Jing Qichi called while Chen Huan'er was next door watching the elderly folks play poker. His tone was noticeably displeased. "Sharing joy is better than keeping it to yourself—have you forgotten that already?"
Huan'er was thoroughly enjoying the game, and his frustration only added to her delight. "Who is this again, sir?"
Jing Qichi rolled his eyes in exasperation and tossed the phone—on speaker—to Song Cong beside him. "You talk to her. I might say something I regret."
"Huan'er," Song Cong called out with a chuckle, "when are you coming back?"
"Do I have to?" Chen Huan'er let out a dramatic sigh. "I'm having... way too much fun here!"
Song Cong laughed. "You barely replied to any messages, so I thought you were still adjusting. Is Sishui really that great?"
They had a QQ group chat of three, mainly used to coordinate who needed to leave early for duty, whose place to eat at when parents worked night shifts, and for Song Cong to post answers to unsolvable homework problems. After returning to her hometown, Huan'er had been resistant to socializing, responding to her friends' check-ins days later with a terse "Still alive, don’t worry." Over time, the group fell silent, with Jing Qichi and Song Cong giving her all the space she needed.
"It is," Huan'er replied, then hurriedly interrupted when she noticed her grandfather about to make a wrong move. "Play this one—he’s out of pairs."
Jing Qichi overheard and yelled, "Chen Huan'er, are you messing with people again?"
"Buzz off," the girl shot back.
The cheer in her voice ignited a hidden urgency in Song Cong’s heart. He leaned closer to the phone. "Huan'er, I... we could come to Sishui to see you?" He paused for half a second before adding, "Would that be okay?"
"You guys want to come?" Chen Huan'er was floored that her city friends would even consider visiting her small hometown. She immediately abandoned the rest of the poker game and sprinted home. "Hold on, let me check the bus schedule."
"No need, I know it." Song Cong had long memorized the timetable for buses between Tianhe and Sishui.
Huan'er was overjoyed. "When do you want to come? I’ll meet you at the station."
"Don’t bother, just send us the address. We can—" Song Cong was cut off as Jing Qichi snatched the phone. "Hey, Huan'er, could you let Qi Qi know too? She’s been MIA lately. If she’s free, we could all go together."
"Qi can’t make it." Huan'er deliberately teased. "You’ll find out when school starts."
Her best friend had gotten double eyelid surgery after receiving her exam results, sending Huan'er a photo of her swollen, blood-streaked eyelids. Chen Huan'er’s jaw nearly hit the floor, and she couldn’t help but exclaim, "You’re so trendy!" It was the only word she could think of—until she heard the price, at which point her reaction shifted to, "You’re so rich!" Qi Qi had sworn up and down that it would look amazing, though the cost was two cuts and a recovery period that kept her from being seen in public.
No matter how much Jing Qichi pestered her, Chen Huan'er kept her lips sealed. Surprises needed the right atmosphere, and she was determined to build it up.
Song Cong, however, had no curiosity about the matter. He had only tentatively asked, never expecting Huan'er to agree so readily. Now, his mind was elsewhere. His gaze landed on the calendar, and an idea struck him. "Will your place have room for both of us? We could watch the opening ceremony together tomorrow."
He wanted to see her, to know if she was truly okay, to confirm she had really let go of the school selection issue. The sooner, the better.
The Olympics opening ceremony was at 8 PM—staying overnight made perfect sense.
"Tomorrow?" Huan'er sounded surprised.
"Yeah, tomorrow." Song Cong didn’t want to wait any longer. His voice was firm.Huan'er guessed that perhaps the Song Family Parents were both on night shifts again, and her friend was too eager to share the joy of this milestone event. Suddenly playing the host, she said, "No problem. My home is always open, Sishui welcomes you."
"Deal," Song Cong replied calmly, though his heart was already racing toward that unknown small town.
The next afternoon at five, the two boys arrived in Sishui.
As soon as he got off the bus, Song Cong began looking for the bus stop. He had checked in advance—taking Bus No. 3 for seven stops and then walking five hundred meters would lead them to Huan'er's home. The route wasn’t complicated.
Jing Qichi, on the other hand, was completely unprepared. Since childhood, he had always followed Song Cong, sheltered from wind and rain. Entering unfamiliar territory, he curiously surveyed the surroundings and soon noticed the middle school across from the station. "Look, that’s probably Chen Huan'er’s old school."
It was summer break, and the school’s iron gates were tightly shut. The elderly guard in the booth was dozing off.
