Honestly, in that moment, Hu Ke’er genuinely wanted to close her eyes and leave the world peacefully.

She didn’t know if it was that comment hitting her exactly where it hurt, or something else entirely — but she had been perfectly fine drinking her tea, and then she actually choked, hand pressed over her mouth, unable to stop coughing.

Ning Sui, deeply unhelpful, continued eating her porridge with her head down, resolutely failing to catch even one of the distress signals being beamed at her.

Just as Hu Ke’er felt she was on the verge of coughing a lung out onto the table, a hand extended from beside her — long, well-defined fingers — offering two paper napkins, tone measured and unhurried: “Take your time.”

When Hu Ke’er took the napkins, she could feel her earlobes burning. Fortunately, she had her hair loose around her shoulders today, so it probably wasn’t visible from the side. “…Thank you.”

A brief quiet fell over the table.

A moment later, the server came with another dish, noticed the addition to the party, and added an extra set of chopsticks and a bowl.

Ning Sui, at this point, apparently discovered that her conscience was not entirely absent. She looked up, picked a random topic, and said at a leisurely pace: “Brother Du, can I ask you something about using Shanying?”

Du Junnian raised his brow. “Of course.”

Ning Sui: “Some of my classmates use it and say it’s easy to blow up, but some friends have posted several things and gotten almost no likes at all. I was curious — how does it actually distribute traffic?”

“First, it evaluates the content quality of your first post,” Du Junnian said, concise and direct. “We give every user’s first post a mid-tier traffic pool. Based on the likes, comments, and other responses it receives, we measure the content’s potential and decide whether to push it into a larger pool or reduce its visibility.”

“Your classmate’s first post probably got traction because the content was strong.”

Ning Sui kept the small talk going: “Oh, and what about maintaining that traffic over time? What should you do?”

Du Junnian: “Post consistently and frequently. If the content quality holds at a certain level, the algorithm will continue giving it significant exposure.”

He carried a scent — something warm and steady, like sandalwood. When he spoke, his voice was calm and unhurried. Perhaps because the timbre was so deep and resonant, there was something about it that made the distance feel smaller than it actually was.

Hu Ke’er’s lashes dipped slightly. She reached for a cup of tea and pressed it to her lips, using the motion to redirect her attention.

The seat really was quite narrow.

Move your elbow even slightly and it would nearly brush his.

Her fingertips had just begun to curl inward when she heard him continue easily: “Of course, simply changing your account name won’t make much of a difference.”

Hu Ke’er felt as though an arrow had sunk into her knee without a sound.

She was barely holding together on the outside, but inside she was very nearly unraveling.

— It had been almost half a year! How was he still remembering that?!

She closed her eyes and chose to play dead where she sat.

The table fell into a pleasant calm.

Several minutes later, Hu Ke’er finally managed to level out her feelings. She drew in a steadying breath, deciding to start fresh and move on.

The teacup in front of her was still warm. She stared at nothing for a few seconds — and then suddenly felt that something was not right.

She looked down, and her eyes went wide.

Right there, in front of her, was the teacup she had just drunk from — only half-full now — and the faint, sticky imprint of her lip color sat unmistakably on the rim.

She had dressed up specially for New Year’s Eve today, and the soft film of gloss clinging to the rim was glaringly intimate now. Her breath very nearly stopped.

Heart nearly halting, she looked to the right — and sure enough, there was nothing in front of Du Junnian. And out of the corner of her eye, she could see: there were two cups of tea in front of her.

Without thinking, she turned her head — and directly met his gaze.

The man was wearing a pair of slim, fine metal-framed glasses. He glanced over now with a kind of careless ease, and through the lenses his gaze was faintly unreadable — as if it held something dim and not quite legible.

Help. Help.

The inside of Hu Ke’er’s chest was a sudden hurricane, and she could barely hold her expression together. “I —”

Du Junnian tilted his head slightly downward. “Hmm?”

Hu Ke’er hadn’t even had time to blink — she only felt that voice, low and deep enough to pull her under.

The two pairs of eyes across the table both turned to look at that moment. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Flustered and desperate to give him his cup back, she reached to push the right-side cup toward him: “Your — your water.”

She moved too fast. Half a cup of warm water tipped and spilled, pouring with a rush across Du Junnian’s lap.

