Linchuan was particularly noisy on Monday morning.
Ever since the official announcement for the Campus Cultural Festival was posted on the bulletin board, every class had begun preparing their performances. Class 2-3 had not seen a moment of real quiet since morning self-study ended. Students in the front rows were discussing stage performances, those in the back were passing around performance sign-up sheets, and the Student Council’s notifications echoed continuously down the hallway through a loudspeaker.
Shen Zhiyao sat in his window seat, looking down at his open physics workbook.
He had already read the same problem three times.
He recognized every single word in the question, and the step-by-step logic to solve it wasn’t particularly complicated either. Yet, his pen remained hovering over the blank space, never making a mark.
“You need to find the potential difference here first.”
Cheng Ye reached over from beside him, tapping the tip of his pen against two spots in the problem.
Shen Zhiyao didn’t look up.
“I know.”
“If you know, why aren’t you writing?”
“I’m thinking.”
“You’ve been thinking for three minutes.”
Shen Zhiyao finally turned his face toward him.
“Did you count that, too?”
“Roughly,” Cheng Ye said, looking down to flip through his own workbook.
The math test paper he had promised to correct on Friday was already tucked inside his book. He had rewritten the entire solution process for the last problem, drawing a slightly irregular circle next to it.
Shen Zhiyao had noticed it when he arrived at the classroom that morning.
Cheng Ye hadn’t gone out of his way to hand it to him; he had simply placed the test paper between their two desks, as if setting it down casually.
Yet, that red mark of correction happened to be facing right toward Shen Zhiyao’s side.
“You didn’t go to the bookstore this weekend,” Cheng Ye suddenly said.
Shen Zhiyao’s hand holding the pen paused slightly.
“Yeah.”
“Did things wrap up really late?”
“No.”
“So, were you busy, or did you just not want to go?”
Shen Zhiyao stared at his workbook.
“Is there a difference?”
“There is,” Cheng Ye said. “If you were busy, we can go together next time. If you didn’t want to go, I won’t bring it up again.”
A sudden burst of laughter erupted from the other side of the classroom.
Lin Po had said something that earned him two taps on the head from Xu Zhi, who used a rolled-up program schedule to hit him as he dodged backward with his hands over his head.
Shen Zhiyao’s gaze swept over them before settling back on the physics problem.
“I just had something come up unexpectedly.”
Cheng Ye looked at him.
“Does that mean we can go next time?”
“We’ll see.”
“What does ‘we’ll see’ usually mean?”
“Uncertain.”
“When my mom says ‘we’ll see,’ it usually means no.”
“That’s your mom.”
“What about when you say it?”
“It just means uncertain.”
Cheng Ye nodded, seeming to accept the explanation.
A moment later, he asked again, “Did the weekend go smoothly?”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t answer right away.
On Saturday afternoon, he had gone to the coffee shop on Yunchuan Road after all.
His father had arrived twenty minutes later than agreed.
Shen Zhiyao had sat by the window, watching the ice cubes slowly melt into the water on the table. When the man finally pushed open the door and walked in, it took Shen Zhiyao a few seconds to trace the familiar outlines from a face that felt slightly foreign.
His father wore a dark gray overcoat and held a paper bag in his hand.
He first apologized for the traffic, then remarked on how much taller Shen Zhiyao had grown, and finally pushed the paper bag across the table, explaining that inside was a newly released camera.
As if a gift expensive enough could magically refill the missing years.
Shen Zhiyao hadn’t opened it.
His father asked about his grades, whether he was adapting well to the new school, and how his mother was doing lately.
Yet, he never asked why Shen Zhiyao had suddenly transferred back to Linchuan from the Nanchuan Attached High School.
The conversation lasted less than forty minutes.
Before leaving, his father mentioned that he might come over again next month.
“I’ll reach out to you beforehand then.”
Shen Zhiyao hadn’t said yes, nor had he said no.
He had simply watched the man walk back into the crowd on the street until his silhouette was obscured by the passing vehicles.
He ended up taking that camera home, but it remained inside the paper bag, tucked away in the bottom drawer of his desk.
His mother had asked how the meeting went.
He replied, Fine.
That answer seemed capable of handling everything.
Cheng Ye was still waiting for his response.
Shen Zhiyao lowered his eyes.
“It was fine.”
