Friday—the second day of the sports meet. The track was packed with people.
A breeze stirred, carrying with it the restless hormones of youth, intoxicating and reckless.
At the waiting line behind the starting blocks for the boys’ 100‑meter final, several competitors stood ready. Two of them drew nearly the entire school’s girls over to watch.
The vast field was suddenly jammed, the scene like a celebrity fan meeting.
“Lu Yun and Duan Boyi—oh my god, gods clashing.”
“Who should I cheer for? Ugh, so conflicted.”
“Duan Boyi, maybe. I heard he placed first in his prelim group.”
“Lu Yun was first in his group, too—and he didn’t even go all out.”
“To witness these two handsome guys compete in my lifetime—my high school years weren’t wasted. When I get to Peking University, I’ll brag about this for four years.”
“Wake up. Peking University? More like daydreaming.”
“Everyone has dreams growing up.”
“Strictly speaking, yours is just wishful thinking.”
“…”
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Yes—when we were little, we all shared the same “dream,” or rather, the same worry: should we choose Tsinghua or Peking University? Only as we grew older did we realize how naïve, ignorant, and overconfident we had been.
Shan Jiqiu, with a sports jacket draped over her arm, leaned against Yu Kexia and laughed along.
All around, voices rang out: “Ah! Lu Yun! Ah! Duan Boyi! So handsome! Oh heavens…”
Shan Jiqiu shifted her ankle. Ah—pain.
Lu Yun had long grown used to being stared at like this. Surrounded by good‑looking people all his life, he’d developed aesthetic fatigue. Who was beautiful, who was handsome—it was all the same to him. No matter how loudly people screamed, he remained calm, detached, unbothered. He stood there like an old master, hands in his pockets, waiting for his group to start. Then he caught a bold gaze directed his way.
Looking closer—wasn’t this the person from yesterday? But on second glance, those eyes didn’t seem to be looking at him at all.
Lu Yun followed the direction of that gaze. Well then—the boy’s eyes seemed to cut through the crowd and land squarely on Shan Jiqiu.
Lu Yun pulled his hands out of his pockets and jogged straight toward the crowd. Instantly, shrieks erupted from the girls. When they saw him stop in front of Shan Jiqiu, whispers and envious chatter spread. Even if it wasn’t romance, the sight of this “god‑tier” friendship between two stunning faces was enough to make others jealous to death. Truly maddening!
Shan Jiqiu, seeing Lu Yun approach, asked irritably: “What are you doing?”
Lu Yun stood tall in front of her, blocking her completely, and said lazily: “Why are you standing here in the middle of the chaos? At the finish line, tell Zhou An to grab a chair for you, wounded soldier. Don’t get hurt again—it always ends up being blamed on me.”
Shan Jiqiu’s brows shot up. From childhood to now, only this person could stir every emotion in her.
“Don’t bother. Just run your race. If you lose to the transfer student, your campus‑prince title won’t last.”
“Like I care. You’re acting more anxious than the emperor’s eunuch.”
“Can a dog be emperor?”
“Ha! Guess your ankle doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“Ugh, are you two about to fight again?” Yu Kexia shoved her hands between them to stop the quarrel. “Enough—let’s wait at the finish line.” She started to lead Shan Jiqiu away, but Lu Yun stopped them again. He hunched slightly, patted the sports jacket draped over Shan Jiqiu’s arm, and said: “Hold it properly. If it falls, you’ll be the one washing it.”
Shan Jiqiu still hadn’t cooled down. Yesterday, his apology had been tossed off like a joke, always perfunctory. Every time he said “sorry,” it was like saying “hello”—and yet it always left her speechless. He carried her to the clinic, then dropped the matter. Now he was provoking her again, so her words came sharp: “I’ll use it as a seat cushion later.”
Lu Yun narrowed his eyes, threatening: “Don’t you dare.”
Shan Jiqiu: “Watch me.”
In the end, Yu Kexia managed to pull her away.
Lu Yun walked off, glancing back at the limping girl. Hurt, yet somehow more defiant—her temper growing bigger by the day. Lose? Him? What a ridiculous thought.
Just as Shan Jiqiu and Yu Kexia reached the finish line, the starter pistol cracked through the air, smoke curling upward.
The boys at the starting line shot forward like arrows loosed from a bow, charging toward the sunlight, never looking back.
In the end, Lu Yun won—by the tiniest margin—in what even the PE teachers praised as the most intense, most spectacular 100‑meter sprint in school history.
Taking Shan Jiqiu’s jacket, he slipped it on while hearing Tan Junhao ask: “Weren’t you all about participation? Why go all out suddenly?”
At that, Shan Jiqiu also glanced at Lu Yun. The dazzling, sharp‑edged boy who had set the whole field ablaze just now didn’t match the lazy, uncompetitive Lu Yun she knew. She wondered if something had possessed him.
Lu Yun only said: “Nothing much. Just suddenly felt like it…”
Lu Yun’s long fingers slowly traced along the collar of the sports jacket down to his collarbone. His Adam’s apple bobbed once, and with that he slipped back into his usual careless, devil‑may‑care air. “Just felt like seriously going for first place, for fun.”
The others all gave him a thumbs‑up.
Lu Yun raised his brows, laughing brightly.
The spirit of youth—reckless but not arrogant, proud but not conceited.
Always shining, never needing anyone else’s light.
The sports meet ended amid laughter and reluctant goodbyes, ushering in a pleasant weekend.
