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When Qi Yu returned from the mathematics winter camp, he brought back a piece of news whose truth was uncertain.
He said he’d heard it from a few students at the camp — that starting in 2016, the province would no longer set its own college entrance exam questions and would instead adopt the national standardized exam.
Qi Yu didn’t announce this to the whole class. It came up naturally one afternoon during P.E., when the drill formation had broken up and a few of them sat together resting. He mentioned that the winter camp had been full of extraordinary students, and from there the conversation drifted to this.
Pan Junmeng counted on his fingers and then let out a startled “Oh!” — “Doesn’t that mean starting with our year?”
Everyone glanced sideways at him: “Just now figuring that out?”
No one knew if the news was accurate, but it didn’t seem like it could be completely without basis. They debated earnestly whether the provincial exam or the national exam was harder. The problem was that they were only in their first year and had never sat through a complete college entrance exam, so after a lengthy discussion they arrived at nothing. Xia Leyi thought about it and said: “It’s probably our provincial exam that’s harder — look at this year’s science math paper. It would knock over a good portion of students anywhere in the country.”
Zhou Ce curled his lip: “Knock them over? It doesn’t just knock them over — it leaves nothing standing.”
Everyone laughed without much worry. They all found this year’s science math paper terrifying in theory, but since the blade hadn’t touched their skin, they didn’t quite feel the pain. Pan Junmeng raised his fingers again, applying mystical logic: “They say every other year the exam is easy — Year 13 hard, Year 14 easy, Year 15 hard, Year 16 easy — so we’re fine!”
No one was actually afraid. Even with a format change, nobody thought of it as something particularly alarming. Young people who have yet to sit for the college entrance exam always think their futures are limitless — they’ll groan “I can’t do it” and “I’ll never learn this” in public, but privately, most of them believe they’ll get into at least a “985” or “211” university.
It was unclear who let it slip, but two days later, when Li Kuiyi and Zhou Fanghua went to use the restroom, they overhead students huddled together whispering like they were exchanging classified intelligence: “Did you hear? They’re saying our year might switch to the national exam…”
“Really?”
Two days after that, someone asked outright in class: “Are we actually switching to the national exam?”
Liu Xinzhao looked momentarily surprised — whether at the information itself or at the fact that everyone already knew, it was hard to say. She quickly composed herself and said: “As teachers, we haven’t received any such notice — please don’t spread unverified rumors.” Then she smiled a little, adding in a lighter tone: “And there’s no need to be worried about it. Our provincial exam and the national exam are similar in difficulty. Even if the format changes, it won’t have any significant effect on your results — unless, of course, they wait until you’re already sitting in the exam hall to tell you.”
That scenario was obviously impossible. Everyone laughed knowingly.
Topics at school cycle fast. A week later, the college exam debate had completely vanished, replaced by a Korean drama. As if overnight, the soundtrack of that show began playing in every stationery shop, specialty shop, and clothing store around the school. Whether eating in the cafeteria or dining off campus, you couldn’t escape girls animatedly discussing the plot while stomping their feet. Because of this drama, everyone started looking forward to the season’s first snow, and they made a pact that on the day it came, they would go eat fried chicken and beer together.
Fang Zhixiao absolutely had to be part of this trend. After days of exclaiming excitedly in Li Kuiyi’s ear, she announced that her ideal type was no longer Jiang Zhishu but that man, who is like a god.
Li Kuiyi couldn’t quite grasp what “a man like a god” was supposed to mean, but she did think that Fang Zhixiao was probably more likely to end up alone than she was — because she had apparently evolved to the point where she no longer felt attracted to ordinary human beings.
In the end, Li Kuiyi watched the drama anyway, under Fang Zhixiao’s relentless pestering and coaxing. It updated every Thursday and Friday, and Fang Zhixiao, unable to help herself, always watched it alone first — then on Saturday night, the two of them would curl up under the covers and watch it together.
Every time it ended, Fang Zhixiao would lie there wistfully: “A first snow and a first love — at least one of them has to come along… ugh!”
Li Kuiyi, slightly drowsy after the episode, tucked warm under the covers, let Fang Zhixiao’s voice drift over her like something very far away, and found her mind wandering back to old memories.
