought joy to some and heartbreak to others.

When Lin Qingxiao and Xu Ning arrived and estimated their scores in turn, both of them cleared Old Zhuang’s predicted first-tier threshold — though Xu Ning’s margin was slim, just about 10 points above it, leaving little flexibility in school choice.

Xu Ning’s attitude, however, was enviably relaxed. “Whatever happens, it’s over. I’ll deal with where I end up on the 25th. Tonight I’m going home to watch anime until dawn.”

The three of them sat together and debated going out somewhere to eat and treat themselves.

Xiao Yulong came over and asked how their estimates looked.

Xia Li told him hers. Xiao Yulong’s expression brightened for a moment, then clouded again almost immediately. “That’s really great. Congratulations.”

Xia Li asked, “What about you?”

“Me… probably looking at a second-tier school.” Xiao Yulong shrugged, trying to make it sound easy.

Lin Qingxiao asked, “You’re not going to repeat the year?”

In the arts experimental class, many students who didn’t make it into a first-tier school chose to repeat.

“Probably not. I feel like my mental state is already too unstable. If I stayed another year, the pressure would be worse — I might even do worse than this year.”

Everyone went quiet, unsure whether to offer comfort.

Finally Xia Li said, “You can still go for graduate school, or civil service exams, once you’re there.”

Xiao Yulong smiled. “That’s what I’m thinking too.”

They talked a little more. Then a girl from the front row called out, “Lin Qingxiao, someone’s looking for you!”

Lin Qingxiao glanced toward the door — it was Nie Chuhang.

She looked away, pretending not to notice.

Nie Chuhang lingered in the doorway for a good while before he apparently decided that now that the gaokao was done, there was no need for restraint. He stepped directly into Class Seven’s classroom.

Old Zhuang, standing near the podium, looked up. “How did the exam go, Nie Chuhang? Can you get into Tsinghua?”

Nie Chuhang: “…You know who I am, Mr. Zhuang?”

“How could I not? Always hanging around my class.”

Nie Chuhang stole a glance at Lin Qingxiao, looking quite sheepish. “Probably not going to make it.”

“Then where? Fudan? Shanghai Jiao Tong?”

“Somewhere around there.”

Seeing that Old Zhuang was about to keep going, Nie Chuhang said, “Mr. Zhuang, I need to borrow Lin Qingxiao for a moment…”

Old Zhuang called out: “Lin Qingxiao!”

With that, Lin Qingxiao could no longer pretend this person didn’t exist.

She got up, reluctantly, and walked over to Nie Chuhang with visible reluctance.

Nie Chuhang, stumbling over his words: “…Can we go talk outside for a moment?”

Less than three minutes after they stepped out, a cheer erupted from the corridor like a wave of encouragement.

Everyone rushed out.

There in the corridor, across the test papers scattered all over the floor, Nie Chuhang had pulled Lin Qingxiao into his arms.

Whistles and applause rang out. Lin Qingxiao buried her entire face in Nie Chuhang’s chest.

Xu Ning murmured, “The beauty of youth…”

After a moment, Nie Chuhang said, “Could everyone clear out for a bit? My girlfriend is too embarrassed to lift her head.”

“Awwwww——!”

Xia Li and Xu Ning went back into the classroom to pack up their things.

Just as they were about to leave, Lin Qingxiao came back in — her face still completely, thoroughly red.

Xia Li smiled. “Are you still coming to eat with us?”

“…Next time?”

Xu Ning: “Faithless woman.”

Xia Li and Xu Ning left school together, wandered through the Tianxing Street night market for a while, then drifted over to Shangzhi Bookstore and bought a vindictive pile of manga.

After that, Xia Li went back to the student apartment.

She would be staying here one last night. Tomorrow, Jiang Hong was coming to help move everything back home.

She sat down at the desk and turned on the lamp, opened the drawer, and took out her diary.

She pulled out the envelope tucked inside.

For Yan Sishi’s eyes only.

When she had written this letter back then, she hadn’t imagined that it would never be delivered.

Her unspoken feelings had gone without an answer, without a conclusion.

When the gaokao results came out, Xia Li’s total score was 589 — four points higher than she had estimated.

The first-tier cutoff for their province was 530.

With her score, Renmin University was out of reach. Old Zhuang suggested she put Nancheng University as her first choice.

The province was implementing parallel volunteer selection that year for the first time. As long as she didn’t make any reckless choices, the chance of falling below the cutoff was minimal.

