The provincial middle school football tournament concluded with Tianhe School's team securing third place, finishing just behind the city's Football Academy and the neighboring sports school. Jing Qichi became the first non-professional academy player in history to be named the tournament's best player.
Previously, the school team had never made it into the top three. Morning announcements, celebratory bulletins on the notice boards, and interviews on the school radio—overnight, Jing Qichi became the widely known "Light of Tianzhong."
For the school, this was a prime example of well-rounded education, embodying the ideals of moral, intellectual, physical, and aesthetic development. For the PE teachers, it was an unexpected stroke of luck, like a divine monkey king leaping out of a stone crack or manna falling from heaven. As for the boys on the team, who sweated daily and treated the ball as dearer than their own mothers, the glory on their records aside, they could finally hold their heads a little higher in front of those who mocked them as "nerds who can't even play football."
Amid all the excitement around him, Jing Qichi remained unusually calm. After returning, he spent two days catching up on homework without stepping onto the field once. When recognized on his way to the cafeteria, he exchanged only a few words before moving on. Even when Lao Xu teased before class, "Looks like our class has produced another star," and the boys hollered in response, he didn’t seize the moment to show off. Though visibly pleased, his excitement was far from what one might expect.
Of course, such subtle differences were only perceptible to those closest to him.
On the way to school one day, Huan'er asked him, "Did you get hurt again?"
"No," the boy replied. "Why do you ask?"
"Because you're being way too low-key," Song Cong chimed in. "Are you sure everything was fine during the matches?"
"Oh." Only then did Jing Qichi understand their concern. With a nonchalant tone, he said, "Everything was fine—better than expected, actually." He thought for a moment before admitting to Song Cong, "There's a gap between me and those guys from the Football Academy, and it’s only going to get wider."
"What’s the main difference?"
Song Cong was always analytical.
"Instinct," Jing Qichi answered vaguely. "They all have this natural feel—knowing exactly when to run to which spot, how to position for a corner kick, even committing tactical fouls at just the right moment. Throw me in there, and I might not do any better."
The training environment at Tianzhong was worlds apart from the Football Academy’s—that was an undeniable fact.
Song Cong understood immediately and reassured him, "They have professional coaches guiding their tactics. The gap in resources is just reality."
"Yeah."
"That instinctive feel—you’ll have to develop it yourself over time."
"Mm."
"It’s not necessarily a bad thing," Song Cong said, looking at him. "Now you know where you stand. Treat the experience as a learning opportunity."
"I’ve been thinking I should focus more on targeted training from now on."
Huan'er, only half-following, interrupted their serious morning discussion with a cheerful, "Hey, Qi Qi’s birthday is coming up. Should we get her a gift together?"
"Sure, I’m in," Song Cong said, then smirked at Jing Qichi. "Unless someone wants to prepare something special on his own."
"Ugh, it’s so hot," Jing Qichi deflected, quickening his pace.
Another summer had arrived.
The results of the semester’s final monthly exams were out. Song Cong remained first in the grade, Huan'er hovered in the middle as usual, Jing Qichi stayed near the bottom, and Qi Qi, for the first time ever, topped the grade in both Chinese and English.
It felt like a declaration—just as the subject-streaming decision loomed ahead, she was pulling away from them.
For some, it was a choice fraught with hesitation. For others, it was liberation, a relief from an unbearable weight.
Huan'er, Qi Qi, and Jing Qichi belonged to the latter group. Song Cong was indifferent, but since he aimed to study medicine, he would inevitably choose the science stream.
The scent of farewell began to drift in the air—like the faint, wispy smoke from a village hearth, light and elusive, appearing and disappearing without warning.Huan'er was absent from the morning exercises because Lao Xu had called her in for a talk. When she returned to the classroom, Jing Qichi was hunched over his desk, furiously copying Song Cong's notes.
Special Enrollment Students in sports occasionally had morning training sessions, so the school allowed them to skip the exercises and use that time to catch up on studies. Jing Qichi had hardly attended any exercises this year, firmly holding onto his privilege.
Without looking up, the boy asked, "What did Lao Xu say to you?"
"Just about the exams," Huan'er sat down beside him, "and incidentally asked about my preference for class assignments."
Her grades were too stable—though this meant she had never slacked off, and stability wasn’t a bad thing, Lao Xu insisted that one must push themselves harder to break out of their comfort zone. Staying there was no good.
"Class assignments, huh." Jing Qichi put down his pen. "Any plans for Qi Qi's birthday?"
"Qi invited us to her place for dinner, along with some other friends," Huan'er told him. "I’ve already thought of a gift. Song Cong has no objections, but you—"
"Me neither, you decide." Jing Qichi glanced around before leaning closer. "I’m planning to record a video with everyone saying 'Happy Birthday' or something. Time’s tight, so you’ll have to help me."
So he had already prepared something.
Huan'er agreed. It wasn’t reluctance—she would gladly put in a hundred times the effort for Qi Qi’s birthday—but something felt off.
Because when it had been her birthday in winter, Jing Qichi hadn’t even given her a gift.
"Uncle Chen has a small DV, right? Figure out how to use it later—just make sure it records. I’ll use a digital camera, and we’ll have Song Cong edit them together. He picks things up fast anyway." The boy stood up and divided the classroom into sections. "From here, you take the left, I’ll take the right. Doesn’t matter if it’s one person or a small group. The rule is: don’t get caught, or there’ll be no surprise."
Jing Qichi was never the meticulous type. Except on the court, he rarely planned anything with such clarity and precision.
A certain thought stuck in Huan'er’s throat like a fishbone, impossible to ignore. She steeled herself and asked, "You like Qi, don’t you?"
Yes or no.
