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The school’s plans to set up a dedicated competition class ultimately came to nothing.

Liuyuan City was, after all, just an unremarkable small city. Its economy was mediocre — no metro, no large amusement facilities, no top-tier universities, and its museum had only officially opened to the public within the past two years. The one thing this city could genuinely show for itself was a relatively “high-quality” —

— exam-oriented education, born of necessity from an overabundance of population.

The students here mostly came from ordinary working-class families. They were accustomed to a life lived between two fixed points, to the tactic of drowning themselves in practice exams, to rankings on report cards, to the standard answers on test papers. When getting into university becomes the absolute guiding purpose of studying, any factor that does not serve that goal gets discarded.

Academic competitions were exactly that. For more than ninety percent of the students who took this path, the goal was to give themselves a shot at getting into Tsinghua or Peking University, or a top-tier 985 institution — in short, it was a tool for leaping higher.

But now, this tool had become extraordinarily risky. If the leap fell short, there was nothing underneath to catch you.

The students did not have the capital to take that gamble. And so, in the end, scarcely anyone signed up.

Faced with this situation, the leadership of First High had no choice but to revise the plan, restoring the competition class to the model used in previous years — competition students would prepare for academic competitions during evening self-study periods, on weekends, and over winter and summer holidays, while continuing to attend regular classes with their cohort during the day.

Although she had nothing to do with competitions, Fang Zhixiao observed the school going back and forth on this issue and said with deep bitterness that this was a textbook example of decision-making done entirely on impulse.

Li Kuiyi wholeheartedly agreed.

Under the original competition format, she had already compiled more than enough reasons to convince herself not to sign up. But now, as though a small stone had been dropped into still water, quiet ripples slowly spread through her heart.

Quite unusually, she lay awake all night. She wished every choice in the world could be turned into a mathematics problem — one that could be solved through calculation to produce a unique answer or an optimal solution, so she would not have to be like a shrewd merchant, calculating every step, weighing every move.

The next morning, during the long break, Qi Yu came back in from outside, carrying a competition registration form in his hand. He had barely sat down before he poked Li Kuiyi on the back, asking with something close to delight: “Now you can go after both competitions and the gaokao at the same time — so, have you picked up a registration form?”

It was the first time Li Kuiyi had ever seen such an animated expression on Qi Yu’s face. Understandable, really — this format was better for him, since it was far more stable. She thought for a moment and said directly: “No. I’m not planning to sign up.”

“Why not?” Qi Yu had clearly not expected this. The smile on his face froze for a moment.

Li Kuiyi bit her lip, paused, and said: “For mathematics and physics competitions — unless your aptitude is truly extraordinary, starting competitions in high school is a bit late, isn’t it?”

All along, she had attributed her inability to participate in competitions to external circumstances. Now, with nowhere left to run, she had no choice but to attribute it to herself.

She had been evading this question all along — in her ideal world, each of her choices should be grounded in rational thought, not in paying the price for a poor decision made years ago.

Yes — she regretted it. She regretted not trying this path when her teacher had recommended it to her in middle school.

She had let it go so easily back then. She had felt it did not matter — and besides, she had not wanted to ask Li Jianye and Xu Manhua for the competition tutoring fees. She was too estranged from them. She could not bring herself to open her mouth.

Now that decision was swinging back around like a boomerang, and she did not know whether to feel worse about having treated it so carelessly, or about the fact that her parents had never given her the confidence to ask anything of them at all.

“You’ve never studied competitions before?” Qi Yu looked utterly stunned. The first time he had met her, she was working through a book of Timed Maths Competition Exercises. He had assumed she was like him — someone who had been exposed to this world from an early age and had already achieved some results. Now he realised he had been wrong.

Li Kuiyi shook her head.

Qi Yu lowered his eyes, silent. Yes — as she had said, if one was not exceptionally gifted, starting maths or physics competitions in high school was indeed on the late side. The results would not go very high, likely capping out at provincial-level awards. His own situation was far better than hers — his parents had planned for him long in advance — yet somehow he could not feel happy about it. He wanted to defeat her, but he wanted to defeat her properly, with both of them starting from the same line. Only then would it be fair —

At this very moment, Qi Yu suddenly realised the naivety of his thinking. What fairness? It seemed fairness was only his imagination. Some gaps, it turned out, had been quietly widening long before anyone noticed.

His voice took on an inexplicably bitter edge: “What about chemistry and biology? It’s not too late to start those two in high school.”

“No, thank you — I don’t have much interest in either of those subjects.”

“Actually, you could try the maths competition. Even if you can’t make it to the national finals, getting a provincial first or second prize isn’t bad at all…” For reasons he could not quite identify, Qi Yu was afraid of her leaving his field — and so he tried hard to persuade her.