Cheng Ye was quiet for a moment.
“When you say it was fine, it usually means it didn’t go very smoothly.”
“When did you summarize this pattern?”
“Since I met you.”
“There’s no such pattern.”
“Then you can give me a different answer.”
Shen Zhiyao looked up at him.
Cheng Ye’s expression wasn’t as animated as usual, nor did he look intent on prying for a result. He simply sat there beside him, lightly tapping the tip of his pen against the edge of his workbook.
Once, then again.
It felt as though he was waiting, but also telling him that it was completely fine if he didn’t want to answer.
Shen Zhiyao remained silent for a moment.
“Nothing much happened.”
“Mhm.”
“I just met someone I hadn’t seen in a long time.”
Cheng Ye’s tapping motion came to a stop.
“And then?”
“There is no ‘and then’.”
“It just ended after you met?”
“Yeah.”
Cheng Ye didn’t ask who that person was.
He set his pen down and pulled Shen Zhiyao’s workbook slightly toward his side.
“Then let’s solve the problem first.”
Shen Zhiyao glanced at him.
“You’re not going to ask anymore?”
“Didn’t you say there was no ‘and then’?”
“You didn’t give up this easily before.”
“I’m not giving up,” Cheng Ye said. “I’m just waiting for the day you actually want to talk about it.”
Shen Zhiyao’s fingertip lightly pressed against the barrel of his pen.
He didn’t offer a response, merely lowering his head to write the first line of the formula in the blank space.
The classroom grew increasingly noisy during the break.
Xu Zhi walked over holding a rough sketch for the display board and placed a sheet of paper on their desk.
“We have to hand in the first draft next week. When are you guys free?”
Cheng Ye looked down at it.
A simple layout design was drawn on the paper: the left side was reserved for photos of the campus, the right for the title and text, and the middle required a hand-drawn illustration of the teaching building.
“After school today works,” Cheng Ye said.
Xu Zhi looked over at Shen Zhiyao.
“What about you?”
“I can do that.”
“Then let’s discuss the materials after school.” Xu Zhi pointed out the window. “The weather’s been nice lately, so we can photograph the sports field, the old teaching building, and the library. It’s best to include some people, otherwise showing only buildings looks too empty.”
Shen Zhiyao said, “I won’t pose for frontal shots.”
“Back shots work too.”
Cheng Ye suddenly interjected, “I can be the model.”
Xu Zhi gave him a look.
“You’re that confident in your looks?”
“I’m simply eager to help out a classmate.”
“Then button up your school uniform properly first.”
Cheng Ye looked down at his open jacket.
“Isn’t this an artistic choice?”
“The display board’s theme is ‘Spring Campus,’ not ‘Delinquent Student.'”
Over in the front row, Lin Po overheard them and immediately turned his head.
“Then I can play the delinquent student!”
Xu Zhi rolled up the draft paper and tapped him on the head with it.
“Performing as yourself doesn’t count as a contribution.”
While they were chatting, the class bell rang.
Xu Zhi returned to her seat, and Lin Po turned back around.
This period was math class.
As soon as Mr. Chen stepped onto the podium, he announced a temporary seating reshuffle.
“During the Cultural Festival, team members working on the same project should try to sit closer together to facilitate discussions during breaks. This is only for one week; we’ll revert to normal next week.”
The classroom immediately filled with the sounds of shuffling desks, moving chairs, and chatter.
Mr. Chen pulled out a temporary seating chart and began reading from the first group.
Shen Zhiyao hadn’t paid much attention at first.
Not until he heard his own name.
“Shen Zhiyao, take a seat in the third group, third row from the back, next to Xu Zhi. Cheng Ye, move next to Lin Po.”
Cheng Ye froze for a moment.
“Teacher, why the change?”
“Xu Zhi and Shen Zhiyao are in charge of the display board materials. You and Lin Po need to participate in the basketball tournament, so it makes sense to group you accordingly.”
“I’m in charge of the display board too.”
“You’re in charge of drawing. Wait until they finalize the materials before they look for you.”
“But—”
Mr. Chen raised his eyes.
“It’s only for a week. Is there a problem?”
Before Cheng Ye could say anything more, Shen Zhiyao had already closed his textbook.
“No problem.”
He packed up his stack of books on his desk quickly and efficiently.
