In everyday life, Li Kuiyi wasn’t especially timid — but she was afraid of two categories of things: things with too many legs, such as spiders and centipedes; and things with no legs at all, such as snakes and ghosts.

She didn’t want to cry in front of He Youyuan — it was embarrassing — but she truly couldn’t stop herself. Having a spider land on her body was simply too overwhelming. Even now that He Youyuan had caught and removed it, the small patch of skin on her forearm where the spider had rested still felt numb and prickling, and in her imagination, that spot had surely already begun to fester.

“I’m sorry…”

He Youyuan fumbled frantically, setting the tube with the spider down on the ground, digging several tissues out of his schoolbag. He wanted to wipe her tears but didn’t dare, so he pressed the tissues onto her face and then pinched her wrist, trying to rub her hand against the tissues himself. “Wipe your face, come on, just wipe your face…”

Is he using my tears as glue or something?

Li Kuiyi looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes, their corners still red.

“Did you do this on purpose?” She shook his hand off and came at him directly.

“What?” He Youyuan looked like he hadn’t processed the question, blinking in confusion.

“I said — did you deliberately use the spider to scare me?”

In Li Kuiyi’s understanding, no one who wasn’t a complete fool would give someone a spider as a gift.

He Youyuan’s hand, shaken off, was still suspended in midair. His dark pupils contracted — as if he were stunned by what he was hearing.

After a long moment, he slowly straightened up. His throat shifted in a large, visible swallow. His voice came out slightly hoarse: “Why would I deliberately try to scare you?”

Li Kuiyi said nothing, turning her face to the side. Instinct told her He Youyuan hadn’t done this on purpose — but she couldn’t rationally convince herself of it either. What sixteen-year-old boy with a functioning brain would choose to give a girl a spider?

Beside her, she heard He Youyuan’s breathing grow gradually heavier. She knew: he was angry at her for the accusation.

How did he have the nerve to be angry? She was the one who should be angry.

Suddenly he bent down, grabbed his schoolbag off the ground, and rummaged through it again, pulling out a cardboard box. He tore it open in a few brisk movements and extracted a palm-sized acrylic cube container, which he clunked down into her hands. Then he pulled another item out of his bag — a brown glass jar — and pressed that into her hands as well.

His voice went cold: “If I had planned this deliberately to scare you, why would I have bought a spider enclosure? Why would I have bought mealworm feed? Is that the kind of thorough acting job you think this is?”

This glass jar contained mealworms?

Li Kuiyi’s hand gave an involuntary jerk. She immediately dropped the jar back into his arms.

Alright. She believed it wasn’t on purpose.

But He Youyuan wasn’t finished. He set the mealworm jar down on the ground, then pulled out his phone from his trousers pocket, opened the Weibo app, and dug through the message section until he found a particular exchange, which he held up directly in front of her face.

Li Kuiyi read through it. It was the entire record of his conversation with an insect enthusiast, documenting the full process of purchasing the small spider.

As it turned out, the spider was a Florida-bred species. He Youyuan had earnestly consulted the enthusiast about whether it bit, whether it was venomous, the ideal temperature and humidity conditions for it to live in, what it should eat at different stages of growth, and a whole range of other questions — thorough enough to be compiled into a comprehensive Jumping Spider Care Manual. And he had repeatedly requested that the seller choose the most adorable spider available.

He put his phone away, and his voice followed — slightly rough at the edges: “You know perfectly well what you mean to me.”

He hadn’t put it plainly, but Li Kuiyi understood.

What did he mean to her?

He liked her.

So how could he have been trying to scare her on purpose?

It seemed she had truly wronged him. Li Kuiyi lowered her eyes, weighing whether to apologize. The proper thing to do, when you have wronged someone, is to apologize — but she had also been scared half out of her wits by a spider in the middle of the night, which was its own kind of grievance.

He Youyuan waited for a long time, and when no comfort came from Li Kuiyi, his anger only deepened — did she still think he had done it intentionally? He had all but spelled out “I like you” in plain characters, and she still didn’t believe him?

He swallowed down his own frustration, tried to contain it — and failed. He turned away and spat out: “I don’t want to like you anymore.”

Li Kuiyi had been about to open her mouth and say “I’m sorry” — but the moment she heard those words, she swallowed them right back, while a single enormous question mark slowly bloomed in her mind —

Wait. Really?

The lingering distress from the spider encounter evaporated in an instant.

Li Kuiyi pressed her lips into a straight line, fighting to keep from smiling, and carefully looked at He Youyuan’s retreating back. Afraid he’d change his mind, she quickly adopted what she hoped was a tone lightly tinged with regret: “Oh, alright then.”

