So, you’ve got a crush on me?
“How did my girl suddenly become yours?”
“He really said that? Damn, straight out of an idol drama!”
“I wish the campus heartthrob would protect me like that. Ugh, so jealous of Autumn God.”
“You think Autumn God is some silly sweet heroine? Wrong. Do you know what she said?”
“Don’t keep us hanging—spill!”
“Alright, alright.” One self-proclaimed performer cleared his throat and mimicked Shan Jiqiu’s words with flair, “‘Sorry, but I only call one person brother. See? No need for me to introduce him again.’”
“That’s way too badass!”
“Wow, I swear I heard romance in that. Mutual defense—how cute is that?”
But someone in the know quickly jumped in to clarify: “Cut it out. They’re childhood friends, grew up together. Everyone knows—it’s an open secret at our school. They said back in Grade 10: pure friendship, no sparks, brother-sister bond. Of course, they’ve got each other’s backs.”
“Honestly, childhood friends rarely fall for each other. Too familiar, know each other inside out, no mystery. Like me and mine—I wish he’d disappear from my life. Love? Not in this lifetime. Not in the next either.”
“Exactly. Childhood-friend romance only exists in novels.”
“Besides, Autumn God always crushes Lu Yun in grades. A guy’s pride won’t allow him to like a girl smarter than him—especially someone like our campus star.”
“But if I had a childhood friend like Lu Yun, I’d want him.”
“+1.”
“+10086.”
“+Phone number.”
“You’re forcing me to add my ID card number.”
“So what happened next?” someone asked.
“Yan Xu dropped a tough-guy line and stormed off. Didn’t want to embarrass himself further.”
“Word is Yan Xu knows some shady guys outside school. Best to keep your distance.”
Meanwhile, the people at the center of all the gossip were already buried in exams.
Grade 11, Class 1’s first day was spent in the company of test papers—several subjects in one afternoon, efficiency at its peak.
When the bell rang for the last evening self-study, the quiet campus suddenly erupted with voices, footsteps pounding the stairs in a steady *thump-thump*.
Shan Jiqiu, Lu Yun, and Tan Junhao left their classroom, following the crowd down the stairs, meeting Zhou An and Yu Kexia on the first floor.
Yu Kexia immediately linked arms with Shan Jiqiu, pulling her along, then glanced back at the three boys behind them—tall and straight, like bodyguards.
“Really made up?” Shan Jiqiu teased, looking at Zhou An, then at Yu Kexia. “So you’ve decided to be a pig?”
Yu Kexia pouted: “You and Lu Yun put on such a show—if we didn’t make up, it’d be ridiculous. Apologizing to each other doesn’t make us pigs, OK?”
Shan Jiqiu smiled, motherly in tone: “Grade 11 now. Better put more thought into studying.”
Yu Kexia lifted her head, meeting Shan Jiqiu’s meaningful gaze—like a human CT scan, leaving nowhere to hide.
“I don’t!” she denied quickly, then, after a moment of courage, gave up pretending: “Is it really that obvious?”
“What do you think?” Shan Jiqiu raised a brow. “Might as well carve ‘Yu Kexia likes Zhou An’ right on your forehead.”
Startled, Yu Kexia glanced back nervously. Seeing no reaction from the boys, she exhaled in relief. “Keep your voice down,” she sighed. “Ugh, why do I even like him?”
Shan Jiqiu: “…”
Yu Kexia: “You wouldn’t understand. You’re the type who shuts out the world, only cares about books—a straight girl through and through.”
Shan Jiqiu looked up at the starless night sky, then sideways at the boy behind her. She smiled silently. Of course, she understood. But when it came to *him*, that secret belonged to her alone—unspeakable, destined to remain hidden from the very start.
Behind them, Tan Junhao pointed at the two girls whispering ahead:
“Seriously, what do girls have to talk about all the time? They see each other every day, yet never run out of secrets.”
Zhou An joined in: “What I’ll never get is why girls have to go to the bathroom hand in hand, fetch water in pairs, even walk in rows blocking the path…”
Lu Yun strolled with hands in his pockets, listening to his “bodyguards” ask their endless questions. His eyes drifted to the two slim figures ahead, arms linked, and finally settled on Shan Jiqiu. And he wondered too—why was it like that?
The late-summer breeze brushed their hair, night wrapped in lamplight, blue-and-white uniforms fading into the dusk.
These questions—sweet, sour, confusing, self-conscious—would bloom and wither only in these years. Yet they would become the most unforgettable, untouchable memories of a lifetime.
…
Outside the school gates, vendors lit their stalls, each corner glowing. Students crowded around the food stands in twos and threes, fours and fives, buzzing with life.
Shan Jiqiu and Lu Yun’s route home was the opposite of Yu Kexia’s and the others’. At the gate, they parted ways, each heading off in their own direction.
Streetlamps stood in soldierly rows, casting light across the red bricks. Two shadows—one tall, one short—stretched long, sometimes apart, sometimes crossing, then apart again.
Shan Jiqiu lowered her gaze, catching sight of their figures tangled in light and shadow. Yu Kexia’s words from earlier suddenly returned to her mind. Almost without thinking, she lifted her hand—like reaching to hold the one beside her.
Only a second passed before she quickly withdrew, hiding her hand behind her back. She stole a glance at the oblivious boy, then covered her impulse with cold, unrelated words—math problems to mask her heart.
“The last question—let Q and R be the midpoints of OB and OC, connect EQ, MQ, FR, MR… so EM·FN = EN·FM… What about you?”
