Jiang Qihuai began remembering things very early. Other children seemed to recall only vague fragments of their kindergarten days, but he had always felt that his own memories started as early as when he was two or three years old.

The earliest memories were in black and white—a large room crowded with dozens of beds, dim corridors with peeling paint, tall old iron gates, groups of children in uniform white clothes running together, and the dean auntie who always wore a stern face and never smiled.

Color began to appear the day he met Jiang Qinghe.

It was during the rare playtime after lunch. The children were sitting in a circle on the grass, playing games, while Jiang Qihuai sat alone under a tree by the wall, watching ants.

The tiny insects formed a neat line, their slender legs carrying white things larger than their own bodies, one after another disappearing beneath the tree.

The little boy, looking only about three or four years old, squatted quietly under the tree, hugging his knees and lowering his head, silently watching for a long, long time.

Until a shadow fell across his sight.

Little Jiang Qihuai lifted his head.

An old man crouched beside him, smiling kindly. “What are you looking at?”

Jiang Qihuai didn’t speak. He silently raised a hand and pointed toward the base of the tree.

Jiang Qinghe followed his gaze. “Those are ants. They’re carrying food.”

The child’s round face showed no expression; his pretty eyes stared straight at him, not blinking.

The old man explained with a smile, “Do you see those white things? That’s food. They carry it home to eat, so they won’t go hungry.”

Jiang Qihuai lowered his head again, staring intently for a while, then spoke in his childish voice: “Their food is bigger than their bodies.”

The old man nodded. “Yes, very strong. They can lift things much heavier than themselves.”

Jiang Qihuai didn’t speak again. The small child curled himself into a tiny ball under the tree, silently watching.

Jiang Qinghe didn’t speak either.

The old and the young watched together as lines of ants crawled into the hole, one after another, until the sun slanted and the last one disappeared.

Jiang Qihuai stared at that small hole hidden in the soil for a long time before softly saying, “The ants went home.”

“Mm,” the old man replied, “the ants went home.”

The child fell silent again, staring fixedly at that small hole, his eyes filled with a longing he couldn’t hide.

The old man looked at him, the corners of his eyes curved with a smile. “Do you want to go home?”

“I don’t have one,” Jiang Qihuai shook his head. “The dean auntie said, only children who are liked by someone can have a home.”

He didn’t show any sadness or grievance, but Jiang Qinghe’s eyes reddened.

He reached out and gently patted the boy’s soft hair. “A’Huai is also a child that someone likes.”

Jiang Qihuai still shook his head, stubbornly and slowly saying, “I’m not.”

“Then from today on, Grandpa will like you. How about that?” Jiang Qinghe looked at him with tearful eyes, his voice gentle. “Grandpa will take you home. A’Huai will stay with Grandpa forever.”

Jiang Qihuai remembered that day—the sunlight was dazzling, making it hard to keep his eyes open. The green trees cast vast shadows, and the grass was covered with soft, tender green sprouts.

The old man’s palm was warm and broad, carrying a pleasant scent that made people feel at ease.

That was the first trace of color in Jiang Qihuai’s life.

Jiang Qihuai opened his eyes.

Moonlight, thin and faint, spread like a pale veil across the floor. The bedroom was silent. His gaze lingered on the ceiling for a long time.

On the desk beside the bed lay two open books and a test paper. The wall clock ticked softly—“kada”—as the hour and minute hands overlapped.

The phone on the desk lit up, then began to vibrate. The buzzing sounded especially clear in the quiet room, insistently announcing its presence.

Jiang Qihuai pushed himself upright. He sat leaning against the headboard for a moment before reaching for the phone and answering.

“Your Highness!” a girl’s voice burst out without pause, impatient and eager. “What are you doing? I’ve been calling forever!”

“Hm? What is it?” His voice was hoarse.

“You just woke up?” Tao Zhi said in disbelief. “It’s New Year’s Eve and you actually went to bed before midnight?”

Jiang Qihuai tilted his head back, resting it against the headboard. “Aren’t you the one who doesn’t celebrate holidays?”

“That’s different,” Tao Zhi said. “Come on, get up and go to the window.”

Jiang Qihuai paused, then threw off the blanket and got out of bed quickly. “You’re downstairs?”

He had no sense of romance, bluntly exposing her little plan. Tao Zhi said with a hint of dissatisfaction, “You really have no sense of fun at all. You’re supposed to ask me why. You’re not even curious where I am.”

While she was talking, Jiang Qihuai had already walked to the window.

The night was deep, shadows thick, but he spotted her at once.

The young girl was wearing a white down jacket, her red scarf wrapped around half her face. She stood under the dim old streetlamp of the residential building, hopping in place from the cold, letting out little hissing breaths.

She tilted her head back, looking up again and again, until she saw the figure appear at the window. Then she tugged her scarf down, revealing the tip of her nose and her small chin.

Through the glass, she looked at him, her long eyes curved in a smile. Her voice came through the phone, bright and joyful: “Happy New Year, boyfriend.”

Jiang Qihuai didn’t speak.

