Tao Zhi never cried.

She felt that her tear ducts had already been well-developed these days, like a faucet that had been turned on. She would cry in front of Tao Xiuping, she would cry when she saw Ji Jin, but the only time she didn’t want to cry was when she saw Jiang Qihuai.

She was very sure—absolutely sure—that she understood the meaning of his words.

She listened to what he said, felt his breath and warmth, the air lingering at the tip of her nose, the touch still remaining on her lips. The sound echoing in her eardrums was like the conductor of a symphony orchestra, concluding the final movement of the chapter between them.

Tao Zhi had always thought that the initiative between the two of them had always been in her hands. But it wasn’t.

He watched as she carefully approached, racking her brain to probe, charging forward recklessly—then chose to calmly and silently withdraw.

The one who had always held the dominant position was, in fact, him.

Tao Zhi suddenly felt that these past few months of hers were like a joke.

She had never doubted whether Jiang Qihuai had ever liked her or not. She knew very well that he did like her. He was not the kind of person who would wrong himself; if he truly didn’t like her, he wouldn’t have given her any chance at all.

It was just that his liking for her and her liking for him had never been on the same level.

She actually had many things left unsaid—she wanted to ask him why, wanted to refuse, wanted to argue back, wanted to, like before, act spoiled and unreasonable, and then watch with delight as he showed that helpless expression.

She wanted to tell him: I can keep going, so can you please not compromise either?

Holding her shattered pride, she stood at the edge of the cliff, trying hard to suppress all those surging emotions and anger. In the end, she pieced them all together again and stuffed them back inside her body.

She was a proud princess.

A princess should come with splendor, and leave with decisiveness.

Clinging and pestering had never been her nature.

I don’t want it anymore.

The feeling of liking, and the you whom I liked—I don’t want any of it anymore.

She lowered her head and forced a small smile. “All right.”

The moment her voice fell, before Jiang Qihuai could react, she suddenly lifted her arm and hooked it around his neck.

The distance that had just been pulled apart was drawn close once again. Tao Zhi tilted her head up and bit down hard on his lips.

Their lips pressed together, teeth grinding, until the taste of blood—metallic and sweet—spread through her mouth. Only then did she gently let go.

The young man’s lips were stained with scarlet, adding a trace of demonic allure. He lowered his eyes and looked at her.

Tao Zhi licked the remaining blood on her lips, her dark eyes clear and bright, just like when they first met. “My dad said, when adults face something they can’t solve for the time being, they always choose to compromise.” She spoke softly. “Congratulations, you’ve grown up early.”

Tao Zhi dropped her hands, jumped off the bed, and walked to the door without looking back.

When she pulled the doorknob open, her steps paused for a moment. “I wish you a smooth road ahead.”

With a soft “click,” the door of the ward closed, and the room once again fell into silence.

From the tightly shut windows came faint sounds from outside. The steam from the kettle had already dissipated. The scalding heat cooled down bit by bit, gradually turning cold.

Jiang Qihuai stood by the bed, looking at the small depression on the snow-white sheet — the spot where someone had been sitting just a minute ago, still holding traces of her warmth and scent.

He raised his hand, fingertips lightly brushing over the wrinkle on the sheet, reluctant to smooth it out.

When Tao Zhi had been unconscious in the hospital, Tao Xiuping had come to talk to him for a long time.

He spoke about her childhood — about how she first learned to talk, her first day at school, the first time she scored a perfect mark, the first person she ever liked.

Ji Fan was right — she was a treasure held in the palms of her family’s hands, growing up carefree and happy. So why should she be the one to suffer grievance here with him?

Tao Zhi knew everything.

His selfishness, his ugliness, those filthy shadows he didn’t want anyone to glimpse — she had long seen through them all. What he hid, what he avoided, she accepted completely.

He was, in truth, unworthy of her.

Yet during those days when she smiled at him, even the weather seemed to glow.

He had always been a selfish person, unable to let go of that greed that had sunk into his bones. He didn’t want to release it — he would never release it.

Jiang Qihuai was not afraid of darkness. From the moment of his birth, he had lived within it, understood it, fought to escape it. He could endure hardship, he could struggle on the edge of death, he could fall into ruin beyond redemption.

But his rose could not. She was meant to be protected under a strong glass dome, meant to bloom within the warmth of a greenhouse.

He could wait. He had plenty of patience and time to spend. No matter how long it took to break free from it all, no matter what kind of price he had to pay.

No matter which road you choose, I will follow you. I will come to find you.

So don’t come back again.

I will flatten desolate mountains and cross surging frozen rivers.

I will become bright enough — until the day I can touch the light.

And all you need to do is to keep moving forward and bloom freely.