Li Kuiyi shook her head again. “It won’t help. Without making the provincial team, it’s very hard to get the opportunity to sign an agreement with Tsinghua or Peking University for a score reduction. And with a provincial first prize, attending their summer camps or independent recruitment events would only reduce the required score by a very limited margin. In the time it would take to do competitions, I’d be better off improving my gaokao scores.”

Qi Yu said nothing, only looking at her quietly.

She noticed the expression in his eyes and smiled slightly, continuing: “You don’t need to feel sorry for me. Honestly, my feelings about competitions have always been entirely pragmatic — to me, it’s just a stepping stone. So I only ever consider its cost-effectiveness. As for mathematics and physics themselves, I don’t have the kind of passion where I’d feel I simply must study them.”

Is that so? Qi Yu quietly asked within his heart.

Registration, examinations, selection — the competition class opened quickly. During evening self-study, more than half of Class One’s students were gone. The classroom felt emptier, and quieter too — even the soft scraping of pen-tips on paper seemed diminished. Li Kuiyi sat facing a mathematics practice paper, staring at it for a long while. Her black pen turned and turned between her fingers, her reflection cast in the glass window, motionless for a long time.

She still remembered how she had felt when she saw the news about a girl from the same city winning a gold medal at the International Mathematical Olympiad. Growing up, her maths results had always been excellent — the kind of excellent that required little effort. She had once been quietly proud of her own cleverness, like a child picking up shells on the beach, pleased to have found the most beautiful one — only to suddenly lift her head and discover a vast and boundless sea before her.

To have never gone out and ridden those waves — truly, a little bit of a shame.

This regret was not violent. It was more like the drizzling, relentless rain of monsoon season, seeping dampness into her body one slow inch at a time.

Something gnawed at her from within. She picked up her pen and began filling in every circle that appeared on the practice paper, one by one, blotting each one completely black.

When the bell rang for the break, Li Kuiyi pushed the paper away. She had intended to bury her face in the crook of her arm and rest for a while — she could not keep thinking about this. She wanted to fall asleep. She wanted to dream a dream that went nowhere in particular. Right now there was a dementor hovering above her, sucking out her emotions. She had to break free of it, resist its intrusion.

But just then, Zhou Fanghua gently squeezed her fingers and asked quietly: “It’s stuffy in here — would you like to go for a walk outside?”

Li Kuiyi looked up, held her gaze for two seconds, then stood up and quietly followed her out.

Just outside the window beside their seats was a small garden, dark at this hour, with only a thin fall of light from the window below. The tree-shadows gathered in clumps, motionless as sentinels. From the small pond came occasional soft sounds of lapping water — it might have been fish.

At this time of year, the air felt cool when drawn into the nostrils. Li Kuiyi had rolled up her uniform sleeves to the elbow while inside, and now that the chill hit her, goosebumps rose quickly along her skin.

Zhou Fanghua held her hand and led her into the garden. The path was paved with flagstones, and along the way, nameless long-leafed grasses brushed past their ankles. Beneath a sweetly-scented osmanthus tree, Zhou Fanghua stopped, crouched down, and rustled around in her pocket, pulling out a plastic bag.

“What are you doing?” Li Kuiyi was a little puzzled.

Zhou Fanghua said quietly: “Digging for soil.”

“Digging for soil?” Li Kuiyi still did not follow.

“When I went home last week, I brought two small aloe vera plants to keep in the dormitory — but I forgot to bring soil with me.” Zhou Fanghua stuck out her tongue in embarrassment.

“Oh. Let me help you dig, then.” Li Kuiyi crouched down beside her.

But the soil beneath the tree was packed hard — there was no way to make any progress with bare hands. The two of them worked at it together for quite a while without achieving much. Zhou Fanghua let out a sigh. “I should’ve brought a little trowel.”

“Would the soil in the grass be looser?” Li Kuiyi suggested.

“I don’t dare reach into the grass — I’m scared of insects.”

Fair enough. Li Kuiyi was afraid of insects too, and did not have the courage either. She stood up, brushed the dirt off her hands, and said: “I’ll bring you some soil from my residential community’s green belt tomorrow.”

“When would you even find time to dig soil?”

“In the morning — I can get up ten minutes early, that’s all.”

“No, no, no.” Zhou Fanghua quickly waved her hands in refusal. Sleep was precious beyond measure to a high school student — she could not allow someone to get up early just to bring her a handful of soil. “Let me think of another way. Please don’t go to so much trouble.”

Li Kuiyi said it was no trouble, but Zhou Fanghua insisted, so she had no choice but to drop the matter. She knew Zhou Fanghua — if Li Kuiyi showed up the next morning with soil without a word of warning, she would feel guilty about it for a very, very long time.

