On the day the midterm results came out, Cheng Ye arrived twenty minutes earlier than usual.
When Shen Zhiyao walked into the classroom, Cheng Ye was already sitting in his seat holding an English test paper. He kept his back rigidly straight, though his expression was deliberately forced into one of calm.
The window was open, and the early morning breeze drifted in, fluttering a small corner of the upper right of the test paper.
Shen Zhiyao set down his backpack and glanced at the score covered beneath Cheng Ye’s palm.
“One hundred and six.”
Cheng Ye immediately moved his hand away. “How did you see that?”
“The numbers are huge.”
Likely worried he wouldn’t take it seriously enough, the English teacher had drawn the score significantly larger than usual in red ink, underlined twice for good measure.
Cheng Ye looked down at it, finally unable to fight back the curl of his lips.
“Two points higher than the practice test.”
“Mm.”
“Only missed three on reading comprehension.”
“I saw.”
“Twenty-two on the essay.”
“Saw that too.”
Cheng Ye pushed the paper a little closer to Shen Zhiyao. “Don’t you have anything else to say?”
Shen Zhiyao pulled out his chair and sat down, carefully reviewing his partner’s performance.
The multiple-choice section at the front was far tidier than last time, and the reading passages now bore traces of circled keywords. The essay still had a few grammatical errors, but its structure was complete at least he hadn’t written any physics formulas in the margin this time.
After reviewing it, he handed the paper back to Cheng Ye.
“You did well.”
Cheng Ye waited a few seconds. “That’s it?”
“What else do you want to hear?”
“Like ‘tremendous progress,’ ‘a promising student,’ ‘Teacher Shen feels deeply gratified.'”
“Not the last line.”
“What about the first two?”
Shen Zhiyao pulled his own physics paper out of his backpack and placed it on the desk.
As expected, Cheng Ye’s attention was instantly deflected.
“One hundred and five?” He took the test paper, quickly flipping to the final free-response question. “You solved this one?”
“Mm.”
“Using the method I taught you?”
“The question type was similar.”
Cheng Ye checked it from top to bottom, even more attentively than he had when examining his own English paper. Coming to the end, he tapped the upper right corner of Shen Zhiyao’s paper gently with his pen.
“You shouldn’t have missed this multiple-choice question.”
“Misread the given conditions.”
“Student Shen, carelessness is the greatest enemy on the path of learning.”
Shen Zhiyao looked at him. “Teacher Cheng feels deeply pained?”
Cheng Ye froze for a second, then burst out laughing.
“Not only are you quick-witted now, you even hold grudges.”
“An objective evaluation.”
Cheng Ye placed both test papers side by side on the desk and pulled out the piece of scrap paper they had used before.
The words “English: Teacher Shen” and “Physics: Teacher Cheng” were still on it, though “Teacher Shen” had been crossed out.
Using an eraser, he carefully rubbed away that cross.
“Facts prove that both titles are entirely accurate.”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t stop him, simply folding the paper up and pressing it under his English textbook.
Before the morning reading bell rang, Zhou Lan came in to announce the class’s overall scores.
Shen Zhiyao remained near the top of the ranks, while Cheng Ye had climbed over ten spots from last time. Zhou Lan didn’t single out any particular pair for praise, only noting that the study partners had shown good results and should maintain the habit going forward.
Under the desk, Cheng Ye nudged Shen Zhiyao’s arm.
“Did you hear that? Maintain the habit.”
“The midterms are already over.”
“The teacher said going forward.”
“There are no assigned tutoring tasks going forward.”
“Learning shouldn’t rely solely on assignments,” Cheng Ye said with utmost gravity. “We should proactively cultivate good habits.”
Shen Zhiyao opened his Chinese textbook. “You want me to keep tutoring your English?”
“In exchange, I can keep teaching you physics.”
“My physics is a hundred and five.”
“There’s still five points of room for improvement.”
Those were the exact words Shen Zhiyao had spoken on their first day of pairing up.
He looked up at Cheng Ye, who was looking back at him with a clear, sparkling grin in his eyes.
Shen Zhiyao neither agreed nor refused.
Only, before the lunch break, he naturally pulled an English reading workbook from the shelf as usual and set it between them.
After the midterms, the atmosphere in the classroom loosened up considerably.
During the last self-study period of the afternoon, Xu Zhi returned from the office carrying a stack of freshly printed school magazines. The cover featured a distant shot of Linchuan High School’s main building, with a line of small white text beneath the deep blue title: Linchuan Breeze.
“This issue is here,” she said, placing the magazines on the podium. “One per person. Sign your name when you take one, and don’t take extra.”
