Li Wu’s student registration transfer went smoothly. On National Day afternoon, they headed back home.

The holiday passed as quickly as a snap of fingers. On the morning of the third, Li Wu left home to return to school, diving back into his studies.

Cen Jin’s company strictly followed legal requirements for a full week off, but during the golden September and silver October, all industries were scrambling for business opportunities. Even at home, Cen Jin was on call 24/7.

They were like two-star trails in the universe, moving in their domains, shining brightly, occasionally intersecting.

In mid-October, Teddy stepped back to support Cen Jin’s proposal for a new G-series SUV from a car brand.

This was her first time as the main presenter for the creative portion, needing to accurately present and describe the team’s ideas during the pitch.

Just for the opening, Cen Jin had practiced over ten times at home.

Li Wu, who returned on weekends, became her main rehearsal audience. The youth’s logical thinking was strong—after careful listening, he would point out where her expression reversed priorities or had disordered progression.

After completing a round of presentations, Cen Jin would have Li Wu try to think of some tricky questions about the content.

At first, Li Wu couldn’t grasp it well.

Cen Jin gave examples of sharp questions clients had asked during past pitches. He absorbed these, beginning to “challenge” her—some of his inquiries even left Cen Jin speechless.

Cen Jin recorded the questions that stumped her, discussing them with colleagues to find the best response techniques.

On the actual day, despite thorough preparation, Cen Jin still felt too nervous to be natural.

Standing before the display screen, she tried to maintain a proper smile, looking professional and composed. During the presentation, she focused on introducing one of the main ideas about a public welfare micro-film set in mountain areas.

Cen Jin’s proposal was fairly successful—at least when she returned to her seat, the clients’ expressions were all gentle.

During the Q&A session, the regional manager asked: “The idea in the film about ‘making all rough paths smooth’ looks good, and it’s relevant with some impact, but I noticed Ms. Cen mentioned a place, Yunfeng Village. With so many remote mountain areas in China, why specifically choose this one? I’ve never even heard of it.”

Cen Jin smiled: “I’ve conducted field research there.”

The regional manager raised an eyebrow: “For our product?”

Cen Jin answered: “Not entirely. I once sponsored a student there. Yunfeng Village’s environment and people’s livelihood are very pristine and very authentic, and the road conditions are perfect for promoting the G-series’ multi-terrain adaptation system.”

The regional manager asked: “Which SUV model do you drive?”

Cen Jin replied: “I don’t have an SUV. I was driving a Maserati Ghibli at the time—it nearly sent me to my grave.”

The whole room laughed.

Cen Jin looked at him, speaking unhurriedly: “Because of travel limitations, I’ve hardly been able to visit the student I sponsor, but if I had a G-series, things might be different. Why drive an SUV? Just to look cool? To climb mountains and cross ridges for scenic drives? To challenge limits and seek thrills? I think it’s more than that—there can be humanity, sentiment, self-realization, something deeper that touches people’s hearts.”

The regional manager leaned back in his chair: “Actually, you don’t need to repeatedly emphasize what’s already in the PPT—this isn’t a speech. Have you considered one possibility? When this film is presented to the public, it might become a tourism promotional video, focusing on poverty alleviation rather than our cars.”

Cen Jin smiled lightly: “You can rest assured about that. While we won’t show everything, 90% of the scenes will involve the G-series, aimed at demonstrating all its capabilities, inside and out. The public welfare and humanitarian approach makes it easier to go viral, allowing these capabilities to reach more potential consumers’ vision.”

The regional manager nodded in understanding.

…

After Singles’ Day, the G-series’ latest promotional video began airing on major platforms.

The film tells the story of a dispirited man on a road trip who accidentally stumbles upon a picturesque mountain village, finding self-redemption and rediscovering his original aspirations through interactions with and helping the children there.

The car shots were naturally integrated, woven throughout every part of the plot—some amusing, some touching.

Before leaving, the man takes photos with the children, saying he’ll print and mail them back, then drives away.

The children seem to remember something and run wildly after him on the mountainside.

