Burdened with a “little ancestor” since childhood
Another gust swept through the alley, lifting a thin veil of dust. Beneath a distant streetlamp, moths flung themselves at the flame.
Much like Shan Jiqiu’s mood—just one careless joke from him, and her heart was a storm. Her hands clenched inside her pockets, palms instantly damp. The words “Yes, I do” hovered at her throat, waiting for a reckless impulse to break free. But impulse was no match for cowardice. At the last moment, she swallowed them back.
“I like you?” Shan Jiqiu scoffed, feigning absurdity. “If you’re sick, I’ll call 120 for you.” The lie betrayed her. Heat rushed to her ears, spreading down her neck, climbing her cheeks. The more she told herself to stay calm, the more uncontrollable the flush became.
Lu Yun laughed—low, resonant, like a temple bell at dawn. Each note struck her heart without missing. She had sworn never to be one of his admirers. Not liking him, not following the crowd, not blending in—that was her stubborn creed. But now she realized: even her stubbornness couldn’t withstand the weight of two simple words—*Lu Yun.*
“Alright then,” he said.
Shan Jiqiu drew a deep breath, willing the night breeze to be ice from a freezer, mint from a candy shop, cold water poured over her head—anything to wake her up. She pulled out her phone, pretending calm, pressing 120. Just as she was about to dial, a long hand snatched it away.
“You really meant to call?” Lu Yun’s voice was incredulous.
“Wasn’t that your request?”
“Enough. Don’t pout. It was a joke. I said the wrong thing—I apologize, okay?”
That was him—always knowing when to hand her candy just as she thought he wasn’t worth it—always pulling her back into the whirlpool.
“Phone.”
He smiled faintly, returning it to her palm. Still, he thought dialing 120 was a bit much.
“Qiu-baby.”
“….”
“You seem strange today.”
“What’s strange? I’m fine. You’re the strange one.”
“….”
On the No. 21 bus, Shan Jiqiu finally felt her heart settle. Usually, no matter how much they bickered, teased, or pretended indifference, it never felt like tonight. Maybe it was the charm of the night, the lingering summer heat, or her own restless heart.
*Calm down. Calm down.*
Suddenly, she had nothing to say. What now?
*Pretend to sleep.*
She glanced at Lu Yun scrolling his phone, then turned toward the window, closed her eyes, and feigned sleep. At some point, she drifted into real slumber. When she woke, the first thing she noticed was the familiar cool scent of mint—like leaves washed clean in a mountain stream at dusk. Her cheek rested against the thin cotton of his school uniform, warmth radiating from his broad shoulder—solid, steady. It wasn’t her secret feelings at work. Simply resting on his shoulder was, in truth, very comfortable.
Lost in thought, she heard his amused whisper in her ear: “Still not getting up?” He ruffled her hair, laughter deepening. “So skinny, yet your head weighs a ton.”
Shan Jiqiu jerked upright, her cheek still tinged with his warmth.
“What are you doing?” Lu Yun asked, baffled by her sudden reaction.
“Nothing.” She turned to the window, guilty.
He muttered: “Must’ve overeaten.”
She didn’t answer. If only overeating were the reason.
When the bus reached their stop, Lu Yun stood, casually picking up her backpack.
At the door, seeing her still glued to her seat, he called out: “Qiu-baby, next stop is the mental hospital. You going?”
His words jolted her back to reality. She shot up too fast, smacking her head against the overhead handrail. Rubbing her head, she hurried off the bus.
“Still half-asleep?” Lu Yun chuckled at the girl beside him. “Your head’s heavy enough to knock into the handrail. Quite a unique little thing.”
Shan Jiqiu snatched her backpack from his hand, slung it over her shoulder, and retorted as they walked: “First, I was drowsy because I ate too much. Second, my head doesn’t reach the handrail—that’s common sense.” She paused, then added: “As for you saying my head’s heavy—that’s not my problem, it’s yours. You’re too weak.”
“Weak?” Lu Yun laughed as if she’d told the biggest joke. “Qiu-baby, never say the word *weak* to a man.”
Shan Jiqiu: “But you are… weak.”
Lu Yun: “Looking for trouble, aren’t you?”
“….”
And just like that, her solo act ended, and the two slipped back into their usual routine—bickering and bantering all the way.
Not far ahead, a man stepped out of the corner shop by the neighborhood gate. He looked familiar. Under the streetlamp, his features were lit sharply, revealing a handsome face.
The moment Shan Jiqiu recognized him, she broke into a smile and ran forward: “Brother Xiang Shen, you’re back?”
Behind her, Lu Yun watched the excited girl and sneered inwardly. Didn’t she say she only called *him* brother?
Little liar.
…
September 1st marked the official start of the term. The new Grade 10 students shed the camouflage uniforms that had tormented them for half a month and donned their first high school uniforms.
On the playground, a sea of blue-and-white collared shirts and long trousers filled the red-and-green track. Boys and girls alike, crowded together under the blue sky and white clouds—a picture of youth. So much so that later, wedding photos would even trend in “school uniform” style.
Back then, romance was forbidden. Yet none of us realized that school uniforms were already couples’ outfits, and schools were the greatest factories of couples.
Principal Xie stood on the podium, voice full of vigor, while the students below drooped with fatigue.
Shan Jiqiu stood in line with her class, the blazing sun overhead, and pain flooding her belly below. She pressed her stomach, brows furrowed. Menstrual cramps—truly worse than death. *Help.*
“What’s wrong?” asked her classmate Huang Jing, noticing her pale face.
