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The smell of iodine lingered in the air, and the backstage was eerily quiet.
“… I could have done it myself.”
Yin Mengxi’s voice was soft as she looked at Xiao Zhi sitting beside her on the prop sofa.
It was a long sofa with a strong Republican-era vibe, rented recently to serve as the living room set for Ye Manor. Now they sat together because he was treating the cut on her right index finger from a vase shard. He seemed familiar with the theater, having fetched the first-aid kit from the storage room. The light blue plastic box looked too modern against the Republican-style sofa, but he fit perfectly. She even imagined him wearing one of the backstage costumes—a dark indigo robe that would surely look good on him.
“Let me do it,” he said without knowing her thoughts, gently applying iodine while speaking. “I startled you earlier.”
How could it be his fault? Clearly, it was her carelessness. Yet he gracefully took responsibility.
“No,” she tried to shift the blame back. “I was distracted and didn’t hear you call me…”
He didn’t reply immediately, focusing on treating her wound. The iodine felt cool on her skin, and his hand holding hers was slightly cool too, while her palm grew warm and later even sweaty—she wondered if he noticed.
“You should indeed be more careful,” he finished applying iodine and bent down to take out a band-aid. “Why pick up those shards with your bare hands?”
He was naturally suited to be a teacher—his casual words carried weight. She felt reprimanded, stiffening her back instinctively.
“I’m sorry,” she began apologizing. “I’ll be more careful next time.”
He raised an eyebrow and smiled, like a gentle breeze rustling through tree branches.
“What are you apologizing for?” He carefully applied the band-aid, his movements delicate. “I told you not to be so formal.”
She loved seeing him smile—it made her heart flutter slightly. Yet she was afraid to look, fearing she couldn’t suppress her growing feelings.
“Not…” She lowered her head.
He sighed, seemingly helpless. After finishing the band-aid, he released her hand, and the coolness immediately dissipated, leaving only the heat of her sweaty palm.
“Why didn’t you leave earlier?” He bent down to pack the first-aid kit, casually asking. “Did they ask you to stay and clean up?”
“No,” she replied. “I was about to leave but saw the mess and decided to tidy up a bit.”
He nodded but still seemed concerned. After standing up, he asked again, “No one bullied you into staying, did they?”
… Perhaps he suspected she was being forced to clean as a form of bullying.
“Definitely not,” she quickly explained, feeling a bit offended by his assumption. “We’re all college students. Who would bully someone like that…”
He didn’t respond, his expression noncommittal. A moment later, he glanced at her sitting rigidly, more disciplined than a middle schooler.
“… You’re too well-behaved.”
She blushed at his soft sigh.
“‘Well-behaved.’”
Her heart raced at just that one word. Though many had praised her for being obedient and a good student before, she’d never reacted this way.
He noticed her blush, her earlobes turning a faint pink, reminiscent of that rainy night last semester when she secretly went out to buy him an umbrella. The water stains on her sleeves upon returning were similarly subtle, unassuming, and quiet.
Just one glance—he was as quiet and reserved as she was. She watched him stand up, place the first-aid kit on a nearby table, and slowly roll up the sleeves of his light gray shirt.
“Senior, what are you doing...?” Yin Mengxi stood up, puzzled by his actions.
“Aren’t we cleaning up?” His tone remained calm. “Let’s do it together.”
In reality, his “together” wasn’t truly “together.”
Her wound was small and already treated, not hindering her ability to work. Yet he insisted she sit on the sofa or simply gather her things and return to the dormitory, while he alone tidied the chaotic backstage.
Restless, she couldn’t bear to leave his side, so she trailed behind him like a shadow. Spotting a light task she could handle with one hand, she quietly helped, partially hiding her actions. Occasionally, while picking up shards, he glanced at her, allowing her to continue as long as she didn’t overstep.
This...
… Could it feel a little like being lovers?
