At the start of spring, the school held an open class evaluation. The little old man (their teacher) didn’t seem particularly invested, having only mentioned it once during a class meeting. It wasn’t until one afternoon when English class ended ten minutes early and a group of administrators flooded into the classroom, with the little old man standing at the podium in a full suit, that everyone realized this was an important event that could earn the teacher some prestige.
Chen Huan’er had initially adopted an attitude of detached attentiveness, but halfway through the class, the homeroom teacher suddenly called on her to explain her problem-solving approach. In the more than half a year since transferring, she could count the number of times she’d been called on with one hand.
Was it because of her recent improvement in exams?
She secretly gloated. The question wasn’t difficult, and she answered quickly—only to be interrupted by the little old man after a few sentences. “What?”
Huan’er repeated, “cos…”
The room fell silent.
“Ah,” the little old man suddenly laughed, correcting her mid-chuckle. “Cos, cosine.”
Now the students laughed. The observing administrators, grade leaders, and other teachers—familiar and unfamiliar—joined in, filling the classroom with laughter.
Only Chen Huan’er couldn’t laugh. Because she finally understood why the homeroom teacher had asked her to repeat it, why he had corrected her, and why everyone was laughing.
She had pronounced the function’s name as she always did—"kao sai ying"—but that was the heavily accented way the teacher from Four Waters had taught her.
Funny, rustic, even baffling.
The homeroom teacher motioned for her to sit down. “The approach was completely correct, very good. Don’t worry, math exams don’t test pronunciation.”
Another wave of laughter swept through the classroom. The small-town girl’s unexpected outburst had turned the open class into a highlight.
Even after class, as observers filed out, some still chuckled while mimicking her pronunciation.
Huan’er knew no one meant harm. If anything, she might have unintentionally scored points for the little old man.
How amusing. What should have been as smooth and predictable as a highway had been disrupted by an unexpected outsider.
She just felt a little embarrassed, and a little lost.
During the New Year, she had returned to her hometown, visited relatives, attended a class reunion, and gone shopping arm-in-arm with childhood friends. Everyone had remarked how her accent now sounded like a city girl’s. But thrown into a crowd of real city folk, she was still the girl from an obscure little corner with a Four Waters accent. Chen Huan’er had become a misfit, neither here nor there—yet she had no idea when or how it had happened.
Because of that open class, both Chen Huan’er and her hometown, Four Waters County, gained sudden notoriety. During breaks, people would dramatically recount the "kao sai ying incident" from Class 3. Classmates would bring her English words or phrases to demonstrate the "authentic Four Waters pronunciation." Even the red blessing bracelet on her wrist became a peculiar identifier—"Do all babies where you’re from wear these?"
Qi Qi, ever perceptive, quietly asked her during lunch break one day, “Does it bother you when people talk like this?”
“No,” Huan’er said firmly. “Once the novelty wears off, it’ll stop.”
“Yeah, no one means any harm.” Qi Qi patted her chest. “Thank goodness no one brought up the Flower of Four Waters.”
“Pfft, minor fame isn’t worth mentioning.”
No one means harm. Chen Huan’er repeated those five words to herself—a perfect, all-purpose excuse.A week later, during the evening self-study session, Song Cong was nowhere to be found for some reason. Normally, the four of them would walk home together. After waiting for fifteen minutes, Qi Qi couldn’t hold back any longer. “I really have to go. If I’m late for tutoring, the teacher will definitely call my mom.”
Since Class One Fast Track was a restricted area and inconvenient to enter, Huan’er nodded. “Go ahead, ride carefully.”
“I’ll walk you,” Jing Qichi volunteered as the gallant escort. “With how frantic you are, we might not see you tomorrow.”
“No need.” Qi Qi quickly pushed her bike forward, genuinely in such a hurry that she forgot to lift the kickstand.
“Hey.” Jing Qichi caught up, hooking the kickstand up with his foot before turning back to shout at Huan’er, “Wait for Song Cong. If anything happens to you, my mom might just quit her surgery.”
His voice still lingered, but he was already gone.
“Okay,” Huan’er murmured to herself. With major exams approaching, the graduating class’s evening self-study had been extended until 8 p.m. To be honest, she was more worried about something happening to the “pretty boy” Song Cong than to herself.
The sky was dimming, and late-staying students were trickling out of the teaching building. Huan’er leaned against a pole at the corner of the bike shed, stuffing her earphones in. She pressed the buttons on her old-fashioned Walkman, but the display remained lifeless. The batteries were running out faster these days.
She left the earphones in anyway, a silent signal that she didn’t want to be disturbed.
After waiting a while longer, two girls walked into the bike shed, chatting and laughing. Huan’er paid no attention until she realized they were talking about someone she knew.
“You must’ve seen her. Short, with a bob cut, looks kinda rustic.”
“Oh, I know—that girl from Class Three who’s from the countryside. She’s chasing Song Cong? Don’t joke.”
“She’s glued to him every day! Walking to and from school together, sometimes even sitting with him at meals. She’s got serious skills.”
“Who told you that?”
“No one needed to. The whole grade knows.”
“Come on, I don’t believe Song Cong would ever go for her.”
“Exactly. She should look in the mirror and see what she’s worth.”
“Hahaha, at best, it’s overestimating herself. Really, she’s just shameless.”
Word for word, their mocking laughter reached Chen Huan’er clearly, standing just two meters away.
As they prepared to leave, Huan’er turned her face away.
Suddenly, a dull thud sounded—the outermost bike was kicked over with force. The domino effect took hold, and the entire row of bikes toppled one after another.
The two girls froze. Chen Huan’er and they simultaneously identified the culprit: Jing Qichi, who was walking toward them.
