The 1500-meter race Fang Zhuo had signed up for was scheduled for the third day, leaving the first two days free.
To answer the homeroom teacher’s call, she’d go for a perfunctory lap around the field each day, sit in a corner to memorize vocabulary, squeeze in time to write a couple of broadcast scripts to cover her obligations, and spend the rest of her time in the dorm or classroom.
In the afternoon, Fang Zhuo was working through that practice book the old teacher had given her. After finishing a problem that had her quite stuck, she looked up at the event schedule on the blackboard.
The sound of the broadcast carried into the classroom from far away, mixed with muffled shouting and rousing music—a kind of revelry entirely out of step with Fang Zhuo’s mood.
She turned to glance at the clock on the wall.
Ten minutes left until Zhao Jiayou’s 400-meter run, followed right after by Yan Lie’s high jump.
Thanks to their nonstop promotion of it in class, even Fang Zhuo had memorized this schedule.
She put down her pen and decided to head out and take a look.
The school building was still fairly quiet, but the moment she stepped out the main door and turned past the flower bed, it suddenly grew loud and lively.
The sky was a hazy gray, with a faintly warm breeze brushing across Fang Zhuo’s face, carrying that familiar scent of osmanthus to her again—it had a real autumn feel to it.
She made her way to the stands beside the field, looking down from the elevated seating.
Zhao Jiayou’s 400 meters had already finished; the broadcast station was announcing the results.
Just as he’d said, he’d taken first in his preliminary group. The runners from the other group were standing about chaotically on the track, some warming up, some chatting with others.
Fang Zhuo’s gaze swept around, drifting toward the high jump area off to the side of the field. A crowd had gathered around it on all sides, completely blocking her view from where she was.
So Fang Zhuo headed over toward the small shop instead, standing on a small stone block, peering over the heads of the crowd, looking toward the center of the group some ten-some meters off.
Yan Lie wore a black tracksuit, which made for a striking contrast against his fair skin. He seemed to naturally carry a different sort of filter from everyone else—his presence clean and refreshing, like a breeze in summertime. Even without seeing his face clearly, you could still tell at once that it was him.
It wasn’t long before it was Yan Lie’s turn, and even the reaction from the onlooking crowd grew more enthusiastic. Quite a few girls standing outside the white line, seeing him take the field, started cheering excitedly, which had boys from other classes furiously cursing him as a traitor—their indignant scolding even carried clearly through all the noise, all the way to where Fang Zhuo stood.
Yan Lie showed no particular reaction, just glanced calmly at the bar, then turned back to gesture something to the person behind him—probably said something arrogant, since the man behind him gave him a shove in response.
As he ran up and took off, Fang Zhuo instinctively wanted to close her eyes.
She hadn’t expected his jumping form to be so professional—unlike the clumsiness of the previous few boys, his was light and agile. After clearing the bar in a back-arch, he naturally rolled once on the mat before immediately standing right back up.
Aside from his loose clothing riding up briefly during the jump, momentarily exposing the muscles of his waist, there seemed to be no flaws at all.
Or perhaps that wasn’t a flaw either, because it set off an unprecedented burst of excited screaming nearby. Even the person standing in front of Fang Zhuo gasped, letting out a couple of suggestive little laughs.
Yan Lie glanced down at his own shoes, getting ready to head back to the waiting area.
Unreasonably, as if sensing something, he turned his head and looked precisely in Fang Zhuo’s direction.
Fang Zhuo’s smile was still on her face, though faint in its curve. She instinctively wanted to suppress the corners of her mouth, then realized that at this distance, he couldn’t possibly see it anyway, and there was no need to feel awkward—so she simply met his gaze as if nothing were unusual.
Yan Lie must have smiled, lifting his head high and waving at Fang Zhuo. He seemed about to come over, but was yanked back by Zhao Jiayou behind him.
The sunlight was warm, the breeze gentle.
Fang Zhuo, for no clear reason, recalled a line of text—words from a love letter someone had once passed her.
“I think you must be a bundle of flowers. Passing through this place of yours, my whole journey is left with nothing but your scent. Even after leaving here, it’s as if you’re everywhere.”
Fang Zhuo had glanced at it once and set it aside back then. What she’d thought at the time was, you’ve already left—why write love letters? Something you could see anywhere was probably just an ordinary wildflower. This person’s way of talking really wasn’t appealing.
Yet this line had stuck with her, and now, rising up from the bottom of some box covered in old dust, it made her dimly aware of her own past misunderstanding.
But Fang Zhuo stubbornly felt something was still off.
Compared to flowers, which bloom and wither, only coming to mind when seen—what’s truly present at all times, everywhere, inescapable, besides air, should be sunlight.
It just showed how shallow what young people called love really was.