“Let’s go wash our hands,” Zhou Fanghua said. “Honestly, I’m just happy you came with me. I wouldn’t have dared come on my own — worried someone might see.”

Then, as though joking, she added: “But with you beside me, I’m not scared at all. In my heart, you’re what the word ‘brave’ looks like.”

Zhou Fanghua felt her face quietly go warm — only she knew how much courage it had taken to say those words.

Li Kuiyi gave a stiff little smile. “I think you might have me a bit wrong.”

She was not brave at all. She simply looked, on the surface, like someone who could charge forward at any moment — which gave people the impression she was fearless. But in reality, she had never won a single battle. She had never once managed to hold on to what she most wanted to hold on to. What she had wanted to change had never changed.

Zhou Fanghua said: “You heard what you said earlier to Qi Yu, right? I heard all of it. I think every time you’re able to weigh things clearly and make a clear-eyed decision — that’s brave.”

“The only reason I’m able to weigh things clearly now is because I made a clear-eyed decision years ago.” Li Kuiyi paused. “No — an unclear-eyed one.”

“You mean not starting competitions earlier? How old were you then — primary school? Middle school? Who isn’t a muddle-headed mess at that age? Unless your parents mapped it all out for you, you’d be stumbling around like a headless fly on your own. You might regret some decisions you made back then — but I believe you’ve already chosen the right path for your future.”

The right path for your future —

Li Kuiyi suddenly remembered a poem they had studied in seventh grade, called The Road Not Taken. She still remembered a few lines:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood / And sorry I could not travel both…

There would always be regrets. Wouldn’t there?

“I don’t know how you see yourself, but to me — you are brave,” Zhou Fanghua said, holding her ground.

Well, alright. Li Kuiyi looked up at the ink-blue canopy of the sky, and for no particular reason thought: Zhou Fanghua knows how to comfort me. She sniffled, feeling a little embarrassed — was she really this easy to win over with kind words? She had been feeling so gloomy, and yet now she felt just a little bit floaty. How embarrassing.

It seems she really does love being recognised by others.

Li Kuiyi — you never change.

The two of them walked to the washbasin in front of the restroom and turned on the tap to wash their hands carefully. Because they had been digging in the soil, there was some dirt caught in their nail beds that was not easy to clean — so they washed for a while longer than usual.

Li Kuiyi was scrubbing carefully at her fingernails when a tall shadow suddenly fell beside her, blocking most of the light above her. Without looking up, she simply turned her body to face the other side where there was still light.

Then the person beside her, while washing their hands, suddenly flicked and scattered a handful of water — like a bursting firework — and splattered it right in front of her face.

She instinctively pulled her head back, but tiny droplets still speckled her face.

“You —” Li Kuiyi looked up angrily, only to find it was, as fate would have it, He Youyuan. He stood in the light with complete composure, a half-smile curving his lips.

Li Kuiyi did not hesitate for a second — she scooped up a handful of water and flung it at him.

He Youyuan seemed to have been expecting exactly this, and tilted his body to dodge it. He sauntered past her, tilting his head and tossing out a parting remark: “Useless.”

One could be killed, not humiliated.

Li Kuiyi turned back around to collect water for a second attack — then stopped herself mid-motion, suddenly remembering something. She turned off the tap and called out coolly: “He Youyuan.”

His steps slowed, and he turned around lazily. “Yeah?”

“Do you have an oil painting palette knife?” Li Kuiyi asked.

That thing could just about function as a trowel, couldn’t it.

He Youyuan raised an eyebrow. “What do you want that for — patching walls?”

“Do you think everyone is as idle as you?” Li Kuiyi took a couple of steps forward. “We need to dig soil.”

He Youyuan thought: You digging soil doesn’t strike me as any more dignified than me patching walls.

But lending it was out of the question — not unless Li Kuiyi asked him nicely. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he shook his head. “Not lending it.”

“You splashed water all over my face just now. You owe me.”

But He Youyuan had always been shameless, and this kind of reasoning did not move him in the slightest. “Still not lending it.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.

Yet as he neared the stairwell, he had still not heard Li Kuiyi ask him nicely — and he found that slightly annoying. Thinking it over more carefully, he supposed that splashing someone in the face was genuinely not the most righteous thing to do. So let them each give a little — she could pay a fee to rent his palette knife, just fifty cents, enough to buy a piece of bubble gum. And so he turned back. “You —”

He had barely gotten that single syllable out when Li Kuiyi flung a face full of water at him.

Li Kuiyi pulled Zhou Fanghua by the hand and walked past him with triumphant strides, leaving behind a parting shot: “You never know when to accept a good offer.”