The fabric of his dress trousers darkened instantly in the spreading stain — and darker still was the gaze that dropped toward her all at once. Watching the wet mark spread across the cloth, Hu Ke’er’s eyes went fixed, the heat blazing from her cheeks all the way to her ears, her face flooding crimson: “I’m so sorry, I — I really didn’t mean to —”

“It’s fine.”

Du Junnian paused briefly. His voice was extraordinarily composed, and it made Hu Ke’er wish she could dig a hole in the ground and bury herself in it: “I’m used to it.”

“…”

Fortunately, his driver was nearby, and there was a clean change of clothes in the car.

After Du Junnian stepped away, Hu Ke’er’s sanity shattered entirely. She sat hunched in her spot, eyes empty, mechanically eating the green pepper and egg dish in front of her on a mechanical loop. The three remaining people at the table all found something very interesting about their own noses and said absolutely nothing.

Ten minutes later, the man returned to his seat. The subtle, unnameable tension that had saturated the air did not dissipate quickly.

The dinner was eaten through undercurrents and unspoken things — fortunately, Jing University’s New Year’s celebration started early, and seeing Hu Ke’er sinking into genuine despair, fidgeting like she was sitting on needles, Ning Sui used the excuse of needing to rush over and finally released her.

The entire walk there, Hu Ke’er was so mortified she could hardly function. No matter what the other two said, she maintained fierce, unyielding, absolute silence on the subject — not a single word about what had happened.

Lucky for them, Lin Shuyu and Zhang Yuge had already saved seats. The three of them arrived on the very last possible second before the event began.

The program was the same kinds of things they saw every year, but the crowd made everything feel lively. Around the midpoint, Ning Sui quietly checked the time on her phone — just past eight. She still wanted to catch a look at Qing University’s New Year’s celebration too, so she leaned close to Hu Ke’er and the others and murmured: “Xie Yichen and I might head out a little early.”

Hu Ke’er seemed to still be somewhere in her own head, and unusually, didn’t tease her at all: “Oh? Oh, alright, alright.”

Ning Sui gave her a quiet look, then left her to it.

When she and Xie Yichen walked out of the auditorium hand in hand, the air felt fresh and open in a way that was almost liberating. The winter night air was crisp and cool, their breath came out in white wisps, and Ning Sui was bundled up thoroughly in a pale pink padded jacket.

The two of them strolled leisurely under the streetlights. Ning Sui, as was her habit, walked along the edge of the curb, swaying back and forth, and they made their unhurried way over to Qing University.

The two universities really did have very different characters.

One celebrated freedom and innovation; the other emphasized practicality and steadfast effort. From the architectural style to the banners and slogans to the general way people carried themselves — the distinction was clear in countless small details.

If there was one thing they shared, it might be this: both universities were full of interesting, wonderful people, and both had minds so sharp they almost didn’t seem real. Even after studying in places like these for several years, Ning Sui still regularly found herself encountering something new, something she hadn’t expected.

Qing University’s New Year’s celebration was held in the main gymnasium, and it had been organized on a considerable scale. There were performances of every variety — song and dance and more — and several notable alumni had been invited back to speak and offer their thoughts as the new year arrived.

Ning Sui and Xie Yichen found seats in a corner. Colored lights swept over them now and then, and Ning Sui was thoroughly enjoying herself — she had a glowstick in hand and was swaying it gently in time with the music, singing softly. Xie Yichen glanced sideways and found her eyes bright and sparkling, and a smile pulled at his lips without his meaning it to.

Ning Sui had been absorbed in the stage for some time before she noticed that the person beside her had been looking straight at her the entire time, and couldn’t help nudging him lightly. “…Why aren’t you watching the performance?”

Xie Yichen seemed to say something.

She hadn’t caught it. She leaned closer. “What?”

He lowered his gaze and, in the same motion, pressed a light kiss to her ear. He laughed softly: “You’re more interesting to watch than the performance.”

Ning Sui knew there was a whole crowd of people behind them, and that what he’d just done had most certainly been seen in full by everyone in the row behind. Her heartbeat stumbled — did this person have any idea he had just won a special scholarship? Did he not feel even the slightest responsibility to maintain some kind of image?

She was still quietly flustered when her wrist suddenly felt cool. She looked down instinctively and found that Xie Yichen had slipped something onto it — a pale green crystal bracelet, no idea when he had done it.

The charm dangling from it was a small, sweet little green apple shape, catching the dim light and glittering with a fine, beautiful sparkle.

Her heart gave a small thud. Her gaze went still. “…What is this?”

