Sometimes, on very rare occasions, Tao Zhi would feel that Jiang Qihuai showed a kind of gentleness completely different from his own personality—one could even say, a contradictory gentleness.

Ji Fan and the others were fighting over the pot of fatty beef like their lives depended on it. Fu Xiling had long eaten her fill and was playing on her phone by the side. No one noticed their movements over here, nor heard their conversation.

Tao Zhi’s breathing paused for a moment. She stared blankly at him as the rims of their cups touched, almost soundlessly. The thing she hadn’t dared to do, the paper cup did for her.

And it was Jiang Qihuai who controlled it.

She had never thought Jiang Qihuai would take the initiative to do or say anything. After all, she had been the one chasing him; and with his personality, Tao Zhi had already mentally prepared herself for him not to be too proactive—it would have to be her taking the lead.

Tao Zhi had already planned it out.

After the final exams ended, she would take the initiative to hold his hand.

Jiang Qihuai’s hand holding the cup had already withdrawn, but Tao Zhi’s gaze still followed. She stared fixedly at the rim of the paper cup, not blinking once.

Jiang Qihuai sensed her gaze and paused with the cup in hand. “What are you looking at?”

Tao Zhi’s eyes were still on it. She raised her hand, pointed with her index finger, and said softly, “Aren’t you going to drink?”

The boy’s eyelids twitched at her words.

Tao Zhi turned her eyes away, her ears burning. She muttered under her breath, “Forget it if you’re not drinking, it’s nothing.”

Jiang Qihuai looked at the tips of her flushed ears for a moment, then smiled.

He lifted his hand and lightly poked her forehead with his index finger. “If I drink it, are you going to blush all the way to here?”

All around them were people sitting at the table, and his action carried a kind of undisguised intimacy.

Although before the two of them confirmed their relationship he would also knock her on the head sometimes, now that their relationship had changed, Tao Zhi instead started feeling guilty.

Guiltily, she tugged at his fingertip to pull it down.

The girl’s warm and soft palm only held his fingertip, gently tugging it down under the table. She gave it a small, spoiled squeeze for just a few seconds, then let go, picked up her chopsticks, and pretended nothing happened as she continued chewing on her cabbage stem.

Jiang Qihuai’s hand hovered under the table for several seconds, then his thumb slowly rubbed against the pad of his index finger where she had just held him.

Her strength clearly wasn’t great, yet his fingertips felt slightly numb.

Beside them, Fu Xiling turned her head away. Ji Fan rolled his eyes. Jiang Zhengxun silently shifted his gaze back to the beef in the pot. The three of them cooperated tacitly, pretending to be blind.

They saw nothing.

Didn’t notice at all that those two had just been openly, shamelessly interacting right in front of everyone’s eyes.

Only Zhao Mingqi and Li Shuangjiang, those two idiots, were still fiercely waving their chopsticks, wholeheartedly snatching beef.

Jiang Zhengxun sighed, thinking that sometimes, living like an idiot really wasn’t bad—no need to finish eating hotpot only to be force-fed another serving of dog food.

By the time they finished eating, it was nearly eight o’clock. Apart from a bit of broth and seasoning, nothing was left in the electric pot. Everyone began to clean up the battlefield, each taking responsibility to destroy the evidence.

Fu Xiling wiped the blackboard, Li Shuangjiang took down the string lights, Zhao Mingqi carried the pot and poured the remaining soup into the toilet.

The desks and chairs were neatly arranged again, the snowflakes were taken down, and the classroom returned to its original state—as if the wild and indulgent Christmas they’d just celebrated had only been something imagined in their minds.

Li Shuangjiang patted his full stomach, still a little regretful. “We should’ve taken some pictures just now.”

“I did,” said Fu Xiling.

Li Shuangjiang’s eyes lit up. “Then send them in the small group tonight.”

Fu Xiling nodded. “I’ll send them when I get home. I’ll adjust the tone a bit.”

