Always Home

Qi Qi finally discovered the whereabouts of The Catcher in the Rye she had been desperately searching for.

That day, Huan'er stayed behind at the library to study, while Qi Qi circled around fruitlessly before returning to the classroom to do her homework. As she passed by a certain desk, she caught a glimpse of a book half-buried under a stack of test papers—the exposed cover bore the name Salinger. Without thinking, Qi Qi pushed aside the papers, and there it was: the very words she had been longing to see.

If it had been anyone else’s desk, she wouldn’t have thought much of it. But this desk belonged to Liao Xinyan.

The person who had collected the books, the one who had handed them over to the library, the one who could know exactly what everyone had submitted and be the first to borrow them.

In that moment, it felt like being struck by lightning.

Liao Xinyan—the sweet, round-faced girl with a reputation for being well-liked. Teachers praised her for her strong sense of responsibility and diligence; classmates adored her, calling out "Class Monitor this, Class Monitor that" all day long. Though not top of the class, she consistently ranked within the top ten. Her family seemed well-off, too—Qi Qi glanced at her desk, where a smartphone lay face-down in a stationery case, the latest model Jing Qichi had been obsessing over.

How could it be her?

And yet, it was her.

Distracted, Qi Qi returned to her seat, unable to stop recalling moments involving Liao Xinyan. Like the times she had claimed to be visiting her aunt and "coincidentally" walked with them. Or how she always lingered by the back door of the classroom, chatting loudly and laughing. Or how she often commandeered the seat behind Qi Qi to ask about problems that weren’t even that difficult.

It was like seeing someone else eyeing her favorite dress in a store window—only for that person to put down a deposit and claim it first.

Furious and frustrated, Qi Qi didn’t turn a single page of her book during evening self-study, her gaze fixed on Liao Xinyan’s back a few rows ahead. Over two study sessions, Liao Xinyan glanced her way six times.

After class, Liao Xinyan even brazenly stood next to Song Cong, though her words were directed at Jing Qichi. "Your competition starts tomorrow, right? Good luck."

"Thanks, Class Monitor," Jing Qichi replied with a salute. He would be traveling with the school team for an out-of-town tournament—four days at the shortest, two weeks at the longest, depending on their performance.

Liao Xinyan showed no sign of leaving. "How are you getting there?"

"By bus, all together."

"What about accommodations?"

"The school has arranged everything."

The girl nodded. "If you have any issues while you're away, feel free to ask me anytime. You have my number, right?"

"No need. I’ll message you online if anything comes up."

"No problem," Liao Xinyan said with a smile. "Though, for academics, you’d probably rather ask Song Cong, right? Isn’t that so, Study Committee?"

Song Cong, hearing this, shook his head hastily. "Academics? You overestimate him."

All that effort just to get a word in with Song Cong. That was Qi Qi’s thought, and her expression darkened. She grabbed Huan'er’s arm and pulled her away. "Quit dawdling. You wanna sleep here or what?"

Chen Huan'er, dragged along, was completely lost. "I packed up ages ago—I was just waiting for them. Hey, you two, hurry up!"

"Coming," Jing Qichi called, waving at Liao Xinyan before jogging out of the classroom with Song Cong.

That night, Teacher Xu posted a reminder in the class QQ group: the Cultural Month was ending, and everyone needed to return their borrowed books on time. Jing Qichi panicked and immediately called Song Cong. "There’s a book in my desk—one from the book exchange. Can you return it for me later?"

"You took someone else’s book? You didn’t even submit one yourself."Song Cong remembered clearly—on the day they handed in their books, Jing Qichi arrived empty-handed. To slip past the teacher, the boy had taken Song’s book and turned it in, then secretly marked both their names on the list.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jing Qichi carefully instructed. “Just don’t let anyone see. And then write something for me—make it sincere. The main idea is that the book is really good, chosen with excellent taste.”

“Fine.”

Back when they were kids, Song Cong had to change his handwriting to fake Jing’s homework. He’d lost count of how many times he’d done similar favors—it was nothing new.

“Write it as soon as you get to school tomorrow. Don’t forget,” the boy on the other end reminded him.

Song Cong chuckled and replied, “Got it.” Then, after a pause, he added, “Be careful, especially your knee.”

“Yeah, yeah. Wait for my triumphant return.”

