In April, pink-white miniature roses wove the community’s iron railings into a tapestry of flowers.

The return-to-work notice from Aostar also flew into every employee’s inbox.

It took Cen Jin a week to fully readjust to the normal work rhythm. The lingering effects of the long holiday manifested in various ways, especially in her daily meals.

Li Wu’s home cooking had spoiled her taste buds and appetite. The company cafeteria’s food felt off no matter how she ate it—cold and lifeless, devoid of any homely warmth.

One afternoon, she prodded at the formulaic combination of dishes on her plate with increasing distaste. Unable to help herself, she opened WeChat and messaged Li Wu, hoping to find some comfort in the thought of better meals.

Cen Jin: What did you have for lunch today? Send me a picture.

Li Wu: Noodles. Already finished.

Cen Jin: Why aren’t you cooking proper meals?

Li Wu: You’re not home.

Cen Jin: Cooking isn’t just for me, you need to eat too. Plain noodles aren’t nutritious enough.

Li Wu: …Mm.

Cen Jin: I miss your cooking.

Li Wu: Don’t you have food there?

Cen Jin sent a photo of her lunch tray.

Li Wu: Looks decent.

Cen Jin: Can’t compare to your cooking.

Li Wu responded with a basic grinning emoji, seemingly pleased with her praise.

Cen Jin mocked: Your chat style has my dad’s flair [grin][grin]

Li Wu: It’s alright.

Cen Jin was speechless, and then asked about his school situation: Has your teacher announced when you’ll return to school?

Li Wu said: Probably after Labor Day.

Cen Jin: Fine then, hurry back to school.

Li Wu:?

Cen Jin: I can’t stand seeing someone lounging comfortably at home while I’m toiling away.

Li Wu: I’m taking online classes too.

His tone suggested great grievance, but Cen Jin casually placated him: Oh oh, poor little brother.

Li Wu: …

Cen Jin tensed: What do those ellipses mean?

Li Wu: Nothing.

Cen Jin: Express yourself properly.

Li Wu, is truly devoted to basic emojis: [happy]

Cen Jin couldn’t tolerate it anymore: No girl will like you if you keep using those kinds of emojis.

Li Wu: Then what should I use?

Cen Jin: Don’t use emojis at all.

Li Wu: Okay.

Cen Jin’s professional habits emerged: Please restate the specific meaning of those ellipses.

Li Wu: When I don’t know what to reply but feel I must respond to you.

Perhaps his answer was too sincere and straightforward, but Cen Jin’s heart suddenly skipped, like a marble slipping away. In this slight but unusual weightlessness, she found herself at a loss for words.

Finally, she sent nothing but a seemingly flawless emoji: [grin]

End of conversation.

Li Wu smiled and flipped his phone face down, about to focus wholeheartedly on writing his lecture notes, but then stopped. He turned the phone back over, opened WeChat, and savored today’s conversation.

During their three months of living together, he could feel Cen Jin gradually becoming more relaxed and natural around him, no longer exhausting herself maintaining certain airs or keeping up appearances. Though she still liked to verbally dominate, it was mostly in jest. Without her facade, she was a perfectly self-consistent contradiction—mature yet innocent, meticulous yet casual, with a gentle sharpness like light glimpsed through squinting eyes.

Li Wu imagined her for a while, then calmed down and concentrated on completing all the coursework his teacher had assigned for the day.

After putting away his notes, he returned to the kitchen and began searching around, finally finding an all-white insulated lunch box in the topmost cabinet.

After thoroughly washing and confirming the lunch box was undamaged, Li Wu began cleaning ingredients and cutting strips and chunks. After a session of frying, sautéing, and stewing, everything was ready by six in the evening. He neatly packed three dishes and a soup into the insulated containers without spilling a drop.

The delivery rider he’d booked in advance arrived right on time. Li Wu tied up the bag, handed it over, and repeatedly emphasized: “Aostar Advertising in Jiuli Building, don’t deliver it to the wrong place.”

At that moment, Cen Jin was in a meeting, brainstorming with everyone engaged in a heated discussion.

Suddenly, a colleague knocked on the door and shouted: “Cen Jin, you have a delivery!”

Cen Jin turned back, confused.

The account executive called again: “I put it on your desk!” Everyone immediately booed her for being inconsiderate—they were all working on empty stomachs, yet she secretly ordered food for herself.

