The first time I saw him, I was helping my mom watch the stall—a clothing stall at the farmers’ market. Cheap and brightly colored clothes were hung all over the metal rack, requiring an iron hook to take them up and down.
His mother was buying meat at the neighboring stall. When she noticed me doing homework, she smiled and said, “This child clearly studies well. Which school do you attend?”
“Second Vocational High School.” I lifted my head and replied with a beaming smile, “A’Yi, would you like to look at some blouses? They’re all goods shipped in from Guangdong.”
His mother awkwardly exchanged a few pleasantries before continuing to select her meat. But that glance also let me see him. He was wearing the First High School uniform, his hair jet black and neat, possessing a scholarly kind of handsomeness as he stood behind his mother carrying vegetables.
He was quite handsome—that was my first impression. But countless high school students passed by every day. Only he made me feel something special—exceptionally clean, so clean that he seemed completely out of place in this farmers’ market.
I lowered my head to continue my homework, but somehow I couldn’t concentrate at all. I simply threw down my pen and stood up. He had already walked to the market entrance. His mother walked quickly, chatting with people up ahead, while he stood at the entrance patiently waiting.
That scene had a kind of desolate beauty, as if it foreshadowed our ending.
I chased after him and said, “Hey, yes, I’m talking to you. Are you from First High School?”
He pointed at himself, asking in confusion, “Me?”
“Can I have your QQ? I really want to get to know you.” I said.
Actually, my middle school exam results were decent—not good enough for excellent schools like First High or Second High, but I could have attended an ordinary high school.
But my parents were divorced. I lived with my grandmother, and thinking it better to earn money sooner rather than later, I enrolled in vocational high school to study electronics.
After entering the school, I felt some regret. Nobody at school studied. Even the teachers lectured halfheartedly.
The boys were busy playing games and dating. Most of the girls styled their hair with thick kawaii bangs, discussing shrilly whether Dong Bang Shin Ki or Super Junior was more handsome.
It wasn’t that I absolutely had to study—I just found this kind of life boring. After finishing my assignments each day, I would read novels like “That Boy Is Really Handsome” and “Long Ri Yi, You’re Dead Meat.”
I would skim through them quickly and toss them aside, still feeling bored.
Meeting Cheng Xia was the only interesting thing during my three years at vocational high school.
Back then it was popular to have boyfriends from First High or Second High. As the saying goes, you seek what you lack. My female classmates and I would often wear borrowed uniforms and sneak into First High.
They went to be affectionate with their boyfriends, while I waited for Cheng Xia after school.
“Yo, Cheng Xia, your wife is here!”
As soon as his buddies saw me, they would tease him and push him toward me. He would get genuinely annoyed and shout, “Wang Qiang, are you looking for a beating?!”
Back then he had a buzz cut and was a proper, well-behaved boy. When he got angry, his whole face would turn red.
“Brother Xia is embarrassed!” “Run!”
His buddies would flee like refugees, leaving only him and me standing there. He would lower his head to avoid my eyes, mumbling reluctantly, “Ren Dongxue, can you please stop coming to find me?”
“Why?”
He thought for a long time before squeezing out, “It affects my studying!”
I laughed until I doubled over, saying like a little delinquent, “Fine, if you agree to be my boyfriend, I won’t come anymore.”
His face flushed red again.
As if. If he agreed, I would be like those other girls, coming to find my boyfriend every single day.
When we reached the fork in the road, he suddenly spoke very solemnly, “Ren Dongxue, I want to go to S University, Architecture major.”
It was a school I had never heard of. I froze for a moment before realizing this was his explanation for “I need to study hard.”
“Please, I want to date you, not get married.” I burst out laughing, thinking to myself that First High students were so childish.
He continued, “S University’s minimum admission score is 649 points. You need to be in the top 5% of the entire province. Right now I’m at 25%. I must guarantee five hours of study time after class. Every single minute—I cannot afford to waste it.”
I didn’t understand. I stared at him blankly.
“Ren Dongxue, I want to become an architect, like Le Corbusier.”
Under the setting sun, his face was flushed red, as if he had said something unspeakable. Yet he never avoided my gaze.
That moment—I remembered it for many, many years.
Actually, I had met many First High students. Most of them played basketball terribly, looked rather dull, and would sneak glances at pretty girls. I never felt they were any different from us.
Only Cheng Xia was different.
He was someone who at sixteen already knew what he wanted. He worked hard not for “employment” or “making money,” but for his dream.
How foolish…
But I truly liked him.
When I came back to my senses, Cheng Xia had already walked far away. I hurried to catch up.
“Cheng Xia, who is that Xi Ye person you mentioned?”
“Are you going to the library tomorrow? I promise not to disturb you.”
Those years, I just followed him around like that.
Even I didn’t know where all that inexhaustible passion and affection came from.
Later, I graduated from vocational high school.
At that time, my dad found me a local job at an electronics factory, inserting wires. Room and board included, fifteen hundred yuan a month—not bad at all.
I was unwilling. I said I wanted to go to S City—a southern coastal city very far from us.