It ought to be changed to this:
“I think you must be a beam of light, rising with the sunrise every morning, as though you’re everywhere. The day the sun and moon stop taking turns… taking turns… the earth would be destroyed.”
Fang Zhuo clicked her tongue, dissatisfied. Just for that last bizarre line alone, on an essay worth 60 points, she’d deduct 55.
As Fang Zhuo’s thoughts wandered every which way, the next student had already begun their attempt.
The one after Yan Lie was a student from the school team, who also jumped quite smoothly, but Fang Zhuo still felt his form wasn’t as natural as Yan Lie’s.
His whole body was tensed up, his lines looking stiff and unattractive. Even though the motion was identical, and he wasn’t even as tall as Yan Lie, he landed with a heavy thud, like a hammer striking down.
It was bias, she knew.
Fang Zhuo gave herself a quiet inward scolding, feeling her attitude wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be so unreasonable about it.
The competition wrapped up quickly; Fang Zhuo had only zoned out for a moment before the judge stood up to announce the results.
It seemed there was a student among the participants who’d been recruited through athletic specialization for high jump. In the end, Yan Lie went head-to-head with him a few extra times, lost, and regretfully took second place.
He brushed the dust off his black clothes, getting pulled into a headlock from behind by Zhao Jiayou, who pressed him down so he couldn’t stand up straight. Amid the horsing around, his gaze kept flicking toward Fang Zhuo’s direction, but before he could get free, he was blocked off by a girl in front of him.
Fang Zhuo quietly turned and went into the shop to buy a piece of bread for lunch. By the time she came back out, Yan Lie had already been half-dragged, half-pulled off by his buddies toward the podium to receive his award.
·
During evening study, the students, having spent the whole day sweating it out, gathered back in the classroom once more, chattering noisily about the day’s events, throwing around some boasting along the way, displaying the youthful energy fitting for their age, however rare an occasion it was.
The old teacher came by to supervise, signaling for quiet, though to little effect. With no other option, she simply had the class monitor go copy over a movie to play on the big screen, on the condition that they had to stop being so noisy.
The class monitor rushed out cheering. The boys shouted from behind, demanding a horror movie, while the girls immediately yelled back “No way!”—a chaotic mess. The old teacher’s expression turned stern and cold, and only then did everyone finally settle down.
Yan Lie came in a bit later than the others, having showered and changed into a white outfit.
After he sat down, Shen Musi set a silver medal on his desk and said, “Lielie, your medal! I already registered it for you, no need to thank me.”
Seeing this, Fang Zhuo asked, “Why didn’t you go up on stage yourself to collect it?”
“Standing up there for photos feels kind of silly, and besides, I didn’t even get first place,” Yan Lie said, casually setting the medal at the corner of his desk, asking with a smile, “So, how was it—did the high jump look good?”
Fang Zhuo thought back on it. Setting aside the few professionals, even the casual participants’ moves hadn’t been anywhere near as awful as zombie hopping—at most just a bit comical. She said objectively, “It was alright,” then added, “Better than the long jump.”
“Why are you trash-talking other events?” Yan Lie lowered his voice toward her. “Whatever you do, don’t let Zhao Jiayou hear that. He’s the one who signed up for long jump.”
Fang Zhuo glanced guiltily toward the window, only to find that he wasn’t even in the classroom.
Yan Lie stuck his hand in his pocket, fumbled around for a moment, then pulled out a gold medal with a mysterious look on his face, setting it on the desk. “Even though I didn’t get first in high jump, good thing I also signed up for the 100 meters.”
This year’s A High School medals were very well made, finely detailed, looking quite valuable—the kind of thing you’d want to own.
Yan Lie noticed the affection showing in her gaze, and asked with a low laugh, “Want it?”
Fang Zhuo, however, withdrew her gaze indifferently, saying without any reluctance, “I’ll have one of my own tomorrow.”
Yan Lie, remembering she’d signed up for the 1500, thought this remark sounded both arrogant and somewhat cute. Just as he was about to say something, the familiar opening theme of the movie started up.
The lights dimmed, and the noise gradually died down. Fang Zhuo’s face was cast in shadow, overlaid with a faint glow from the screen’s light; she focused all her attention on it, watching the movie with bated breath. Yan Lie held back what he’d been about to say.
·
The next afternoon, first came the boys’ 3000-meter event, followed by the girls’ 1500.
Fang Zhuo hadn’t dared eat too much for lunch, drank an extra two bottles of water, and arrived early at the field to get ready.
She pinned her number tag inside her school uniform jacket and paced back and forth by the side of the road, warming up. The other students hadn’t expected her to be entering this event, gathering around the other runners instead to pump them up with motivational nonsense.
The one signed up for the men’s 3000 meters was Shen Musi.