Tao Zhi never went back to Room 603, nor to the little alley on that bustling street.

Except for visiting Ji Jin in the hospital every weekend, nothing else in her life had changed.

She still got up half an hour earlier than before to listen to English recordings, then, amid the pleasant yet noisy female voice, woke Ji Fan up, and the two went to school together.

Song Jiang would occasionally come to Class One to find her. After half a semester of harassment, Song Jiang and Li Shuangjiang had already become familiar with each other. The boys were naturally outgoing, and soon began to play basketball or games together.

Wang Zhezi still liked to keep a stern face while telling cold jokes; Wang Er would sometimes clutch his chest in exasperation at Zhao Mingqi, saying he’d get a heart attack sooner or later. Fu Xiling had grown a little bolder — when Ji Fan snatched her pen, she would smack him on the head in anger.

The little girl’s strength was light; her soft hand patting down felt more like a massage. Ji Fan didn’t mind, grinning as he apologized and handed the pen back.

Only Jiang Qihuai’s seat remained empty — he never came back.

His desk was clean and orderly, as if it had been that way all along.

At first, Li Shuangjiang probably wanted to ask about it a few times, but Fu Xiling’s single look stopped him, and he never brought it up again.

No one lost their footing over a classmate’s sudden disappearance. The earth still turned, life still went on.

Only sometimes, on mornings when Li Shuangjiang hadn’t finished his homework yet, he would habitually turn his head, stretching his neck to call, “Huai-ge, lend me your physics homework to copy,” and when his gaze fell on the empty seat, he would freeze for a second.

Then he’d mutter, “My stupid brain,” turn back around, and glance quietly in her direction.

Tao Zhi lowered her head, writing her test paper, showing no reaction at all as if she hadn’t heard anything.

Everyone more or less knew what had probably happened between them, yet no one asked what exactly had happened.

Tao Zhi went about her days as if nothing had changed — only sometimes, while eating or curling up on the sofa reading, she would lapse into long spells of daze.

She never asked Tao Xiuping how Jiang Qihuai was doing now — whether he had transferred schools, or where he had gone and Tao Xiuping never took the initiative to bring it up either.

Only once, during dinner, did he ask Tao Zhi whether she wanted to transfer schools.

Tao Zhi poked at her rice, lifted her eyes in confusion, and asked, “Why?”

Tao Xiuping looked at her with faint heartache, but said nothing.

She actually knew why.

In the Experimental No. 1 High School — the teaching building, the cafeteria, the water room, the classrooms, the sports field.

At the glass counter of the small convenience shop, on the honor wall of the first-floor lobby, in the infirmary smelling of disinfectant, under the desks where they had secretly held hands out of sight.

Everywhere carried traces of him.

After a long silence, Tao Zhi slowly asked, “Where to?”

Seeing her give in, Tao Xiuping let out a quiet sigh of relief. “No. 3 High, maybe? After this term’s final exams, you can go when the next semester starts. I asked around — the teaching staff there is said to be slightly stronger than Experimental’s.” He deliberately avoided mentioning the Affiliated High School and added, “It’s not far from home either, on the same route as Experimental. You can still go to school with Xiao Fan every morning.”

Ji Fan raised his head. “I’m not going?”

“You’ll stay put at Experimental and behave,” Tao Xiuping said, raising his hand to knock on his head. “Transfers to No. 3 depend on grades too. Look at your scores — I’m not even asking you to do too well. The day you score five hundred, I’ll shove you right in.”

Ji Fan pouted. “Then I’ll just stay at Experimental. At least I have more friends there, and it’s more fun.”

The matter of transferring schools seemed thus settled. Tao Xiuping made time to contact people and prepare the necessary paperwork, and throughout the process, Tao Zhi was fully cooperative.

By late January, after the final exams, the long northern winter vacation began.

Tao Zhi’s final exam results had dropped nearly a hundred points compared to the midterm. Even her once top-ranking English score was dismal this time. After the parent-teacher conference, Tao Xiuping came home but said nothing.

Tao Zhi sat in front of the sofa, playing mobile games with Ji Fan. Tao Xiuping brewed a cup of tea, set it on the coffee table, then sat across from them with his laptop, asking cautiously, “How was the parent meeting?”

“Mm?” Tao Xiuping looked up. “Pretty good. Your Teacher Wang even talked to me separately. Said he’s reluctant to see you transfer next semester.”

Tao Zhi pressed her lips together and said softly, “My total score this time dropped by almost a hundred points.”

Tao Xiuping chuckled. Keeping a straight face, he suddenly said in mock sternness, “When Dad saw it, he was shocked.”

Tao Zhi said nothing.

