The results of the third mock exam were out.
Mianmian stood in front of the grade ranking board, scanning down the list until she finally found her name at thirty-seventh place.
Someone nearby whispered.
“Oh, Ji Mianmian really hit a Waterloo. How did her science scores drop so much?”
“Girls just can’t keep up with science subjects in the higher grades.”
Mianmian lowered her eyes and was dragged into the office by the stern Teacher Zhao.
“Look at this score. Is it worthy of the pen in your hand, worthy of all those late nights you’ve spent over the past three years? The third mock exam is the last practice run before the college entrance exam. Tell me yourself, what happened?”
Tears of grievance welled up in Mianmian’s eyes.
Ah, how could she explain about Teacher Hu? She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
At dinner, Father Jiang made her favorite sweet and sour pork ribs, but she only took two pieces before pushing her bowl away. Teacher Zhao glanced at her but said nothing. Jiang Yu’an, sitting beside her, kept his head down and ate without a word.
Back in her room, she sat at her desk, staring blankly at her mistake notebook.
At midnight, Jiang Yu’an pulled her away from her desk.
He pushed the door open without knocking, grabbed her wrist, and lifted her up. With his other hand, he took her school jacket from the back of the chair.
“Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“The track,” he said. “Get some air.”
Mianmian wanted to say she didn’t want to go, but her wrist was already in his grip as he led her out of the room. Teacher Zhao looked up from the living room but said nothing, only nodding before continuing to knit the sweater in her hands.
At that moment, Mianmian vaguely sensed that this might have been Teacher Zhao’s arrangement, so she didn’t resist. She let him drag her down five flights of stairs, through the building entrance, and into the cool night breeze of late May.
There was a small track near the residential building, with a circular running path and a grassy field in the middle.
The May night was cool, and the breeze felt refreshing against her face. The track was empty, lit only by a few streetlamps that cast a dim yellow glow over the path.
Jiang Yu’an released her wrist and began walking along the track.
Mianmian followed beside him, head lowered, silent.
They walked one lap.
Two laps.
On the third lap, Jiang Yu’an suddenly spoke.
“Do you know what rank I got in my major courses during my first semester of freshman year?”
Mianmian looked up at him.
“Twenty-seventh,” he said. “There were thirty people in the class, and I ranked twenty-seventh. Surprising, right?”
Mianmian was stunned.
“How is that possible…”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” He grinned, a bit roguishly. “Back then, I was too full of myself. I thought I could read ten lines at a glance and remember everything after seeing it once. So, a week before the exam, while everyone else was studying in the library, I was still playing games in the dorm. My major courses taught me a lesson.”
He paused before continuing, “My advisor talked to me back then. He said, ‘Kid, you’re smart, but your mindset is off. When things go well, everything’s fine, but as soon as something goes wrong, you fall apart. People like that move fast, but they don’t go far.’”
Mianmian listened without speaking.
Jiang Yu’an looked at her. “People like us, who stay at the top for a long time, our biggest problem isn’t being dumb—it’s being unable to handle losing. Once we fall, it feels like the sky is collapsing.”
He stopped walking, turned, and faced her.
“But have you ever thought about it? Falling now is better than falling during the college entrance exam.”
Mianmian looked up into his eyes. Those eyes appeared especially deep against the backlight, but they lacked the usual roguish smile, replaced by a seriousness she wasn’t quite familiar with.
“Falling like this before the college entrance exam hurts, but it’ll make you remember this feeling,” he said. “Mianmian, remember this frustration. Get back up and charge forward.”
“Mianmian, you’re only eighteen. You have a long life ahead of you, with things far more troubling than exams. If you learn to shoulder it now, you’ll be able to carry it later.”
Mianmian lowered her head.
Jiang Yu’an didn’t say anything more.
He turned around and continued walking forward.
Mianmian followed beside him, walking silently.
After a while, he suddenly looked up at the sky.
There were quite a few stars today, densely scattered across the heavens.
“Do you see that North Star?” Jiang Yu’an pointed to a very bright star at the edge of the sky.
“You’re like it—the kind of person destined to shine,” he said, unusually earnest. “Falling once won’t make you disappear. After a while, you’ll shine again.”
“Ji Mianmian, pull yourself together. Do well on the college entrance exam for me, and don’t embarrass our family.”