Though it was his first time seeing it, Song Cong felt an inexplicable familiarity. He carefully took in every detail of the school and couldn’t help muttering, "How did she get to school?"
"Definitely by bike," Jing Qichi chuckled. "With her riding skills, it must’ve taken years of practice."
A vivid scene unfolded in Song Cong’s mind—a girl in uniform nimbly weaving through bustling streets, sometimes chatting and laughing with friends, other times anxious about being late. The wind lifted her hair, revealing to the world her bright, confident face.
Song Cong knew why he imagined this. He knew all too well.
"Let’s go," he patted Jing Qichi’s shoulder. "The bus is coming soon."
"Wait, let me take a photo."
"What for?"
"Huan'er’s always bragging about how great Sishui is and how big her school is," Jing Qichi pressed the shutter. "I’m saving this to prove her wrong."
Huan'er’s grandparents welcomed the two city boys with the highest hospitality—fresh cucumbers with yellow blossoms, juicy tomatoes with sandy flesh, and plump strawberries with a fragrant aroma. Song Cong repeatedly thanked them and urged them not to go to any trouble, while Jing Qichi ate with such relish that beads of sweat formed on his nose.
Huan'er teased, "Are you at an all-you-can-eat buffet?"
The boy shot back, "How many free meals have you mooched at my place? Forgotten already?"
"Song Cong didn’t say anything. Why are you making a fuss?"
"Me? Who started this?"
"Enough," Song Cong intervened, nudging his friend. "Cut it out."
"Again?" Jing Qichi fumed, swallowing a whole strawberry in one gulp. "Lao Song, how many times is this? Even if you don’t side with me, at least side with reason."
"You’re reasonable? Jing Reason?" Huan'er burst into laughter. "Oh, ‘Jing Li’—like the lucky koi fish? Think you’re a mascot now?"
Song Cong shook his head helplessly. They missed each other when apart, but the moment they met, the bickering began. These two were truly impossible to manage.
"Huan'er," Grandma called from the kitchen. "Bring me a scallion."
"Grandma, do you need help?" Song Cong stood up and headed inside.
Huan'er skipped the steps, jumping directly from the one-meter-high concrete terrace into the garden. She plucked a large scallion and was about to vault back onto the terrace when Grandpa, who had just returned with deli food, hurried over from the gate. "No jumping! You’ll fall."
Huan'er giggled, waiting for Grandpa to approach before handing him the scallion. She then linked arms with the old man and climbed the steps one by one.
"If you don’t behave, I’ll tell your dad," Grandpa grumbled. "How many times do I have to remind you to be careful?""Yes, yes." The girl nodded eagerly, ushering the elderly man inside before settling back onto the bench on the veranda.
Jing Qichi witnessed the entire scene clearly.
He wanted to share it with Song Cong but realized his friend wasn’t around. Shaking his head in disbelief, he turned to Huan’er. "Impressive skills."
A one-handed vault over a meter-high obstacle—Chen Huan’er, barely of average height, made it look effortless. Even some boys would struggle with that level of difficulty.
Add to that her remarkable strength—running several kilometers at night was no challenge for her—and Jing Qichi couldn’t help but marvel. "Chen Huan’er, your physical fitness is insane. You must’ve been born strong as an ox."
"What’s it to you?"
"Ox-like."
"Shut up."
"No, you’re a real ox."
When it came to banter, with the right person, every day felt like Children’s Day.
The opening ceremony was a spectacular display, leaving the audience exhilarated and awestruck. The fifteen-year-olds were glued to the TV, marveling at the grandeur and picking out their favorite athletes, completely unaware that they were witnessing history in the making. After it ended, the elders retired to rest, but the three young friends, still buzzing with excitement, sat on stools in the courtyard, chatting under a sky full of stars. The chirping of insects, the rustling of the peach tree in the corner—everything seemed alive in the night breeze. Song Cong gazed at the thriving garden and sighed, "They’re so well-tended."
The soil nurturing these plants wasn’t the artificial pellets of a balcony pot but something fine, soft, and dense—solid earth, the foundation of all life.
And their caretakers were the people of rural Sishui, who treasured the land like gold.
Yet in this flashy, profit-driven society, where everyone scrambles to get ahead, the guardians of the land have become marginalized, swept aside by the tides of time.
Fortunately, Chen Huan’er’s generation still carries memories of them. In the future, they might only exist as stories in textbooks.
Leaning lazily against the wall, Jing Qichi remarked, "If I were you, I wouldn’t transfer schools. This place is so comfortable."
