Always Home

The issue of changing classes remained unresolved for an entire week.

On Tuesday, Director Fu was away on a business trip, so Song Cong couldn’t meet him. On Wednesday, he tried approaching his homeroom teacher as a workaround, only to be told that the final decision rested with the academic office. On Thursday, he finally managed to corner Director Fu, but was brushed off with, "We’re too busy organizing the senior-year mock exams right now—your matter can wait." Of course, he could have simply stopped attending school or even carried a desk into another classroom as a form of protest, but Song Cong didn’t want to turn a personal matter into a public spectacle. He had never been the type to cause trouble for others.

On Friday evening, as soon as he stepped through the door, Song Ma—in a rare move—invited him to "come and talk."

His parents sat side by side on the sofa, while on the TV, people in ancient costumes were locked in a fierce battle.

Song Ba turned down the volume, but the cigarette he had just lit was promptly shooed away by his wife. He shot his son a somewhat aggrieved look before reluctantly sliding open the balcony door, lingering with only half a foot outside as if unwilling to leave completely.

Something big is happening, Song Cong thought.

He set down his backpack and sat beside his mother.

"Your school’s director called me today. The gist was that it’d be a shame for you to switch classes," Song Ma said, crossing her legs. "What do you think?"

He had mentioned the matter to his parents once before. When it came to academics, they had always respected his wishes, simply advising him to think it through carefully. He hadn’t told them about the subsequent complications—partly because they were busy with work and he didn’t want to distract them, and partly because he believed he could handle the aftermath himself. After all, it wasn’t exactly a life-or-death situation.

Song Cong paused briefly. "I still want to switch."

He was about to elaborate when Song Ba leaned in from the balcony. "If you want to switch, then switch. It’s not like leaving the Honor Class means you can’t study anymore, right? Isn’t it all voluntary?"

Song Ma gave him a light, dismissive glance before turning back to her son. "Is it just because it’s too much work?"

The reason Song Cong had given before was singular—exhaustion. For the past three years in Class One Fast Track, his school days had been longer, his homework heavier, and his tests more frequent. He had said it was just too tiring. But in today’s call, the director had analyzed his entrance exam papers in detail, concluding that Song Cong had often used unconventional or streamlined methods to solve problems—something no student worn down by rote memorization could have managed. Director Fu had even offered a compromise: if Song Cong felt certain assignments were just busywork, he could be exempted from them. All of this made Song Ma suddenly uneasy. Her son’s claim of exhaustion didn’t hold up.

"Dad, Mom," Song Cong straightened up, his expression serious. "I just want to be like everyone else—classmates who joke around, a schedule that starts and ends on time, and the chance to take part in extracurricular activities."

As for his dream of becoming a doctor—that could wait.

His parents were stunned. Their son, who had always ranked first in his grade, had never opened up like this before. He had always handled everything flawlessly. Praised by teachers and envied by colleagues, they had no idea Song Cong harbored such a simple, almost naive desire.

Song Ba stubbed out his cigarette and sat back on the sofa, his expression tinged with guilt. "Son, we really didn’t know you were..."

Yes—unhappy.

After her initial surprise, Song Ma smiled. He was willing to share this with them. He still trusted them. What could be more reassuring than that?

"Leave this to me!" Song Ma declared. "I’ll call your director tomorrow. If they won’t let you switch, I’ll take it up with the school."What was expected to be a prolonged battle ended surprisingly quickly.

With the major decision settled, Song Cong picked a bunch of grapes from the fruit basket and leisurely began eating them.

Song Ma turned to complain, "You, if you wanted to switch classes for the exam, you should’ve taken it easy. Answer fewer questions, and there wouldn’t have been so much fuss."

"Director Fu provoked me. I had to counter him," Song Cong spat out a grape skin. "Besides, once I got into the exam paper..."

"Dad gets it. Once you’re in the zone, you just can’t stop," Song Ba nudged his wife. "Sometimes I feel the same way when stitching—I do such a neat job, I almost wish I could add a few more stitches."

"Ha, never miss a chance to praise yourself," Song Ma turned the TV volume back up, refocusing on the screen. "Look at this Mu Nianci—doesn’t she resemble Huan'er?"

Song Cong glanced up. The girl on screen was as delicate as a landscape painting, her smile curving into her cheeks with a single deep dimple.

"She does look a bit like her," Song Ba remarked. "With parents like Huan'er’s, she’d turn out well no matter who she took after."

Song Ma teased, "All your junior sisters are pretty, huh?"

Song Ba caught the implication and quickly backtracked, "It’s mainly because they’re angels in white. All our angels are beautiful."

Song Cong ate the last grape and stood up. "You guys keep watching. I’m heading in."

So sweet indeed.

The next morning, he was summoned to Director Fu’s office. "Your mother called me. The family’s in agreement, so the school has nothing more to say. But Song Cong..."

"Thank you, Director!" Song Cong hurriedly cut him off.

Director Fu waved a hand. "Fine, have it your way. But don’t slack off in the regular class. Exams are ranked across all classes—your scores are the best proof."

Song Cong nodded eagerly, then asked, "Also, Director, can I choose which class to join?"

"Which one do you want?"

"Class Five."

Of course, Class Five.

Director Fu chuckled. "Did some private investigating, eh? Alright, I’ll let Teacher Xu know. Switch during the afternoon homeroom, and pick up a desk from logistics."

