Grandpa Jiang’s cooking tasted very good.

Tao Zhi had grown up under Aunt Zhang’s care, and her mouth had long been spoiled—she was particular about food. Now, sitting at the somewhat small square dining table with three people on three sides, smelling the aroma of the few simple home dishes, she finally felt hungry.

In the kitchen, Jiang Qihuai plated the last dish and carried it out. The braised chicken wings, wrapped in thick sauce, were piled on the plate. Tao Zhi’s eyes lit up; she couldn’t help smiling sweetly at him.

Jiang Qihuai deliberately placed the plate of chicken wings right in front of her.

“A’Huai said you like this,” Grandpa Jiang said with a smile, “Try Grandpa’s cooking.”

Tao Zhi answered softly, “Mm,” but before eating, she first picked up a piece with her chopsticks and placed it in the elder’s bowl. “You eat first.”

Grandpa Jiang’s eyes curved in delight as he repeatedly said “good, good”.

Tao Zhi raised her head and glanced at Jiang Qihuai, sitting across from her—cold and indifferent, silent, eating only vegetables.

Nothing at all like his grandfather.

The meal was filled with warmth and cheer. Tao Zhi, being naturally talkative, had the old man smiling the entire evening without once letting his lips rest.

After dinner, Tao Zhi stayed to play a few rounds of chess with him.

She was terrible at Chinese chess. She had learned a little from Tao Xiuping when she was young, but he never let her win. When she couldn’t win, she would cry out of anger, and Tao Xiuping would just laugh heartily at his daughter’s loud tears.

Grandpa Jiang, however, went easy on her. The two played back and forth, and for the first time, Tao Zhi felt a bit of the fun in chess.

Jiang Qihuai came out from the bedroom and stopped at the sight of the old man and the girl sitting by the chessboard, talking and laughing.

The light in the living room was warm and soft. A faint trail of sandalwood incense drifted from the TV cabinet. The girl propped her chin on her hand, frowning slightly at the board, her slender white fingers resting on a piece, ready to move.

“Hey,” Grandpa Jiang said, “Think carefully now. If your cannon comes over, I’ll be jumping my horse.”

The young girl froze, reminded, her expression turning a little troubled.

The air conditioner filled the room with cozy warmth that made people feel lazy. Jiang Qihuai leaned against the wall, quietly watching for a while.

At some point, he suddenly felt that the scene before him was warm and harmonious—

something he hadn’t seen in more than ten years.

Tao Zhi stayed until after eight in the evening.

She was having fun, but the old man went to bed early, and it wasn’t proper to stay too late at a boy’s house. After a few games, Tao Zhi checked the time and stood up to take her leave.

Grandpa Jiang, reluctant to see her go, walked her all the way to the door, repeatedly telling her to come and visit again in a few days.

Tao Zhi smiled and agreed, and Jiang Qihuai closed the door.

The hallway instantly fell silent. The tungsten light bulb overhead glowed dimly. Standing at the doorway, Tao Zhi looked up as Jiang Qihuai turned toward her.

The young man was tall and broad-shouldered, his figure casting a shadow that enveloped her completely. Tao Zhi lowered her eyes, staring at the two overlapping shadows on the concrete floor, feeling a secret, happy sense of satisfaction.

She walked ahead, Jiang Qihuai following behind her down the stairs. Tao Zhi deliberately walked very slowly, stepping on the shadows one step at a time. Jiang Qihuai didn’t hurry her.

In silence, they walked together all the way to the mouth of the alley, neither of them speaking.

When they passed through the narrow lane, the street ahead brightened. It was the weekend evening—the liveliest time, with crowds moving through the light.

Tao Zhi turned her head to glance at the convenience store beside them before speaking. “You’re not working here anymore?”

“Mm. No time.”

Tao Zhi nodded, not asking further, and stepped to the side of the road to hail a taxi.

Jiang Qihuai stood beside her, holding a book, and handed it over.

He had been walking behind her the whole time—she hadn’t noticed him carrying anything. Taking it from him, she looked down. It was the same English composition anthology she had just been reading at his house.

Tao Zhi tilted her head up at him. “I already have one at home. I tricked one out of Jiang Zhengxun!”