Cheng Ye stared at him.
“You don’t need to take everything. You can leave some here.”
“It’s a week.”
“You can still leave them.”
“It’ll get in your way.”
“It won’t.”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t speak again.
He put his last workbook into his backpack, picked up his belongings, and walked over to the third group.
Xu Zhi had already proactively pulled out the inner chair for him.
“Do you prefer the inside or the outside seat?”
“Either is fine.”
“Take the inside then, next to the window.”
The position in the third group was also by the window, only two rows ahead of his original seat.
After sitting down, Shen Zhiyao raised his hand to place his books into the desk drawer.
His original seat was quickly claimed by Cheng Ye’s belongings. Lin Po sat over there clutching a basketball, and before he could even set his backpack down, Cheng Ye pushed him toward the aisle.
“Don’t crowd me so closely.”
Lin Po was completely baffled.
“How come you didn’t complain about crowding when you sat with Shen Zhiyao?”
“He has fewer things.”
“I have few things too!”
“You’re loud.”
“What does being loud have to do with seating position?!”
Cheng Ye impatiently told him to hush.
Once math class started, Shen Zhiyao realized the new seat wasn’t actually all that different.
It was also by the window, offered the same view of the sports field, and caught the same rustle of tree leaves from outside.
Xu Zhi was very quiet during class, wrote neat notes, and disrupted him even less than Cheng Ye did.
This was objectively a much more suitable seat.
Yet, when Mr. Chen reached an example problem on the board, Shen Zhiyao still instinctively turned his head, intending to remind the person next to him to watch out for the sign in the final step.
When his gaze landed, he remembered that Cheng Ye was no longer sitting there.
Xu Zhi noticed his movement.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing.”
Shen Zhiyao lowered his head again.
The chalk writing on the blackboard became somewhat blurry in his vision.
Picking up his pen, he wrote down the words he had almost blurted out along the margin of his textbook page:
Watch out for the negative sign in the last step.
After finishing, he paused for two seconds, then scratched it out with his pen.
When the bell rang at the end of class, Cheng Ye quickly walked over from the back.
“Do you know how to solve Mr. Chen’s last problem?”
Shen Zhiyao looked up.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t catch it.”
“What were you doing just now?”
“Lin Po kept asking me about the basketball tournament.”
From a distance, Lin Po immediately refuted, “You were clearly the one staring at the front the whole time!”
Cheng Ye turned around.
“Shut up.”
Lin Po pulled a face at him.
Xu Zhi looked between the two of them and voluntarily stood up.
“You guys go ahead and discuss, I’m going to get some water.”
She picked up her water bottle and left.
Cheng Ye immediately sat down in her chair, spreading open his workbook.
“Why is this a negative number here?”
Shen Zhiyao took a brief look.
“Because the direction is opposite.”
“And then?”
“There is no ‘and then’.”
“Write it out for me once.”
“The teacher wrote it just now.”
“I didn’t see it clearly.”
Shen Zhiyao glanced toward the back row.
Lin Po was leaning on his desk talking to someone else; Cheng Ye’s new seat was vacant.
“You can come over to ask questions after class, but you can’t keep sitting here.”
“I know.”
“Xu Zhi will be back.”
“She isn’t back yet.”
“The water station is very close.”
Cheng Ye tilted his head.
“Do you just not want me sitting here?”
Shen Zhiyao’s hand holding his pen faltered slightly.
“This is her seat.”
“Then do you want me to?”
“What?”
“Do you want me to sit here or not?”
The classroom was filled with scattered noise.
Someone ran past, bumping the desk corner into a slight shudder. The wind outside flipped a page of his book, exposing the line that had been scratched out earlier.
Cheng Ye looked down and caught sight of it.
Watch out for the negative sign in the last step.
The ink had been scribbled over messily, yet it remained recognizable.
He stared at it for a few seconds, a smile slowly tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Were you trying to remind me just now?”
“No.”
“Then what’s this?”
“Notes.”
“Why write ‘watch out’ in your own notes?”
“To remind myself.”
“You didn’t even get it wrong.”
Shen Zhiyao reached out to snap the book shut.
“Are we going over the problem or not?”
“We are.”
Cheng Ye smiled as he pushed the workbook closer.
When Xu Zhi came back, she caught the two of them squeezed together at the same desk.
