When she woke, the curtains were drawn, making it impossible to tell whether it was day or night.

She reached drowsily for her phone, and was instantly jolted wide awake — it was already past eleven in the morning.

On the phone, its battery down to only 17%, there was a missed call from Jiang Hong, placed at ten o’clock.

— Lili, it’s not polite to sleep in when you’re staying at someone else’s home.

Xia Li was a little dazed. She got up, slipped on her shoes, and noticing that the door to the study was half-ajar, walked over and pushed it open.

The study curtains were pulled wide open. In the bright, snow-reflected light streaming in from outside, Yan Sishi was seated in the single armchair, talking on the phone.

White sweater, light gray trousers — he looked as pure and clear as a beam of moonlight.

Xia Li leaned against the doorframe and admired the sight for a quiet moment, choosing not to disturb him. She turned and went to the bathroom first to wash up.

By the time she was done and returned to the study, Yan Sishi had finished his call and was working at the laptop propped on the small side table.

Hearing her footsteps, Yan Sishi turned his head. “Awake?”

“Mm…” Xia Li ran a hand through her somewhat disheveled hair. “Something’s strange — my mom is asking if my fever has gone down.”

Yan Sishi explained: when he woke up, he had noticed Jiang Hong’s call coming in on her phone.

He hadn’t presumed to answer on her behalf, so he called Jiang Hong himself and told her that Xia Li had caught a slight chill the night before, had a mild fever, had taken some medicine, and was still resting.

Knowing Jiang Hong’s temperament as he did, if Xia Li had slept too late and then gone quiet for too long, Jiang Hong would certainly have grown suspicious.

Xia Li laughed. “And so one lie leads to a thousand more — we should head back to Beicheng soon.”

She was wearing only a short-sleeved T-shirt. Worried she might actually catch cold, Yan Sishi caught her by the wrist, brought her to sit on his lap, and held her there before speaking. “I’m planning to wait until after the twelfth day of the first lunar month before going back.”

Yan Sishi said calmly, “I’m planning to visit the grave on the 27th of February.”

Xia Li paused. “…Can I come with you?”

“If you’d like to.”

“Then I’ll come.” Xia Li said softly. She decided to use up all her remaining annual leave — she was going to resign when she got back anyway.

A brief silence followed. Yan Sishi looked down at her. “Are you hungry?”

Xia Li shook her head and, for some inexplicable reason, couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his eyes. She buried her head against his shoulder.

Strange — just last night, she had said things that made even herself flush with embarrassment, and he had seen her in every state imaginable. Yet now, facing him, she still felt unbearably shy.

It must be because he was already neatly dressed.

They had finally fallen asleep somewhere around four in the morning. What came afterward hadn’t always gone all the way — there had been embracing, kissing, and quiet exploration. He had kissed nearly every inch of her.

As though unwilling to part, unwilling to let the night come to its end.

Xia Li yawned against his shoulder and said, muffled: “…How are you up so early? And so full of energy.”

Yan Sishi chuckled softly and urged her to go get dressed before she caught a chill.

Xia Li nodded, was about to stand, then remembered something. “Oh, by the way — does a housekeeper usually come to do the laundry and cleaning here?”

“Why do you ask?”

She was a little too embarrassed to come out and say it directly. “The sheets…” She had caught a brief glance just now, and the state of them had truly been too much to look at.

Yan Sishi pinched her flushed earlobe, understanding perfectly: “I’ll take care of changing them myself.”

Xia Li went back to the bedroom and changed into her own clothes.

She had technically slept from four until eleven — seven hours — but she still felt tired, with a floaty, languid sensation like a mild hangover. She laughed at herself privately: was this what one called overindulgence.

After plugging in her phone to charge, she sent a message back to Jiang Hong, continuing the deception, saying that her fever had broken.

Jiang Hong asked when she would be coming home, and she said that evening.

Not wanting to miss the rare sight of snow, the two of them decided to go out for lunch.

They pushed open the door. A crisp, bracing wind. The world had gone white all around.

Chucheng rarely saw snow this heavy — let alone during the Lunar New Year. Xia Li couldn’t help but feel that this snowfall had come down just for the two of them.

They had gotten up late, and most of the snow near their building had already been trampled into a scattered mess by children. Out in the open space stood a large snowman, wrapped in a bright red scarf.

Xia Li didn’t get in the car right away. She crunched through the snow, found a small patch that hadn’t yet been disturbed, picked up a twig, and traced Yan Sishi’s name into it. Then she took out her phone and snapped a photo.

She dropped the twig and straightened up — in just those few moments, both her hands had gone stiff with cold from the icy air.

Yan Sishi caught her hands and cupped them in his, lowering his head to breathe warm air gently into them.

She looked up at him. His white round-necked pullover reflected the snow’s brightness, casting it back onto his face. His complexion was fair and fine; his lashes, slightly drooping, were like the feathers of a gray winter sparrow.

Her heart leaped without warning, the way it had the very first time she saw him — that inexplicable flutter of nerves.

She felt it herself: this moment was almost too pure to be real.

As though she could fall for Yan Sishi again and again, anytime, anywhere.