After all that fussing around, everyone was a bit tired. They sat at the table, chatting lazily for a while.

By now, the second-year teaching building was completely empty. Suddenly, a series of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Zhao Mingqi, sharp-eared, heard it first. He raised his hand slightly, and Li Shuangjiang immediately shut his mouth.

The security guard was humming a song as he walked slowly from the stairway, checking each classroom to see if there were still any students left.

Tao Zhi was the first to react. Her whole body collapsed like she’d lost all bones, slipping swiftly under the table. Zhao Mingqi dashed to the door and slapped the light switch.

The classroom plunged into darkness.

In the pitch-black, Jiang Qihuai felt someone yank hard on his school jacket. His weight shifted downward as he slid along.

He lowered his eyes.

In the moonlight, the girl’s dark eyes were bright. Her expression couldn’t be seen clearly—she was just looking at him.

Jiang Qihuai understood and obediently ducked under the table with her.

In the row ahead, Li Shuangjiang was lying flat across two chairs. Fu Xiling was still moving too slowly in panic, until Ji Fan grabbed her by the collar and yanked her down, crouching. Zhao Mingqi darted into the shadow by the door.

The security guard hummed a tune, off-key, his footsteps drawing closer and closer—until he reached the doorway of Class One.

The footsteps stopped suddenly.

Everyone held their breath.

“Why does it smell like hotpot in here…” the guard muttered in confusion from outside the classroom. He poked his head in for a glance. Seeing nothing unusual, he lifted his foot and kept walking.

The group huddled under the desks and chairs, breathing shallowly. Tao Zhi’s hand was clutching Jiang Qihuai’s school jacket. They were separated by the table bar, and as their eyes gradually adjusted to the dark, the girl’s fair face became clear under the moonlight.

The guard’s footsteps grew fainter and fainter, until they disappeared completely.

Tao Zhi looked at him, her long eyes curving as she blinked at him meaningfully.

Jiang Qihuai froze.

The next second, her fingers released his jacket, sliding down along his sleeve—and directly grabbing his hand. Then she pushed aside the chair and stood up.

The sound of chairs and desks clattering rang out loudly, but Tao Zhi didn’t care. She held his hand and dashed out of the classroom.

The hallway lights were off too, moonlight streaming in through the windows like silver sand. Her steps were light and quick, like a nimble cat, darting down the hallway, down the stairs, and out the main doors of the teaching building.

Leaning against the column by the doorway, she laughed while catching her breath in small gasps. “If we didn’t get out before the guard, he’d be locking the doors.”

Jiang Qihuai stood beside her, silent. He lowered his eyes, looking at their joined hands.

Her hand was small, only able to cover half of his palm. The spot where their palms met was warm and damp—neither could tell whose sweat it was.

Tao Zhi followed his gaze downward, her nervousness and shyness arriving belatedly.

She licked her lips and tried to sound calm. “I was originally planning to hold hands after the finals, when I hit my target score—as a reward for myself. But since it’s early… you can just think of it as me taking an advance.”

Jiang Qihuai didn’t move, his expression remaining unreadable the whole time.

Probably… he didn’t like it.

Tao Zhi silently lowered her eyes. She forced herself to suppress the faint sadness and disappointment rising in her chest, slowly loosening her hand bit by bit, preparing to pull it back.

As the slight warmth retreated from her palm, she was just about to withdraw when, in the next second, Jiang Qihuai suddenly lifted his hand and caught hers again.

The boy’s hand was a size larger than hers, his long fingers curling easily to enclose her entire hand within his.

Tao Zhi lifted her head, stunned.

Jiang Qihuai held her hand, his fingertips moving slightly, the pads of his fingers gently brushing over the back of her hand—an intimate, ambiguous touch.

“It’s already yours,” he said lightly. “What’s there to owe?”

Tao Zhi tried to hold back the corners of her lips from lifting. “Oh.”