She stopped in the aisle.
“Did I come back at a bad time?”
Cheng Ye raised his head.
“We’re not done explaining the problem yet.”
“So should I wait standing up?”
“You can sit over at my spot.”
Xu Zhi glanced toward the back row.
Lin Po was currently turning Cheng Ye’s desk into a complete mess.
“Forget it, I wouldn’t dare.”
Cheng Ye had no choice but to pick up his workbook and stand up.
Before leaving, he tapped his fingers against Shen Zhiyao’s closed textbook.
“I’ll come back after the next class.”
“Don’t you have other things to do?”
“I do.”
“Then why keep coming over?”
“Questions.”
“This problem has already been explained.”
“I might not know the next one.”
After saying that, Cheng Ye turned around and went back to his seat.
Xu Zhi sat down and placed her water bottle at the corner of her desk.
She didn’t flip open her book right away, instead casting a thoughtful glance at Shen Zhiyao.
“You two are pretty close.”
Shen Zhiyao opened his textbook.
“We’re just deskmates.”
“Not anymore.”
“It’s a temporary seat swap.”
“So you’re not used to it?”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t answer.
Xu Zhi didn’t push further either, simply pulling out the draft sketch for the display board.
“Don’t leave right after school; we need to discuss the photos.”
“Okay.”
Over the next two class periods, Cheng Ye indeed came over after every single bell.
The first time was to borrow an eraser.
The second time was to ask about the physics homework.
The third time, he came without any excuse at all, standing by the desk watching for a while before finally asking Shen Zhiyao if he wanted to go to the campus store.
Shen Zhiyao stared at him.
“Did you always run to your former deskmates after every class before?”
“I didn’t have a former deskmate.”
“You sat alone before transferring here?”
“I meant your former deskmates.”
Cheng Ye thought for a moment. “No.”
“Then why do you keep coming over now?”
“Because you just transferred here and aren’t familiar with the school.”
“It’s been a week already.”
“And you get familiar in just one week?”
“More or less.”
“Then do you know how many floors the science building has?”
“Six.”
“What time does the library close?”
“Nine at night.”
“Which stall’s sweet and sour pork ribs in the cafeteria shouldn’t be eaten?”
“The second one on the left, first floor.”
Cheng Ye fell silent for two seconds.
“With a memory like yours, it’s really hard for me to seem useful.”
Looking at his slightly troubled expression, the corner of Shen Zhiyao’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly.
“You don’t have to seem useful.”
“That won’t do.”
“Why?”
“Useless people are easily forgotten.”
Cheng Ye said it like a joke.
After saying it, he was the first to laugh.
Yet, Shen Zhiyao didn’t laugh along.
He recalled Friday evening, the way Cheng Ye had stood alone in the empty classroom.
That fleeting moment of exhaustion had lasted only a very brief instant, so brief it was like a shadow passing over a window pane.
Yet, Shen Zhiyao had remembered it.
The class bell rang once more.
Cheng Ye pointed toward the back row.
“I’m heading back.”
“Mhm.”
“I’ll be back after class.”
“No need.”
“We’ll see then.”
He deliberately used Shen Zhiyao’s frequent response.
Shen Zhiyao didn’t stop him.
Before the last period in the afternoon, the noise in the classroom grew even louder than it had been in the morning.
Members of the basketball team came over to confirm sign-up details with Cheng Ye, while students in charge of the stage performances crowded around his desk holding speaker request forms. Lin Po was also beside him, constantly asking about the lineup for the game. The voices of the group collided together, almost drowning out the preparatory bell.
Cheng Ye answered them while jotting things down in his notebook with his head lowered.
“Handing in the sign-up form today?”
“Right, before school ends.”
“The speaker request needs the head teacher’s signature.”
“I’ll look for Teacher Zhou later.”
“Have you written the budget sheet?”
“Still missing a bit.”
“When is basketball practice?”
“Wednesday.”
“What about the display board?”
“Discussing it after school.”
Sitting in the front, Shen Zhiyao listened to these voices, feeling a dull ache starting to throb at his temples.
He closed his textbook, picked up his water bottle, and stepped out of the classroom.
The hallway wasn’t quiet either.
At the stairwell, people were carrying cardboard for the Cultural Festival; a long queue had formed in front of the water station; and several students were tuning guitars inside an empty classroom.