“Anniversary gift.” Xie Yichen smiled, then dropped his voice close to her ear. “Do you like it?”

Ning Sui pressed her lips together and looked at him directly.

She didn’t know how to say it.

She loved it so much.

How did he have such perfect taste?

This tiny little apple — it had gone and made itself completely at home in her heart.

The atmosphere around them was exuberant, everyone singing along with the music. Ning Sui quietly pressed her fingertips together in her palm, then turned toward him.

And quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Yes.”

The cheerful humming behind them cut off abruptly.

Ning Sui composed herself firmly and looked straight forward, in utter bad conscience, silently apologizing.

For the rest of the evening, she found herself just as thoroughly distracted.

Every time she moved her wrist, the little apple on the bracelet swayed back and forth. They were sitting very close together, and the warmth near her ear never quite faded — and neither did something softer and warmer in her chest.

So the two of them moved on again.

Ning Sui had been thinking about playing the piano piece for him, but the time wasn’t quite right yet. She said: “When do we go back to Jing University?”

Xie Yichen hadn’t answered yet when a surge of music drifted from somewhere in the distance — it sounded like someone playing electric bass, something that felt like rock. Ning Sui realized this didn’t seem to be the only event happening on campus tonight, and felt a flicker of curiosity.

Xie Yichen smiled: “Want to go see?”

She nodded eagerly.

They walked half the length of Xinmin Road before Ning Sui worked out that the sound was coming from Zijing Field — it seemed a temporary stage had been erected there, a large screen at the center flanked by vertical electronic displays on both sides, with someone performing on the platform.

It must have been organized by the arts and culture department on their own initiative. The music here was far more energetic than the main gymnasium — mostly the kind of popular music younger people loved — and students from various campus organizations were performing. Walking closer, she could see people scattered in groups of two and three across the field, everyone bringing their own lanterns, bodies and arms swaying freely with the sound.

The scene reminded her a little of that time they had watched a movie outdoors — except the atmosphere here was a thousand times more alive.

They found a spot off to the side and sat down.

The songs were good — some of them were by bands she had always loved. They had only meant to stay for ten minutes or so, but Xie Yichen also seemed to be enjoying it, so Ning Sui said nothing — and then they got caught up in it, and without realizing it, stayed all the way through until the performance ended.

When she looked at the time again — it was past ten o’clock.

After ten, the practice rooms were closed.

She felt a small jolt of anxiety.

Xie Yichen noticed right away. “What’s wrong?”

“I promised I’d play piano for you.” Ning Sui hugged her knees, expression troubled. “There might not be anywhere to do it now.”

“It’s fine, let me think.” Xie Yichen wasn’t worried. He looked around, then raised an eyebrow at the stage in front of them. “There seems to be one right over there.”

Ning Sui looked toward it, and blinked.

“What’s with ‘and blinked’?” Xie Yichen said, with a small curve of his lips. “Isn’t that a piano?”

It was, without question, a piano.

And the event had ended — that was also without question. The field was gradually emptying as people drifted away. A small number of people had chosen to stay, sitting around chatting with friends. No one should be paying much attention to the stage anymore.

But it was still a public space, when all was said and done.

Ning Sui had noticed earlier that the piano had a wonderfully full, rich sound. Part of her was eager to try it — and the other part was hesitating. She touched her tongue to her lip and said, with complete sincerity: “I mean — we probably can’t just use it, can we?”

“What does it matter — the event is over.” Xie Yichen stood up unhurriedly, relaxed, and glanced at her. “There look to be some staff members still over there. Do you want me to go ask?”

If the staff said it was fine, then it was probably fine.

Ning Sui gave a small sound and snuck a look toward the other side of the field. “…Okay.”

Xie Yichen went over and talked to the student council group. Ning Sui could tell that the main person in charge seemed to know him — the moment he saw Xie Yichen, he was very warm and clapped him on the shoulder.

Xie Yichen said a few words, and the other person agreed readily, casting a glance full of meaning in Ning Sui’s direction. “No problem. We still have half an hour before the time we reported to the school. Go ahead, Yichen — tell your girlfriend to play as much as she likes.”

Xie Yichen immediately signaled for her to come over. “Sorted.”

Ning Sui’s eyes moved to the glossy black grand piano. Something stirred in her, a small, pleasant itch.

“Really, it’s okay?”

“Really, it’s okay.”