Xia Li was nothing if not practical. She wasn’t going to gamble a score that clearly wasn’t enough on the off chance that Renmin University’s cutoff might inexplicably drop that year.

She followed Old Zhuang’s advice.

Once applications were submitted, various gatherings and celebrations began organizing themselves, including a teacher appreciation dinner.

That evening’s theme was karaoke.

Someone had put together a group and booked a large private room for an all-nighter. Almost everyone from Class Seven had come, including the two classmates who had transferred to the international class.

Lin Qingxiao had no patience for Tao Shiyue, and at an event like this simply behaved as though she didn’t exist — she took Nie Chuhang to a corner of the room to do as they pleased.

Xia Li didn’t make a point of avoiding anyone. She could hear Tao Shiyue chatting with others — saying she’d gotten into Columbia University, that she was planning to leave in late July, and had decided to arrive a bit before the start of term to give herself time to adjust.

Xia Li was quietly sipping her drink when Xiao Yulong came over and sat down beside her.

He had one hand propped on the arm of the long sofa, angled slightly toward her. He was smiling. “Not going to sing?”

Xia Li smiled and shook her head.

Xiao Yulong didn’t say anything for a moment, still looking at her. Then, as if he couldn’t stop himself: “Xia Li…”

“Mm?” Xia Li looked up at him.

He held her gaze with an unusual seriousness.

The shift in atmosphere made her vaguely uncomfortable. She smiled slightly. “What is it?”

The subtle tension made Xia Li’s nerves tighten. She gripped her cola cup more firmly, feeling the cold moisture on her palm from the melting ice.

But in the next instant, Xiao Yulong looked away, and let out a couple of easy laughs. “Nothing! Do you want something to eat? I’ll go grab some snacks…”

“You don’t have to—”

But Xiao Yulong had already leaped to his feet.

He was almost at the door of the private room when his closest friend — the class labor committee representative — stopped him. “Old Xiao! Your song!”

It was Five for Fighting’s — the Mandarin classic Contentment by Mayday.

Surprisingly, a person who seemed so scattered and aimless could sing quite well. There was a kind of depth in the contrast.

“If I fall in love with your smile — how do I hold onto it, how do I make it mine…”

Xiao Yulong carried a small round stool over and sat close to the screen, eyes fixed on the lyrics.

Then, as the last note was still fading through the backing track, he suddenly turned around.

In the flickering light, he looked directly — straight at Xia Li.

That glance was profound, like it held ten thousand unspoken things.

Xia Li was startled.

Understanding reached her, a beat too late.

And then Xiao Yulong had switched off the microphone and tossed it to the labor committee representative. He stood up and walked toward the door.

He pulled it open. In one swirl of revolving air, he walked out without looking back.

He never returned. Not for the rest of the night.

At some point, the speakers began playing the opening notes of a song.

Tao Shiyue was on her feet at once. “That’s mine! I only chose two songs — please don’t steal them, and please don’t sing along with me!”

She picked up a microphone and walked to the center of the room.

Both songs were by Sun Yanzi.

One was The Invisible Person.

The other was I Miss Him Too.

Xia Li recognized immediately who she was singing for.

The room was in full noise around her. But she sang for someone who wasn’t there.

I miss him too We’re the same, you and I In him I found The wings I needed

In the shifting light, Xia Li listened to the song, feeling as though the ash of some distant ending had settled all over her.

Her heart weighed down until it seemed to block out the sky.

As though the aftershocks of that first earthquake in her heart — the day she had first seen Yan Sishi, that summer long ago — had been rippling quietly all this time, and only now finally arrived.

One chain of reactions after another. An inevitable reckoning.

And summer is so short But longing lasts so long

That voice, which seemed to carry a faint, half-suppressed sob within it, went on.

Xia Li blinked through eyes blurred with tears and took out her phone, lit up the screen, opened her outbox.

One undelivered message after another.

“Hey. The last mock exam. The questions were almost too easy. Everyone’s saying the school designed it just to give us a confidence boost.”

“Hey. The weather was nice today. I went through my to-do list and realized I have so many movies I want to watch after the gaokao.”

“Hey. The new issue of ‘Film Monthly’ is out.”

“Hey. Are you okay? Are you abroad already?”

“Hey. Do you get nervous before exams? Do you have any methods for managing nerves?”

“Hey. Tomorrow is the gaokao. Could you… wish me luck?”

……

Hey, Yan Sishi.

My voice was too brief.

My long, long love for you couldn’t fly across the ten thousand rivers and mountains that lay between us.