Hearing a familiar surname, Wei Qingyue glanced at the girl twice.
Chen Huiming was crying and complaining loudly in the corridor. The commotion drew the attention of students from both Class One and Class Two, with some pulling open windows to peer outside. Zhang Xiaoqiang had no choice but to comfort her, saying there must have been some misunderstanding, and was still in the middle of consoling her when Teacher Xiao Xu arrived. After quickly clarifying the situation, he went into the classroom and asked both parties involved to step out.
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Because Jiang Du was the Chinese class representative, Chen Huiming had already assumed that Xiao Xu would take his side. She stood there seething, her heart full of indignation, stiffening her neck and saying: “Teacher Xu, ask her.”
Jiang Du neither embellished nor downplayed the incident, recounting everything truthfully from start to finish, and began by admitting her own mistake. This made Chen Huiming detest her even more. Putting on an act, keep putting on your act, she thought, watching Jiang Du with a sullen expression.
Xiao Xu had a good temper. He patiently offered a few words of guidance about the conflict between the two girls, then sent everyone back to their respective classrooms. When Chen Huiming sat down, her desk neighbor clearly heard the word “slut” muttered under her breath, glanced up at her, then lowered her head again with an air of indifference and continued writing her notes.
On the surface, it really did seem like Jiang Du had overreacted — too thin-skinned. When Wang Jingjing returned and learned about the incident, she found it strange and couldn’t help asking Jiang Du what had actually happened.
“I thought she had sneaked a look at the letter, which is why I lost control of myself,” Jiang Du forced a small smile. “I was the one in the wrong.”
Wang Jingjing looked utterly relieved. “Oh come on, was that really worth getting so worked up over? Even if she had seen it, I’d openly admit it — no big deal. Of course, if she dared sneak a peek, I’d definitely scold her. I could scold her for an entire day without repeating myself!”
Jiang Du believed that — Wang Jingjing was extremely bold and fierce. She quickly tried to dampen her temper: “Don’t. Chen Huiming didn’t sneak a look. I made a mistake.”
But Wang Jingjing was convinced that Jiang Du had suffered Chen Huiming’s rudeness because of her own privacy, and stubbornly insisted on treating her to a pork flatbread sandwich from the school canteen after school. Jiang Du felt a pang of guilt, knowing that wasn’t the real reason — at least, it hadn’t been her first instinct. She had simply been afraid that the secret buried deep in her heart, unknown to anyone, would be glimpsed by another.
The window hadn’t been shut properly, and the howling wind roared like surging ocean waves. Xiao Xu had mentioned that the weather forecast called for sleet. Time really does pass quickly, she thought, suddenly feeling a tinge of melancholy — winter had arrived just like that.
After evening self-study ended, Jiang Du had already blended into the crowd heading downstairs, when she suddenly remembered something and came running back up, her footsteps thudding loudly on the stairs.
Two girls remained in the classroom, chatting idly as they locked up.
“Did you know? Chen Huiming says Wang Jingjing also wrote a love letter to Wei Qingyue.”
“That’s hilarious. These days every Tom, Dick, and Harry dares to write Wei Qingyue love letters. Who knows whether he finds it annoying — swarming around him like flies, all rushing in at once. Do they seriously have no idea what they’re worth?”
“Can’t help it — people with no self-awareness are always plentiful.”
The two of them laughed, not noticing that Jiang Du had turned back and was walking toward them. When they finally saw her, they exchanged a glance, clearly worried about whether she had overheard.
Jiang Du had indeed heard everything. She said nothing, only walked over and took the initiative to greet them, saying: “The window wasn’t shut properly. It might sleet tonight.”
One of the girls smiled awkwardly: “Jiang Du, you’re so attentive — we hadn’t even noticed. So you came back to close the window?”
Even in cold weather, with so many people in the classroom, a few windows were always left open just a crack for ventilation.
Jiang Du nodded. The girl quickly said: “Then you lock up. We’ll head off first.” With that, both girls hurried away, leaving Jiang Du standing alone for a few seconds.
When she came back to herself, she climbed up onto a desk, stood on her tiptoes, and forced the last window shut. Once back down, Jiang Du pulled out a tissue and wiped the spot her feet had touched, going over it several times.
After checking everything front to back, she finally felt at ease and stepped out. The classroom lock was a bit stiff — pressing it hard with two fingers, it scraped painfully against her hand without catching. Jiang Du pushed until her face flushed red. The lights on the floor were about to go out; she crouched down, trying to see what was wrong.