Tao Zhi bounced lightly under the streetlamp, exhaling white mist. “Why aren’t you saying anything? I snuck out of the house just to see you—it’s freezing out here!”

She exaggeratedly added, “And this is the cold, heartless treatment I get!”

Jiang Qihuai spoke slowly. “Why did you sneak out of the house?”

“To tell you Happy New Year.”

“Couldn’t you say that on the phone?”

“That’s different,” Tao Zhi said matter-of-factly. “I want the first person I see in the new year to be you.”

The fingers holding the phone curled slightly. Jiang Qihuai’s breath stalled for a beat.

Tao Zhi continued in a domineering tone, “And you have to make sure the first person you see is me too.”

The heating in the old apartment building wasn’t strong. Getting out of bed in the middle of the night, the chill still lingered. When he walked to the window, he hadn’t put on slippers—his bare feet touched the cold floor, yet suddenly, he didn’t feel cold at all.

Jiang Qihuai let out a soft laugh. “Just one look is enough?”

Tao Zhi stood downstairs, tilting her head slightly, looking a bit puzzled.

Jiang Qihuai’s throat felt dry. He stared at the small figure under the streetlamp, his voice hoarse. “Come up.”

Tao Zhi felt that after spending so much time with her, Jiang Qihuai seemed to have learned some bad habits—even doing something as out of line as this.

Inviting his girlfriend to his house in the middle of the night!

At first, she had hesitated. It was late, Jiang Qihuai was probably already asleep, and Grandpa Jiang was at home too—it didn’t seem very proper.

But since she was already here—

The security door opened from the inside. Jiang Qihuai stood there in thin cotton pajamas, stepping aside slightly to let her in.

Tao Zhi slipped quietly through the doorway. Holding the doorknob, she moved very slowly, closing the door inch by inch with extreme care.

Even though she slowed down until she was barely moving—one inch per second—when the latch finally met the lock, it still made a crisp click.

Tao Zhi froze immediately. She nervously licked her lips, standing perfectly still, straining her ears for any sound.

Leaning against the shoe cabinet, Jiang Qihuai lowered his head to look at her. “Why are you—”

She quickly raised her hand, making a small “hush” gesture.

Jiang Qihuai closed his mouth, pulled open the shoe cabinet, and took out a pair of slippers, setting them by her feet.

Tao Zhi slipped into the slippers and tiptoed after him into the bedroom.

Only after the bedroom door closed did she finally let out a breath and relax completely.

Jiang Qihuai walked to the desk and turned on the lamp.

The light filled the room. Tao Zhi looked up.

The boy stood in front of her—he really had just woken up. His black hair was tousled, his eyelids drooping drowsily, and compared to usual, he looked softer and thinner.

He didn’t seem very happy.

Tao Zhi couldn’t help looking at him a little longer.

Sensing her gaze, Jiang Qihuai raised his eyes. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She slowly unwound her scarf, loop by loop, folded it twice, and draped it over the back of the chair, then began taking off her coat.

Jiang Qihuai watched as she unfastened her coat buttons one by one, then suddenly asked, “Do you want strawberries?”

“……”

Tao Zhi had eaten dinner early and hadn’t had any snacks that night. She was a bit hungry now, but it was already midnight.

She waved her hand. “It’s so late. Where are you going to get strawberries?”

Jiang Qihuai opened the bedroom door again and stepped out.

Tao Zhi worried about being discovered, but she still hurriedly took off her coat and scarf, laid them together, and followed him out softly.

He went into the kitchen, turned on the light, opened the refrigerator, and took out a box of strawberries from the fresh-keeping compartment.

The plastic container was tightly sealed with cling film. Jiang Qihuai tore it open and moved to the sink.

Tao Zhi closed the kitchen door behind him. The box of strawberries looked like it had been there for a few days—the deep green leaves were a little wrinkled, but they hadn’t gone bad yet. The fruits were still plump and bright red.

She leaned over curiously. “So you do have strawberries at home.”

“Mm.” Jiang Qihuai turned on the faucet. “Bought them a few days ago. Forgot to eat them.”

Tao Zhi patted his arm. “Turn the water down, it’s too loud.”

Jiang Qihuai tilted his head. “Why are you acting like a thief even in my house?”

“What if Grandpa Jiang wakes up?” Tao Zhi muttered under her breath. “It’s the middle of the night, and I ran to a boy’s house. Grandpa Jiang will get a bad impression of me.”

Jiang Qihuai looked at her worried expression and sighed. “He won’t.”

He turned back, plucking the leaves off the strawberries. “He likes you.”

“Of course I’m likable,” Tao Zhi immediately brightened up, saying proudly, “Who wouldn’t like me?”

Jiang Qihuai didn’t respond. His lashes lowered as he rinsed the leafless strawberries under the water.

Indeed—there wouldn’t be anyone who didn’t.

Tao Zhi was used to eating late at night, but Jiang Qihuai wasn’t. So the whole box ended up being hers.

Since the strawberries would spoil soon anyway, she didn’t hold back. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she ate half the box, watching as Jiang Qihuai sat at the desk doing his homework.