He remembered the security guard at the Family Compound gate with the red armband, the dusty soccer field at the elementary school with its netless goalposts, the smell of disinfectant on the way to his mother’s office through the side building—these were fragments of his childhood, revolving around the red-bricked Family Compound. Yet, though Chen Huan’er came from a small town, her childhood had endless starry skies, winds from every direction, and the freedom of creatures that flew or crawled at will. The world she saw was truly vast.
"I don’t get a say," Huan’er replied flatly. "You’d have to be my parents to discuss this."
Becoming a city dweller mid-journey was already set in stone, and there was no turning back.
Seeing her somber expression, Jing Qichi waved a hand. "Call me Dad."
"Annoying jerk," Huan’er shot back. Turning to the other side, she saw Song Cong reclining comfortably on a rocking chair, eyes closed. She nudged him. "Can’t you just get into the Honor Class directly?"
Song Cong slowly opened his eyes. "I could, but I won’t."
"Why?" the ordinary-class duo asked in unison.
He laughed at their more-enthusiastic-than-the-Emperor expressions. "Just don’t want to."
"Why?" Huan’er and Qi Chi exchanged glances—a rare moment of agreement.
Song Cong scratched his head. "Can’t be bothered with the Competition." After a pause, he added, "I want to go to med school."
Huan’er’s voice was full of sympathy. "You… might want to break that to Uncle Song later. Survive one year at a time.""Early or late, there's no way out," Jing Qichi suggested. "Might as well cook the rice first and make it a done deal."
Song Cong watched their half-serious, half-joking expressions and chuckled to himself, then nodded with exaggerated solemnity. "Makes sense."
If word got out, it would probably make headlines in the Family Compound—Song Cong, the top-scoring son of the Song family, had gone completely mad with studying. Instead of taking the broad and smooth path, he insisted on charging headfirst into the gates of hell to study medicine.
The latter half of summer was spent watching one sports competition after another. Huan'er added Qi Qi to their small group chat, and the four of them shared their thoughts daily on QQ, filling the room with the constant "ding-ding-ding" of notifications. A week before school started, they bid a reluctant farewell to their grandparents and returned to Tianhe, where their first order of business was to visit the double-eyelid surgery patient.
Qi Qi looked like a completely different person. Though tiny bumps were still faintly visible on her eyelids and they remained slightly swollen, her eyes seemed a full size larger, making her whole face even more striking. Huan'er circled her, inspecting from every angle, then clapped her hands in admiration. "Absolutely stunning!"
"I just hope the swelling goes down soon, or I won’t dare show my face," Qi Qi pouted. "My whole summer was wasted on these eyelids."
"You really had the guts to do it. What if it had gone wrong?"
Qi Qi fell silent for a moment before suddenly turning serious. "I just wanted to be prettier, better... otherwise..."
The thoughts of a teenage girl were always hard to voice. She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
Huan'er was puzzled. "Otherwise what?"
"Otherwise how could I face being in the same class as you!" Qi Qi laughed, then excitedly shared the good news. "We’re in the same class this semester!"
"Really?" Huan'er nearly lifted her friend off the ground in excitement, but then a thought struck her. "Wait, has the class assignment list been released already?"
"They’re finalizing it now, but it’s not public yet," Qi Qi said, tilting her head. "My dad had dinner with the principal last week and specifically asked for us—you, me, and Jing Qichi—to be placed in a better class together. Shouldn’t be a problem."
Huan'er listened quietly. She didn’t know what kind of background her friend had to casually dine with the principal, nor did she know whether to feel happy for having such a loyal friend or sorry for those who didn’t.
Qi Qi’s tone dipped slightly. "But Song Cong can’t join us. He’s the top scorer in the entrance exam, so he’s automatically placed in the Honor Class."
"He’s not going to the Honor Class," Huan'er told her honestly. "Song Cong said he doesn’t want to. He wants to study medicine."
Truthfully, she didn’t really understand what made the Honor Class different or why it conflicted with medical school. These were questions beyond her scope, and she didn’t need to figure them out.
"Are you sure?" Qi Qi’s eyes lit up again.
"Absolutely."
Earlier that year, an older sister in the Family Compound had wanted to apply to medical school after her college entrance exams. Her parents couldn’t talk her out of it, so they gathered every doctor in the compound to persuade her—representatives from internal medicine, surgery, obstetrics, pediatrics, even radiology—each taking turns to dismantle her resolve, ruthlessly crushing her dream in its infancy.
So for kids like them, saying you wanted to study medicine was practically a death wish. If Song Cong had spoken up, he must have made up his mind—because who would joke about something as serious as life and death?
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