Shen Zhiyao didn’t go to get water.
He walked straight down the hallway until he reached the stairwell at the very end.
The iron door leading to the top floor was half-ajar.
Pasted on the door was a faded piece of paper:
Unauthorized Personnel Keep Out.
Shen Zhiyao stood before the door, hearing another burst of noise drift up from downstairs.
He reached out and pushed the door open.
The door hinges let out a faint creak.
Behind the door was a narrow, steep flight of stairs with a thin layer of dust gathered in the corners, clearly seldom traversed. At the top of the stairs stood another door; its lock was broken, and it hung loosely ajar.
Shen Zhiyao pushed the door open and stepped outside.
A gust of wind blew directly into his face.
The rooftop was wider than he had imagined.
Half-person-high concrete railings enclosed the area, and faint water stains remained on the ground in a few spots. Abandoned desks and a few wooden boards were piled in a corner, while wires resembling clotheslines stretched from one side to the other.
There was no one else here.
The noise of the teaching building was sealed behind the heavy door, leaving only vague echoes.
The wind swept over from the distant sports field and building clusters, carrying the scent of leaves and sunlight warming the concrete.
Shen Zhiyao walked over to the railing.
From here, he could see the entire campus.
The sports field, the library, the old teaching building, and the camphor-lined street outside the school gates were all laid out within his view. Down below, the students shrank into tiny figures, and their voices felt as distant as if coming from another world.
Shen Zhiyao took a deep breath.
The throbbing pain in his temples finally eased.
He pulled his phone from his pocket.
There were still three minutes before class started.
There was still time if he went back now.
Yet, he didn’t leave right away.
The wind tousled his bangs and kept blowing the hem of his uniform jacket about.
Shen Zhiyao stood for a moment when he suddenly heard a soft noise behind him.
It sounded like something hitting against a wooden board.
He turned around.
A hand reached out from behind an abandoned desk.
The hand fumbled around on the ground for a second, grabbed a blue plastic bottle, and slowly retreated back.
Shen Zhiyao watched for a few seconds.
“Who’s there?”
It went quiet behind the desk.
After a moment, a familiar, muffled voice came through:
“Tell me how you got up here first.”
Shen Zhiyao took two steps closer.
Cheng Ye was sitting slouched against the wall behind the discarded desk.
His uniform jacket had been rolled up to cushion the back of his head, with a half-empty water bottle and an open event budget notebook placed beside him. One of his legs was stretched out straight while the other was bent, his face still wearing the blank confusion of someone who had just woken up.
The two of them locked eyes across the legs of the abandoned desk.
Shen Zhiyao spoke first.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the classroom?”
“After you left, I came out too.”
“You followed me?”
“No,” Cheng Ye sat up straight. “I was planning to come up here anyway.”
“To come up and sleep?”
“To rest.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Sleeping is intentional, resting might accidentally result in falling asleep.”
Shen Zhiyao glanced at the uniform jacket rolled up behind his head.
“You came thoroughly prepared.”
Cheng Ye followed his line of sight, reaching out to pull the jacket down.
“This was a coincidence.”
“Do you come here often?”
“Not often.”
“Then how did you know the door wasn’t locked?”
Cheng Ye went quiet for a moment.
“Occasionally often.”
Shen Zhiyao looked at him.
Cheng Ye stood up from the ground, patting the dust off his trousers.
“You won’t tell Teacher Zhou, right?”
“Depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“What you came up here to do.”
“Rest.”
“You can’t rest in the classroom?”
“Too noisy.”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t say anything.
The exact same reason.
Cheng Ye picked up his water bottle, took a sip, and leaned against the railing.
“What about you? How did you suddenly find this place?”
“Too noisy as well.”
“Then we count as the same situation.”
“I didn’t sleep here.”
“You might in the future.”
“I won’t.”
Cheng Ye smiled.
“Everyone who comes for the first time says that.”
“There are others?”
The smile on Cheng Ye’s face faltered slightly.
“No.”
“Then how do you know what first-timers say?”
“I guessed.”
Shen Zhiyao looked toward the corner, at that jacket rolled up so skillfully.
“You don’t want others to know about this place?”
Cheng Ye didn’t answer immediately.
The wind blew between them.
