Always Home

The house was pitch black. Huan'er suddenly remembered her mother was on the night shift tonight.

A bowl of steamed egg custard with three delicacies sat on the table, still warm to the touch. She took a bite but found it utterly tasteless. So she poured the whole bowl into a lunchbox and stored it in the fridge—at least tomorrow's lunch was settled.

Restless and distracted, she couldn't focus on her books or homework. After pacing around the empty house a few times, Huan'er changed into workout clothes and went out for a run.

It was a habit she'd had since childhood. Whether stressed, sleepless, or frustrated, a five-kilometer run usually solved everything.

Living in the city felt like such a grievance. If she were still in Sishui, she'd probably be asleep by now. The next morning, she'd wake up refreshed, organize everyone for morning self-study, listen attentively in class, answer questions enthusiastically, joke around with her desk mate during breaks, and head to the cafeteria with four or five friends for a bowl of noodles. Every single day was happy and carefree.

People always miss the past when dissatisfied with the present and yearn for the future when discontent with the past.

Right now, she only felt nostalgia—no longing for what lay ahead.

The only difference was, if she were still in that small county town, she wouldn’t be thinking about Tianzhong High.

Wouldn’t even cross her mind.

Gain here, lose there—she felt like she was beginning to grasp a tiny fragment of life’s truth.

Her phone rang just then. Chen Huan'er stopped running and answered when she saw the familiar contact.

Jing Qichi heard her heavy breathing and let out an "Eh?" before asking, "Are you torturing yourself?"

"Running," she replied, too tired to banter. "What's up?"

"Oh, uh," Qichi stammered, "I heard from my mom that your mom's on night shift, so you're home alone..."

Huan'er understood—this was a well-intentioned check-in call. She chuckled. "Yeah, I'm right outside the hospital. The rooftop looks nice—tall and spacious."

Qichi laughed too. "Hold off on jumping. Let me warn my dad first so they can prep the rescue team."

Huan'er had already reached the edge of the neighborhood. Rows of neatly arranged dark-red buildings stretched before her. At this prime evening hour, nearly every window glowed with warm light. A sudden melancholy washed over her. "Thanks," she murmured softly.

It wasn’t all bad. At least she still had friends who cared.

With that thought, she asked, "By the way, why did you go back to school earlier?"

"Shit!" Qichi exclaimed. "Qi Qi took your physics workbook and asked me to return it. It's homework—tomorrow's lesson."

Huan'er immediately turned and sprinted home. "I'm heading back now. See you in a bit."

Nothing in the world mattered more than physics homework. Their physics teacher was a demon who would stare at students for three hours straight without food or water until they finished their assignments.

Jing Qichi waited at the entrance of her building. When Huan'er appeared, he jogged over to meet her. "If you can't finish it in time, just copy mine. Get some sleep early."

He had brought his own workbook along with hers.

Huan'er thanked him and took the workbook. "I'm fine," she assured him.

"I lost my temper today," the boy admitted, rubbing his neck. "Got carried away in the heat of the moment. Such a small thing blew up into a mess."

During the few minutes it took to walk over from his house, he had suddenly realized the consequences. It wasn’t about the gossip or the scolding from the principal—what worried him was how Huan'er would bear the brunt of it. Once word spread, all the whispers behind her back would be thrown in her face. He was afraid she wouldn’t be able to handle it.

He had let his anger get the best of him. There were plenty of ways to handle the situation, but he’d chosen the worst one—direct confrontation."You're not wrong." Huan'er gave a slight smile. "If someone talked about you like that behind your back, I'd definitely stand up for you too. And I'd be even fiercer—I'd make sure they were picking their teeth off the floor and begging for mercy."

"Alright, grandma," Jing Qichi laughed. "You're the best at bragging in the entire universe."

"Okay, maybe a bit exaggerated, but..." Huan'er looked at him. "You really didn't do anything wrong. And I'm mentally prepared for whatever comes next. I don't care."

"Fine, you're the toughest." Jing Qichi patted her head, playing the role of the magnanimous one to the end. "Still running?"

"Huh?"

"I'll go with you for a bit." He quickly added, "It's safer with two people, and I need to train anyway."

Huan'er waved him off. "I can't keep up with you."

"Who said you had to?" Jing Qichi smirked. "I'll wait for you."

"Get lost." Huan'er lifted her workbook over her head and turned back toward the apartment building. "Not running anymore. Going home to copy homework."

Jing Qichi called after her, "Call me if you go night running from now on, got it?"

Huan'er smiled and flashed an "OK" sign over the back of her head without turning around.

How strange—it was as if the trouble caused by Song Cong had to be repaid by him instead.

At least this long, grueling day was finally over.

The closed-off, monotonous environment of school was a breeding ground for rumors to spread like wildfire, and the teenagers, still unaware of the weight of exaggeration, eagerly played their part. One person's subjective guess became "I heard" in the next person's ears, and each little embellishment piled up like a tower of sand. Together, they played the righteous Fahai, pinning Chen Huan'er beneath the tower with no way to fight back.

In the end, even Qi Qi couldn't resist asking, "Did you really write Song Cong a love letter?"

It was two weeks later, during morning self-study. The classroom buzzed with noise as students covered their ears and recited from memory.

A countdown was written in yellow chalk on the right side of the blackboard—a vertical row of small numbers, the day's digit not yet erased, like a self-deception everyone tacitly acknowledged.

Chen Huan'er instinctively glanced at the numbers on the blackboard before turning to Qi Qi. "I'd need the skills for that first."

In front of her lay a Chinese diagnostic test, her essay only scoring half marks. The teacher's red comment read: Severely off-topic, words fail to convey meaning.