The field was almost empty now. Xie Yichen moved a stool and set it close in front of the stage, looking up at her, his voice low and unhurried: “You play. I’ll be right here listening.”

Ning Sui pressed her fingers together, drew a quiet breath all the way in, and then slowly walked up the stairs.

— She hadn’t been on a stage this large in many years.

The last memory she had of playing piano was the performance in her second year of middle school — the one that had gone so badly wrong. She remembered the spotlight: blindingly bright, burning hot. The audience stretching out below. She had played the first section three times over, and still could not remember what came next. Her face had felt like it was on fire.

Close her eyes, and the old shadow came rushing back.

Ning Sui had memorized the piece before she came, but standing on the stage, she felt her heart beginning to flutter in spite of herself. She wasn’t entirely certain she could trust her memory anymore — she wanted to take the sheet music out of her bag, and barely stopped herself.

The cool night air moved across her palms, leaving a faint film of cold sweat. On this enormous field, it was almost just Xie Yichen there in the audience below. Her chest was pounding fast. She stood quietly for a moment, steadying herself, before finally lowering herself onto the piano bench and adjusting the height.

Once she had it set, she glanced involuntarily down at the stage below.

The young man with the striking, handsome features was sitting there, the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth, looking at her with complete attention.

Ning Sui let out a breath, and brought her gaze back to the black and white keys — familiar and not — in front of her. She settled her focus.

— It’s okay. If you make a mistake, just start again from the beginning.

This isn’t like those competitions from before. Just think of it as playing piano somewhere more open. Don’t be nervous.

She told herself this. Then, after a moment, she lifted her hands, and touched the first note with a tentative touch.

The piano turned out to be quite loud. Ning Sui drew in deeply, gathered her thoughts, pressed down the anxiety, and following the melody held in memory — the piece she had practiced for a month, the one she knew by heart — she began to play.

At first she was a little stiff, her whole body still tense. She stared at the keys directly in front of her, left hand and right hand alternating, every nerve concentrated, terrified of making a single slip.

But as the evening breeze drifted softly past, lifting the ends of her hair — the bright, nimble jazz welled up continuously from inside this great black instrument, the sound becoming more fluid, more willing to move.

Ning Sui found herself sinking into it. She forgot where she was.

Every time she had performed before, the spotlights had been blazing directly down on her, hot and blinding. There were no spotlights here tonight — but she found that with Xie Yichen sitting below, listening with everything he had, it felt exactly like being in the light.

Her mind held only 1900 and his piano, gliding together across the deck of the ship. Ning Sui played on, and without meaning to, began to see that image in her mind — free, unrestrained, reckless — and the corner of her mouth turned up.

— She was starting to feel it. Something like confidence.

Ning Sui played with her thoughts loose and open, and her fingertips became freer beneath her, the notes flowing out as though on their own, the melody like a rushing spring, bright and clear.

Up to this point: no wrong notes. No forgotten passages.

Ning Sui felt a surge of astonishment.

So this was what it felt like to truly enjoy being on a stage.

It should feel like this — free. Beautiful. Like even the soul had become weightless.

Before she knew it, the piece was almost at its end.

She played it through from beginning to end without a break, bringing the descending chord sequence to a clean landing, and the final note was caught and released with particular grace.

When the last sound faded, she let out a long, quiet breath of relief.

Her heart was full of something light and joyful, a feeling she hadn’t had in many years. She was eager to share it with Xie Yichen right now — to tell him that she had done it.

For others, maybe it was a small thing. But for Ning Sui, it meant something else entirely.

It meant making peace with the part of herself she had left behind. It meant letting go, accepting, and releasing the weight she had carried quietly in the deepest part of her heart.

But when she turned around, she stopped completely, standing absolutely still.

The streetlights cast their soft glow in gentle halos. Down in that glow, she had no idea when it had happened — but a crowd of people were now seated around the stage below.

Familiar face after familiar face: Hu Ke’er, Cui Xian, Lin Shuyu, Zhang Yuge, Qu Handong and the others.

…Nearly all of hers and Xie Yichen’s mutual friends from both universities.

All gathered here now.

And around the edges, a scattering of unfamiliar students who had drifted over, drawn in by the sound.

They were packed together on the grass closest to the stage, leaning casually against one another, arms around each other’s shoulders, all still tilted upward in that posture of being completely absorbed in the music.

And the very first person — the one who had been there from the beginning — had quietly moved back. He was there, at a distance, looking at her.