The man sees these small figures in his rearview mirror, steadily braking on the slope. He turns back with tears, shouting: “Don’t see me off! Don’t miss me!”

The children also shout: “We forgot to take pictures with the car!”

…

The video, mixing tears and laughter, moved many people. The creative team led by Cen Jin also won this year’s Long Xi Award.

With another company personnel change, Cen Jin was officially promoted from SCW to GH, becoming the copy team leader in the creative department, and her value doubled.

This year’s cold wave came fiercely, driving away autumn early.

Golden leaves seemed to scatter overnight, with all trees wrapped in white snow.

At year’s end, Cen Jin specially visited a Montblanc boutique, wanting to buy a fountain pen as Li Wu’s coming-of-age gift.

Chunshang accompanied her shopping, asking puzzled: “You’re buying something so expensive—does he even know this brand?”

“What does he need to understand? Just knowing it’s a fountain pen is enough,” Cen Jin’s gaze swept over the pen styles in the display case. “The price only represents the recipient’s importance to the gift-giver. Of course, within one’s means, the more expensive the better.”

Chunshang raised her eyebrows teasingly: “Seems he weighs quite heavily in your heart.”

“He’s my little brother,” Cen Jin replied matter-of-factly.

“You treat him like a little brother, but does he treat you like a big sister?”

Cen Jin called the clerk to take out a pen for closer inspection, then turned back puzzled: “If not a sister, then what?”

Returning home, Cen Jin sneaked back to her bedroom, took out the dark cards she’d bought online earlier, and carefully wrote wishes with a pearlescent pen, stroke by stroke.

After signing, she put it away carefully. On New Year’s Eve, while Li Wu was showering, Cen Jin took out the gift box and card, placing them together in the center of the study desk, quite solemnly.

After Li Wu came out, she pretended nothing had happened, sitting in the living room eating an apple and playing with her phone, not even lifting her eyelids once.

Li Wu glanced at her, paused for a moment, then announced: “Tomorrow is my birthday.”

He rarely shared such things voluntarily. Cen Jin looked at him slightly surprised: “I know.”

He coughed, his manner slightly uncomfortable: “I’m becoming an adult.” He finally had an overlapping identity with her.

Cen Jin bit off a small piece of fruit, casually: “So? Does being an adult matter?”

“No,” his hair was still wet, gleaming with black luster. He seemed more excited than his birthday last year, eyes flickering with smiles: “Just telling you.”

Cen Jin, never one to show mercy, asked analytically: “What are you happy about?”

Li Wu said: “I’m not.”

Cen Jin let out an ambiguous light snort, no longer responding.

Li Wu’s ears grew warm as he walked back to the study.

Before sitting down, he saw the gift on the desk.

Li Wu’s lips instantly curved up as he walked over, sat properly, then opened the folded navy blue card on top, the woman’s neat handwriting leaping out:

“Your life’s new chapter begins writing itself from this moment. Be bold with your pen strokes, sister will always believe in you.

Happy coming of age, little brother Li Wu.”

―

As seasons changed, paulownia flowers bent branches, and spring water’s rising tide filled the city with moisture, Li Wu welcomed his second mock exam.

He steadily rose, his score breaking past 700, ranking among the top in his class.

Cen Jin was long used to this, her most common teasing when receiving report cards being: Tsinghua or Peking University—give me a definite answer.

There were subtle changes in their surroundings.

Some senior students from famous universities would contact him through classmates, pulling their group of top students into the same WeChat group, warmly describing their schools’ various advantages.

Teacher Qi also had private talks with Li Wu, probing whether he had ideas about his college choices, and conveyed certain university admissions offices’ intentions. Li Wu just shook his head, saying he was still considering.

He was indeed still considering.

There were many reasons, but one was crucial—he didn’t want to be too far from Cen Jin.

He had checked flights and high-speed rail from the capital to Yi City—one took two and a half hours, the other six hours and both were expensive.

If he went to study in Beijing and got a scholarship, his and Cen Jin’s life trajectories for the next few years would be parallel except for long holidays, hardly able to intersect.