The class bell rang from downstairs, drifting up through several floors so it no longer sounded sharp, but lingered as a low echo instead.
Neither of them moved.
“Class started,” Shen Zhiyao said.
“Yeah.”
“You’re not going back?”
“This period is self-study, the teacher won’t come.”
“How do you know?”
“The math teacher went to a meeting, and the class monitor is watching the room up front.”
“So you’re ditching class?”
“It’s not ditching,” Cheng Ye corrected. “Just changing locations to write the budget.”
He shook the notebook in his hand.
It indeed had event budgets written on it, though the very last column was still blank.
“Then why did you fall asleep?”
“Budgets are too hypnotic.”
Shen Zhiyao looked at him speechlessly for a moment, then turned to walk toward the door.
Cheng Ye called out to him.
“You’re going back?”
“To class.”
“The classroom is noisy.”
“It’ll quiet down after class starts.”
“The class monitor can’t control them.”
Shen Zhiyao stopped in his tracks.
The sound of the wind behind him was very clear.
Cheng Ye leaned against the railing without pushing him further, simply lowering his head to flip open his budget notebook, as though it didn’t matter whether Shen Zhiyao stayed or left.
Shen Zhiyao grasped the door handle.
After a few seconds, he let go again.
“How much do you have left to write?”
Cheng Ye raised his head.
“Just the last item.”
“Which one?”
“Display board materials.”
“Xu Zhi has a list.”
“She hasn’t given it to me yet.”
“It’s on the back of the draft sketch.”
Cheng Ye looked down and flipped through the paper tucked inside his notebook.
Sure enough, the names and quantities of the materials were written on the back of the sketch.
“When did you see this?”
“When she set it on the desk.”
“You only took one glance again?”
“Mhm.”
Cheng Ye held the paper, staring at it for a few seconds.
“A memory like yours makes it really easy to rob people of their secrets.”
Shen Zhiyao walked back to the railing.
“I have no interest in other people’s secrets.”
“Then why did you ask me why I came to the rooftop just now?”
“This is the school.”
“Schools can have secrets too.”
Shen Zhiyao looked at him.
Cheng Ye stood in the wind, his bangs blown slightly messy. His usually bright eyes were half-draped now, and his face lacked his usual exaggerated grin, making him appear much quieter than he was in the classroom.
“Is this place your secret?” Shen Zhiyao asked.
“Sort of.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody knows about it.”
“Now I know.”
Cheng Ye let out a sigh.
“So there’s one less secret now.”
Shen Zhiyao leaned against the other side of the railing.
“You can tell me to leave.”
“And then?”
“Go back to being alone.”
Cheng Ye looked down at his budget sheet.
After a long while, he finally said, “Forget it.”
“What?”
“You’ve already found out anyway; driving you away now won’t change that.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
Cheng Ye looked up.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Not even Teacher Zhou?”
“No.”
“Not even if Xu Zhi asks where you went?”
“No.”
“What about Lin Po?”
“I’m not close with him.”
Cheng Ye let out a chuckle.
“So you’re close with me then?”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t answer right away.
The wind rustled through the tree canopy outside the railing, layer upon layer. Sunlight hit the glass of the old teaching building in the distance, reflecting a blinding glare of white light.
“A little closer than with him,” Shen Zhiyao said.
The smile on Cheng Ye’s face slowly deepened.
“Only a little?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll work harder.”
“Work harder on what?”
“To become even closer.”
Shen Zhiyao shifted his eyes away.
“There’s no need.”
“Whether it’s necessary or not is for me to judge.”
After saying that, Cheng Ye lowered his head and wrote down numbers in the last column of the budget sheet.
He wrote very quickly, his pen rustling against the paper.
Standing beside him, Shen Zhiyao noticed the items listed at the top of the page:
Basketball Sign-up, Speaker Request, Display Board Materials, Performance Tally.
Every item had a small circle drawn behind it.
Only the very last entry remained blank.
Class Presentation Proposal.
“You’re in charge of this too?” Shen Zhiyao asked.
“For now.”
“Who assigned it to you?”
“Nobody wanted to write it.”
“So you just took it on?”
“Someone’s got to do it.”
Shen Zhiyao remembered Zhou Lan’s words: Learn to decline things you shouldn’t be doing.
“You agreed again.”
Cheng Ye lowered his head with a faint smile.