Mianmian looked into his eyes.
Reflected in them were the starlight and her own shadow.
After a few more laps, she grew tired.
They sat on the steps by the track, leaning against the railing, watching the stars.
“Senior.”
“Hmm?”
“Is giving birth very painful?”
Jiang Yu’an was taken aback, clearly not expecting her to ask this after holding back for so long.
“Of course it’s painful,” he said, without brushing it off. “Medically, pain is divided into ten levels. Childbirth is the highest level, equivalent to breaking twenty bones at once.”
“Then why do people still have children?”
“Because the pain ends afterward,” he said, looking at her, his tone light as if stating a simple fact. “And pain has an end; it’s not endless. Contractions come in waves, reaching their peak, and once the baby is out, only happiness remains.”
Teacher Hu was indeed happy when she was pregnant.
Mianmian lowered her head, staring at her feet, and after a long pause, asked, “What if you can’t give birth?”
“That’s a difficult birth,” Jiang Yu’an said, his tone still calm, but Mianmian detected a professional certainty in it. “Modern medicine has various ways to handle it—forceps, vacuum extraction, and if all else fails, a C-section. So, although childbirth is painful, it’s not that dangerous. At least it’s ten thousand times safer than in ancient times.”
He started walking again, and Mianmian hurried to keep up.
“Then…” she hesitated, her voice even softer, almost mumbling, “what’s it like when the amniotic fluid breaks?”
“It’s different for everyone,” Jiang Yu’an answered seriously this time. “Some people have a sudden gush, others a slow leak, like… have you seen a balloon deflate? It’s like that.”
Mianmian thought of Teacher Hu’s maternity pants and asked, “What do you do if the amniotic fluid breaks?”
“Then you have to give birth as soon as possible,” Jiang Yu’an said. “Once the amniotic fluid breaks, the fetus is exposed to the outside world, and prolonged exposure can lead to infection.”
Mianmian nodded silently. Later, she heard that Teacher Hu couldn’t make it to the hospital and gave birth in the ambulance.
The two walked another lap. The fragrance of locust blossoms drifted over in waves. Someone was walking their dog by the edge of the field, and the sound of barking drifted from afar before gradually fading.
“Senior.”
“Hmm?”
“Was it really messy when giving birth?” Mianmian recalled Teacher Hu’s flushed, strained face.
“Yes.” Jiang Yu’an cut her off, straightforward. “When I rotated through obstetrics, I saw people who would defecate, vomit, curse, cry, scream—people who couldn’t care about anything else. So what?”
Mianmian looked up at him.
“In that kind of situation, what dignity can anyone maintain?” he said, his tone without a hint of mockery, even carrying something indescribable. “When the pain reaches that level, your body isn’t your own anymore. All reactions are instinct. If you defecate, you defecate; if you vomit, you vomit; if you curse, you curse… Who has the right to laugh at someone giving birth?”
Mianmian stared at him blankly, feeling something stir softly in her heart.
“But those men…” she weighed her words carefully, “those husbands, seeing their wives like that, wouldn’t they feel…”
“Feel what? Disgusted? Repulsed?” Jiang Yu’an finished for her. “When it really comes to that point, there’s only heartache, only anxiety, only wishing you could bear the pain for her. Who would still have the mind to feel repulsed?”
After saying this, he continued walking ahead.
Mianmian followed behind, watching his back, and suddenly felt that this usually roguish, defiant person seemed a bit different from usual.
“Senior.”
“What now?”
“When your wife gives birth in the future, will you feel repulsed?”
He abruptly stopped, turned around, and looked at her.
The streetlight shone from behind him, making his expression hard to see clearly, but his eyes were startlingly bright.
“Ji Mianmian, do you even know what you’re asking?”
Mianmian was taken aback by his question.
“Little brat, where do you get so many questions? You’ll know when you grow up.”
After saying this, he turned and continued walking, his pace a bit faster than before.
Mianmian chased after him for a few steps.
“Hey! Don’t always brush me off like that. …Wait for me!”
When she caught up to his side and looked up to glare at him, she saw the tips of his ears were red, especially noticeable under the streetlight.
The two walked side by side for the last half lap without saying a word. The night breeze blew over, carrying the stronger fragrance of pagoda tree flowers. Above them, the stars densely covered the entire sky.