Winters in Liuyan City always brought snow, sometimes early, sometimes delayed until after the new year. In recent years the snowfall seemed lighter than it used to be — just pellets, melting the moment they hit the ground. But when Li Kuiyi was small, the snow had been real snow — true, heavy blizzards. She’d push open the door in the morning to a world blanketed in white, so bright it stung the eyes. She and Su Jianlin would walk to school together, their footsteps crunching through the snow. Afraid of getting snow in her shoes, she would step only in the prints he left behind — but his stride was too long, and she couldn’t match it. The snow was slippery, and she would often lose her footing and fall headfirst.
When she fell, Su Jianlin didn’t come to help her up. He just stood at a distance and watched as she struggled to her feet. Getting up from the snow was genuinely hard — she was only six or seven at the time, bundled in so many layers, her schoolbag heavy on her back. Looking back now, it must have been a ridiculous sight. Until one time she fell and scraped her face on a rock, broke the skin, and cried — only then did Su Jianlin walk over, pull her up, and brush the snow from her clothes. Passing an abandoned tile-roofed house, he reached up under the eaves, broke off an icicle, and handed it to her. In a flat, cold voice he said: “Stop crying.”
The icicle was freezing to hold. Li Kuiyi, still in pain, couldn’t at all understand why he was making her hold it, and in her frustration she flung it at him.
He probably meant it as a toy to distract her, Li Kuiyi thought fuzzily now. Su Jianlin was trying to be kind, in his way.
Later, Su Jianlin started middle school, and they never walked the same road again.
For some reason, though it had all happened less than ten years ago, the memories felt like a previous lifetime — faded and dim, as though she and those moments were separated by a thick layer of gauze.
On December 22nd, the winter solstice, the cafeteria served dumplings — two kinds: pork and cabbage, and lamb with green onion. Zhou Fanghua didn’t eat lamb and chose only the pork and cabbage. Li Kuiyi and Fang Zhixiao each got a half-and-half order. Coming out after the meal, they were warm all over and didn’t notice the cold. Li Kuiyi looked up at the sky. A solitary moon hung quietly in the heavens, cold and remote. It occurred to her, without any particular reason, that today the sun was directly over the Tropic of Capricorn — and from here on, the days would grow longer, the darkness would gradually be driven back. That was an exciting thing to contemplate.
Fang Zhixiao was also very excited. Christmas was only a few days away, she announced!
Though the debate over whether to celebrate foreign holidays had been going on for years, the truth was undeniable: come this time of year, the streets filled with romance. The small shops near campus hung all sorts of Christmas decorations — Santa Claus figurines, Christmas stockings and hats, red and green candy canes. People exchanged gifts, mostly apples and oranges wrapped in colorful cellophane, tied with ribbons, made to look like small bouquets.
This Christmas, Li Kuiyi bought three oranges — one for Fang Zhixiao, one for Zhou Fanghua, and one for Liu Xinzhao.
On Christmas Eve, the classroom smelled of sweet oranges and rustling cellophane. Someone had brought a small knife and became the most sought-after person in the room; those who could peel an orange barehanded became objects of admiration. For most students it was cheerful and reciprocal — just gifts given for the fun of it. But Xia Leyi’s desk and cubby were stuffed with cards and presents, including a whole bouquet of baby’s breath, all from unknown sources. Xia Leyi clearly handled this kind of thing with practiced ease. She peeled the packaging off everything, then distributed the fruit inside to their classmates — no point letting it go to waste.
Li Kuiyi gave Zhou Fanghua her orange and received an apple and a greeting card in return.
The card didn’t say much — just Merry Christmas — but Li Kuiyi felt a little embarrassed, because she hadn’t thought to prepare a card: just a plain, unadorned orange.
What made her even more flustered was that, in addition to Zhou Fanghua, Xia Leyi, Qi Yu, Zhou Ce, and Pan Junmeng all gave her an orange or an apple as well. She couldn’t bring herself to turn down these small gestures, but to receive without giving back felt wrong — so she used dinnertime to go off campus and buy gifts.