Tao Xiuping continued, “My daughter can already score over four hundred now, since when did you secretly start studying so well behind my back?”

Ji Fan rolled his eyes and said languidly, “Don’t worry. Even if one day you get constipated and clog the toilet, Old Tao would still say—” He paused, then imitated Tao Xiuping’s tone vividly: “My daughter can even clog the toilet now? That’s amazing!”

Tao Zhi smacked him on the head, and Ji Fan yelped dramatically, “Old Tao! Your daughter hits me every day! Does she have violent tendencies or what?”

Tao Xiuping said, “Don’t say bad words.”

Ji Fan tossed his phone aside and sighed bitterly. “I get it now. I really don’t have any status in this family.”

Tao Zhi couldn’t help pressing her lips together to hide a smile and reached out to tug his hair, while Tao Xiuping also chuckled.

He looked at the two children bickering on the sofa across from him, and his voice suddenly softened. “Xiao Fan, Dad’s really happy that you came back.”

Ji Fan’s hand was still tucked under Tao Zhi’s arm, and when he heard that, he froze for a moment. Then, feeling awkward, he turned his head aside. “Why are you suddenly getting all emotional…”

“I used to be afraid of being poor,” Tao Xiuping sighed. “I thought that money and material comfort were the most important things. I had a family, a wife, children — I wanted to earn money and give you all the best life possible, and I had the ability to do that. But now, maybe it’s because I’m getting old — people’s thoughts change when they get older. No matter how much money you make, it’s never enough. As long as it’s enough to spend, that’s fine. What I want now is just to see you two grow up happy.”

Ji Fan looked at him suspiciously. “Old Tao, are you actually about to go bankrupt? Is this your way of warning us in advance? ’Cause if that’s the case, I should ask for money now. I just bought a pair of limited-edition sneakers overseas.”

Tao Xiuping: “…”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When you’re in school, it always feels like time moves too slowly, but once the winter vacation comes, it always flies by too fast.

Tao Zhi’s student records and all the transfer paperwork were completed one after another. Next semester, she would begin a new life in a new environment.

The night before the new term began, she sat in her room, slowly sorting through all the study materials, papers, and notes she had used over the past half-year.

Her old test papers used to be almost blank, hardly with a few answers written — and even those were mostly copied. Now, almost every sheet was filled to the edges with dense writing.

The answers written in two colors of ink — the black ones were bold and unrestrained, while the red ones were her own, neat and straightforward.

She stared at those red traces for a while. It was the first time in months that she had seen a tangible mark he had left behind.

They say a person’s handwriting reflects their character.

Tao Zhi had always thought Jiang Qihuai’s handwriting carried a kind of contradictory restraint and wildness.

So she never believed he was the type to bow to fate. The only reason he compromised, perhaps, was simply because he didn’t like enough.

Lowering her eyes, she stacked the test papers one by one, tapped them into order, pushed the thick pile to the corner of the desk, then began to organize her reference books.

She piled the books one by one until, when the last math booklet was lifted, it revealed an English Composition Collection underneath.

Tao Zhi’s fingers paused.

That day, she had planned to give it to him — but later, like a thief, she’d hidden it away again. Both of them had forgotten about it.

And once forgotten, it never came up again.

Tao Zhi pulled the book toward her, remembering the night he’d given it to her.

The bedroom had been small and tidy, the desk lamp bright, strawberries piled large and red in a bowl, and the photos on the wall told one unknown secret after another.

That room, filled with all the hidden and revealed fragments of a boy’s youth, was no longer a place she had the right to enter.

Tao Zhi sniffed lightly, her nose sour, and slowly opened the worn cover, revealing the title page inside.

On it were four words.

Once, she had written them carefully — sincerely and devoutly — as she placed her heart upon the page.

She had once, with all the fervor in her chest, laid bare her overflowing affection before him. Now, looking at it again, every word seemed pale and absurd.

Tao Zhi gripped the edge of the book tightly, head bowed low, eyes wide as she stared at that line of words as if they had just been written yesterday. The tears she had held back for months finally lost control, falling in heavy drops one after another.

Tears splattered onto the thin paper. She took out her pen, wanting to cross out her own self-righteousness, but the pen tip hovered above the page for a long time, unwilling to touch down.

She raised her hand to wipe her eyes, then, stroke by stroke, slowly wrote a few more words in front of those four characters.

The ink fell onto the soaked paper, making it hard to write; she traced the same line again and again, as if forcing herself to face some truth.

By the final stroke, the page had grown too fragile to bear it — the sharp pen tip pierced through the sheet, scraping dully against her heart again and again.

She had only added three words at the front.

—— Not belonging to, Zhizhi’s, Jiang.