Although she was currently focused on work, seemingly having no plans to enter another romance, he still worried. Worried that in some derailing moment, Cen Jin would walk toward some fork he could no longer see, when he had been following behind her so long, holding his breath yet trying his hardest.

For Li Wu, the college entrance exam wasn’t just a reward for hard study. He already knew his level well.

It was more like a self-judgment about the future. He sat in the middle of the scale beam, emotion on one side, reason on the other, drawing his sword to look around but finding his heart confused.

Every day before the big exam was a repeat of the previous day—days both tediously long yet fleeting.

The night before the exam, Li Wu couldn’t sleep.

He had stayed at school, not returning home. Now lying alone in bed, the dormitory pitch black, he repeatedly recalled various things from the past two years. He discovered that the images of Cen Jin etched in his mind far exceeded those of himself. The time spent with her wasn’t that much, yet she occupied almost everything, like a shadow, like persistent devotion.

As emotions difficult to decide violently twisted together, Li Wu’s chest ached. He climbed down from bed, took out his pencil case, and retrieved Cen Jin’s two-inch photo.

Li Wu spread it on the desk, gazing at it. The woman’s smile was warm, like good medicine, relieving all his worries and restlessness.

He opened WeChat again, where pinned at the top was Cen Jin’s comforting encouragement sent an hour ago: [Although I don’t know why you won’t come home before the exam or let me send you off, I know you must have your reasons. I also know you must be very nervous right now, but don’t forget what I told you on your 18th birthday: Be bold with your pen strokes, sister will always believe in you.]

He read it over several times silently, his chest rising and falling slowly once, then put the photo back in the drawer.

Early the next day, after checking his stationery and documents, Li Wu took out his phone to look at that sentence once more.

If he didn’t become his best self, how could he deserve her belief in him?

The youth suddenly saw clearly, his spirits lifting. In the wine-like breeze, he strode quickly toward the exam site, giving his all, leaving the rest to fate.

On the evening of the eighth, all third-year students rushed out of the school gates. Like beasts freed from cages, they ran wildly, venting—some screaming, some crying softly.

Li Wu was among the rare calm ones.

The tall youth in a white T-shirt walked out expressionlessly, silent yet eye-catching.

Media with microphones stopped him, trying to interview him.

He glanced at the camera thrust before him, frowning, said a few words—probably declining—then strode away.

The media persisted in following; he buried his head deeper to avoid them, walking faster.

Cen Jin stood in the shade not far away, just watching him and smiling, somehow not wanting to rescue him at all.

The boy who finally escaped looked down and took out his phone.

Cen Jin’s eyebrows lifted slightly as she also took out her phone.

The screen darkened in the next moment.

Cen Jin answered; summer wind flowed between them, shadows flickering.

Li Wu looked up: “I finished the exam,” he paused, “Did you come?”

“I arrived early, mm—” Cen Jin judged her position: “To your front right.”

The youth’s eyes focused in an instant: “I see you.”

Cen Jin ended the call, raising her hand to wave at him a couple of times.

Li Wu’s pace quickened, changing from walking to running.

Once upon a time, on countless Saturday evenings amid surging crowds, he had run toward her just like this, as if sprinting toward light.

The youth stopped in the same patch of tree shadow, before her, looking at her breathlessly, smiling inexplicably. It was the first time he’d shown such a big smile, full of vigor like the bright sun.

Her clever child somehow seemed exam-addled, smiling so foolishly. Cen Jin frowned puzzled: “Did you do very well, smiling like that?”

Li Wu pressed his lips together, turning back mysteriously, giving her only a somewhat proud back of his head.

“How was it, do you have a sense?” Cen Jin hadn’t wanted to immediately discuss this and pressure the child after the exam, but his current proud little manner had sparked all her curiosity, compelling her to pursue an answer.

Li Wu walked slowly, still not saying a word.

“If you don’t tell me, don’t speak to me all summer.” Cen Jin could only resort to threats.

He finally turned his head sideways, answering in his usual way: “Not bad.”

“Here we go again, can you give a definite answer?”

He looked at her steadily for two seconds, seeming somewhat gleeful as he curved his lips: “You’ll probably be very busy after the scores come out.”