“Nothing, just a stomachache.” Shan Jiqiu forced a smile, her voice muffled.
“You still have to give a speech later. Can you manage?”
“Even if I can’t, I have to.”
When it came time for the student representative’s speech, Xu Zhi beckoned her. Shan Jiqiu nodded, but her legs felt weak, her whole body hollow—like she’d rather be cut in half with a knife than endure this pain.
“I’ll go.” Lu Yun appeared at her side, steadying her arm. She leaned on his strength to stand, then said: “What do you mean, *you’ll* go? I don’t even have a script.”
Lu Yun smirked: “So you’re showing off that you can speak without notes?”
“Stop it. I can manage.”
“Manage, my ass. Look at yourself in a mirror before you say that.”
“….”
Xu Zhi hurried over, seeing her still unmoving: “What are you waiting for? Hurry up, Director Zhao is calling.”
Lu Yun handed Shan Jiqiu to Huang Jing, smiling politely: “Please take care of her.”
Huang Jing had been in the same class as Lu Yun for days, but her quiet nature kept her from ever speaking to him. Now, just one simple request and a courteous smile turned her cheeks red. She shyly supported Shan Jiqiu, nodding: “Okay.”
Lu Yun walked off with Xu Zhi, speaking as they went. Then he jogged toward the podium and exchanged a few words with Zhao Fengping.
Zhao Fengping looked up at the sea of blue-and-white uniforms, then nodded at Lu Yun.
Before long, the restless murmur of students below the podium grew louder, especially among the Grade 10 crowd.
Shan Jiqiu looked up—and sure enough, it was Lu Yun standing in full view of everyone. Gone was the private image of him, careless and irreverent. At this moment, he was like a young tree in spring, tall and graceful. He stood at the center of the podium, before the microphone stand, every movement practiced and assured.
For a moment, one could forget that he disliked this kind of high-profile display. He was never one to fight for attention, always doing things as he pleased, without ulterior motive.
On the school’s internal forum, posts about him were unanimous: *Lu Yun, the low-key top student and campus heartthrob.*
His voice carried through the loudspeakers to every corner of the playground—clean, deep, and precise: “Respected leaders, teachers, and dear classmates, good afternoon! I am Lu Yun from Grade 11, Class 1. It is an honor to speak as the student representative. In this season of autumn’s vigor, we welcome a brand-new September…”
Shan Jiqiu watched the boy on stage, radiant in his confidence, speaking without a trace of nervousness—every gesture brimmed with composure.
Bright eyes, perfect smile, unmatched beauty.
And she—her lips never lost their smile. Even the pain in her stomach seemed to ease.
When the opening ceremony ended, students scattered like birds.
Huang Jing, true to Lu Yun’s request, supported Shan Jiqiu all the way, making her feel like she’d suddenly become an empress. She half-expected Huang Jing to answer “Yes, Your Majesty” if she called her *Little Jingzi*.
Next came class—chemistry.
As soon as Tan Junhao returned, he rushed over: “Feeling better? Don’t tell me you’ve got food poisoning like Yu Kexia did before?”
Shan Jiqiu was too weak to joke back, her face pale, beads of sweat circling her hairline, her energy drained. “It’s fine.” She paused, then asked: “Where’s Lu Yun? Class is about to start—Old Xie’s class.”
Tan Junhao shook his head, spreading his hands: “No idea. Ceremony ended, and he vanished.”
The bell rang. Tan Junhao returned to his seat—still no sign of Lu Yun.
Chemistry teacher Xie Xun—nicknamed Old Xie—was a towering man in his forties. His classic hairstyle was like two rows of plane trees with an asphalt road down the middle. His temper rivaled the Golden Lion King—when he scolded, his voice thundered without pause.
Ever since Grade 10, Lu Yun’s only weak subject had been chemistry. Every exam, he lost points here, embarrassing Old Xie. Over time, the teacher’s gaze toward him grew sharper, almost frightening.
Sure enough, minutes into class, Old Xie noticed Lu Yun’s absence.
“Shan Jiqiu, where’s your deskmate?”
“At Director Zhao’s office,” she lied quickly.
“Director Zhao has class this period. I just came with him.” Old Xie pressed, patience thinning: “So where *is* Lu Yun?”
“Report.” Lu Yun appeared at the front door, tall enough to block the sunlight, gilded in its glow.
“Where were you?” Old Xie demanded.
Hands clasped behind his back, Lu Yun answered politely: “Bathroom.”
“So long? You wait until class starts to go?”
“Nature calls.”
He was still a good student—just cheeky. Old Xie let it slide, though his tone was stern: “See me in my office after class. Sit down.”
Lu Yun slipped down the aisle, circling back to his seat while Old Xie wrote on the board.
Shan Jiqiu leaned over, whispering: “Where did you go?”
Lu Yun handed her a new thermos cup, murmuring, “Drink this.”
She opened it under the desk. Steam rose—rich with the scent of brown sugar. So that’s where he’d gone? To get this for her? But the school shop didn’t sell it. He couldn’t have walked out the gate openly. And there were no dog holes in the wall. Which left only one possibility.
“You climbed the wall?” she asked.
“Mm.” Lu Yun rested his folded arms on the desk, leaning slightly closer, voice low as if whispering a secret: “Otherwise, what else could I do?”
He glanced up at Old Xie on the podium, spittle flying with every word, then turned his head into Shan Jiqiu’s clear eyes. In the depths of his peach-blossom gaze lay helpless resignation. “Who told me I was saddled with an ancestor since childhood?”