His original intent had been to slack off, but it turned out their class’s performance this year was surprisingly decent, with a real chance to escape the bottom three—a potentially historic good ranking—so he figured he’d go up and run it half-heartedly, just to avoid losing points for the class.
But he’d only run a kilometer before being lapped by someone from the school team. Hearing the cheers ring out ahead of him, in honor of his opponent, Shen Musi felt rather embarrassed and quietly slipped off the track from the side.
Who would have known—the moment he stepped off the track, he ran right into Fang Zhuo.
The two of them stared silently at each other.
Maybe it was because Fang Zhuo’s gaze had a touch of coldness to it, but Shen Musi felt threatened. His mind went momentarily blank, and he turned right back onto the track, intending to finish out the rest of his journey.
The PE teacher nearby saw this and called out hastily, “Hey hey hey! Once you’ve stepped off the track, you can’t go back on! What are you doing!”
Shen Musi, running along with the pack, felt stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Fang Zhuo hurried over and dragged the dazed cake-comrade* back to find Yan Lie.
*[Translator’s note: “蛋糕同志” (“cake-comrade”) is a playful nickname referencing the earlier cake incident with Shen Musi.]
Yan Lie had already noticed the commotion over here and was running over from the other side. When he arrived, he said, half-laughing, half-exasperated, “What are you even doing? Run if you’re going to run, don’t if you’re not—what’s with this back-and-forth flip-flopping?”
Shen Musi felt quite wronged, but with Fang Zhuo standing right there, he didn’t dare say anything, his lips moving wordlessly before he managed, “You don’t understand—this is the inner struggle of a man’s heart.”
He took a big gasping breath, lamenting the care he hadn’t gotten to enjoy, sighing, “Running is so tiring.”
Yan Lie pushed him toward the class’s resting area. “Go sit over there.”
Once the man had walked off, Yan Lie turned back to Fang Zhuo and asked, “You’re not actually going to run, are you?”
Fang Zhuo unzipped her jacket, showing off her quite auspicious-looking number tag, and said, “Why not? I’ve already checked in.”
Yan Lie’s face showed both shock and helplessness, unable to figure out how to put his feelings into words, finally settling on a single line: “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Fang Zhuo glanced sideways at him, making Yan Lie feel like she was looking at him as if he were a fool.
Once the 3000-meter results were tallied, the track was cleared, and soon it was time for the 1500.
The broadcast announced it twice over, and students checked in at the starting line by roll call.
When the homeroom teacher, watching from the sidelines, spotted Fang Zhuo standing on the 1500-meter track, her expression changed, and she pointed and called out, “What are you doing here, student?”
Fang Zhuo: “??”
The other students nearby had also noticed her. They’d already thought it was dangerous, the way she kept squeezing onto the track—now, seeing the bright red number tag hanging on her chest clearly, they shuddered in unison.
Fang Zhuo, responding to the judge’s call, raised her hand, proving with concrete action that she too was a dream-chaser.
The homeroom teacher’s “you can’t do this” was nearly out of her mouth when the excitable Zhao Jiayou beat her to it, shouting.
“How can you run the 1500?! Did you even warm up?!”
Fang Zhuo, displeased, turned her face away, not wanting to answer him.
Yan Lie pushed his way to the front of the crowd, grabbing hold of the homeroom teacher, who was on the verge of acting, and comforted her, “Don’t worry, I’ve already contacted someone at the medical office. They heard the one signing up to run was that student who fainted last time from malnutrition, and they’ve proactively reserved a bed for her—said they’d welcome her back for a visit.”
The old teacher let out a sigh of relief. “Good, that’s good then.”
Listening to the two of them slandering her in tandem, Fang Zhuo protested, “This is too much.”
The judge, who had been keeping a stern face while organizing the lineup, couldn’t help interjecting after overhearing for a bit, “Did you buy insurance?”
Fang Zhuo: “…?” Is there still bamboo shoots up on the mountain?*
*[Translator’s note: a non-sequitur rural idiom/colloquialism expressing bewildered indignation at the absurdity of the question.]
Fang Zhuo felt this group’s bias was simply too severe.
All the running they’d ever done combined probably wouldn’t add up to the amount of mountain climbing she’d done. Back in elementary school, Fang Zhuo could carry a bamboo basket weighing dozens of jin on her back and walk half a day along rugged mountain paths, picking oranges, cutting grass for rabbits, and digging up potatoes along the way.
In terms of explosive power, she might not measure up—but in terms of endurance, she also had the advantage of her childhood.
There was no point explaining it to this bunch.
Fang Zhuo went to stand in her own position, tuning out the jeering from outside, waiting for the judge’s whistle to start glowing and burning.
After the crisp gunshot, the crowd surged forward.
At the start, Fang Zhuo positioned herself in the middle of the pack.