They got in the car. Xia Li plugged into the car’s charging cable to charge her phone.

When she opened WeChat, she found new messages in the class group chat. Someone had posted a photo of the words “Study hard to serve the nation’s rise” written in the snow on the school field at Mingzhong.

Everyone began piping up, asking whether school had started that early.

The person who had taken the photo said that the third-year senior students had already returned to campus for supplementary classes.

Someone said that was even worse than back when they were studying — at least they hadn’t had to go back until the seventh day of the new year.

Xia Li scrolled through the messages and asked Yan Sishi: “Mingzhong’s third years are already back. Should we go have a look while we’re out?”

Yan Sishi said yes.

After lunch, Yan Sishi drove Xia Li to Mingzhong.

There was nowhere to park near the school gate, so the car was left a bit further away.

They walked across the snow toward the entrance, one of Xia Li’s hands tucked into the pocket of Yan Sishi’s down jacket.

The bookshop by the school gate had changed hands many times over and looked nothing like it had when they were students. And the magazine Cinema — Midnight Edition had already announced its closure in a Weibo post on January 2nd, 2018 — right at the start of the new year.

It was as though their youth had come to a definitive end.

At the school gate, the security guard stopped them from entering. Xia Li invoked Old Zhuang’s name, saying they were former students of his who hadn’t been back in many years and wanted to take a look at their old school. — On the notice board outside the gate, there was a prominent red announcement: Teacher Zhuang Linghui had been awarded the title of Most Popular Teacher in the entire city, ranking first.

The guard asked them: “What year did you graduate?”

“Class of 2010.”

“That’s quite a few years back — what university did you attend for the gaokao?”

“I went to Nancheng University; he went to MIT.”

“The international program?”

“Yes — actually, there wasn’t an international program yet back then, only an international class. And wasn’t the first ever class to graduate from the international class in 2010?”

The guard looked the two of them over — both had a composed, scholarly air about them, and they had answered everything without hesitation. They didn’t look like troublemakers off the street. He had them register their names and identification numbers, then let them through.

The campus was peaceful and still. Only a handful of people were playing on the snow-covered sports field, and they didn’t look like students — they were probably returning graduates like themselves.

They walked through the breezy covered walkway and made their way to what used to be Classroom 20.

The class number had been changed to 12. The classroom door was shut, and inside there were only empty desks and chairs.

Xia Li pointed to the second-to-last row by the window. “You used to sit there.”

Yan Sishi’s gaze went distant for a moment. “You remember.”

Xia Li turned to look at him, smiling until her eyes curved into two crescent moons. “I remember everything about you.”

They went upstairs and stopped by what had once been the Class 7 classroom.

Class 7 changed seating arrangements every month, so Xia Li couldn’t identify where she used to sit.

They left the first- and second-year teaching building and walked across the campus toward the senior-year section.

Passing the small square with the school principal’s bust, Xia Li felt a little proud of herself: “I forgot to tell you — that night when you came here to smoke, I was secretly following you. It wasn’t a coincidence. I didn’t just happen to run into you.”

Yan Sishi said: “I figured that out later.”

Xia Li startled.

Yan Sishi smiled and lightly ruffled her hair. “I’m not dense.”

“…Then why didn’t you call me out on it.” She hadn’t even managed five whole seconds of feeling smug.

“Because you didn’t seem to mean any harm. And you did share your secret hideout with me, didn’t you.”

“Then…” Xia Li thought it over. “What about the time I brought you water at the sports meet?”

Yan Sishi considered it. “That one, I wasn’t sure. It could have gone either way.”

Then, prompted by Xia Li’s mention of it, Yan Sishi thought of something: “The photo of me — was it taken at the sports meet?”

“Yes. I took it secretly.”

“…You’re a bit bolder than I gave you credit for.”

“How else would I have ever gotten you.”

Yan Sishi seemed to find the word “gotten” faintly amusing — the corner of his mouth curved.

They continued walking. Yan Sishi asked whether there was anything else she had kept from him.

“I don’t think so… Oh — the time we made wishes at New Year’s, the blessing I wrote on the prayer ribbon was for you.”

Yan Sishi’s grip on her hand tightened slightly.

She had done so much for him, so quietly — full of warmth, and entirely without intrusion.

When they reached the senior-year building, a teacher happened to be coming down and stopped them from going up.

It was just past two in the afternoon, and the third-year students were in class.

So they didn’t linger and disturb them. They took another path, cut across the sports field, and headed for the bell tower in the northeastern corner of the campus.

They were just hoping to try their luck — but to their surprise, the ground-floor door was still unlocked, just as it had always been.

On a snow-muffled afternoon, the bell tower stood alone. Stepping inside, the hush was so deep that their footsteps on the way up seemed to soften instinctively.

As expected, the broadcasting room was locked — but the empty classroom above was not.

They pushed the door open. Inside, the old desks and chairs were still arranged just as they had been left, gathering dust. It was hard to imagine — this corner of the building seemed to have been forgotten by time, existing in its own pocket of stillness. Even the dusty scent in the air was identical to the one preserved in memory.