There was indeed a book hidden in the very back of Jing Qichi’s desk. The next morning, Song Cong stealthily transferred it onto his lap, wondering where the guy had even gotten it, before peeling back the newspaper with Torres’ face printed on it— Taipei People by Bai Xianyong. Suddenly recalling the details from the book submission day, he instinctively glanced in Qi Qi’s direction before quickly stuffing the book into his school uniform.

Was he serious?

The last time Song Cong had jokingly tested the waters, he’d been immediately shut down, so he hadn’t dwelled on it. Jing Qichi was playful, joking around with everyone, so it was hard to tell if he treated anyone particularly special. Of course, Chen Huan’er was the exception—that was a direct order from Jing’s mother, and he wouldn’t dare disobey.

But if he really did have feelings… what should Song Cong write for him?

Lifting his head, he caught sight of the back of Chen Huan’er’s mushroom-cut hair, a few strands sticking up as if they hadn’t woken up yet—just as odd as their owner. Without thinking, he reached out to smooth them down, only for Huan’er to smack his hand away without even turning around, still buried in her problem set. Suppressing a laugh, Song Cong suddenly had an idea.

On the day they retrieved their books, Qi Qi easily found her copy of Taipei People . Without even flipping through it, she headed to the front shelves to meet up with Huan’er, who was standing there puzzled. “Weird, I don’t think my Neuromancer came back.”

Qi Qi’s attention was entirely on the copy of The Catcher in the Rye in Huan’er’s hands. She feigned ignorance. “Isn’t that Song Cong’s? Someone must’ve taken it—I didn’t even get to read it.”

“Here, take it.” Huan’er handed it over. “I borrowed it from him anyway. You can read it first and give it back to me later. Qi, help me look for—”

Before Huan’er could finish, Qi Qi was already walking away with the book.

Right now, she couldn’t wait to find out what the “rival” had written.

The hallway outside the reading room was empty. Qi Qi leaned against the wall, knowing full well how despicable it was to invade someone’s privacy—but she couldn’t help it. Like an arrow drawn to its limit, one more pull and it would snap. She really couldn’t help it.

After confirming once more that no one was around, she opened the book.

Inside, there was only a single line in English:

Make sure you marry someone who laughs at the same things you do.

The handwriting was neat and delicate. In other words, Song Cong hadn’t written anything—this “impression” was from Liao Xinyan.

You must marry someone who shares your sense of humor.

How could she write this? How dare she? Qi Qi’s hands trembled uncontrollably, her entire body shaking, as if she wanted to tear the page to shreds.

Liao Xinyan was silently sending Song Cong a message— Look, we’re evenly matched. We’re the same kind of person.

Devious, underhanded, scheming .Yet an overwhelming sense of defeat surged within her, something she'd never felt before—not even when ranking last in class.

The tragic irony was that in this silent battle, she realized she didn't even qualify as an opponent.

Huan'er came out to find her, muttering, "Maybe my book was just too good—so good they couldn’t bear to return it."

Qi Qi replied sullenly, "It was too good."

"Did yours have a note? Let me see." Huan'er took Taipei People and quickly read aloud, "'Thank you for letting me experience a bygone era filled with warmth and loyalty. I hope I, too, can linger in your memories, timeless and evergreen.'"

After finishing, she gasped. "This is so well-written!" Staring at the words, she murmured, "But Qi, look at the handwriting..."

Only then did Qi Qi lean in, reading each character carefully—her heartbeat faltered.

She’d recognize Song Cong’s handwriting even upside down.

Her book had ended up with Song Cong! But he couldn’t have known, right? Wait—if he didn’t know, why would he write, I hope I, too, can linger in your memories ? Maybe he did know? But how?

Her frozen heart was suddenly doused with scalding water, leaving her unsure whether to laugh or cry.

The only certainty was that her heart was about to burst.

"It looks like..." Huan'er was still puzzling over it. At a glance, the writing resembled Song Cong’s, but he usually scribbled in haste—even his exam essays weren’t this neat. Why would he take the time to write so meticulously for a stranger?

Or maybe she’d seen it on a class blackboard before?

Qi Qi snatched the book back, cradling it against her chest like a treasure. "Let’s hurry back. We have an English quiz."

Chen Huan'er broke into a sprint. "Go, go! I forgot—I haven’t memorized the text at all."

Compared to carousels, many prefer pirate ships.

Qi Qi was one of them.

Starting slow, then faster and faster, plunging from one peak to another, vision blurring under intense weightlessness, her heart pounding relentlessly as if it might leap from her chest any second.

Fierce, daring, no turning back.

She had once longed for such a life.