She thought for a moment, then added: “It’s late — head home soon. Goodbye.” And with that, she turned and jogged into the residential complex.

He Youyuan stood where he was.

A beat of silence — and then he suddenly lifted his foot and gave the curb a kick.

She couldn’t even be bothered to coax him. Not even a little!

He Youyuan walked home with a dark expression, carrying the test tube with the small spider, the spider enclosure, and the mealworm feed — he couldn’t exactly throw any of it away, so he decided to keep the spider and raise it himself. He told himself he would never forgive Li Kuiyi. From this point on, when he saw her, he would no longer smile at her.

He was, in fact, as good as his word. After he got home, he opened a shopping app and — stone-faced — purchased a new birthday present for Li Kuiyi.

The next day, for reasons unknown, He Youyuan didn’t come back to school. All manner of speculation drifted through Li Kuiyi’s mind: Had he skipped class? Gone on another sketching trip? Or had she pushed him so far he had actually dropped out?

Surely not. He was the one who said he didn’t want to like her anymore. How was that her fault?

Of course, having wronged him was something she did feel a little bad about — but what if she went to apologize, and he started liking her again?

Li Kuiyi sighed. Ever since she had come to know He Youyuan, she had become considerably more prone to overthinking.

Forget it, she told herself. Stop worrying about him. Focus on studying. She pulled the math problem set Little Exercises for Big Scores out of her desk drawer and started working through it. This page had fourteen multiple-choice and fill-in questions. She checked her watch — ten minutes until class. She planned to finish the whole page before the bell rang.

But halfway through her rapid calculations, a thought suddenly barged into her mind.

Today was already August eighteenth. The new first-year students would be reporting to school any day now — which meant that they, as incoming second-years, would be moving to a new classroom building.

At No. 1 High School, each year’s classroom building was fixed. The third-years, for instance, were placed in the front building, closest to the school gate and cafeteria, to minimize time spent commuting and eating. By contrast, first-years — whose studies were not yet quite so pressing — were generally assigned the building at the very back of the school.

Li Kuiyi set down her pen and immediately got up to find Yan You.

“…I wanted to take advantage of the building change to move our classroom down to the first floor. Do you think that would work?” she said earnestly, looking at Yan You and keeping her voice low. “Since Class One’s room is already on the first floor, people will just assume the school wanted to put the two advanced classes side by side. No one will think anything of it.”

Yan You looked at her bright, eager eyes, paused for a moment, and then gave a soft nod.

Honestly, she had almost completely forgotten about this. She hadn’t expected Li Kuiyi to still have it in mind.

Li Kuiyi smiled slightly: “Good. I’ll go find Chen Guoming at the next break.”

Going directly to Chen Guoming was faster. If she reported it to the homeroom teacher first and had him pass it on, who knew how long that would take. And besides, the homeroom teacher might not even support her idea.

Jiang Jianbin, that man — he seemed to deeply dislike change. An entire semester had passed and he hadn’t even rearranged the seating once.

At the next break, Li Kuiyi did exactly that. She went to knock on Chen Guoming’s office door — only to find no one there. After school, she went back and tried again, and this time she managed to intercept him just as he was leaving for dinner, a ring of keys jingling at his hip, humming a little tune.

He saw her and stopped abruptly, letting out a startled: “Oh!”

When you need a favor, attitude is everything. Li Kuiyi walked up to him and smiled: “Mr. Chen, are we moving to the second-year building soon?”

Chen Guoming seemed to sense danger behind the smile and stiffened visibly: “Yes — why?”

“Well, the thing is…”

Li Kuiyi held Chen Guoming’s gaze and explained her request sincerely.

He squinted at her through the whole exchange, his expression a crumpled mass of lines. When she finally finished, he furrowed his brow and — somehow — produced a faint trace of a northeastern accent: “How is it that you always have so many things going on?”

Li Kuiyi’s heart sank, certain he was about to say no. But he wiped a hand across his face, heaved a sigh, and said: “Fine. I’ve heard you out. I’ll think it over.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chen!” Li Kuiyi broke into a radiant smile and gave him a bow.

Chen Guoming let out a cough, apparently deciding that agreeing to a student’s request so readily was beneath the dignity of a year head, and added a small lecture: “I have to say something to you: it’s not untrue that you’re consistently at the top of the class, but you can’t afford to let your guard down. Keep your energy focused on your studies and think less about all these other matters. That said, your intention to help your classmates — that part is admirable…”

Li Kuiyi nodded rapidly, her head bobbing like a woodpecker.