“Same answer. But I skipped the connections, solved it directly…”
“…”
They walked on, trading questions and answers, her thoughts drifting back into equations. Until a rumble broke the silence.
Shan Jiqiu instinctively pressed her stomach, looked at Lu Yun, and grinned: “It’s hungry.”
Lu Yun raised his brows, voice casual: “What do you want to eat?”
Shan Jiqiu: “He Ji.”
Lu Yun: “Call me ‘brother’ first.”
She didn’t understand. Did he really want so badly to be her brother? Hadn’t he been playing that role all her life? A pang of loss stirred in her chest. She said nothing, just stepped forward. But before she could take more than a step, he tugged her backpack from behind, pulling her back to his side.
“You spoke so boldly to Yan Xu, but now you get temperamental over calling me once?” Lu Yun laughed in disbelief.
Shan Jiqiu tugged at her bag, but it wouldn’t budge. She gave up resisting, swallowing the faint ache in her chest, and muttered: “My stomach says it’s not hungry anymore.”
Lu Yun’s hand slid upward, ruffling her hair with a grin: “Then I’m hungry. Keep me company?”
She slapped his hand away, smoothing her hair—already mussed.
“Are you a kindergartener?” She pulled out her hair tie, scolding: “Childish.”
Lu Yun leaned back, watching as she gathered her hair. Black strands spilled in the warm glow, her slender neck exposed at the collar of her uniform—delicate, like it belonged in Swan Lake.
Under the soft light, she looked tall and graceful, skin luminous. Her dark eyes drooped slightly, lashes fluttering like butterfly wings as her fingers combed through her hair. Pink lips held the black hair tie—a striking image.
Lu Yun turned his head away, staring at the dappled shadows beneath the streetlamp, lost for a moment. When he looked back, she had already tied her hair into a neat ponytail.
“Let’s go!” Shan Jiqiu glanced at him, emphasizing: “Your midnight snack.”
With that, she strode ahead.
Lu Yun watched her confident figure, smiled faintly, and scratched his nose. In a few long strides, he caught up, walking side by side.
He Ji was a noodle shop. In spring and summer evenings, they also set up a barbecue stall, usually open until midnight.
Shan Jiqiu loved their sweet-water noodles. After evening self-study, this was her go-to—two or three times a week, never tiring of it.
They were regulars. The boss smiled when he saw them: “Just finished evening study?”
Shan Jiqiu smiled back: “Yeah.”
Boss: “Grade 11 now, right?”
Shan Jiqiu: “You’ve got a good memory.”
Meanwhile, Lu Yun habitually took two pairs of chopsticks and a cup of hot water outside to rinse them. Looking up, he noticed a fire truck across the street. Firefighters, uniforms stained, sat or crouched at the roadside, wolfing down bowls of noodles—clearly too busy on duty to eat earlier.
Lu Yun poured out the hot water, carried the cup and chopsticks back to the counter. When he returned, Shan Jiqiu reached for the chopsticks, and their noodles arrived. They bent over their bowls. Near the end, they heard the boss speaking: “Your noodles have already been paid for.”
“What?” A firefighter’s deep voice rang out. “That won’t do. We can’t let someone else pay for us.”
Boss: “But he already paid and left. I can’t take your money again.”
Firefighter: “Then I’ll leave the money here. Next time you see him, give it back.”
Boss: “He’s not a regular. I don’t know if he’ll come again…”
The firefighter glanced around, pointing: “You’ve got cameras here?”
Boss: “Uh, yes.”
“Mind if I check?”
The boss looked at the nearby table, torn between the two sides. Finally, he nodded: “Alright, you can.”
Lu Yun handed Shan Jiqiu a tissue: “Let’s go.”
She understood, took the tissue, slung her backpack on, and followed him out, wiping her mouth.
As they passed the firefighter, Shan Jiqiu glanced at Lu Yun beside her and smiled faintly.
Days later, a video went viral online: a high schooler quietly paying for firefighters’ meals. The news sparked heated discussion, most repeating the phrase: “When the youth are strong, the nation is strong.”
The camera quality was poor, and the student had deliberately avoided being caught on film. People understood his intent, and no one pressed to uncover his identity.
Leaving the noodle shop, Lu Yun and Shan Jiqiu walked back to catch the bus home.
Shan Jiqiu looked at him, smiling without words. In the shifting light, her cool beauty softened, her sly grin cutting through the chill of her features.
Lu Yun reached out and tugged Shan Jiqiu’s ponytail, drawling: “Am I even more handsome now?”
Shan Jiqiu pulled her hair back with one hand: “Let go.”
He obeyed, releasing her hair. As she adjusted her ponytail, he bent slightly, stretching his neck so his eyes met hers. The wind stirred at the alley’s mouth, carrying her faint fragrance into his breath. Her hands froze. The alley was empty, the night pressing low. She could feel his breath, see the ink-dark peach blossom eyes so close, their corners tilted with a hint of charm. He smiled—and her heart was suddenly a storm.
She bit the inside of her lip, lowered her gaze, and forced down the rush of panic. Almost imperceptibly, she stepped back. “What did you say?” she asked.
Lu Yun traced a circle in front of his face with his hand: “I said—am I even more handsome now?”
Shan Jiqiu: “You’re definitely more narcissistic.”
Lu Yun: “Then why do you look at me with worship?”
Shan Jiqiu shoved her hands into her pockets, striding down the alley: “That wasn’t worship. I was laughing at someone who does good deeds like he’s committing a crime.”
Lu Yun gave a soft “oh” and followed. Tilting his head toward her ear, he chuckled carelessly: “That look just now—I thought…” He paused. “…you had a crush on me.”