Chen Guoming called Li Kuiyi in for another conversation as well. Still nursing some lingering resentment over the misunderstanding earlier, Li Kuiyi felt rather like a child who had just had a fight with her parents — still aggrieved inside, but when called out to eat, still not daring to refuse. As far as Chen Guoming was concerned, apologising was out of the question — he acted like nothing had happened, cleared his throat, and asked with studied casualness: “How have your studies been going lately?”

After going around in circles, the subject finally circled back to competitions. Li Kuiyi went through her reasons again, while silently thinking that next time it might be more efficient to just create a group chat with herself, Qi Yu, and Chen Guoming and share all the information at once — save everyone the trouble of repeating things.

In the end, she put on the air of a calm and reasonable adult and said, with a hint of calculated surprise: “When the school recruited me, wasn’t it to achieve good results in the gaokao once again?”

Chen Guoming was thoroughly taken aback. What she said was true — but he had not expected her to say it so bluntly. This girl truly did not know her place — to say such a thing out loud was essentially the same as saying: “Don’t you want me to bring home another top score?”

He did, of course. Otherwise, why would he have gone to so much trouble to compete with Experiment High for her in the first place?

Chen Guoming did not reply. He only nodded, and gave her shoulder a pat — wearing the expression of “good, you understand.”

During evening self-study, Li Kuiyi got her weekly journal entry done early. The title was A Practical Study on the Usefulness of Drawing the Cake One Cannot Eat and Imagining the Plum That Quenches One’s Thirst. She did not, of course, dare to use her own example — she wrote around it with various vaguely relevant ramblings, barely suppressing her laughter as she wrote.

Setting down her pen, she looked again at the glass window, where her own shadow was reflected back at her, along with Zhou Fanghua’s shadow, and the shadows of the handful of students who had stayed purely on the gaokao track — all layered on top of one another, like a series of gently rolling hills, interwoven with the shadows of trees outside, the fluorescent lights overhead turning it all into a shifting, mesmerising kaleidoscope.

See, Li Kuiyi — the road ahead is still in full bloom.

Toward the end of October, two autumn rains fell, stirring up the cold in earnest. The two ginkgo trees at the entrance to the sports ground shed a flurry of leaves that were wetted by the rain and clung to the ground, as though pressing their veined patterns into it.

The school switched to winter hours. Students pulled the short sleeves out from under their uniform jackets and replaced them with sweatshirts or long-sleeved polo shirts; some who felt the cold more keenly had already slipped on thin knit jumpers and needed a small blanket draped over them when napping at their desks during the lunch break.

Qi Yu began printing out the competition class materials and passing a copy to Li Kuiyi. He smiled in an easy, unassuming way: “Even if you’re not going to compete, it’s good for stretching your thinking.”

“Thank you.” Li Kuiyi accepted them without ceremony. “How much did printing cost?”

“We have a printer at home — barely any cost at all.” He smiled, waving the offer aside.

Li Kuiyi did not insist. Small financial exchanges like this she did not track too carefully — in a few days she could treat him to something and call it even. But she genuinely appreciated it.

Qi Yu said: “No need to thank me — just don’t find me annoying when I come to you with questions.”

“Of course not,” Li Kuiyi said, though she found it a little curious. The competition class had plenty of students — wasn’t there enough to discuss with them? Besides, she had recently heard that Qi Yu’s mother was one of First High’s dedicated competition teachers.

But there was something peculiar and wonderful about it. Just as one had a meal companion for eating, Qi Yu felt that discussing problems also called for a problem-companion — someone who, without needing many words, could simply follow along with your thinking.

He had noticed: when Li Kuiyi was working through a problem, her face was expressionless — she did not even furrow her brow. She liked turning her pen between her fingers, and a black ballpoint pen would spin through her fingers like a small whirlwind. On the first knuckle of her right middle finger, long years of holding a pen had built up a small callus — and by coincidence, he had one in exactly the same spot on his right hand.

All in all, she was a very good problem-companion.

On Saturday, the weekly practice exam came around again as scheduled. After it was done, Li Kuiyi picked up the competition materials Qi Yu had given her and told Fang Zhixiao she was heading to Classroom 501 to find him. The competition students no longer needed to participate in the weekend practice exam — they went to study their competition subjects instead.

Li Kuiyi had one question she was not quite sure about and had arranged with Qi Yu to work through it together.

The competition class had already finished as well. Classroom 501 had only three or four students still lingering inside. Qi Yu sat alone by the window, one hand propping up his head, staring at the problems before him.

Li Kuiyi walked in and sat down in the seat directly in front of him, then turned around and set the materials on his desk — startling him.