He hadn’t finished it earlier; half of a test paper was still spread out on the desk. The model student whose life revolved around the word study hadn’t finished his homework—Tao Zhi found that quite rare.

After eating until she was full, she set the box on the table, idly swinging her legs, and glanced at the photo wall.

It didn’t seem to have changed much—still the same old photos.

Had the artsy boy not taken any new “secret” photos recently?

Now that they were in this kind of relationship, shouldn’t there be a spot reserved for her on that wall?

Tao Zhi pouted, already planning that when she got home, she would use her Polaroid to take a selfie. Then next time she came over, she’d secretly stick her extraordinarily beautiful face right in the middle of his wall.

Maybe he wasn’t in the right mood, but Jiang Qihuai took a long time to finish. When he finally completed two sheets and checked the clock, it was already past one-thirty.

Tao Zhi had fallen asleep on the desk.

Her head tilted to the side, half her face buried in her arm. Her cheek pressed against the crook of her elbow, sinking into the shadow. Her long lashes rested thickly against her lower lids—sleeping soundly and sweetly.

Jiang Qihuai closed his papers, set his pen down quietly, and turned his head to look at her from the chair.

Perhaps she was dreaming of something pleasant; the corners of her lips curved slightly upward. The lively, talkative girl who was always moving finally grew still. Her serene sleeping face was softened under the warm glow of the desk lamp, her fine hair shimmering faintly with downy light.

A few loose strands had fallen over her forehead, brushing against her delicate nose. Maybe it tickled—she wrinkled her nose lightly in her sleep.

Jiang Qihuai raised his hand and, with gentle movements, tucked those strands behind her ear.

As he did, Tao Zhi woke up.

She opened her eyes groggily, still half-asleep, resting there for a moment in a daze.

Jiang Qihuai withdrew his hand. “Awake?”

Tao Zhi slowly straightened up, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Her voice was soft and sticky with sleep as she asked, “What time is it?”

“A little past one.”

“I should go home,” she mumbled in a small voice. “How can you take so long to finish just two test papers?”

Jiang Qihuai pushed his chair back slightly. “It’s too late. I’ll take you home.”

This time, Tao Zhi didn’t refuse. Sitting on the bed, she stretched lazily and yawned a big yawn. Once she was more awake, she stood up and reached for her coat hanging on the back of the chair.

What a loss.

A New Year’s Eve midnight visit to her boyfriend’s house and all she did was keep him company while he finished two test papers?

Who would believe that if she said it out loud?

She put on her coat, wrapped her scarf around her neck, round after round, and the more she thought about it, the more she felt she’d lost big time.

When she turned back, Jiang Qihuai was still sitting in the chair, unmoving. Tao Zhi hesitated, then said, “If you’re sleepy, I can go home by myself. I’ll just grab a ride—it’ll drop me right at the door.”

“I’m not sleepy,” Jiang Qihuai said, standing and walking to the wardrobe to take out a jacket. “I just took a short nap earlier.”

“Your Highness,” Tao Zhi suddenly called him.

Jiang Qihuai turned around.

The words she had been holding in since she entered finally spilled out. She blinked and looked up at him. “Are you unhappy today?”

“Why would I be unhappy?”

“It’s just…” Tao Zhi frowned, not sure how to put it into words. Saying he seemed uneasy or restless didn’t feel quite right either.

She thought hard for a while, still couldn’t find the right word, and finally said dryly, “Feels like… you’re a little clingy.”

Jiang Qihuai: “……”

He hadn’t thought so before, but now that he reflected on it—Jiang Qinghe’s words tonight, and that person—they had indeed left a trace of influence on him.

The boy stood silently before the wardrobe, his expression unreadable. Seeing that, Tao Zhi suddenly regretted asking.

“It’s nothing, maybe I’m just sleepy and talking nonsense,” she said quickly, shaking her head and tucking her chin into her scarf. Then she stretched out her hand toward him. “Hold hands, okay, boyfriend?”

The girl’s palm lay open in front of him. The red scarf wrapped half her face, revealing only her fair ear tips and her bright, dark eyes.

Jiang Qihuai pressed his lips together, looking at her for a few seconds before saying quietly, “Just holding hands is enough?”

Tao Zhi looked at him expectantly, nodding several times in a row. “I’m easy to please.”

“I’m not that easy,” he said, his voice low, the tone hard to read.

Tao Zhi blinked, not quite understanding what he meant yet.

Then Jiang Qihuai took a step forward, suddenly lifting his hand to tug lightly on both ends of her scarf, pulling her gently toward him. Caught off guard, Tao Zhi stumbled forward and bumped into his chest.

And then—he hugged her.

The boy’s warmth came through the thin fabric, clean and steady. Tao Zhi’s eyes widened, and she stayed still, letting him hold her.

Jiang Qihuai’s arms tightened around her. He lowered his head, burying his face deep in the crook of her neck. His voice was muffled against the wool of her scarf.

“Don’t think you can get away with brushing me off that easily.”