Lin Po was the first to rush up, casually flipping through a couple of pages.
“Why are there excellent essays again?”
Xu Zhi shot him a glance. “Would you rather they publish your math mistake log?”
“Hey, that works too—it’s got way more educational value.”
Students filed up one after another to collect their copies. Cheng Ye had been correcting his English mistakes, but raised his head when he heard someone in the front row mention a photography column.
“This issue has photos?”
“Yeah,” Xu Zhi said. “Didn’t the school collect campus imagery last month?”
Cheng Ye turned to Shen Zhiyao. “Did you submit any?”
“No.”
“Didn’t Xu Zhi take some of your photos?”
Shen Zhiyao thought back for a moment.
Last month, after the class blackboard display was finished, Xu Zhi had indeed asked him for a few campus photos, saying the publicity team might use them. He had simply sent her the files at the time without asking where specifically they would be used.
“Probably for the blackboard archive,” he said.
Xu Zhi heard him and explained from two rows away: “I forwarded them to the magazine editor—I asked you beforehand, and you said it was fine.”
Shen Zhiyao recalled that brief chat history.
Xu Zhi had asked him if the photos could be handed over to the school publicity team for use.
He had replied with a simple “Sure.”
“Did any get selected?” Cheng Ye asked.
“I don’t know either,” Xu Zhi said, spreading her hands. “The teacher only said a few were picked; I wasn’t in charge of typesetting.”
Cheng Ye immediately stood up and went to the podium to grab two copies.
He set one on Shen Zhiyao’s desk and quickly flipped through the other himself. School news and club activities filled the front pages, sandwiched with a few student essays in the middle, while the photography column sat toward the back.
When he turned to page thirty-seven, his movement suddenly stopped.
The entire page was dedicated to a single photograph.
It depicted a campus corridor after the rain.
The ground wasn’t entirely dry yet, puddles reflecting the camphor trees outside the walkway. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, shattering into a shimmering, shifting brightness across the water’s surface. At the far end of the frame were a few students in uniforms, leaving behind only blurred silhouettes from behind.
A single line of text was printed below the image:
“In Linchuan after the rain, there is always a new light.”
Cheng Ye stared at the photograph for a few seconds before looking up. “This is yours, right?”
Shen Zhiyao took the magazine.
He recognized it at a glance.
It was taken during his second week after transferring. The rain had just stopped that day, and he had walked alone through the teaching building for a long time. Passing the corridor, he saw the reflections on the ground and pulled out his camera on a whim.
That photo had stayed in a computer folder ever since, until he sent it to Xu Zhi along with a few others for the class display.
“It is,” he said.
Cheng Ye’s expression instantly brightened. “It’s shot really well.”
“It’s alright.”
“What do you mean ‘alright’?” Cheng Ye took the magazine back and looked at it again. “This page looks way better than those conference photos in the front.”
Someone in the front row overheard and turned around. “Shen Zhiyao shot this one?”
Cheng Ye answered quickly: “Yeah.”
“I knew it looked familiar! Wasn’t it used on the blackboard before?”
“A different one was used on the blackboard,” Xu Zhi walked over too. “But the style is similar.”
A few people gathered around to look, voicing their admiration for how pretty the shot was. Shen Zhiyao sat in his seat, not joining the discussion.
It wasn’t his first time hearing others compliment his photos.
Back when he attended photography classes, the teacher would pick out his work and comment on the solid composition and good handling of light. When his mother occasionally saw them, she would only remind him not to waste too much time on things unrelated to exams.
None of those comments had ever made him feel much of anything.
Yet right now, holding that school magazine like he had discovered something worth bragging about, Cheng Ye was telling people over and over that he was the one who shot it.
Shen Zhiyao looked down and opened his own copy.
The photo occupied almost the entire layout. The printed colors were slightly darker than the original, but still retained that light within the rain.
His gaze slowly drifted toward the bottom of the photo.
There was only that single caption line.
No author’s name.
Shen Zhiyao paused for a few seconds, then checked the adjacent pages.
Under every other photo, the class and name were clearly credited:
“Class 2-1, Chen Siyu”
“Class 1-7, Zhao Jingxing”
“Photography Club, Liang Ruowen”
Only his page had nothing.
Cheng Ye noticed it, too.
The smile on his face slowly faded away.
“Where’s the name?”
Xu Zhi looked down at it, her brow furrowing. “How come it wasn’t printed?”
“Is this page not supposed to have one?” Lin Po asked.
“They’re written on the pages before and after,” Cheng Ye flipped it for him to see. “This is the only one missing.”