“Oh what?”

“Just wanted to say oh,” Tao Zhi pressed her lips together. “Why are you like this, can’t I respond a little?”

Jiang Qihuai raised his eyes. “Didn’t know who it was just now—held my hand and then ran off?”

It was the end of December, and a thin layer of snow covered the ground. When they first came out, she hadn’t felt much, but after standing outside for a while, Tao Zhi started feeling cold. She couldn’t help shrinking her neck, muttering, “I just thought you didn’t like this kind of thing.”

Jiang Qihuai glanced at her, still holding her hand as he led her back.

Tao Zhi followed closely behind. “Where are we going?”

“Inside,” Jiang Qihuai said. “Wait for Ji Fan to bring down your jacket.”

The first-floor hall of the teaching building was empty and dim. On both sides, the glass display walls hung the recent Olympiad award lists and various certificates of merit. When Tao Zhi looked up, she saw his name.

Jiang Qihuai, Class 1, Grade 11 — National Mathematics Olympiad, First Prize.

Experimental No. 1 High School barely managed to squeeze into the top three in the capital. In earlier years, they’d had a competition class for a few terms, but later it was discontinued. Compared to the nation’s strong math competition schools, they posed no real threat. Every year, the first prizes were basically monopolized by the affiliated high school next door and Huaicheng No. 1 High.

Jiang Qihuai was the first.

Because of this, Wang Zhezi specially held a class meeting, and Vice Principal Wang practically wanted to include his name in every weekly flag-raising speech to inspire the masses.

Tao Zhi stared at that name for a long while, slightly lost in thought.

From the stairwell came Ji Fan’s voice. Judging by the sound, the security guard had already gone upstairs. The group chatted as they came down carrying things. Tao Zhi came back to her senses, tugged her hand slightly, and, trying to cover it up, hid it behind her back.

The girl’s soft, warm hand slipped away, leaving Jiang Qihuai’s palm empty.

He raised his eyebrows. “Secret relationship?”

Tao Zhi looked at him seriously and said nothing.

She always had those little, odd bits of concern and stubborn persistence.

Jiang Qihuai sighed, a trace of helplessness in his tone. “Alright then.”

And so the two of them kept that half-meter distance between them, neither speaking again.

Until the sounds from the staircase gradually became clearer—mixed with footsteps and the laughter of boys—Jiang Qihuai suddenly spoke.

“Didn’t not like it.”

Tao Zhi turned her head. “What?”

He didn’t look at her. His gaze drifted ahead, unfocused, landing somewhere in the empty hall before them.

“Didn’t not like you being like this,” he said lightly. “I told you before—whatever you want to do, just do it.”

She was fine just like this—straightforward and decisive.

If she wanted something, she reached for it.

If she wanted to achieve something, she worked for it.

If she wanted to chase something, she never stopped moving.

Jiang Qihuai suddenly realized—perhaps it was exactly because of that.

Perhaps it was because of that, that even though he knew he couldn’t give her the soil that could fully nourish her growth, he still couldn’t bear to let go of the hand that reached toward him with all its strength.

She always seemed to radiate an astonishing, dazzling light—carrying a kind of attraction strong enough to strip away all his rationality—making those who wandered hesitantly in the dark unable to resist drawing nearer, greedily and endlessly.

Like the sun.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

No one found out what kind of foolish thing had happened in the classroom the previous night. After just one night, the smell of hotpot had completely faded, and the next day, classes went on as usual.

Christmas was followed by New Year’s Eve a few days later. Having had her fun the night before, Tao Zhi didn’t make any more mischief and studied obediently.

She was so serious that even Wang Er wasn’t used to it. During class, he deliberately teased her twice. “Class monitor? New Year’s is coming up soon, aren’t you guys planning anything?”

Tao Zhi didn’t even blink and said solemnly, “The most important thing for students is studying. Studying is greater than the heavens. How can New Year’s compare to a math problem?”