The world blurred in front of Ning Sui for just a moment. Even her fingertips felt hot, burning. She stood up, still without any words to say — and then from below, a wave of fierce, warm cheering and applause broke open all at once.

Someone whistling a bright, short melody. Someone laughing. Someone waving a glowstick from the event, swinging it in the air.

Zhang Yuge and the others going absolutely wild in their support: “That was incredible! So good!!!”

Ning Sui stood there in a daze, watching as Xie Yichen parted the crowd, step by step, and came forward. He walked up the stairs toward her, one deliberate step at a time.

Closer and closer, until he stopped right in front of her.

Her nose had gone a little hot, and too many feelings were crowding together in her chest, tangling into one another. Ning Sui raised a hand to her eyes and let out a soft, helpless sound: “Xie Yichen…”

“Mm.” His lips curved.

And only now did it fully register: the request to play the piano. The conversation with the staff. None of it had been spontaneous.

— He had already planned it. He had already arranged everything — a grand, special little concert, belonging to her and no one else.

“How long have you been planning this?” Ning Sui asked.

“Made arrangements with them last month.” Xie Yichen smiled.

Looking at all those familiar, beloved faces below, Ning Sui’s eyes couldn’t quite hold back the warmth anymore. Her heart felt submerged in something sweet and soft. Tears had come — but her eyes were brighter than the long lights lining the street.

She had taken off the little green apple bracelet before playing, and asked Xie Yichen to hold it for her.

Now he took it back out, lowered his gaze, and in front of everyone, took her hand gently and carefully fastened it back around her wrist.

“The bracelet isn’t my gift to you. This piece of music is.” Xie Yichen looked at her steadily, at the eyes shining with the beginning of tears. In the darkness of his gaze, something like candlelight moved — steady, warm, and lit from within. “I’m truly grateful that you chose to give it to me.”

He paused. Then, quietly, firmly: “I hope my sweetheart can always be free. Always unbound. Walking forward with joy, every step of the way.”

“And that she will always, always believe — she is the best.”

That night, all of them talked and laughed and made noise until the very last moment. Someone had been counting down, and at the exact second the minute hand crossed midnight, someone set off a small celebration popper — it burst upward into the sky with a bang, sending a shower of color cascading down like falling petals. Everyone leapt up, cheering, hugging, calling out to one another: “Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year to everyone!”

Amid the joyful clamor, Zhang Yuge’s and Lin Shuyu’s voices cut through clearly above the rest.

Lin Shuyu: “Yuge, when are you finally going to find someone? Don’t tell me this year is going to be another lonely one?”

He did a remarkably accurate impression of someone mourning their single life, and Zhang Yuge took the bait — at least he’d had a relationship in university, and this kid had been single for all four years and still had the nerve to come for him: “Rich coming from someone who can’t even talk — you have any self-awareness at all?”

Lin Shuyu, shameless, redirected his firepower at Qu Handong nearby: “Qu Handong’s single too — why isn’t anyone giving him a hard time? Why is it always me?”

Liu Chang was deep in a tender exchange with his girlfriend. Qu Handong quickly dragged in another roommate: “Don’t look at me — Shi Fu has been single since birth.”

Shi Fu: “…”

Hu Ke’er, at the edge of the group, quietly added: “Does anyone remember the birthday cake candles when it was Yichen’s birthday?”

Zhang Yuge: “?”

Hu Ke’er: “10011. That’s exactly four short. Maybe you all could pool together and make it work.”

What followed was a free-for-all on the grass, dissolving into complete chaos.

In the middle of all that bright, noisy warmth, Ning Sui’s hand was held tightly in the hand beside her, fingers laced together, warmth passing between them. She had only just turned her head when Xie Yichen propped himself up and leaned in, and pressed a gentle touch to her face.

Their eyes met. Both of their gazes burned. For a quiet moment they looked at each other — and then, beneath the soft haze of the moon, they kissed, unhurried and lingering.

Ning Sui’s ears were warm. Her heart was warmer. But nestled against his broad, solid chest, she felt an unmistakable steadiness, an unshakeable sense of being exactly where she was supposed to be.

The first time they met, it had also been winter. Back then, she couldn’t have imagined this.

And without quite knowing when it happened, they had stayed by each other’s side through another year.

She felt her own smile forming at the corner of her mouth, and whispered it quietly, to herself.

— A’Chen. Happy New Year.

In this new year too — I like you so, so very much.