Buying more oranges or apples would be boring. She wanted to get some small novelties — Christmas stockings, candy, things like that.
She ducked into a small shop and started browsing carefully. A reindeer headband for Xia Leyi. Candy for Pan Junmeng and Zhou Ce. For Qi Yu… she’d go with the little Santa Claus figurine. He probably didn’t care much for toys, but she genuinely had no idea what he’d like, so — fine, it would do.
Li Kuiyi gathered her purchases and walked toward the door, only to stop in her tracks in the narrow aisle when she almost ran into someone coming the other way. She hadn’t looked up at first, just moved aside — but they went left when she went left, and right when she went right, perpetually in each other’s way, until she finally laughed and looked up.
He was wearing a black down jacket that still made him look slender. He must have been the type to prioritize style over warmth — his zipper was open, showing only a thin school sweater and hoodie underneath. Both the jacket and the uniform were black, which made his complexion look as clear and translucent as snow. Under the overhead fluorescent light, two words came to Li Kuiyi’s mind at once: red lips, white teeth.
He probably wasn’t trying to block her path — because when he saw her, he also startled.
It had been a long time since Li Kuiyi had spoken to He Youyuan, and seeing him again so suddenly felt strangely foreign. She’d been about to say excuse me, but seeing who it was, she opened her mouth and said nothing.
His gaze rested on her face for a moment, then moved to her hands.
Li Kuiyi followed his eyes and looked down at her own hands — full of small gifts. And then it occurred to her: should she give him one too?
She probably should — they’d literally run into each other. Besides, he’d given her chocolate and flowers, and she owed him something in return. But what would be appropriate? What he’d given her was too expensive to match, and nothing in this shop seemed close in caliber.
She was about to lower her eyes and think it over when she heard his cool, indifferent voice: “Excuse me.”
Right. He still didn’t want to talk to her. Li Kuiyi stepped aside and let him pass.
She went to the counter to pay. The owner gave her several small gift bags so the little items looked more like proper presents.
She finished paying, bags in hand, and glanced back into the store. He was browsing the stationery section.
Stationery — Li Kuiyi’s mind moved. Fang Zhixiao had mentioned he’d been studying hard lately, hadn’t she? She suddenly knew what to offer him. She turned and went back in, walked up to him, looked him in the eye, and said directly: “He Youyuan — do you want my notes?”
He Youyuan frowned slightly, as if he didn’t quite understand.
Li Kuiyi explained: “My class notes. Do you want them? I could make a copy and give them to you.”
His dark eyes looked at her, the surface of them still for a moment, like the faint movement of water in a pool. Then, after a pause, he spoke. His voice was a little hoarse: “No thanks.”
That was the best thing Li Kuiyi could think to offer him right now, given his current situation — but if he didn’t want it, there was nothing she could do. She pressed her lips together, walked outside, grabbed a wrapped orange from the display, paid for it, and pushed it into his arms without ceremony: “Then have this.”
She walked away immediately.
It was genuinely cold outside. Li Kuiyi pulled her down jacket collar up, tucked her hands as far into her sleeves as they’d go, hunched her shoulders, and walked quickly.
Past the bridge, under a streetlight, she heard someone call out to her.
Or maybe not call — it was just a single short “hey.”
But she turned around anyway.
She saw He Youyuan walking toward her through the dim amber light of the street lamp, his face clear and fine-featured, with something on it that might have been a smile or might not — a little forthright, a little proud, a little shy.
He was willing to acknowledge her again?
Li Kuiyi was about to ask what he wanted when she saw him extend his long arm and place something over her head.
She was plunged into darkness. She tugged at whatever was on top of her, pulling it off — her hair went a little disheveled, looking soft and fluffy in the lamplight.
She looked down.
In her hands was an enormous Christmas hat.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, voice very low.
Merry Christmas, my foot.
She would rather he hadn’t acknowledged her at all — this person only ever caused her trouble. Li Kuiyi was just about to say something sharp when an explosion of excited screaming erupted from the teaching building — long and shrill, like a sustained siren. He looked startled too and tilted his head up toward the sky.
What’s happening?
She looked up as well.
In the dim, hazy light, snow was falling in thick, sweeping sheets.