Xu Zhi pulled out her phone. “Let me ask the teacher in charge of the magazine. The submission form definitely had the class and name; I wrote it clearly when I turned it in.”
Shen Zhiyao closed the magazine. “It’s fine.”
Cheng Ye looked at him. “What do you mean it’s fine?”
“Probably just missed during typesetting.”
“Even if it was missed, they should have clarified.”
“It’s just a school magazine.”
Shen Zhiyao spoke very calmly.
He truly wasn’t angry.
The photo had been selected and printed. Having a name or not didn’t seem to change the photo itself. He was used to many things going unseen in the past, used to telling himself it didn’t matter whenever others overlooked him.
As long as it wasn’t intentional, there was no need to dwell on it.
As long as the loss was minor, it wasn’t worth causing trouble for others.
As long as he could accept it himself, the matter could end right here.
Cheng Ye, however, didn’t set the magazine down.
“It’s not a matter of a school magazine.”
His tone wasn’t heavy, but it was exceptionally serious.
Shen Zhiyao looked up at him.
“You took the photo,” Cheng Ye said. “When people see it, they should know you took it.”
“It’s the same whether they know or not.”
“It’s not.”
“What’s the difference?”
“It’s your work.”
The noise in the classroom persisted as people around them continued discussing articles in the magazine. Cheng Ye stood by the desk, sunlight from the window spilling across one of his shoulders.
He said, “Shen Zhiyao, your name was supposed to be there.”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t speak.
Cheng Ye rarely spoke to him in this tone.
Not joking, not deliberately teasing, but stating something he took completely for granted.
Your name was supposed to be there.
The sentence didn’t seem terribly complex, yet for a moment, Shen Zhiyao didn’t know how to respond.
Xu Zhi quickly received a reply.
“The teacher in charge said the name was on the submission log; it was likely missed during layout,” she raised her head. “Told me to bring a copy to the office to double-check.”
Cheng Ye picked up the magazine on the desk. “I’ll go with you.”
Shen Zhiyao called out to stop him: “No need.”
“I’m just going to ask.”
“The teacher already knows.”
“Knowing it was missed doesn’t mean the matter is settled.”
“Then how do you want to handle it?”
Cheng Ye paused.
He clearly hadn’t intended to make a scene either; he simply couldn’t accept that photo being treated as an originless piece of decoration.
“At least the name should be added back,” he said.
“It’s already been printed.”
“The school has a digital edition, and the display board will show it too. They can clarify in the next issue, as well.”
Shen Zhiyao looked at him.
When Cheng Ye said those words, his tone was so natural—as if fighting for his deskmate’s credit was the most ordinary thing in the world, requiring no hesitation whatsoever.
Xu Zhi stood nearby, looking back and forth between the two.
“I think Cheng Ye is right,” she said. “This isn’t making a fuss over nothing. A photo is a work of art, and attribution is basic respect.”
In the end, Shen Zhiyao didn’t stop them again.
After Cheng Ye and Xu Zhi left the classroom, he reopened the school magazine.
The corridor in the photo was very quiet.
When he took it, he had just transferred to Linchuan High School not long ago, unused to his new class and unfamiliar with the students at the end of the frame. He had simply thought the light after the rain was beautiful, so he pressed the shutter.
Back then, he hadn’t imagined this photo would one day be printed in the school magazine.
Even less had he imagined that someone would seriously go to a teacher to inquire about it just because his name wasn’t on it.
A dozen minutes later, Cheng Ye returned.
He walked fast, still breathing slightly heavily as he reached his seat.
“What did the teacher say?” Shen Zhiyao asked.
“It really was an oversight in layout.”
Cheng Ye placed the magazine on the desk. “The teacher in charge has already contacted the printing team. The digital edition on the school website will be re-uploaded, and when it’s displayed on the board, your name and class will be added next to the photo.”
“That’s it?”
“And a note will be added to the errata column in the next issue.”
Shen Zhiyao frowned slightly. “There’s no need to go that far.”
“The teacher suggested it herself.”
“Did you make things difficult for her?”
Cheng Ye looked at him like he had asked a bizarre question.
“Why would I make things difficult for the teacher?”
“You looked very angry just now.”
“I was angry, but I’m reasonable.”
Lin Po, sitting in the back row, happened to overhear and couldn’t help cutting in: “Hearing that sentence come out of your mouth doesn’t carry much credibility.”
Cheng Ye turned around. “Whose side are you on?”
“Truth’s side.”
Xu Zhi walked into the classroom right after, placing a sticky note in front of Shen Zhiyao.