Students from other classes were all desperately shouting encouragement, while only Class 1’s teacher, accompanied by her students, anxiously coaxed from the side, “Fang Zhuo, if you’re tired, come down—it’s fine, don’t force yourself. We’re not aiming for first place, the important thing is participating.”
Fang Zhuo still had to spare some extra mental energy to glare at them—or, more precisely, to give them a haughty sidelong look. She hoped they’d show a bit more spirit, instead of stirring up trouble like this.
By the second lap, the pack had already split into several segments, with Fang Zhuo still keeping pace with the front batch.
Yan Lie waited at the edge of the field with a cup of water; as Fang Zhuo passed, she shook her head.
The homeroom teacher looked at her watch and said, “Fang Zhuo’s pace is quite steady. Her condition seems decent too. Wasn’t her 800-meter result not bad?”
No one had much impression of it, only knowing it hadn’t been among the top scores. During the fitness test, everyone could barely worry about their own survival, much less keep track of others’.
By the third lap, everyone’s expressions had turned serious. One by one, faces grew somber, looking like they bore some deep grudge.
Fang Zhuo’s two legs moved like mechanically operated wheels, steadily striding at the same pace, standing out from among the competitors—now in fifth place.
The homeroom teacher’s resolve wavered, watching her run from afar, then watching her run off into the distance again.
Fang Zhuo might not have been the fastest runner, but her expression was certainly the calmest of anyone there, and her build the thinnest among them all. This contradictory sight, displayed in her, was hard for anyone to quite believe.
Seeing the hope of victory, Zhao Jiayou flushed red, even more excited than if he were running himself, chasing alongside the track to cheer her on. “Third lap, Fang Zhuo! 800 meters done! One more lap and that’s 1200, you’ve still got—”
He didn’t even finish before Yan Lie clamped a hand over his mouth.
What kind of motivational method was this? Wasn’t this just demoralizing, blow by blow?
Zhao Jiayou broke free, his reason having long since left the building, stubbornly shouting, “Fang Zhuo! Go for it! If you come in first, you’re my dad!”
Fang Zhuo really did go for it.
By the fourth lap she began accelerating, surging straight from fifth to second, hot on the heels of the lead runner.
The lead runner, a girl in school team attire, felt the pressure of Fang Zhuo’s approach and no longer dared to coast, picking up her own pace too.
Yet Fang Zhuo clung on like a piece of taffy that wouldn’t be shaken off—she could hear the other girl’s footsteps, but never any sound of ragged breathing, which made her inwardly scream that something was deeply unfair about this.
“Fang Zhuo, I love you!”
“Go for it, Zhuozhuo!”
“You’re in second! Amazing, you’re in second! You’re the best! Ahh—!”
Watching this scene unfold, Class 1 fell into an utter frenzy, howling all sorts of nonsense. The name “Fang Zhuo” itself had even changed pitch, echoing through the air like a chorus of wailing ghosts.
People nearby, their eardrums suffering greatly, edged further away, afraid their own intelligence might catch the contagion.
The finish line drew closer, and Fang Zhuo sped up once more.
The lead girl gave a start, her breathing thrown off. Sensing Fang Zhuo passing her by, she widened her eyes in disbelief.
With only the final straight stretch of track left, the homeroom teacher, barely able to catch her breath, stared fixedly at the figure on the track.
Fang Zhuo’s lips had gone pale, the corners of her mouth pressed into a flat line, her cheeks taking on a slight flush. Rounding the bend, she shifted onto another lane, sprinting forward with eyes fixed straight ahead, unwavering.
Her vision blurred—perhaps from the anemia—unable to make out where her opponent was, only seeing the hazy shapes of the crowd ahead, sensing that she was probably nearing the finish line, but not daring to slow down.
Not until the judge shouted “First!” did Fang Zhuo finally stop. The instant she came to a halt, her legs went weak and wobbly, nearly causing her to fall.
A pair of hands caught her shoulders just in time, steadying her with a firm grip. Soon many more people gathered around her, blocking out the light around them.
Amid the jumbled mix of voices, Fang Zhuo, unable to make out what they were saying, asked urgently, “How was it?”
Yan Lie’s voice rang out above her head, his excitement barely contained. “First place! The gold medal is yours! You’re a goddess, a champion, Zhao Jiayou’s dad!”
Fang Zhuo felt relieved.
Yan Lie helped her walk a couple of laps, then guided her over to a chair to sit down.
Someone fanned her from the front, someone else worked at loosening her leg muscles from the side.
Wei Xi held a cup, eagerly pouring water for her, practically ready to feed it directly to her mouth.
Experiencing for the first time the sensation of being the center of everyone’s attention, Fang Zhuo found she rather enjoyed it, and said with feigned modesty, “It was alright, I guess. Nothing special.”