“You’re here.” Qi Yu smiled, picked up a pen, and without any preamble said, “We discussed this one in class today. The approach goes like this…”

Li Kuiyi rested her elbows on the desk, eyes lowered and lashes downcast, listening.

Perhaps because of how close they were sitting, Qi Yu suddenly caught the scent of shampoo drifting from her hair. He could not identify what kind of fragrance it was — only a vague sense of something like the pulpy sweetness of a fruit-flavoured drink on a summer afternoon. How strange, he thought. It was already autumn…

He quietly lifted his eyes.

Just for a single moment’s pause, and she was already pointing at the scratch paper: “Here — this should be a biconditional.”

“Oh.” Qi Yu laughed softly. “My mistake…”

He steadied himself and continued with the proof.

At some point, the remaining students in the room had drifted away too. Only the blue curtains by the window went on swaying, slow and indifferent. He Youyuan burst in with a basketball tucked under his arm, and what he walked in on was a boy and a girl with their heads bent close together, the setting sun melting gold outside the window, both their silhouettes as though engraved into an oil painting.

“Qi —” The name lodged in his throat and could not come out.

Zhang Chuang caught up from behind and wrapped an arm around his neck. “Running like you’re being chased, what’s going on —” He saw the two people in the classroom and suddenly went quiet.

After all, he had once suspected He Youyuan liked Li Kuiyi.

Li Kuiyi and Qi Yu heard the noise and looked up in surprise. Qi Yu reacted first. “Wait for me a moment — we’ll be done soon.”

“Sorry for holding you up,” Li Kuiyi said. Seeing the basketball under He Youyuan’s arm, she could easily guess what they had planned.

“Not at all.” Qi Yu lowered his head again. “Let’s continue.”

Zhang Chuang glanced at He Youyuan, then walked into the classroom and dropped into a random seat, jerking his chin at him. “Let’s just play a couple of rounds right here.”

“Play what.” He Youyuan dragged a chair over and sat down too. “My phone’s still with the old teacher.”

“He still hasn’t given it back? Ah — or rather, hasn’t the little auntie gone to collect it for you yet?”

“Hasn’t gone.”

Chen Guoming had made it clear: if he wanted his phone back, his guardian would have to come and collect it in person. No exceptions.

He Youyuan had pleaded with his small aunt to go on his behalf, but Ms. He Qiuming was furious — she felt he had been doing nothing but causing trouble since the school year started, and had already been called in twice in under two months — so she decided to teach him a lesson, and had not gone.

Zhang Chuang had no intention of sharing in a friend’s suffering and pulled out his own phone to play games on his own.

He Youyuan slumped in his chair with nothing to do, glancing idly around the classroom. He pressed the basketball under his foot, swinging his legs. The formula on the blackboard had not been erased yet, and he stared at it blankly, while his peripheral vision slid involuntarily toward the two by the window.

You can discuss problems, fine. But do you really need to sit that close?

Do you two know the saying “a gentleman does not stand beneath a crumbling wall”? If Chen Guoming saw this, he’d start suspecting things all over again.

Especially you, Li Kuiyi — can you please learn from your experiences?

Whatever. I can’t be bothered worrying about you two. He Youyuan gave a dismissive scoff and turned his chair around, sitting with his back to them.

Zhang Chuang, never one to miss a chance to stir things up, leaned close and whispered in his ear: “Seriously, man — they’re just working on problems together. You’re not actually jealous over this, are you?”

“Which of your eyes saw me being jealous?!” He Youyuan hissed back through his teeth, red-faced with indignation, and kicked the leg of Zhang Chuang’s desk.

The desk scraped across the floor with a grating screech. The two at the window looked up in alarm.

“Nothing, nothing — keep going,” Zhang Chuang said with a cheerful grin. “He has no phone to play with, and no girl to discuss maths with, so he’s going a little mad from boredom.”

“You can go and —” He Youyuan wished he could sew Zhang Chuang’s mouth shut on the spot.

By now, Qi Yu and Li Kuiyi’s discussion was wrapping up. Li Kuiyi went through the approach once more from start to finish in her head, then gathered her materials, stood up, and said: “Thank you.”

Qi Yu started packing up his bag too, smiling: “Why are you thanking me for discussing problems?”

After a moment, he added: “By the way, I heard the year level is holding an English speech competition — are you entering?”

Being a teacher’s child really does come with privileged access to information. Li Kuiyi marvelled inwardly, then shook her head. “I’m not very good at public speaking — I read things completely without any feeling.”

You are quite self-aware, He Youyuan thought. He recalled her remarks at the opening ceremony — her voice was pleasant enough, but utterly flat. Even when she reached words like “strive” and “forge ahead,” her tone remained calm to the point of being unsettling.