Of course, that pleasant weekend belonged to others—not to Shan Jiqiu, injured yet still having to return to school for the math competition selection exam. She wondered why she had to drag her battered body to school on such a fine weekend just to take a test. Was it love? Or simply helpless obligation?
“It’s you, always wanting to pluck the stars, so you fight to climb the sky,” Shen Suyue said bluntly as she came out of the kitchen. “To put it plainly, you’re just competitive and unwilling to lose.”
“Wasn’t it you who taught me from childhood to have the spirit of the women’s volleyball team? In life, you’ve got to have ideals worth fighting for.”
Shan Jiqiu finished the last spoonful of century‑egg and lean‑meat congee, pulled a napkin to wipe her mouth, and smiled. “So even if my body’s broken, my will has to stay strong.”
Shen Suyue shot her a look. “What broken? Don’t talk nonsense. Spit it out.”
Shan Jiqiu chuckled. “Teacher Shen, don’t be superstitious.”
Just then, the door was knocked. Shen Suyue went to open it.
A boy’s bright, youthful voice rang out at the doorway: “Grandma.”
“Have you eaten?” Shen Suyue smiled, ushering Lu Yun inside, then called toward the table: “Xiao Qiu, Xiao Yun’s here. Hurry up.”
“I’ve eaten, Grandma.” Lu Yun stepped in, looking at Shan Jiqiu still lingering at the table. “It’s time to go.”
Shan Jiqiu turned to look at him. Today, he wore a light‑gray baseball jacket, open at the chest. Underneath was a white T‑shirt, paired with dark jeans and white sneakers. Without his school uniform, he lost some of that model‑student polish and gained a streak of youthful defiance instead.
Standing there casually, he looked every bit the slouch. Give him a motorcycle, and he could pass for a street punk. Yet somehow, he gave off the illusion that even in the underworld, his looks alone could make him the boss.
It was hard not to admit—he pulled it off.
“Oh.” Shan Jiqiu pushed herself up from the table. “I’ll go get my backpack.”
Lu Yun walked over and pressed her back down into the chair, teasing: “Come on, with you half‑crippled, don’t make it worse. Where is it? I’ll get it.”
With Shen Suyue present, Shan Jiqiu didn’t dare act out. She smiled through gritted teeth. “In the bedroom.”
Lu Yun nodded. “Got it.”
…
When they went downstairs, Shan Jiqiu froze for a moment—no motorcycle—but out of nowhere, a bicycle. She looked at the bike, then at the boy astride it.
No exaggeration—at that moment she seemed to see Andy Lau in *A Moment of Romance*, Alain Delon in *Once a Thief*, even Lee Mong‑ryong in *Delightful Girl Chun‑hyang*.
But him? He wasn’t like anyone else. He was simply himself—the one and only Lu Yun.
“What are you spacing out for?” Lu Yun jerked his chin at her. “Get on. Keep dawdling and neither of us will make the exam.”
“When did you get a bike?”
“Last night.” Lu Yun’s answer was curt, with no intention of explaining further. He patted the back seat. “Getting on or not?”
“Getting on.” Shan Jiqiu sat in the rear seat and adjusted herself. “Let’s go.”
Lu Yun planted one long leg firmly on the ground, the other bent on the pedal. He turned slightly to glance at her. Suddenly, he grabbed her hands and placed them at his waist, tilting his head: “Hold tight. If you fall, it’s on you.”
Shan Jiqiu’s fingers stiffened, her ears burned. It felt less like holding fabric, more like clutching a hot coal. To cover her sudden rush of feeling, she feigned impatience. “Got it. Are we going or not?”
“You’re the impatient one now?” Lu Yun snorted. “Show some respect to your driver, alright?”
“Don’t understand.”
“Fine. I’ll be magnanimous and let it slide.” With that, Lu Yun pushed off with his long leg.
The bicycle wheels spun, scattering dust and fallen leaves as they danced along the road.
Behind him, the girl’s lips curved upward without her realizing, as they rolled forward together.
The morning sun wavered as it rose from the horizon. Its halo filtered through the yellowing plane‑tree leaves, spilling autumn’s languor across the boy and girl.
They passed out of the quiet alley, the tires leaving a faint mark at the corner, and emerged into the bustling street.
They met people buying fried dough sticks, rice noodles, buns, and soy milk after morning exercise. Passed shops opening one by one.
Even brushed past an old man pedaling a tricycle, calling out: “Collecting scrap, old books, newspapers, broken pots, iron, washing machines, fridges…”
A day begins, brimming with life.
The world’s scenery lives in its everyday bustle.
Shan Jiqiu’s pale fingers clutched the fabric at the boy’s narrow waist. She stared at the back of his head, remembering the day he carried her on his back when she was hurt. Remembering how one word from him could dissolve her anger. She was truly frustrated—how could she be so easy to coax? So spineless?
She had resolved not to like him anymore. Yet after two days of his care, she was helplessly caught again.
Because he seemed good in every way.
Except… he would never like her.
Shan Jiqiu’s legs dangled freely, her face lifted into the cool autumn wind, her eyes raised to the boundless sky.
Watching the plane draw a long white line across the not‑so‑blue sky, watching the clouds gather and scatter into the shape of a smile.
Heavens, could you stop playing tricks on me alone? Why is it that every time I decide to give up, you let him do something that hints I should hold on a little longer?
Shan Jiqiu sighed inwardly, warning herself: I’ll hold on this one last time. Just this once.