“Planning to pick the lock?”
Wei Qingyue’s voice came from behind her without warning. Jiang Du’s back went rigid. She couldn’t help looking up and said stiffly: “No, I’m trying to lock it.” Yet her mind echoed with the two classmates’ conversation, and her gaze dimmed in an instant.
Hearing this, Wei Qingyue simply moved her aside. With a click, he locked it effortlessly, letting out a low laugh: “You really have no strength at all. Come to think of it, you spent military training sitting down the whole time.”
There was a note of teasing in his words. Jiang Du immediately burned with embarrassment.
Back then, she had sat on the edge of the sports field every single day. Many people knew there was a girl from Class Two who wasn’t participating in military training yet still sat out on the field. In some people’s eyes, that was quite affected — if you weren’t going to take part, you simply didn’t take part; what was the point of sitting there?
She wanted to explain that she had a heart condition, that she’d had surgery, but she was afraid Wei Qingyue would think she was playing the frail card. After hesitating for a moment, she only said: “Thank you for locking the door for me.”
Her voice came out a little subdued. Wei Qingyue glanced at her: “Did you have a fight with a classmate?”
Hm? Jiang Du looked up in surprise, stammering a little: “You — how did you know?”
“When I came back with Zhang Xiaoqiang, your classmate was in the corridor pouring out her grievances to Zhang Xiaoqiang.”
Jiang Du’s face went white in an instant, as though something had seized her heart without warning.
Wei Qingyue, seeing this, smiled: “Don’t be afraid. I may not know you well, but my instincts about people are sharp. I can tell you’re not the way your classmate described you. Next time she says something like that about you, confront her face to face.”
Jiang Du stared at Wei Qingyue in disbelief. I can tell, he had said — just those three words. In truth, those three words alone were enough. All of it, every feeling she had ever harbored for him, needed no response from him. Only this one moment of understanding was sufficient to console her entire youth. Heaven knew how deeply grateful she was that he had said that.
Wind poured into the corridor. Jiang Du stood dazed for a moment, then suddenly realized that no one had closed the corridor windows either. She hurried over and, one after another, yanked them shut with a series of loud clanks.
Wei Qingyue watched her from behind, just about to say something — and then the lights went out.
Sure enough, the girl let out a low cry of surprise. He pulled out his phone. Phones were not permitted at school, though of course in 2006, it was rare for high school students to have them at all.
Wei Qingyue’s phone was the latest model. He turned on the flashlight, and ahead of them, a beam of light appeared.
“Why close the windows?” Wei Qingyue gestured for her to come walk alongside him. But Jiang Du froze. It was very dark, yet Wei Qingyue himself seemed to have become a beam of light — a light so bright she had never come close to it before. In that instant, what welled up in her most was an overwhelmed, flustered kind of timidity.
“Jiang Du?” Wei Qingyue called her name with a hint of confusion, seeing that she wasn’t moving.
She had always assumed that the kind of girl who belonged at Wei Qingyue’s side would be someone like Zhang Xiaoqiang — outstanding, confident, radiant. Not like her, a little snail curled in a corner, carrying its shell on its back, wanting nothing more than to rest peacefully in its own quiet world.
Her body was stiff. In the end, she kept a small distance from him. The faint scent of orchid from the boy drifted over, and Jiang Du suspected it was some kind of laundry detergent. Their clothes brushed together once, the lightest incidental contact, and Jiang Du pressed her lips together — every nerve, every cell taut — her heart no longer her own.
“Why did you close those windows just now?” Wei Qingyue asked her again.
The silence was finally broken. She did her best to reply in a normal voice: “Teacher Xu said there might be sleet. If it drifts in overnight, the floor might freeze over.”
Wei Qingyue laughed softly again, in a way that was hard to read.
Jiang Du’s scalp prickled, and her heart was uneasy: Does he think I’m being hypocritical — making myself look kind-hearted on purpose? I should have just said I closed them without thinking… The girl agonized and regretted endlessly. She didn’t know why she had answered so honestly without stopping to think.
Stepping out of the teaching building, a gust of cold wind hit, sharp enough to tighten the throat. Wei Qingyue was still dressed lightly. He switched off the flashlight and said: “Can you make it back on your own?”
It was over far too soon — as though the walk had taken only a few seconds. Jiang Du had never wished so strongly that a corridor could stretch for several kilometers so she might walk just a little farther with him.