Though she and Chen Guoming had been at odds on several occasions, nothing prevented her from thinking, at this particular moment, that this year head of theirs was actually quite endearing.

The new students arrived to register on August twenty-third. On the twenty-second, the soon-to-be second-years cleared out their old classrooms and prepared to move into the new building. The new building was called “Dedication Hall,” its floor plan shaped like a concave arch. True to the arrangement, Class 17’s room had indeed been placed on the first floor — directly across the hall from Class One.

No one suspected a thing. Everyone simply assumed the school had organized it this way to make the two advanced classes spur each other on.

No more climbing stairs — and everything was much more convenient. All of Class 17 was thrilled — except for He Youyuan.

He had finally come back to school on the day of the move.

Thank goodness he showed up, Li Kuiyi thought. Otherwise she would have kept fretting over an awkward question: as class president, was she obligated to help carry his books to the new classroom?

Her own books were already more than she could manage by herself.

Moving from one building to another, the twenty classes of students carrying their belongings formed a procession across the campus that — viewed from above — looked as sweeping and dense as a migration of animals across the savanna. Li Kuiyi sorted her books and papers into two large stacks and packed her miscellaneous things into her schoolbag, figuring two trips would do it.

She glanced back. The books on He Youyuan’s desk were still untouched. He had been assigned by the homeroom teacher to help Yan You move her things, and hadn’t gotten to his own yet.

Li Kuiyi hoisted her bag onto her back, picked up one of the stacks, and followed the stream of people out. She walked slowly, focusing on keeping the books steady — if they tilted, she’d have no free hand to catch them. But the more she worried, the more it happened: a boy in a panic was rushing against the flow toward her, and before she could step aside, he bumped her elbow. The top ten or so books slid free; she grabbed for them and only managed to send the rest of the stack tumbling to the ground with a loud thud.

“Sorry, sorry!” The boy quickly crouched down to help gather them.

“It’s fine.” Li Kuiyi crouched down too.

At that moment, a hand with clearly defined knuckles reached in — it gave a subtle nudge to slow the other boy’s gathering — and a cool voice came from above: “I’ve got it.”

“Ah?” The boy didn’t understand, but he scratched the back of his head and stood up. Those three words — “I’ve got it” — somehow carried a tone that made him feel as if the speaker were a family member claiming what was his.

Li Kuiyi also looked up, slightly puzzled, watching He Youyuan crouch and gather her books without any explanation.

Hadn’t he said he didn’t like her anymore?

Was this just simple, collegial helpfulness between classmates?

He Youyuan reassembled the books into a neat stack — even taking the ones Li Kuiyi had already retrieved from her hands — and then effortlessly lifted the whole pile in one go. His expression was still cold, his forearms taut, the lines clean and assured, veins faintly visible beneath the skin, a quiet testament to the strength in them.

“Thank you,” Li Kuiyi said quietly.

People were flowing all around them. Standing here with He Youyuan was far too conspicuous — she could already feel many eyes landing on them. She quickly reached out to take the books back. But he turned, and walked away with her books toward the new building.

Li Kuiyi: “…”

She didn’t know whether to call him magnanimous or petty.

Petty? He’d just been pushed to the brink by her, yet here he was, helping her move books. Magnanimous? Take one look at his face.

She was quite certain there was no taking those books back from him now, so she turned back to the classroom to collect her second stack.

By the time everything was moved and arranged, a thin film of sweat had gathered on Li Kuiyi’s forehead. She went to wash her hands and splash cool water on her face. She smoothed back the stray strands of hair clinging to her cheeks, exhaled, and took her change purse to the school canteen to buy a canned cold cola. She planned to bring it to He Youyuan.

One can of cola wasn’t worth much, but it was better than a dry “thank you.”

The more you try to make it inconspicuous, the more conspicuous it becomes — so Li Kuiyi walked back into the classroom, went straight to He Youyuan’s desk, and placed the can down without fanfare: “Thanks for helping me with the books. This is for you.”

Then she turned around immediately. She hadn’t even caught He Youyuan’s expression.

The classroom layout was unchanged. Li Kuiyi was still by the window. Since they were now on the first floor, the view outside wasn’t particularly impressive — looking out, she could only see a few tree trunks painted white at the base, a sparse patch of grass, and several small yellow wildflowers of unknown variety blooming among the blades. The little aloe vera Zhou Fanghua had given her had been brought along as well, and was set back in its place on the windowsill.

After a while, something new appeared on the windowsill — the can of cola she had given He Youyuan.

He hadn’t drunk it.

He was still angry.

Li Kuiyi felt a twinge of guilt, and thought about waiting after school to catch him and apologize.