"Yes!" Song Cong bowed deeply. For the next three years, this was the right way to start.

When he pushed his desk and chair through the back door of Class Five, the room erupted. The homeroom teacher, Xu Chengze, who taught Chinese, stood at the front and rapped the blackboard. "Quiet down! You’re all more excited to see him than me."

Jing Qichi sat alone in the last row—an unspoken rule at Tianzhong High, as Special Enrollment Students in sports had afternoon training and needed easy access. Song Cong carried his desk straight to the spot beside him, winking at the two girls in front.

During seat assignments, Huan'er had calculated and recalculated at Jing Qichi’s request to "coincidentally" land in the row ahead of him. He wanted to sit behind Qi Qi but was too embarrassed to say it outright, so he devised this strategy knowing the two girls would stick together.

Thank goodness Chen Huan'er wasn’t so short she had to sit further forward.

"This period is a grade-wide homeroom. A few announcements," Teacher Xu, never one for beating around the bush, got straight to the point. "First, welcome our new classmate. No introduction needed, right?"

"Nope!" the class chorused. Amid applause and curious glances, Song Cong stood up again. "Hello, everyone."

"Sit down." Teacher Xu motioned, and Song Cong exchanged a subtle fist bump with Jing Qichi under the desk before settling in.Teacher Xu continued, "I've always held this view—students who excel academically should help their classmates within their capacity. There is strength in unity. I hope that in three years, what you gain won't just be an impressive report card, but also invaluable qualities like collaboration, mutual progress, and gratitude. Character determines destiny."

Class Five was famous because of Xu Chengze, and apart from his class's consistently high college admission rates, Teacher Xu's daughter had entered Tsinghua University the previous year through Tian High School, becoming a legendary case—rising from the middle of the pack at enrollment to the top by graduation.

Chen Huan'er looked around. In her line of sight were the still unfamiliar sliding blackboard, the projector screen rolled up to the top, Teacher Xu with whom she hadn't yet had a chance for deeper conversation, and the backs of heads—some with ponytails, some with crew cuts—along with side profiles of faces whose names she didn't yet know. A refreshing feeling welled up from deep within her.

How wonderful—finally, she could look up without fear and openly observe them. How wonderful—finally, at this moment, she stood on the same starting line as them.

The small-town girl had been cast into the river of time, shedding the shell called inferiority. She had become Chen Huan'er, standing shoulder to shoulder with them, ready to compete.

Yet suddenly, she felt a pang of sadness. These people would be her new classmates and friends, while she drifted further and further away from those companions in her small town with whom she had once laughed, cried, and played.

If one were to define the beginning of growth, it would likely be the moment one becomes aware of loss.

And the cruelty of growth lies in the fact that, at that moment, we haven't yet learned how to hold on.

The second agenda item of the class meeting was electing class officers. Teacher Xu admitted frankly, "Many classes handle this on the first day, but I don't think that's good. You've gathered here at Tian High from various schools, starting as strangers to one another. Without knowing each other, you can only make choices based on first impressions, and often, first impressions don't give you a deep understanding of a person. Distance tests a horse's stamina. Though you might still be unfamiliar now, at least through small things, you can form judgments about a person. On this basis, the selection of class officers will be more rational."

Someone chimed in from below, "Teacher, no need to vote for the study committee rep, right?"

Everyone laughed and looked at Song Cong. Teacher Xu also smiled. "Song Cong, can you serve the people?"

"I'll do my best," the boy replied, somewhat embarrassed, the corners of his mouth quirking up.

Teacher Xu then asked, "Any objections?"

A chorus rose from below: "None!"

"Teacher Xu, no need to vote for the P.E. committee rep either," someone from the back called out, pointing at Jing Qichi. "Trust me, he's absolutely the one."

Discussions erupted, mostly from boys trying to convince the confused girls. "He's really good at soccer—yesterday against Class Three, he dribbled past four guys and crushed them." "He's a Special Enrollment Student—there are only a few in our grade." "No one but Jing Qichi. Raise your hands, raise your hands."

Thus, the only Special Enrollment Student in the class was unanimously elected as the P.E. committee rep.

Huan'er nudged the desk behind her. "You're something—gathered a bunch of followers in just a few days."

Jing Qichi poked her back, enunciating each word, "That's because your brother has charm."

For the remaining positions, nominations came first, followed by volunteers. Only the role of class monitor had seven or eight candidates. Each took turns speaking on the platform—some humorous, some serious. In the end, through anonymous voting, a doll-faced girl with a bob haircut was elected. Huan'er had voted for her too, not because of her campaign speech—which she hadn't even listened to—but because the girl shared the name of a former classmate: Liao Xinyan.She didn't know where Liao Xinyan from Sishui was now, but casting this vote was her way of wishing that girl some good fortune from the unseen forces.

The final item on the agenda was the school sports meet to be held in two weeks. Teacher Xu handed the registration form to the newly appointed sports committee member, adding a final reminder: "Participate actively, safety first." Those last four words made Chen Huan'er feel an unexpected warmth toward this renowned teacher—it sounded so much like her father's usual advice, always tagging "safety first" after urging her to exercise.

At that moment, she completely missed the intense gaze Jing Qichi directed at her when he received the registration form.