She thought she knew the answer, but a stubborn part of her refused to let go until she heard it from him.
The broadcast exercises had reached the final cooldown. The classroom was silent, a light breeze lifting a corner of the pale blue curtains. Even the sunlight seemed curious about the answer, eagerly slipping into the space shared only by the two of them.
The second hand on the clock to the right of the blackboard ticked away as usual—one, two, three, four.
Jing Qichi looked at her and said nothing.
He… had admitted it.
Huan'er couldn’t describe how she felt. It was a bit like swimming back to shore from the sea, only to be knocked down by a sudden wave just as she was about to stand up. The unexpected force sent her tumbling onto the sand, her mouth filled with grit and the briny taste of seawater. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "Why?"
"Why…" Jing Qichi repeated the question. Right, everything had a 'why.' Because they’d been in the same class all along, because she was talented and brilliant, because she was pretty with a ponytail that suited her, because she was good-natured and never truly angry—were these reasons? Were these why he liked her?
The question caught him off guard. Before this, he had never even considered the reason.
"Kids these days, always asking why." He ruffled Chen Huan'er’s hair—her prickly mushroom hairstyle was so fun to mess with.
The exercises ended, and the hallway buzzed with noise again.
Huan'er smoothed her hair. "You should study hard for the finals this time. Qi doesn’t need you to go easy on her—she’s got what it takes."
"I know.""Let me play with your new phone."
"Trying to embarrass me, huh?"
Huan'er couldn't help but recall Lao Xu's words earlier—class division was a watershed moment, and the competition would only get fiercer. But Jing Qichi's current preoccupation was clearly a distraction. She felt inexplicably annoyed and a little worried, so she said, "Don’t you have a Plan B? What if you really can’t play football anymore?"
The moment the words left her mouth, she realized they were too harsh and quickly backtracked, "I mean, just in case. Of course, I hope you become famous, ride the wave of success, amass a fortune, and reach the pinnacle of life."
"Wow, little flatterer." Jing Qichi ruffled the mushroom’s fur again, smoothly dodging the question.
Of course, he knew there was a "just in case." But right now, he refused to make even the slightest preparation for that possibility—because he feared that preparing for it might make it come true.
Qi Qi’s birthday fell on a Wednesday. Fifteen minutes before dismissal, Liao Xinyan stood at the podium. "Sorry to take up a few minutes, but the school needs us to watch a video."
The USB was plugged in, the projector screen rolled down, and the lights went off.
Qi Qi, still resentful about the class monitor incident, didn’t even look up.
But the next second, a voice rang out: "Qi Qi, happy birthday."
Familiar faces flashed across the screen one after another. Someone said, "Your essays are amazing. I heard you want to be a writer—it’s a long road, but keep going!" Another chimed in, "Look, everyone, this is the legendary luxury boys’ bathroom. Qi Qi, we even exposed our secret hideout just to keep this a surprise. Don’t cry when you see it!" Yet another added, "Next semester, you’ll be in the humanities class, so we won’t see each other as much. To all our humanities-bound brothers and sisters, remember to visit often. The door to Class Five is always open."
Huan'er said, "My Qi, meeting you was my luck."
Song Cong said, "Qi Qi, may you overcome all obstacles and build your own towering success."
Jing Qichi said, "Happy birthday."
Everyone was saying, "Happy birthday."
Qi Qi cried. By the window, another girl bound for the humanities class also had red-rimmed eyes. Growing a year older meant stepping closer to independence, to adulthood. Division into classes and streams meant moving closer to dazzling dreams—yet at such a moment, someone was crying.
They were laughing in the video, but in the classroom, they laughed through tears.
Sadness seemed to be the most contagious of all emotions. Thinking of growth, of separation, of grades that just wouldn’t improve, of turning around only to find that someone no longer there—everyone seemed to have a reason to cry.
Director Fu’s voice crackled over the PA system: "Class Five, what are you doing? Turn off the projector now. School isn’t over yet, you know."
A boy in the back row immediately covered the camera with his uniform. The teenagers shifted from tears to laughter, the noise growing even louder.
At sixteen or seventeen, they were learning restraint—unaware that it was a hundred times harder than any unsolvable physics problem.
Qi Qi wiped her tears and stood up. "Thank you, everyone. This is the most unforgettable birthday of my life."
Having lived only a fraction of their lives, of course everything was the "most." The best friends, the worst cafeteria food, the most anticipated gifts, and the moments they most wanted to hold onto.
Someone called out, "Qi Qi, are you really choosing humanities?"
"Yeah." The girl sat back down, nodding at the questioner. No matter how much she didn’t want to let go, reality was reality. She couldn’t change paths just because of present attachments—that wouldn’t be rational, nor mature.
In the future, Qi Qi thought, I’ll meet all of you—meet you—again in a better place.After school, when only a few students remained in the classroom, Huan'er retrieved the gift she had hidden behind the storage cabinet all day. "This is from the three of us. Didn't you always want to learn the ukulele? If you don't have time now, you can learn later."
Qi Qi was moved once again. "Was the video your idea too?"
Huan'er glanced at Jing Qichi, who kept nodding at her, so she could only let out a tiny "Mhm."
Qi Qi hugged Huan'er tightly, planting a firm kiss on her right cheek. Then she released her and wrapped her arms around Jing Qichi, cheerfully saying, "Thanks for all your hard work!" Finally, mustering up her courage, she gave Song Cong a quick hug—a classmate's hug, one of friendship and gratitude. "Thank you," she said.
Huan'er rubbed her cheek. "That was my first kiss."
Jing Qichi picked up Qi Qi's backpack and tossed out a casual remark, "Dummy, only a kiss on the lips counts as a first kiss."
OpenNovel