“This one isn’t hard.”
“You said that last week too.”
“I’ll write it after finishing the budget.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“You still have to go to the stationery store.”
“After I get home then.”
“And then copy vocab words.”
Cheng Ye’s hand holding the pen froze.
“How do you still remember that?”
“Mutual reminders.”
“Now I regret making that promise with you.”
“Too late.”
Cheng Ye raised his head to look at him.
When Shen Zhiyao said this, his expression remained as composed as ever, yet a faint trace of subtle earnestness seemed tucked within his tone.
Cheng Ye looked at him for a few seconds, then suddenly snapped his notebook shut.
“Alright, I’ll copy the vocab words first tonight.”
“What about the presentation proposal?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is basketball practice.”
“The day after tomorrow.”
“The day after tomorrow—”
“Hold on,” Cheng Ye raised his hand to cut him off. “Have you memorized my entire schedule?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“You mentioned it.”
“Even I don’t remember it myself.”
“That’s why you need reminders.”
Cheng Ye looked at him, and after a short pause, he burst out laughing.
The wind on the rooftop blew his laughter away.
It was no longer as loud and boisterous as it was in the classroom, but light, sounding much more genuine.
“Shen Zhiyao,” Cheng Ye said. “You’re actually pretty good at caring about people.”
“I just don’t want you to forget.”
“That is caring.”
“It’s not.”
“Denying it so quickly every time only makes it look more like it.”
Shen Zhiyao ignored him.
The two fell quiet.
Cheng Ye sat back down against the wall to continue filling out the budget sheet. Since Shen Zhiyao had nowhere to sit, he could only lean against the railing and pull his physics workbook out of his bag.
The wind was a bit strong.
The paper pages kept flipping up.
Cheng Ye watched for a moment, then dragged a clean wooden board over from his side and pressed it against the edge of the workbook.
“That should do it.”
Shen Zhiyao looked down at the wooden board.
“Thanks.”
“You don’t need to say thanks every time.”
“Force of habit.”
“You can change it.”
“Why?”
“It sounds distant.”
Shen Zhiyao looked up at him.
“We were only a little close to begin with.”
Cheng Ye was choked up, left speechless, and could only lower his head to keep writing.
Halfway through the self-study period, no one else had come up to the rooftop.
After finishing two problems, Shen Zhiyao raised his head to glance at the sky.
The cloud layer was very thin, and the sunlight falling on the railings made the concrete surface look almost white. In the distance, the flag on the building’s roof fluttered fully in the wind, its red color striking against the bluish-gray sky.
He suddenly understood a little why Cheng Ye liked it here.
It was very quiet.
Yet it wasn’t devoid of sound.
The wind, the leaves, the whistle from the sports field, and the occasional honking of cars from the street below were all kept at a comfortable distance.
They wouldn’t crowd in, nor would they demand answers.
Cheng Ye finished writing his last stroke and set down his pen.
“Done.”
Shen Zhiyao looked toward him.
“The budget?”
“Mhm.”
“Let me see.”
Cheng Ye raised an eyebrow.
“You’re not the class monitor.”
“I’m in charge of the display board materials.”
“That reason is barely valid.”
He passed the notebook over.
Shen Zhiyao read it from top to bottom and quickly noticed an error in one of the material prices.
“You miscalculated the cost of the colored paper.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
Cheng Ye leaned over.
The two lowered their heads to look at the page together, their shoulders brushing against each other.
The wind blew over from behind them, causing Shen Zhiyao’s hair to lightly sweep across the corner of Cheng Ye’s forehead.
Cheng Ye paused slightly.
Shen Zhiyao didn’t notice, taking the pen to recalculate it again.
“It’s twelve yuan short.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Budgets need to be accurate.”
“Saving money isn’t allowed either?”
“If you don’t have enough materials when the time comes, are you going to pay out of your own pocket?”
“Guess I’ll change it then.”
Cheng Ye reached over to take the pen.
Their fingers brushed against each other.
Shen Zhiyao immediately let go.
The pen dropped onto the notebook and rolled twice.
Cheng Ye picked it up, lowering his head to correct the number.
“Your hands are still really cold.”
“The wind is strong.”
“You always have an excuse.”
“You always have a question.”
“Because you never say anything.”
