The photos were not as unflattering as Fang Zhuo had expected.

The first one was only of her back.

She was wearing an oversized jacket, the sleeves hanging softly down over her fingers. The shoulder seam had slipped down her arm, leaving a pale strip of neck exposed, and the weight of her backpack carved out the thin line of her shoulders.

She and Ye Yuncheng both liked buying clothes two sizes too large — they lasted longer, and in the cold you could layer a hoodie underneath. It was a habit that came from the life they had grown up in.

The lamplight fell from above, bleaching her hair a lighter shade and making her figure appear even more slight.

She was tilting her head slightly, looking down at the long shadow on the ground — as if she were looking through it at the person who had taken the photo.

Fang Zhuo had thought that by not turning around, she could know what the person behind her was doing.

It seemed the person behind her had also known what she was doing.

That feeling — the small, fragile, hard-to-name thing hidden beneath the surface — was like the last few fireflies in a forest at the edge of dawn: tender and concealed.

Fang Zhuo swiped to the next photo.

She had expected her expression in that one to be blank and glazed, but the candid shot had captured something else entirely — a picture with sharp, distinct color.

The background was a hazy blur, only faint tree shadows like wisps of smoke, only her skin pale as a clean stretch of moonlight, caught completely off guard by the lens.

The person in the photograph felt almost unfamiliar to her.

Yan Lie watched her expression out of the corner of his eye, and seeing no trace of displeasure, relaxed into a satisfied smile. “I take good photos, don’t I? Among all the photos you’ve ever had taken, do these rank in the top three?”

Fang Zhuo looked at them once more, handed his phone back, and said: “I’ve only ever had ID photos and class group photos taken. So you’re first.”

The back of the phone still held a trace of warmth. Yan Lie closed his hand around it and asked lightly: “Could you just stay at top three for me?”

Fang Zhuo cut a sideways glance at him and said nothing. She pulled her English textbook from her bag, smoothed it open, and began working through the vocabulary list at the back.

The duty teacher bundled up his jacket and came out of the dormitory building, already shivering as the cold wind hit him. He jogged in place to warm up, then headed out to check the dormitory registration with each of the building managers.

He had just passed the shuttered small shop near the building’s entrance when he noticed two students sitting on one of the wooden benches by the path.

He knew this age group — they were prone to emotional entanglements. Living too long in a monotonous, high-pressure environment, they could develop strong attachments to the people around them. A rare moment of relaxation could impair their judgment, making them forget what they were actually supposed to be doing.

Like now, for instance.

Those two students were sitting under the warm glow of the lamplight, shivering in the cold wind, but unwilling to go inside and rest in the warmth of their dormitory rooms.

That kind of brazen behavior made their intentions obvious. They clearly had no fear of consequences. Their thoughts must be heading somewhere very dangerous indeed.

This had gone too far.

A corrupting influence should be corrected!

The duty teacher hardened his expression, softened his footsteps, and deliberately took a roundabout path to approach from behind the two students. He wanted to catch whatever late-night topic had been worth skipping sleep for.

For the sake of evidence, for future counseling purposes, he even took out his phone and turned on the recording function.

When he finally slipped under the shadow of the trees and listened — it wasn’t the sound of any cloying exchange. It was a series of strange pronunciations, one after another.

Listening more carefully, he realized the girl was reciting English vocabulary and using the words in sentences, while the boy beside her was coaching her — correcting her pronunciation syllable by syllable.

They were actually studying.

The duty teacher was mildly stunned. And yet he didn’t quite dare believe it.

He had placed his trust in students before and learned a hard lesson about the cruelties of the world. He could not repeat that mistake.

So he held his position with remarkable willpower, standing motionless in the dark for half an hour, until his face was stiff with cold — and the two on the bench gave him no sign of the slip he was waiting for.

What he did establish, though, was that Fang Zhuo’s English was genuinely not up to standard. She didn’t have a firm grasp on basics like root words and word forms. That was a more serious problem than any disciplinary one.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. Halfway through a point about word roots, he burst out from the darkness and exclaimed: “A fully inverted sentence requires the verb to come first — the verb must come first! You’re in your third year, how can this still be happening?!”

The two students spun around, expressions moving from bewilderment to something more complicated, then both gave a faintly disapproving twitch of the mouth.

Yan Lie drew it out: “Teacher… were you eavesdropping?”

The duty teacher coughed and pivoted awkwardly. “I was just concerned. The light is so dim out here — studying in conditions like this will ruin your eyesight. Go to a classroom from now on, just make sure you’re back before lights out. I won’t interrupt your studying any further.”

He hurried away, stopped his phone recording, and looked back at the two of them once more.

This world, he thought. Genuinely simple and pure.

He barely understood it anymore.

The next morning, Yan Lie came to find Fang Zhuo and passed along a message from Ye Yuncheng.

Xiao Mu had come back early the previous night. Under Ye Yuncheng’s guidance he had tried rolling a few rice balls, and the results looked promising — it had encouraged him so much that he expressed his desire to start selling as soon as possible.

This was the first time he had shown genuine enthusiasm toward finding work. Ye Yuncheng didn’t want to dampen it. The equipment and paperwork were all in order anyway — any day was a fine day to start.