On it was written an apology from the teacher in charge, saying they would re-verify all submission info in the future. At the end of the note was a contact number, asking Shen Zhiyao to re-send the original file when he had time so they could update the digital magazine.
“The teacher had a really good attitude,” Xu Zhi said. “She even praised the photo for feeling full of story, and asked if you’d be willing to keep submitting photos for future issues.”
Shen Zhiyao looked at the sticky note. “What did Cheng Ye say?”
Xu Zhi thought back for a moment.
“Right at the start, he asked why every other piece had an author except this one.”
“And then?”
“The teacher said it was an oversight and would be handled. Then he asked how it would be handled.”
Cheng Ye defended himself from the side: “That’s a normal inquiry.”
Xu Zhi nodded. “It is normal. Even if you asked it three times.”
“Because the first two times didn’t make it clear.”
“He was only satisfied when the teacher finally said the name would be added back.”
Cheng Ye pulled out his chair and sat down, taking out his English mistake notebook as if the matter was already behind them.
Yet Shen Zhiyao was still looking at him.
“It really didn’t matter,” he said.
Cheng Ye’s hand flipping the page froze.
“I know you can not care,” he said without looking up. “But just because you don’t care doesn’t mean others get to be sloppy.”
Shen Zhiyao’s fingers pressed lightly against the sticky note.
“Besides,” Cheng Ye continued, “you can’t keep making excuses for other people every time something like this happens.”
Shen Zhiyao caught his breath.
The sentence felt like an unintentional touch on a place he had never examined closely.
He did always make excuses for others.
His father hadn’t picked him up as promised because he was busy with work.
His mother put away his camera because she was worried it would affect his grades.
The transfer procedures were rushed because the adults had their own difficulties.
Departures without goodbye, being ignored, broken promises… it felt as though as long as he found a reasonable explanation, he could pretend he hadn’t been hurt by them.
Over time, he stopped even trying to distinguish whether those things were fair.
Seeing that he remained silent, Cheng Ye’s tone softened.
“I’m not saying we have to hold a grudge against anyone.”
“I know.”
“I just feel that what belongs to you should have your name clearly written on it.”
“How is a photo something significant?”
“It’s a work of art.”
Cheng Ye answered without a moment’s hesitation.
Shen Zhiyao lowered his eyes.
After a moment, he flipped the magazine back to page thirty-seven, pulled out a black gel pen, and wrote a line of small characters in the blank space below the photo:
Class 2-3, Shen Zhiyao.
Cheng Ye saw it and smiled.
“Now that’s more like it.”
Shen Zhiyao capped his pen. “Only for this copy.”
“The digital version will have it later, too.”
“Mm.”
“The display board too.”
“Got it.”
“And the next issue”
“Cheng Ye.”
“What’s up?”
Shen Zhiyao paused for a moment. “Thank you.”
Cheng Ye had been smiling, but hearing those two words made him freeze instead.
Since they met, Shen Zhiyao had said ‘thank you’ to him a few times.
He said it when borrowing an umbrella, and when returning notes after being sick. Those thanks were always very light, polite and restrained, like drawing a clear boundary line between them.
But this time was different.
Shen Zhiyao didn’t look away immediately.
His expression remained quiet, yet the depths of his eyes reflected a faint, gentle light—much like the water after the rain in that photograph.
Cheng Ye suddenly felt that those dozen minutes running to the office had been entirely worth it.
“Just a ‘thank you’?” he teased intentionally.
Shen Zhiyao predictably reverted to his usual expression. “What else?”
“I fought so hard to get such an important credit back for you—shouldn’t there be some actual token of appreciation?”
“What do you want?”
“Haven’t thought of it yet. Put it on tab.”
Shen Zhiyao frowned. “Why put it on tab?”
“I’ll tell you when I think of it.”
“Offer expires if you take too long.”
“How long is the validity period?”
“One day.”
“Too short. At least a year.”
“One week.”
“Half a year.”
“Forget it then.”
“One month,” Cheng Ye compromised quickly. “Can’t be any less.”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t agree, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly upward.
Before school ended, the teacher in charge of the magazine personally visited Class 3.
She explained the situation to Shen Zhiyao once more and confirmed his name and class in front of him. Before leaving, she asked if he would be willing to provide a photo for the back cover of the next issue.
Shen Zhiyao didn’t answer right away.
In the past, he rarely shared his photos with others proactively.
To him, the frames inside his camera were a world far too private. It held the rain, clouds, and twilights he had witnessed, as well as silhouettes he didn’t care to explain to anyone.