Wang Er didn’t buy that act, chuckling to himself. He still wanted to see how long this bunch of mischievous monkeys could actually behave.

But Tao Zhi really didn’t stir up any more trouble.

Even though Jiang Qihuai had told her not to dwell on grades and such things, and though they were no longer in a “purely classmate” relationship, it didn’t feel, as she had imagined, like a burden had been lifted.

For Tao Zhi, catching up to him and catching up with his pace weren’t contradictory—they could go hand in hand.

She still wanted to ride on his head.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On New Year’s Eve, Jiang Qihuai went home early after school.

Grandpa Jiang had already prepared dinner. Several dishes were laid out on the table, and a small rice cooker sat beside it, the rice still unserved.

The old man sat alone in the living room, staring blankly at the chessboard before him, lost in thought, not noticing that Jiang Qihuai had come in.

Jiang Qihuai turned and closed the door behind him.

The soft click of the security door broke the old man’s daze. He looked up, his eyes empty, unfocused for a moment before he came back to himself. “A’Huai’s home.”

Jiang Qihuai gave a quiet “mm,” walking into the living room without asking further.

He hung up his coat and bag, washed his hands, and went into the kitchen to fetch bowls and chopsticks before serving the rice.

Grandpa Jiang closed his eyes briefly before rising and coming to the table. “Didn’t expect you home so early today. I stewed a chicken—don’t know if it’s done yet.”

Jiang Qihuai placed the rice before him, turned, and went back into the kitchen. “I’ll check.”

A clay pot simmered over a small flame on the gas stove, the rich fragrance of chicken soup filling the air. Jiang Qihuai lifted the lid and poked it with chopsticks. Seeing it was cooked through, he took a large porcelain bowl and ladled it out.

He stepped out of the kitchen. Jiang Grandpa sat at the table, his chopsticks untouched, smiling as he looked at him: “Was school fun today?”

Jiang Qihuai sat across from him. “No difference.”

Jiang Grandpa continued to smile: “No difference even with little Tao there?”

Jiang Qihuai didn’t answer.

Jiang Grandpa watched him. “I think this girl quite likes you, and her character is good. Do you have any interest in her or not?”

He asked it that way—he had watched Jiang Qihuai grow up and knew the boy’s temperament better than anyone.

He remembered she liked chicken wings, liked strawberries; the girl was a bit impulsive—who knew she might suddenly show up one day. Although Jiang Qihuai had never said anything, since last time there had always been a big bag of chicken wings in the family freezer.

Jiang Grandpa sighed: “This girl’s family situation is pretty good too, right?”

Although Tao Zhi had come a few times without airs and had made him laugh, a child raised with care carried an unmistakable air of refinement.

The chopsticks in the boy’s hand paused.

Jiang Grandpa looked at him, hesitating to speak.

Some things don’t need to be said.

His grandson knew better than anyone.

He was born to be a favored child of heaven—talent and pride—he shouldn’t have been born into a family like this.

They ate the meal in silence. Jiang Grandpa several times wanted to speak, but the words died on his lips. Until they finished eating.

Jiang Qihuai put down his chopsticks and waited quietly for him to speak.

The old man’s somewhat cloudy eyes looked at him. “Your—”

He paused, still unable to bring those two words out.

For Jiang Qihuai, that person probably didn’t count as his father.

“He’s come out,” Jiang Grandpa said softly.

The corner of Jiang Qihuai’s mouth tightened for a moment. He raised his eyes sharply: “He came to look for you?”

“No,” Jiang Grandpa hurried to say, “he doesn’t even know where we live now. He said he went back to his hometown, and he’s asking around everywhere.”

The boy’s mouth line drew straight, dark turbulence rolling in his eyes, with undisguised cold ferocity: “If he dares to harass you again, I’ll make sure he can never appear again for the rest of his life.”