The school administrators must have listened to that and immediately wanted to go home to their mothers and give up on running the school entirely.

“Are you entering?” Li Kuiyi asked Qi Yu in return.

Qi Yu smiled. “My English speaking isn’t very good — I’d rather not embarrass myself on stage.”

“Really? I’ve heard you answering questions in English class — your speaking seemed quite good, actually.” Li Kuiyi felt he was being modest.

Your ears are broken, He Youyuan thought.

“Not compared to the truly good ones — Xia Leyi’s spoken English, for instance, is exceptional,” Qi Yu said.

Li Kuiyi nodded in agreement. “True — even the English teacher has praised her.”

Qi Yu suddenly gestured toward He Youyuan. “His spoken English is really good too. His small aunt is the English teacher at our school’s middle school section — she taught our English right through middle school.”

Hearing himself suddenly mentioned, He Youyuan, who had been draped lazily in his chair, involuntarily sat up a little straighter. He scratched his head, licked his lips, and let his gaze drift in a way that seemed casual — a brief, light sweep across Li Kuiyi’s face.

She did, indeed, glance over at him. But it was an utterly indifferent glance, without even an “oh.”

An inexplicable little pang of hurt rose up in his chest.

Stinky-faced pineapple, do you know the saying “it’s not the scarcity that matters, but the inequality”? You praised him but didn’t praise me. That’s what this is.

Not that I particularly need your praise. But treating people differently is just wrong. Lucky for you, I’m already a mature and emotionally resilient adult with a high threshold for these things. If a small child encountered this kind of treatment, they’d be upset for three whole days, wouldn’t they?

He Youyuan kept a cool face, grabbed the basketball, and tossed it at Qi Yu. Standing up, he said: “What’s the point of talking about all this — let’s go. We’re almost late.”

The three of them had arranged to play at an indoor sports hall, on the side closer to South Metropolitan Street — the weather lately had been unpredictable, and they did not want to be stuck in the rain.

The sports hall was over near South Metropolitan Shopping Street, which still required taking Bus No. 6.

Li Kuiyi found a window seat as usual, stared out the window, put in her earphones, and listened to music. Qi Yu sat beside her. He Youyuan and Zhang Chuang stood at the rear door, standing guard like a pair of door gods.

“What are you listening to?” Qi Yu asked.

“Zhou Jielun’s songs. Running in the Wrong Direction.”

“Oh.” Qi Yu touched the tip of his nose. “I don’t listen to Zhou Jielun much — is it good?”

Zhang Chuang rolled his eyes in silence. Brother, there’s a basic logic to starting a conversation — if it wasn’t good, why would she be listening to it?

He Youyuan pressed his lips to one side too. What is going on here? You two are not about to share one set of earphones now, are you? That would be a little bit suggestive… honestly, he found it very suggestive.

Qi Yu, you little — was that question intentional?

How well do you know the stinky-faced pineapple exactly? Better than me? You two should just be classmates who discuss problems together. But she and I have eaten barbecue together — and she was the one who invited me. More importantly, she has probably, maybe, possibly, already started to like me.

Thinking about the possibility of Li Kuiyi liking him, He Youyuan felt vaguely uncertain, because her attitude toward him was genuinely rather poor. But if one said Li Kuiyi had no feelings for him at all, a lot of things did not quite add up — especially her good friend Fang Zhixiao, who, every time she saw him, either wore a sly grin or a meaningful smile.

There was definitely something going on.

Just as he was turning this over, he heard Li Kuiyi’s voice — quiet and flat: “It’s good.”

Like a vegetable seller being asked whether her vegetables were fresh. Oh, they’re fresh — she was not even as animated as the vegetable seller. She did not make any move to take out an earbud and hand him half.

He Youyuan’s lips curved by a fraction that was barely noticeable.

Was that a little unkind of me toward my own brother? Probably. But He Youyuan thought it over carefully — Qi Yu was someone entirely devoted to study, almost certainly not emotionally aware in that sense, so his question just now had most likely been simple, casual small talk.

Qi Yu touched his nose and gave a dry little laugh. “I’ll listen when I get home then.”

The sky darkened quickly as winter approached. Before even two stops had passed, the sky outside was completely dark. Li Kuiyi seemed to sense they were nearing her stop and rose from her seat: “I’m getting off.”

Qi Yu was surprised. “Your home isn’t over by Construction East Road?”

Li Kuiyi did not want to explain in detail and only said: “Last time I had something on — I ended up riding two extra stops.”

He Youyuan barely managed to keep a straight face. Something on? More like you couldn’t stop thinking about me.

“I see.” Qi Yu understood, shifting to let her out. “Take care on your way home.”