There’s a phenomenon known as the Proust Effect: the experience of catching a scent once smelled before and having it unlock the memories of that time.

Now, all of it came flooding back: the red bean bread a boy had eaten one dusk; a winter evening, and a small spark of flame kindled in the dark; his palm braced against the desk as he leaned down to ask her why she had been crying…

Every detail surged forth at once.

Xia Li walked to the back of the room and pushed open the stuck, rough-sliding window. A sharp and bracing gust of cold air rushed in.

She brushed the dust off a stool, sat down, and looked over at Yan Sishi with a smile. “I’ve missed this place.”

Yan Sishi said nothing. He walked straight toward her.

He reached the desk, and without a thought for the layer of dust coating its surface, braced one arm against its edge. His other hand reached forward and curved around the back of her neck.

He leaned in, closed his eyes, and kissed her.

Time stood still.

Even the wind ceased to exist.

Even her heartbeat.

She stared ahead with wide, dazed eyes, and only after a long moment did she slowly let them close.

Every sound and breath was swallowed by time.

Only the chime of the bell from that distant dusk rang out against her heart, one toll after another.

They left Mingzhong and went back to Yan Sishi’s place.

Xia Li wanted to take a short nap and head home after dinner.

Upstairs, Yan Sishi told her to wait in the study on the sofa for a moment while he went to change the sheets.

Xia Li’s curiosity eventually got the better of her, and she drifted over to observe from the doorway.

But once she actually saw it in action, she realized there wasn’t much to observe. Yan Sishi had lived abroad on his own for so long — there was no way he hadn’t picked up basic life skills. He was hardly some pampered young master who couldn’t take care of himself.

The dark gray bedding from the night before was stripped off and replaced with a set in oatmeal — warmer in tone, and much cozier to look at.

Xia Li brushed her teeth, changed back into Yan Sishi’s T-shirt, and climbed into bed.

She was genuinely tired. Lulled by the warmth of the heating and the clean, faint scent of the bedding, she drifted off mid-sentence without even realizing it.

Yan Sishi looked down at her. He gently ran a fingertip across her lashes, watching the soft shadow they cast on her lower eyelid.

After a moment he stood, drew the curtains, went to the study and found a book, then came back to the bedroom and settled in, sitting up beside her, reading.

When Xia Li woke, she felt momentarily disoriented.

The room was dim. The only light came from the bedside lamp on Yan Sishi’s side.

Its glow was soft and quiet, like moonlight on snow.

“…Has it gotten dark already?”

Yan Sishi looked up, tucked his bookmark into the page. “It’s five-thirty.”

“…I slept that long.”

Yan Sishi closed the book and set it gently on the nightstand. “Are you hungry? Think about what you’d like to eat tonight.”

Xia Li shook her head. Without warning, she reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck. “…Once we’ve had dinner, I’ll have to go home. There’s so little time left, and you didn’t even think to wake me. I thought I’d only sleep for half an hour at most.”

Yan Sishi seemed amused. He took hold of her arms and guided her upright, helping her shift to sit across his lap. He leaned close to her ear and said softly that he had been too rough on her the night before and felt bad about it — that was why he had wanted to let her sleep a little longer.

“…Do you not want to let me go either?”

“Of course not.”

Xia Li fell quiet after that, lowering her head to rest against his shoulder.

Only the sound of their soft, unhurried breathing.

And it was only a moment later that she became aware — Yan Sishi’s body had already begun to respond.

Xia Li tilted her head to glance at him. His expression was perfectly composed. And it was precisely that unruffled calm that made her want, more than anything, to bring back the loss of control she had seen in him the night before. Without hesitation, she reached over and covered him with her hand.

Yan Sishi’s eyes narrowed the faintest degree. He caught her by the wrist — and the intention behind that movement was not to push her away.

His voice was perfectly even: “Make sure you mean it. No regrets.”

“…I won’t regret it.”

The next instant, the world turned upside down.

With one hand still holding her wrist, Yan Sishi pushed her back in one smooth motion; she fell back helplessly.

His hand slid from her wrist upward, closing over her fingers and pressing them firmly into the mattress beside her head.

Xia Li looked up and found herself staring directly into his eyes — deep and unreadable, hovering directly above her. It was the first time she had ever seen him look at her with an expression like that, dangerous in a way that made her wonder for a split second whether she’d said something reckless.

That doubt proved well-founded.

It turned out that Yan Sishi the night before had still been holding himself in check.

Pleading was useless. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect.

He had said it himself — don’t come back with regrets. He had given fair warning, and she had been duly informed.

This was a side of Yan Sishi she had never seen: an undisguised possessiveness, an urge toward something almost like undoing.

And yet why did she love it so much — why did it make her tremble with excitement through her entire body.

It brought to mind something from back then.

She had told herself, quietly: she wanted to become his accomplice.

When her thoughts had blurred into a haze, Yan Sishi lowered his head to kiss her. “You’re not paying attention.”

“…I was thinking about you in high school.”

“What use is thinking about him?”

“…Would you even be jealous of your own past self?” she asked, laughing.

Yan Sishi gently pinched her chin between his fingers, tilting her face to meet his gaze.

“Only look at me,” he said.