But before the bell rang, He Youyuan was called away to the history teacher’s office. Li Kuiyi could more or less guess the reason — his history multiple-choice scores in the final exam had been quite poor, but he had followed the art studio on their sketching trip right after finals, making it impossible for the history teacher to track him down for a talk. Now that he had finally returned, the history teacher wasn’t about to let him off.

Good luck, Li Kuiyi thought. The history teacher isn’t someone to be trifled with.

But not two minutes later, she was also called away — to Jiang Jianbin’s office.

The moment she walked through the door, she could hear He Youyuan being taken to task: “This question — isn’t it just testing knowledge of the bureaucratic system of the Qin dynasty? It’s right there in the textbook. How could you still get it wrong? I’ve told your class at least ten thousand times — ground yourself in the textbook. By ‘the text,’ I mean the textbook. As long as you truly master the textbook…”

“You wanted to see me?” Li Kuiyi came to stand in front of Jiang Jianbin’s desk.

Jiang Jianbin took a sip of tea and spent considerable time spitting out tea leaves before he glanced at her and spoke, unhurried: “Do you feel that holding the class president position has been placing unnecessary burdens on you?”

What?

Li Kuiyi didn’t quite follow.

Seeing the blankness on her face, Jiang Jianbin elaborated: “For instance — does it make you feel compelled to concern yourself with matters you might not otherwise?”

Was he talking about the classroom change?

Li Kuiyi hesitated, then shook her head: “No. I don’t feel it as a burden.”

Even if she hadn’t been class president, she would have gone to Chen Guoming to request the room change. It had nothing to do with her role in the class and everything to do with her own sense of what was right.

Jiang Jianbin made a small sound under his breath and said: “The truth is — whether it’s me, or Principal Chen, or the school as a whole — we have great hopes for you, and I’m sure your expectations of yourself are just as high. You want to get into Peking University, don’t you? It’s the dream of countless humanities students, and with good reason — it’s the top institution in the country, and its standards are extraordinarily demanding. Only the very highest-ranked students from each province have any chance of entry. I’m not saying this to discourage you. My point is: you need to pour every ounce of your energy into your studies, with nothing held back. If you let small distractions chip away at your focus, you’ll be giving up something far more important.”

“It wasn’t a small distraction,” Li Kuiyi said. She knew exactly what he was referring to, and her fingers curled slowly into her palm. “To me, yes — it’s a small thing. But to some of my classmates, it means a great deal.”

“I’m not saying what you did was wrong. Seeing the students in my class look out for one another — as their homeroom teacher, that gives me genuine joy. I’m simply reminding you not to get so absorbed in it that you lose sight of what matters most.”

What is “small,” and what “matters most”? Li Kuiyi wanted badly to ask.

But asking would only open the door to a lengthy philosophical discussion, and she knew that with different values, no conclusion would ever be reached. Besides, she was perfectly clear in her own heart about what she valued — why should she need to convince anyone else? I’ll just have to live by my own standards, she thought, a little defiantly.

“I understand,” Li Kuiyi said again, nodding cooperatively.

“That being the case…” Jiang Jianbin ventured carefully, “do you still want to continue as class president?”

Doesn’t matter to me. I didn’t ask for the position in the first place.

And besides — whether she was class president or not, she was still herself.

“It’s fine if I’m not,” she said.

“Alright.” Jiang Jianbin was surprised by how easily she agreed — he had expected a long conversation. “I’ll look for a new candidate, then. Oh, and by the way — there’s an awards and honors evaluation being held in the city recently, and I’ve already submitted your name. First, second, and third prizes all come with scholarships, and based on your grades, you’re very likely to receive one.”

Li Kuiyi felt a quiet, self-deprecating smile rise within her.

He hits you, then gives you a sweet. So this is what it feels like to be managed.

Jiang Jianbin patted her shoulder and continued: “You see — good things like this don’t require you to go out of your way to arrange. Your teachers will take care of these things for you naturally. What you need to do is stay focused on yourself, focused on your studies. The most important thing in learning is to keep your mind clear and unbothered — don’t let yourself be distracted by useless nonsense stirring around in there, alright?”

Li Kuiyi gave the faintest, barely perceptible press of her lips.

Just as she was about to comply with a dutiful “understood,” He Youyuan — finished being lectured by the history teacher — walked over. He held up his test paper by one corner and strolled with loose, unhurried ease past Jiang Jianbin’s desk. The white paper swept over Li Kuiyi’s head like a passing wing, and he dropped a single sentence in his wake, languid and offhand:

“Not useless nonsense — a little butterfly.”