“Watch your filthy mouths,” Jing Qichi said coldly, stopping in front of them. “Spreading rumors without knowing anything—are your brains waterlogged?”
“What’s your problem? What class are you from?” one girl snapped, about to step forward before the other quickly pulled her back. They whispered to each other.
Huan’er was too far to hear, but Jing Qichi clearly caught it. He tilted his chin up. “Yeah, that’s me. I walk with them every day too. Got a problem with that?”
“What’s it to you? If you want to play hero, go somewhere else.” The two girls tried to sidestep him to get their bikes.
“Don’t talk about Chen Huan’er like that, got it?” Jing Qichi snapped, hurling the soccer ball in his hand at them. The girls, with their backs to him, shrieked as the ball narrowly missed them, grazing their clothes before rolling away.
Students who had just exited the building crowded at the entrance, watching but not daring to intervene."Keep spouting bullshit and I don't care if you're male or female." Jing Qichi pointed at the two girls, his gaze blazing.
Huan'er suddenly snapped out of her daze, wanting to step forward to prevent things from escalating. But just as she took a step, she saw Jing Qichi raise his hand slightly in her direction.
He knew her position and sent a clear code word: Don't move.
She had no choice but to stay put, watching as the two girls silently hurried away. Once they were gone, the students who had been blocking the school building entrance scattered—some sprinting toward the school gate, others pushing their bikes past the scene without pausing, and a few bold ones stealing glances at Jing Qichi before pretending not to notice and walking away quickly.
Like a summer downpour, the bike shed soon returned to silence.
Huan'er sighed, quietly picked up the soccer ball, then stared as Jing Qichi slowly walked over to her. She directly grabbed the bag from his shoulder, stuffed the ball inside, zipped it up, and gave it a gentle pat. "Thanks," she murmured.
There were so many things she wanted to say, but she couldn't find the words right then.
Chen Huan'er—once outstanding, cheerful, and unanimously elected class monitor—had one day been described in such vile terms by strangers.
Or perhaps this was how people here truly saw her. She just hadn't known it.
"Don't cry," Jing Qichi said, shifting his bag to his back. It was so dark now that he couldn't be sure, so he pinched her cheek to check.
Soft. No tears.
He'd spoken too soon. The moment he confirmed it, a big teardrop landed on the back of his hand.
Jing Qichi sighed. "Why even bother with them?"
The more he said, the more aggrieved Chen Huan'er felt. It was precisely because she hadn't bothered with them, hadn't said a word, that she felt so wronged to be talked about like this.
Jing Qichi yanked her headphones off. "They died this morning—I heard it. Stop pretending. Are you that spineless? If someone talks shit, talk shit back. If that doesn't work, throw hands. If you can't win, call for backup. Hiding and making yourself miserable solves nothing."
"I was afraid I'd hurt them," Huan'er said honestly. For a brief moment, her fists had clenched tight, and she'd genuinely worried about how to handle things if she actually injured someone.
But to Jing Qichi, this was pure stubbornness. He wiped her tears away. "Alright, stop crying. When you're friends with someone, you're bound to get caught in the crossfire sometimes. Back when I played soccer, I got into a fight, and afterward a bunch of guys came to the Family Compound to jump me—but they ended up beating up Song Cong instead. Song Cong was getting stitches in the ER while my mom nearly performed a craniotomy on me outside." Noticing her stare, he glanced toward the building entrance and added, "True story. He still has a scar behind his ear. My point is, don't let this gossip make you treat Song Cong differently later—"
"I know," Chen Huan'er wiped her face. She understood what he meant.
"Anyway, just..." Jing Qichi wasn't sure what else to say. Seeing her so dejected made him feel a little guilty, so he pressed her head against his chest and gave it a couple of comforting pats. "Ah, I should've just let you leave first."
Hearing this, Huan'er couldn't hold back another sob. People would say whatever they wanted—was it better to know or not to know?
She couldn't tell. She just felt wronged.
"Alright," Jing Qichi could feel her trembling with quiet cries, but his vocabulary had never included words to comfort girls. Scrambling, he managed, "Just treat it like they farted in your direction. Who wouldn't shed a few pearls after getting hit with that kind of toxic gas attack?"
Huan'er burst into laughter through her tears. This guy—with his metaphors and references—really was trying his best.She straightened up, wiped her tears, and nodded at him.
"Huan'er, Qi Chi," Song Cong called out their names as he ran from the school building. Before even reaching them, he began apologizing, "Our class had a mandatory test during evening self-study, and they wouldn’t let us leave early. You must’ve been waiting forever, right? Sorry, sorry. I’ll treat you both to a nice meal tomorrow."
"You better make it up to us properly," Jing Qichi said, pulling Huan'er closer. "Especially to our dear Huan'er here."
"What’s wrong?" Song Cong asked, noticing her expression. His voice was full of concern. "Did you get cold waiting so long? Are you freezing?"
"No," Huan'er waved him off, avoiding his gaze as she turned to push her bike. "How was the test?"
"Same as usual." Song Cong still wasn’t reassured. He dropped his backpack to the ground and started taking off his school jacket. "Here, wear another layer. It’ll be chilly on the way back."
"I’m really not cold." Huan'er stopped him, forcing a smile. "Let’s just go. I still have homework to finish."
"Let’s go, let’s go." Jing Qichi swung his leg over his bike, one foot on the ground as he called to his friends. "First time being the last ones to leave the whole school."
Seeing that Huan'er seemed fine, Song Cong picked up his backpack. "We’re not the last ones. My whole class is still here."
"What are they doing? Camping out overnight?"
"Checking answers," Song Cong shrugged. "Against mine."
"Keep showing off," Jing Qichi snorted. "Just wait till you have to fix all those mistakes later."
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