Cen Jin raised her hands in protest: “I didn’t!”

After the meeting, Cen Jin returned to her workstation to find a cylindrical package wrapped so thoroughly she couldn’t tell what was inside.

She unwrapped it layer by layer to reveal a white lunch box.

She paused, guessing its origin, and checked her phone for confirmation. Sure enough, there was a delivery message showing it came from her residential community.

Cen Jin’s lips curved slightly upward as she put down her phone and lifted out the lunch box, opening the lid.

A familiar fragrant aroma wafted out.

“Smells so good—what is it—” Lu Qiqi followed the scent, gliding over in her office chair.

Cen Jin didn’t answer, just sat back down and took out each dish container, arranging them in a row on her desk.

The bottom layer held soup—winter melon with pork ribs, milky white and still steaming hot.

Cen Jin raised an eyebrow slightly and went to look for utensils. The chopsticks and soup spoon were carefully wrapped in napkins—her favorite pair when she unfolded them.

In that second, only one five-character mantra ran through Cen Jin’s mind: Damn, worth raising him.

Lu Qiqi sniffed around like a hungry hamster: “This isn’t takeout, right? Doesn’t look like it.”

Cen Jin held up her phone to take a photo, her smile lingering: “Sent from home.”

“Your family is so nice! My parents wouldn’t care if I lived or died.”

“Right?”

Lu Qiqi pleaded: “Can I have a bite?”

Cen Jin held her chopsticks aloft, bestowing a bite of potato and beef.

“Wow!” Lu Qiqi’s eyes lit up. “It’s so good!”

She pushed her luck, brandishing her spoon: “I want to try the soup too~”

“Go ahead, go ahead.” Cen Jin always had a soft spot for such pitiful creatures.

After Lu Qiqi floated away contentedly, Cen Jin took out her phone again and messaged Li Wu while scooping rice.

She sent the photo she’d taken: Thanks to you, tonight’s meal quality has skyrocketed, even blessing the surrounding common folk.

Li Wu asked: Did the food get cold?

Cen Jin: Still very warm.

Li Wu: Mm.

He added: Don’t forget to bring the lunch box and utensils back when you leave work.

Cen Jin: ok.

Her heart felt as warm as the soup at the bottom of the lunch box: Also, thank you.

Li Wu: No need, I need to eat too.

Cen Jin smiled knowingly: Oh.

She couldn’t help but send a head-patting emoji, rubbing and nuzzling. What a considerate, sweet baby—his good behavior was going to be the death of her.

Li Wu stopped replying instantly.

Cen Jin worried that this daily trouble would affect his studies, so she reminded him: Just this once, don’t make it a habit.

Li Wu asked: Why?

Cen Jin: You’re primarily a student, not a chef. Please focus on your main responsibility.

He clarified: I only started after finishing my homework.

Cen Jin had three concerns: What if next time you have too much homework and can’t finish in a day, yet you still squeeze time to cook? Although I’m very grateful and happy, I’ll still feel pressured.

Li Wu fell silent, then responded dejectedly: Oh.

After eating and drinking her fill, Cen Jin gave the lunch box and utensils a quick rinse in the bathroom, tidied up, and wiped her hands with a wet tissue before starting to edit the photo.

It was the photo of the meal Li Wu had sent.

His cooking pursued perfection just like his studies, with excellent color coordination requiring minimal filter adjustment. Even posting the original to WeChat Moments would garner plenty of likes and praise.

But Cen Jin still slightly adjusted the saturation and brightness to show her appreciation before posting it with the caption: Reciprocation.

Others didn’t know she’d adopted a child, so they couldn’t understand the meaning behind this photo and word.

But those who knew her could guess about eighty percent of it, especially the person involved.

Soon after, Li Wu liked the post.

A while later, an unexpected WeChat message popped up.

It was from Wu Fu. Cen Jin’s expression froze briefly as she read his message: Congratulations, the headphone advertisement was brilliant.

Cen Jin smiled sardonically, ready to make some sarcastic dig to build up enough superiority. But reason told her this would be low-class and ugly, so in the end, her thousand words condensed into two: Thank you.

Wu Fu asked: How do you like Aostar?

Cen Jin: Not bad.

Wu Fu said: I saw you before the new year, at Jiuli Building. I happened to have business there.

Cen Jin: When?

