Chapter 2

The lights go out, and the movie begins.

After the characters “Director: Chen Huaixu” fade away, the scene cuts to the school auditorium. A boy in a blue-and-white school uniform, panting, shouted:

“Chen An Classmate, can I copy your gaokao choices?”

A chorus of jeers erupts, and the principal impatiently glares at him:

“Qi Huai, are you crazy? Can someone with three hundred points and someone with six hundred points fill out the same application?”

Laughter fills the theater, but I can no longer hold back the tears in my eyes.

Everyone else is watching a story; only I am looking in a mirror.

—

At eighteen, in that age of confusion and innocence, the fluttering of liking someone is like the summer breeze tinged with the scent of locust blossom brushing against the heart.

Just like his name – Huaixu.

I secretly flipped through materials, trying to learn everything about him: Huaixu, in ancient times, referred to June, and also to summer.

All the gentleness in the world is nothing but spring willows swaying and dyeing the air with floral fragrance, the cicadas of Huaixu chirping deep into the alleys.

I think, if youth had a sound, it would be the reading voices in the classroom and the cicadas singing outside the window.

I quietly calculated, with the monthly seat rotation, how much longer until we would become desk mates.

At seventeen or eighteen, secretly liking someone dazzling, you can’t help but feel incredibly inferior.

I envied Chen Huaixu. He was like a little sun, radiating the confidence nurtured by a wealthy family.

At that time, I had an older sister and a younger brother, the least favored child, wearing my sister’s hand-me-downs, so self-conscious I didn’t dare lift my head.

He didn’t like studying, always copying my homework, turning the square root of 2 into 52, the “Ottoman Empire” into the “Ultraman Empire,” making people laugh and cry at the same time.

He liked to carry a camera and film vlogs, recording everything around him, and often said inexplicable things that made my face flush, then mischievously pressed the flash, leaving me both angry and flustered, not wanting to talk to him.

But his seat was inside, and every time he would swagger back at the very last second before class started, then deliberately raise his voice next to my ear and say:

“I’m back~”

I would say nothing, quietly moving forward, but he would purposely get stuck behind me, a little troubled:

“Qi An Classmate, I can’t get in.”

The student behind us would curiously ask him why he always said “I’m back” every time.

He’d raise his eyebrows, rest his chin on his hand, tilt his head to look at me, and mutter softly:

“I’m practicing in advance.”

The cicadas sang in waves that summer, the fan overhead whirred, and during history class, I listened intently while he slept soundly.

The teacher, filled with righteous indignation, lectured about the Eight-Nation Alliance’s invasion of China, emotions running high, slapping the desk.

Chen Huaixu suddenly woke up, a red mark pressed onto his face, drool at the corner of his mouth, dazedly looking at me and calling out:

“Qi An Classmate…”

Looking at his expression, I couldn’t help but laugh.

He paused for a moment, then suddenly reached out and touched my hair, and I was so startled by his action that I froze.

He plucked a locust blossom that had fallen into my hair, placed it on my textbook, curled his lips, and said in a very low voice:

“Qi An Classmate, your smile is really beautiful.”

For a moment, I was both scared and nervous, my face flushed all the way to my ears.

In a panic, I picked up my pen to take notes, trying to hide my embarrassment.

He kept his head turned, looking at me. Blushing, I reminded him:

“Pay attention in class, Chen Huaixu…”

He smiled, and for once, obediently replied: “Okay.”

The pure white locust blossom on my textbook gave off a faint fragrance, my heart fluttering restlessly, unable to calm down for a long time.