“Mm. You too.”

Li Kuiyi moved toward the rear door, but because both handrails on either side of the door were already occupied by Zhang Chuang and He Youyuan, she had to reach for the overhead bar instead — barely hooking her fingertips around it.

Such a struggle to watch. He Youyuan could not bear it, and hooked her school bag to pull her into his spot by the handrail, himself moving to stand behind her, reaching up and gripping the overhead bar with ease.

His presence closed around her.

Li Kuiyi glanced up and saw a clean stretch of his forearm — cool-pale and lean, with nice lines. She thought: this was actually one thing she genuinely appreciated about him — he always smelled good, and whatever skin was exposed always looked fresh and clean. A world away from those boys who smelled unpleasant.

The only shortcoming was that this person had a personality of his own.

If he were a mannequin, he’d be absolutely delightful — that face was so handsome. But he had an unpredictable soul to go with it. When she needed help, he would help. When she did not, he would cause trouble for her.

Could he not be more straightforward? Did he have to be so two-faced?

Li Kuiyi reflected on this — entirely unaware that the person behind her was staring at the crown of her head, quietly sulking: Why hasn’t she said thank you?

The bus came smoothly to a stop. Li Kuiyi said goodbye to Qi Yu, gave Zhang Chuang a wave — but He Youyuan was standing right behind her, and she could not turn around. Oh well, no saying anything to him then.

He Youyuan had just raised his hand: “…”

Infuriating. Not even a “goodbye.”

After Li Kuiyi got off, Zhang Chuang began silently working through the situation between his two friends and her. He figured: He Youyuan liking her was fine. Qi Yu liking her was also fine. But if both of them liked her at the same time, that would be a very serious problem.

Things definitely could not be this melodramatic.

If he had to pick one to support, he would pick He Youyuan. No other reason — He Youyuan was his childhood friend. They had known each other for over ten years. Qi Yu, they had only known since middle school.

He could not say this in front of both of them. He would have to wait until after basketball and ask He Youyuan alone what his intentions were.

He had not anticipated that He Youyuan, cradling the basketball and wiping the sweat from his forehead, would glance sideways at him and say: “My intentions? You should be asking her what her intentions are. Can’t you tell she already likes me a little?”

Zhang Chuang: “…”

He could not tell.

Brother, where does your confidence come from?

Zhang Chuang tried cautiously: “Maybe you haven’t noticed — she was the only one who didn’t say goodbye to you when she got off the bus.”

“She’s angry with me.” After Li Kuiyi got off, He Youyuan had thought this through carefully and arrived at this conclusion with considerable certainty. “That day she was a bit jealous about the early romance thing and I didn’t explain myself. Then she came to borrow the palette knife and I didn’t lend it to her, and now she’s like this. Don’t you think she’s a little petty?”

Zhang Chuang nodded his head agreeably: “Yes, yes. She really is a bit petty.”

Two days later, the English teacher made an official announcement in class about the speech competition. The theme was “The Right Time to Strive”, and participating students were required to prepare their own scripts, with a speaking time of approximately five minutes. The competition was divided into three parts: the thematic speech, an English-related talent showcase, and a free Q&A session, weighted at a ratio of 5:2:3 in the final score.

Class One, being an advanced class, was allocated two competition spots. Other classes each had one.

The English teacher used half a class period to let the students who had signed up deliver a trial presentation at the podium — after which the rest of the class would vote, and the two highest vote-getters would represent the class in the competition.

Xia Leyi, unsurprisingly, claimed one of the spots. The other went to a boy named Zhao Shilei.

The competition was scheduled for the following Sunday morning at nine o’clock.

First High was ruthless about this — they knew perfectly well how precious this time was for students, and had already anticipated that very few people would voluntarily turn up to watch. So they made it compulsory: fifteen students from every class were required to attend as audience members.

With twenty classes in the first year and fifteen students each, that was three hundred audience members — plus around twenty or so competitors. Enough to fill most of the seats in First High’s small auditorium.

At first, each class opened sign-ups on a voluntary basis, but the numbers fell short. With no other option, the class committee had to step in and fill the gaps.

And so Li Kuiyi became an audience member.

Zhou Fanghua said: “If you’re going to the competition, I might as well come too. Nothing better to do anyway.”

What Li Kuiyi had not expected was that Fang Zhixiao would willingly give up the one precious morning of sleeping in she had in an entire week and sign up of her own accord. She said excitedly: “He Youyuan is representing his class, you know. I heard he sings really well.”

Li Kuiyi’s right eyelid gave a small twitch. She felt, aesthetically speaking, that He Youyuan and the theme “The Right Time to Strive” were simply incompatible in spirit.