Wu Fu: New Year’s Eve, you were sitting by the window with that kid.

Cen Jin thought for a moment: Oh.

Wu Fu asked: How is he?

The combative factor in Cen Jin’s body suddenly lost control as she sneered coldly: Is he your biological son?

Wu Fu: Just making polite conversation about him.

Cen Jin: It’s none of your business.

Wu Fu was very calm: I know, relax, I only reached out today to congratulate you.

…

Exiting the chat history, Cen Jin thought about deleting Wu Fu but ultimately didn’t. After separation, the most dignified approach was indifference—regardless of anything, she had to force herself to stick to this principle completely.

The good mood from eating a warm, heartfelt meal was completely kicked apart by her ex-husband’s intrusion. Cen Jin rubbed her temples a couple of times and continued working overtime in a gloomy mood.

―

In late April, as spring deepened and flowers bloomed abundantly, the Education Bureau finally confirmed the school reopening date.

On May 6th, Yi Middle School students returned to campus. This long-deserted island was finally replanted with forests, buzzing with the appropriate vital energy.

However, students still had to wear masks in class, their lower faces obscured, making everyone look fresh and strange to each other. After the first class ended, Li Wu sat properly at his desk reading when Cheng Rui came to tease him as usual, studying him for a while before asking: “Li Wu, you seem much paler.”

Li Wu looked up: “Really?”

“Yeah,” Cheng Rui pulled down his mask, grinning: “Look at me, am I a bit paler from being cooped up too?”

Li Wu judged carefully: “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Damn, you can’t even say one nice thing? You’re dark too, dark dark dark dark forever dark.” He flew into an embarrassed rage.

Li Wu: “…”

This semester was extremely compressed, so Li Wu didn’t dare slack off, studying every minute and second, completely absorbed in his work.

Now in this class, besides Cheng Rui, no one else was close to him. The main reason wasn’t last semester’s incident, but rather their tacit understanding that this transfer student wouldn’t stay long in their group. He was different from them—most had solid backing and could afford trial and error in life; but his forward momentum came with extremes and obsession, destined to leave him no other choice.

He was like a fleeting star, a white colt flashing past, leaving only a brief but dazzling afterimage.

After the final exam that semester, the starlight soared, and the white horse neighed.

Li Wu’s photo and name were mounted high on the tenth-seventh place of the Grade 11 Honor Roll.

The youth’s features were stern as he gazed ahead, seemingly already reaching for higher visions and broader horizons.

For a regular class transfer student to show such fierce momentum was unprecedented at Yi Middle School. Even the usually arrogant experimental class students came running to see.

Li Wu became famous overnight, destined to be a topic of discussion among teachers, students, and parents over the summer break, mostly met with amazement when mentioned.

On the day of receiving grades, after dismissal, Teacher Zhang called him to her office for a final farewell before his class advancement, wanting to share her hopes for his future.

But when she saw Li Wu, she was nearly speechless with emotion.

Perhaps because he was too quiet, too worry-free, this impeccability made him seem less like a pure child and more like a template that could not err.

But when she spoke, she still used the intimate term “child.”

She said: “Child, I’ve been teaching for almost twenty years, and I’ve rarely, rarely seen such a worry-free student as you. It’s not that I haven’t produced students who went to Peking or Tsinghua University, but somehow, your progress makes me even prouder than theirs, and makes me more reluctant to part.”

She glanced at the bright window: “But you must continue forward, and I’ll see you off at this intersection. Your world will become bigger in the future, with more paths, and perhaps more difficulties and obstacles, but you must believe that knowledge is as equal as sunlight—it will rest on beautiful rooftops and also warm broken walls and ruins, so don’t stop learning, don’t give up learning. Learning will always give you confidence, and fill you with belief, learning is your wings.”

Teacher Zhang’s eyes reddened slightly: “Principal Qi brought you to me, and now I must return you to him. I hope at this time next year, I can still sit here, as an old friend who continues to care about you, and hear you tell me about your excellent college entrance exam results.”

Li Wu felt a lump in his throat. He took a deep breath, faced his mentor, and bowed deeply.

Teacher Zhang wiped her eyes and smiled as she sent him off: “Go on.”

Li Wu spoke clearly and properly: “Thank you, teacher.” Then left the office.

This day was an afternoon in July.

The fierce sun hung high, and the world was brilliant.