“This one suits you better,” Jiang Qihuai said calmly. After a pause, he added, “You can return his. Not worth the price.”

“Oh.” Tao Zhi nodded, half-understanding. “Then I’ll return it to him on Monday.”

Just then, an empty car came by. Tao Zhi waved her hand and got in.

She sat in the back seat, told the driver her address, and leaned back again, flipping through the book in her hands.

Only when the car passed by Jiang Qihuai did she glance into the rearview mirror. From afar, she saw the boy turn and walk away.

When Tao Zhi arrived home, Ji Fan was lying on the sofa, playing with his tablet and eating fruit. Hearing the door, the boy lifted his head to look at her. “How come you’re willing to come back so early today?”

Tao Zhi, hugging her composition book, sat down beside him and happily flipped through the pages.

Her test papers were still spread out on the coffee table. Usually no one touched her things. Tao Zhi set the book aside and began gathering the papers one by one.

The red marks from corrections that had once filled every page were now getting fewer and fewer. Tao Zhi stacked the papers neatly, tapped them against the table’s edge, then piled them to the side.

She leaned back on the sofa again and continued reading her treasured composition book.

Ji Fan craned his neck over. “What’s that?”

“If you can’t understand it, don’t look,” Tao Zhi said lazily. “This isn’t something someone of your IQ can comprehend.”

Ji Fan stared at the book, finding it familiar. After a while, he remembered. “Isn’t that Jiang Qihuai’s book? I saw him reading it that day.”

It was as if the girl’s little secret had been exposed. Tao Zhi instantly grew uneasy. She raised her hand and smacked Ji Fan on the head. “Can’t I buy the same one myself?”

“The hell—” Ji Fan clutched his head and sat up. “If you bought the same one, fine—but why hit me?!”

Tao Zhi ignored him and flipped the book open again. She had only skimmed it earlier, but now that she was home, she intended to go through it page by page, slowly appreciating it.

Opening the cover, she saw the clean title page, where a word had been casually written in black gel pen.

——Jiang.

Ji Fan: “……”

Tao Zhi: “……”

Ji Fan raised his head, looking at her suspiciously.

Expressionless, Tao Zhi pointed a finger at him. “Shut up. Don’t say a word. Close your mouth.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Next week would be the monthly exam.

The exam would still only last a single day.

With just one week left, Tao Zhi divided her time into blocks—two days devoted entirely to composition, and the remaining three split evenly between reading, single-choice questions, and listening. She no longer practiced full test papers; she was afraid that if her mock scores didn’t meet her standard, it would affect her mindset for the monthly exam.

Fu Xiling seemed even more nervous than she was.

The usually diligent girl, who was the most attentive in class, couldn’t even focus now. Every so often she would grab Tao Zhi to go over grammar, or ask if she had finished memorizing that day’s vocabulary.

Tao Zhi herself wasn’t confident either. But since Fu Xiling was already somewhat weaker in science, Tao Zhi didn’t want her own anxiety to affect Fu Xiling’s grades. She could only put on a front—appearing calm and sure of herself, as if she could easily score 150.

The people and teachers in Class One watched her go about every day leisurely, as though nothing could bother her, looking completely relaxed and unbothered.

The night before the exam, Tao Zhi couldn’t sleep.

Before bed, Ji Fan knocked on her door to bring her a glass of milk. Tao Zhi didn’t drink it. She rolled and tossed on the bed for two hours, then sat up, frustrated.

At first, this had just been a bet with Consort Li, nothing serious. But now, it had become something more than a bet.

Tao Zhi wanted to do as well as she possibly could.

This time, she had to do well.

Only then could she have at least a little light of her own—

Only then could she become, even just a little, someone worthy of Jiang Qihuai.

Annoyed, she ruffled her hair, got out of bed, picked up the cup of milk on the desk, and drained it in one go.

The milk was completely cold. The icy liquid slid down her throat into her stomach, and Tao Zhi felt more awake than ever.

She turned on her desk lamp and sat down to review vocabulary again.

When her eyes began to ache, she lifted her head—and saw the English composition anthology on her desk.

Setting her pen down, Tao Zhi picked up the book and opened it.

On exam papers, the boy’s handwriting was neat and precise, almost like it had been printed—probably to avoid losing points.