The two of them had simply gone to the market first thing in the morning, bought ingredients, gotten everything ready, and planned to open by the roadside from midday onward. A nearby worker had already said he’d come back after his shift to buy more.

Fang Zhuo decided to go and see for herself. She didn’t know how this peculiar pair would handle the realities of the working world, or what kind of first result they’d come away with on their debut outing. Too many unknowns made her uneasy.

Yan Lie, her faithful apprentice, tagged along as well, bringing his schoolwork in case there was nothing for him to do and he needed to fill the time.

When the two of them arrived at the designated location, there was already a customer waiting at the stall. But Ye Yuncheng was nowhere in sight — only Xiao Mu.

Compared to the disheveled state he’d been in when they last met, Xiao Mu looked considerably neater now.

He was wearing a white padded jacket, the cuffs washed spotlessly clean and rolled up. Beneath it was a loose short-sleeved shirt printed with a cartoon character.

This light-weight outfit, standing in the January air, did not appear to bother him in the slightest.

Xiao Mu was bent over his work with complete focus. Neither their arrival nor the waiting customer seemed to distract him.

Fang Zhuo and Yan Lie stood on either side of the small cart and watched.

This customer had asked for several extra toppings, and Xiao Mu’s portions were already generous to begin with, leaving him with a rice ball too round and overstuffed to roll closed. Each attempt failed. This was outside the scope of what he had practiced, and Xiao Mu was getting flustered — his feet shuffling in place, glancing up at the customer, then bending back down to try again.

The look he gave that customer was simultaneously piteous and imploring. The man was beginning to feel his scalp crawl, very much wanting to say “never mind, it’s fine,” but comparing the two of their builds, thought better of it.

When Fang Zhuo saw that Xiao Mu’s efforts were going nowhere, she stepped in. “Xiao Mu — if it won’t roll closed, add a bit more rice. Make it bigger and pack it round instead.”

Xiao Mu couldn’t hold a normal conversation with Fang Zhuo yet, but he registered what she said and followed her method. At last the rice ball took on something approaching the right shape.

He sealed the edges with paper, tucked it into a small bag, and handed it to the customer in silence. Then he removed his gloves, picked up a clean cloth from the side, and began wiping down the counter — precisely following the “hygiene rules” Ye Yuncheng had drilled into him.

The customer hadn’t expected to end up with something this heavy. He waited a while, and when no one came to collect payment, looked helpless. “How much? Is the boss spacing out?”

Fang Zhuo had no idea what Ye Yuncheng had set as the prices. She turned to Xiao Mu and repeated the question close to his ear.

Xiao Mu surfaced from his self-reflection, pointed at the topping containers one by one, and said: “This one fifty cents, this one fifty cents…”

Fang Zhuo quickly tallied it up. “Ten fifty — thank you.”

“That’s so reasonable,” the customer said with a small laugh. “Your pricing is remarkably honest.”

Xiao Mu decided he was being praised. He said, stiffly: “It doesn’t look good.”

“It looks great! Very skilled hands, Xiao Mu,” Yan Lie cheered him on. “Can you make one for me too? I haven’t had lunch yet.”

“How can you not have had lunch?” Xiao Mu looked up, serious. “You can’t skip lunch. I’ll make one for you right now. Does Zhuozhuo want one too?”

The customer kept glancing over sideways — he had apparently finally noticed that Xiao Mu was a little different from most people. He rummaged through his pockets for a long time before reluctantly realizing he’d left home without any cash. Embarrassed, he asked: “Can I pay with Alipay?”

“Cash only!” Xiao Mu said, very anxious. “You have to pay!”

Yan Lie pulled out his phone. “We can do it — scan me.”

He had just finished collecting the payment when Ye Yuncheng reappeared.

Ye Yuncheng tucked the bag into a drawer and smiled. “I just went to the bank to get some small change. You’ve arrived.”

Fang Zhuo asked: “Is business going well?”

Ye Yuncheng nodded. “Quite well — we’re nearly out of stock. I’ll need to go buy more cucumber and cook more rice soon. We’ll stay out a little longer this evening. Someone working nearby said they’ll come back after they get off shift.”

Though it hadn’t been his intention, whenever passersby noticed the nature of his disability, they would come over to buy from him out of a sense of goodwill.

He held no resentment toward this. It was other people’s kindness, and he was grateful for it. What he could give back was simple: to sell food that was fresh and clean.

“Xiao Mu, you’ve worked hard,” Ye Yuncheng said, patting him on the shoulder. “How did it go just now?”

Xiao Mu’s nose was faintly damp with perspiration. He said quietly: “I was nervous.”

Yan Lie laughed. “Let me make him a sign to put up front — please don’t add too many toppings, otherwise it won’t roll. That way it’ll be easier for him.”

Xiao Mu nodded vigorously. Yan Lie headed off to a nearby stationery shop to buy card stock.

Ye Yuncheng said: “Can you two keep an eye on things? I need to go pick up some supplies.”

There was a trace of weariness in his face, but his spirit was more alive than Fang Zhuo had ever seen it — he couldn’t stop for even a moment.