Cheng Ye sat beside him, not answering for him, simply waiting quietly.
“Can I pick one out first?” Shen Zhiyao asked.
The teacher smiled. “Of course. Just send it to Xu Zhi before next week.”
“Okay.”
As soon as the teacher left, Cheng Ye leaned right over.
“Which one are you planning to submit?”
“Don’t know.”
“How about that first sunny day one?”
Shen Zhiyao’s movement paused.
That photograph contained their shadows falling side by side onto the ground.
“Not that one.”
“Why?”
“It’s not campus scenery.”
“Isn’t the sports field part of the campus?”
“The main subject isn’t the sports field.”
Cheng Ye pondered for a moment, suddenly realizing something.
“The main subject is the shadow?”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t answer, tucking the magazine into his backpack.
“Am I in that photo?” Cheng Ye pressed on.
“School’s over.”
“I felt like you were hiding it from me last time.”
“You’re overthinking.”
“Shen Zhiyao.”
Cheng Ye stood up with him, chasing him all the way out of the classroom.
“Let me take a look.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
“Am I super handsome in the photo?”
“It’s just shadows.”
“You can tell even from shadows.”
Their voices gradually drifted away from the classroom.
Xu Zhi stood by the podium organizing the remaining magazines. Watching them walk down the stairs one after the other, she suddenly lowered her head with a soft smile.
Lin Po passed by from the back row. “What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been weird all day today.”
Xu Zhi stacked the last few magazines neatly. “Just thinking that when some people fight for someone else’s credit, they look even happier than when they score seventeen points higher on their own English test.”
Lin Po thought about it. “Cheng Ye’s always been like that—likes to stick his nose into everything.”
“He doesn’t stick his nose into everything.”
Xu Zhi didn’t explain further.
The school gate was crowded.
Cheng Ye pushed his bicycle alongside Shen Zhiyao, still not giving up on his plan to see the photo.
“I can trade my physics notes for it.”
“Not trading.”
“A week of morning English reading.”
“Don’t need it.”
“Name your terms then.”
“No terms.”
Reaching the vicinity of the bus stop, Shen Zhiyao stopped walking.
The setting sun crossed the roofs of the street buildings, stretching the bicycle’s shadow out long and thin. Cheng Ye stood in front of him, one hand resting on the handlebars, his school jacket puffing up slightly in the wind.
This scene bore a striking resemblance to that “first sunny day” photo.
Both were after school, both under a darkening sky, and both had Cheng Ye in them.
Shen Zhiyao suddenly reached out and pulled his camera from his backpack’s side pocket.
Cheng Ye stood straight immediately. “You’re going to show me?”
“No.”
Shen Zhiyao raised the camera and aimed it at him.
“Don’t move.”
Cheng Ye instinctively froze in place.
The shutter sound was very soft, almost lost amidst the noise of passing traffic.
Shen Zhiyao looked down to check the shot.
In the frame, Cheng Ye stood in the sunset glow with one hand on his bike, a hint of unexpected surprise still lingering in his eyes before he had time to pull it back. Behind him was the crowd leaving school, everyone walking in different directions, while he alone remained still in the center of the lens.
“How’s the shot?” Cheng Ye asked.
“It’s alright.”
“Let me see.”
Shen Zhiyao turned off the camera. “Maybe later.”
“Later again?”
“Mm.”
Cheng Ye looked at him, suddenly breaking into a smile.
“Fine. Then I’ll wait.”
The bus approached from the end of the road.
Before Shen Zhiyao boarded, Cheng Ye stood in place as usual, waiting until he tapped his transit card before straightening his bike again.
Just as the bus doors were about to close, Shen Zhiyao saw him raise a hand through the glass and wave to him.
Shen Zhiyao raised his hand briefly, too.
It was a subtle gesture, but Cheng Ye caught it.
That evening, Shen Zhiyao imported the new photo onto his computer.
Instead of placing it into a folder labeled only with the date as he used to, he created a brand new folder.
When typing the name, he paused for a long time.
In the end, he wrote just two words:
Cheng Ye.
After saving it, he opened his blue logbook.
Today’s weather was still sunny.
Under the date, he wrote:
The school magazine used my photo, but forgot to print my name.
Writing up to here, he paused for a moment before continuing to add:
Cheng Ye fought to get it back for me.
The tip of his pen left a tiny ink dot on the paper.
Looking at those two lines, Shen Zhiyao suddenly felt that the first sentence was no longer important.
So he drew a light line through it with his pen, and wrote it out again anew:
Today, someone told me very seriously that the photo belonged to me.