Shen Zhiyao leaned back against the railing without responding.
The preparatory bell echoed from downstairs.
Cheng Ye closed his notebook.
“Time to go back.”
“Didn’t you say the class monitor couldn’t control them?”
“Next period is Chinese, Teacher Zhou will be there.”
“So you only ditch self-study.”
“It’s called reasonable scheduling.”
Cheng Ye unfolded his uniform jacket, brushed off the dust, and put it back on.
Shen Zhiyao packed up his workbook.
When the two reached the iron door, Cheng Ye suddenly reached out to block it.
“Wait a second.”
“What?”
“The promise.”
“What promise?”
“Not telling anyone about this place.”
“I already agreed.”
“A verbal promise isn’t formal enough.”
Shen Zhiyao looked at him.
“How formal do you want it to be?”
Cheng Ye thought for a moment, then extended his pinky finger.
Shen Zhiyao’s eyes landed on his hand.
“Childish.”
“Or would you prefer to sign your name?”
“Unnecessary.”
“What if you go back on your word?”
“I won’t.”
“Prove it.”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t move.
Cheng Ye kept his hand extended, a rare look of stubborn persistence on his face.
“Just a quick one.”
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Seventeen and still doing pinky promises?”
“Can’t a seventeen-year-old do one?”
Shen Zhiyao stood in a standoff with him for a few seconds before finally extending his hand.
Their two pinky fingers lightly hooked together.
Cheng Ye’s fingers were warmer than his.
The wind blew in through the half-open door, carrying the faint scent of chalk dust from the stairwell.
“The rooftop stays between us,” Cheng Ye said.
Shen Zhiyao looked down at their intertwined fingers.
“Mhm.”
“From now on, this place belongs to the two of us.”
“Doesn’t it belong to the school?”
“Temporarily ours.”
“Just a moment ago you said it was your secret.”
“Now I’m sharing half of it with you.”
Shen Zhiyao looked up.
Cheng Ye smiled at him.
“Welcome aboard.”
Shen Zhiyao let go of his hand.
“I didn’t say I’d come back again.”
“We’ll see.”
Cheng Ye mimicked his usual tone.
The two pushed the door open and stepped into the stairwell.
The heavy iron door closed behind them, instantly cutting off the sound of the rooftop wind.
The noise of the teaching building flooded back in once more.
Someone was running and chasing downstairs, the broadcast station was testing audio, and someone at the other end of the hallway was calling out Cheng Ye’s name.
Cheng Ye paused in his tracks.
“Someone’s looking for you again,” Shen Zhiyao said.
“Might be about the speaker request.”
“You can decline.”
“I already agreed.”
“Next time.”
Cheng Ye looked at him.
“Will you remind me?”
Shen Zhiyao walked down the stairs.
“Depends.”
Cheng Ye caught up.
“Depends on what?”
“When you forget.”
“Doesn’t that mean you will remind me?”
“Class is starting.”
“Shen Zhiyao.”
“Mhm.”
“Did you just agree?”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t turn back.
“No.”
Cheng Ye followed behind him, his laughter trailing down the narrow stairwell.
When they returned to the classroom, Zhou Lan was already standing on the podium.
Everyone’s eyes turned toward them simultaneously.
“Where did you two go?” Zhou Lan asked.
Cheng Ye opened his mouth.
Shen Zhiyao spoke up first.
“Looking for a quiet place to discuss the display board budget.”
Cheng Ye turned his head to glance at him.
Teacher Zhou didn’t suspect anything, simply telling them to hurry back to their seats.
“Keep track of time next time.”
“Alright.”
Shen Zhiyao walked toward his temporary seat.
As he passed Cheng Ye’s original desk, his wrist was brushed very lightly.
Cheng Ye didn’t say a word, only drawing a small circle with his finger under the cover of his textbook.
Shen Zhiyao saw it.
He didn’t respond either, continuing forward.
After taking his seat, he opened his Chinese textbook.
Tucked between the pages was that scratched-out math note.
The wind outside blew through a gap in the improperly closed window, gently lifting the corner of the paper.
The rooftop hadn’t truly faded away.
It sat right above, separated by just a few flights of stairs and two doors, quietly hidden beyond everyone’s line of sight.
Like a secret that had just been split in half.
And like the very first thing between them that they kept together without needing an explanation.