She didn't blame Qi Qi at all. With so many versions of the story flying around, the question was long overdue—she just didn’t know why Qi Qi had held back until now.

Qi Qi half-turned in her seat, draping an arm over the desk and using a book to shield their conversation from prying eyes. "People who don’t know better might actually think you're chasing Song Cong."

Her eyes stayed fixed on her friend, her mood akin to waiting for exam results—a mix of nervousness, fluster, and anticipation.

But Chen Huan'er was too busy wrestling with her off-topic essay to notice Qi Qi's thoughts. Scribbling furiously, she snorted and replied, "I'm not blind."

"Hey, Song Cong's a good guy."

"Fine, fine, then consider me blind, okay?"

"Heh." Qi Qi stifled a giggle, then quickly schooled her expression, realizing she'd been too obvious. She tapped the desk. "Use more parallel sentences and quotes in your essay—they're easy points."

Huan'er finally looked up, her tone pleading. "How do I stop going off-topic?"

It wasn’t the first time. Her other subjects were stabilizing, and her best scores always came when her essays scored high.

Qi Qi pouted. "How do you even manage to go off-topic?"Alright, it's like a fifty-kilogram fighter going up against an eighty-kilogram one—completely out of their league.

Whisper time was over. Chen Huan'er buried her head in her notebook, scribbling a few lines before suddenly remembering something and tapping Qi Qi on the back. "Don’t tell Song Cong about this."

"Relax, I’m not the type to stir up trouble," Qi Qi leaned back slightly. "But seriously, their class is something else. With all this commotion, they’re acting like nothing’s happening outside their bubble."

Huan'er put down her pen. "Their whole class is guaranteed to get into Tianzhong High, right?"

"Tianzhong? You really don’t get it." Qi Qi shook her head, launching into an explanation. "Their class is competing for citywide rankings. The top ten in the city get direct admission to Tianzhong’s Honor Class, and that’s basically a one-way ticket to Tsinghua, Peking University, Renmin, Fudan—"

Once again, the small-town girl Chen Huan'er felt the sting of disparity.

No matter how legendary Class One Fast Track was, she had never felt any connection to that elite group. They were like a different species from another world, each following their own paths without interference. But now, she envied them—so much it bordered on jealousy, even resentment at life’s unfairness. The bar she had to leap with all her might to reach was nothing more than a stepping stone for others. What hurt even more was realizing that such stepping stones only existed for those who already knew exactly where they were headed.

The taste of chasing after something was bitter, and on this bright, sunny morning, Chen Huan'er felt as if she was staring straight at the fate she’d been desperately pursuing.

A wave of sadness washed over her. She even began to wonder—what if I hadn’t been born in Sishui?

If my starting line had been the same as theirs, would I be sitting in that top-floor classroom right now? And if I looked up then, what kind of vast, clear future would I see?

Qi Qi waved a hand in front of her face. "What’s with the spacing out?"

The bell for the end of morning self-study rang. Some students slumped over to catch up on sleep, others got up to fetch hot water, and a few gathered in small groups to chat. During the break, the classroom grew oddly quiet.

"Nothing." Huan'er shook her head, then asked her friend, "What do you want to do in the future? I mean, after all the studying."

"I want to be a writer." Qi Qi burst out laughing at her own answer. "Imagine my kid taking an exam and doing a reading comprehension section—boom, it’s all stuff their mom wrote."

Jing Qichi, overhearing, chimed in, "That’s the most diabolical life goal I’ve ever heard."

Qi Qi grabbed a textbook to swat at him, but he caught it and held on, deliberately teasing her by not letting go.

"What about you?" Huan'er turned to him. "Play soccer?"

He suddenly released his grip, causing Qi Qi to stagger backward from the force she’d been using. The boy smirked but instinctively reached out to steady her arm, answering offhandedly, "Probably."

Huan'er had no energy for their antics and pressed on, "What does Song Cong want to do?"

"Lao Song?" Jing Qichi noticed both girls staring at him and shrugged. "He can do whatever he wants. Why don’t you ask him after school?"

Chen Huan'er’s mood hit rock bottom. Even her closest friends, who she hung out with every day, had their own plans. Was it really because she was from a small town that her horizons were so narrow?

But then she immediately despised herself for thinking that. Sishui was her hometown, filled with so many cherished memories. How could she turn into an ungrateful wretch, blaming her roots?

Jing Qichi and Qi Qi exchanged a glance. They assumed her silence meant she was thinking about Song Cong and the unresolved drama.

Qi Qi pinched her nose playfully. "Stop overthinking. Just walk your own path and let others talk."Huan'er glanced at the two of them, aware of their misunderstanding but unsure how to explain. She could only nod in response.

The class bell rang, and everyone in the classroom returned to their seats.

The English teacher stood at the podium. "Take out yesterday's homework. For the first part, the multiple-choice questions, does anyone have any issues?"

A hand went up. "Teacher, question five."

"This question tests attributive clauses," the teacher said, turning to write on the blackboard. Then, noticing the countdown number in the corner, she picked up the eraser, wiped it off, and wrote a new digit. "Let's review attributive clauses..."

A new day had begun.

A paper ball landed on Huan'er's desk. She turned to look behind her—Jing Qichi, keeping an eye on the teacher, raised his eyebrows, signaling her to open it.

Only three words were written inside: Don’t overthink it.

She understood what he meant. Picking up her pen, she wrote a reply: I won’t.

The teacher continued lecturing, leaving no chance to pass the note back.

So Huan'er casually tucked the paper into a page of her book, then subtly tapped her chair twice in a rhythm toward his direction.

No, I won’t.

She knew Jing Qichi would receive the message.