Look at how lazy he was.

Sunday morning came quickly. At eight twenty, Li Kuiyi met up with Fang Zhixiao at the school gate — they bought two savoury pies to eat — and at eight thirty, they met up with Zhou Fanghua at the entrance to the auditorium.

When they entered, it was already packed and noisy inside. Since it was not a school day, no one was in uniform. The sea of colourful clothes all crammed together looked like a giant colour-mixing palette. The students preparing to perform had each gone to extra lengths — not quite decked out extravagantly, but clearly dressed with care and intention.

“Li Kuiyi! Over here!”

She heard someone calling her name. Li Kuiyi stood on her tiptoes and looked around, spotting Xia Leyi waving at her from across the room. Even from that distance, the girl seemed to radiate light — she was wearing a blue-green princess dress, the fabric shimmering like the surface of the ocean, the style slightly dramatic, but perfectly suited to her.

Li Kuiyi pulled Fang Zhixiao and Zhou Fanghua over. Getting closer, she discovered that He Youyuan was seated beside Xia Leyi.

Compared to most of the other competitors, his outfit could only be described as plain — he was in school uniform. Of all things, school uniform.

First High’s school uniform was black-and-white — not particularly attractive, though at least clean and fresh-looking. He Youyuan had put the uniform on even neater than usual, zipper pulled up properly to the upper chest, the collar of his inner layer visible and perfectly tidy. On his feet, a pair of black Converse canvas shoes. Nothing flashy from head to toe — yet entirely sustained by his own natural presence, which effortlessly carried everything.

He glanced over once, said nothing — looking rather like an upright and refined young tree.

Fang Zhixiao leaned in close to Li Kuiyi and Zhou Fanghua and whispered: “This person is really calculating. Look at him, being all innocent in his school uniform — but actually, every single hair on his head has been arranged.”

Li Kuiyi and Zhou Fanghua looked over in unison. They could not tell.

“It’s just like a no-makeup makeup look on a girl. Your eyes are just not sharp enough.” Fang Zhixiao had given up trying to educate them.

Li Kuiyi may not have spotted his little scheme, but she could understand why he had done it. The row of evaluators — a panel of people well past fifty — would surely take one look at a handsome, neatly-dressed young boy and be completely charmed, like seeing their own dear grandchild.

He really was calculating.

In truth, there was a reason He Youyuan was wearing this. He had originally dressed up like a peacock in full plumage — his most stylish windbreaker on, going entirely for maximum impact. He had looked at himself in the mirror, absolutely pleased: wasn’t this about to make every girl in the school fall head over heels? Then Ms. He Qiuming had looked at him and said quietly: “He Youyuan. Are you going to participate in a competition, or to find a mate?”

One sentence snapped him back to reality.

And so he changed direction — decided to charm the evaluators first.

He Youyuan was feeling very pleased with himself as he silently crowned himself “the Zhuge Liang of the modern era.”

When Li Kuiyi and the others made their way over to Xia Leyi’s row, they discovered she had also put on a delicate and impeccable face of makeup — sweet and brilliant, with tiny rhinestones at the corners of her eyes, like a little mermaid rising from the ocean depths.

“Wow!” Fang Zhixiao was the first to let out an exclamation — quite without dignity.

Xia Leyi smiled graciously, shifted one seat inward, then patted He Youyuan on the shoulder: “Move over a bit.”

There were just three remaining seats. After Xia Leyi shifted, there was one empty seat between her and He Youyuan, with two more to his right. Xia Leyi wanted He Youyuan to slide over next to her so three consecutive seats would open up.

Under normal circumstances, He Youyuan would have moved without any fuss. But looking at Li Kuiyi, he simply was not in the mood — what was she thinking, treating him the way she did the other day?

He said, flat and unhelpful: “No.”

“…”

All four of them found it baffling, but there was nothing to be done. They settled in as best they could.

Xia Leyi tapped the seat beside her and said to Li Kuiyi: “Never mind him — sit here.”

Li Kuiyi walked over. Fang Zhixiao settled into Xia Leyi’s original seat, and Zhou Fanghua took the outermost one.

As Li Kuiyi passed beside He Youyuan, she caught a faint, clean fragrance — which made her think inexplicably of the vivid blue-green spires of cypress trees growing in a quiet, snowy valley, the scent gentle rather than overpowering, like something quietly holding everything aloft.

She sat down, then turned to He Youyuan and asked: “Are you wearing cologne?”

He Youyuan glanced sideways at her. And so what if I am?

Li Kuiyi considered it for a moment and said: “It smells quite good. Just a bit strong.”

The person beside her was silent for a few seconds — then stood up abruptly and said to Zhou Fanghua: “Switch seats with me.”