Naive girls often have fanciful thoughts, worsened by the quiet space fueling such desires. Her tasks brought her closer to him, eventually moving directly beside him to watch him clean up, her hands folded together, doubly hot and sweaty.
“Why didn’t you leave earlier?”
She boldly initiated conversation, braver than ever before.
“I left a bit late and happened to see you,” he replied without looking up, using old costumes to wrap the pile of shards.
This wasn’t the answer she sought. What she really wanted to know was simple: What was his relationship with Tang Fei?
They clearly weren’t together now, but what about the future?
How did he view her? Would he like his childhood friend?
Did he know what happened today? How would he judge right and wrong?
And earlier, when he went to the dressing room—what did he do there?
Comfort her? Console her? Hold her hand? Even… embrace her?
See? What an untrustworthy person she was, claiming to have only one question yet spawning countless others.
But she didn’t dare ask them outright, instead vaguely probing, “Sister Yunqiao got hurt. I wonder if Sister Tang Fei is the same… Do you need to accompany her to the campus clinic?”
—A bold question.
Perhaps even unprecedented.
She couldn’t believe she dared ask such a thing, her heart sour like swallowing an entire lemon, simultaneously terrified and self-loathing. She found her own question absurd and greedy, deserving a scolding.
And him?
Perhaps he discerned the complex emotions behind her question. He was intelligent, and her attempts at concealment weren’t particularly skillful. That forgotten label on the umbrella months ago had revealed enough. Maybe he’d known her thoughts for a long time.
“She has many friends with her,” he cautiously answered. “There’s no need for another friend to accompany her.”
“Friend.”
She confirmed he used that word. An ordinary Chinese term suddenly sounded incredibly sweet. The lingering rain in her heart turned into boiling water, bubbling furiously, almost scalding her.
“Oh,” she lightly rubbed the edge of the band-aid on her finger, struggling to contain her excitement. “I see.”
—But was silence useful?
Her eyes were already bright, like spring rain washing over them. The lovable pink returned to her cheeks and earlobes. She truly wasn’t good at hiding these secrets; unless she lowered her head, anyone could see right through her.
… Truly too well-behaved.
His gaze lingered longer on her face, a peculiar atmosphere subtly spreading. She wanted to hide, yet didn’t, ultimately falling straight into his deep, handsome eyes—the natural trap of a striking face.
“Thud.”
In 2012, Xiaohongding hadn’t been renovated yet. The wooden floor backstage occasionally creaked without anyone walking on it. Those few decibels shattered the misty, spring-rain-like ambiance completely.
They averted their gazes, unsure who moved first. Lowering her head, her heart pounded wildly, louder than any old floorboard. She feared he might hear it.
“Could you pass me that bag?” He coughed, breaking the silence. “It’s behind you.”
The heat on her face hadn’t subsided, but she quickly snapped back, nervously responding, “Okay,” and handed him the plastic bag. He took it with the same hand that had treated her wound moments ago and thanked her.
“… You’re welcome.” Her voice was even softer.
An hour later, the backstage was mostly cleaned up. Yin Mengxi inventoried the broken items and made a simple record, planning to report it to Yunqiao for the props team to replace or rent again.
They exited the theater together. Outside, the rare sunny day lifted his spirits. Smiling slightly, he asked, “You seem quite familiar with stage management work?”
“Not really familiar…” She touched her nose, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I’ve learned a bit from the seniors. Still getting used to it.”
“Hmm,” he acknowledged, then asked, “Do you enjoy doing this?”
She blinked, thinking, then happily nodded, her eyes still shining. “Yes, it’s interesting. Completing it should be very fulfilling.”
He smiled, genuinely happy for her, his voice warm. “That’s good if you like it.”
She couldn’t resist such tenderness. The roller coaster, out of commission for a semester, suddenly roared back to life, throwing her skyward. For a moment, she felt like the happiest person in the world—or at least, someone who could become the happiest.
“But still, balance your energy. Don’t let extracurricular activities overly affect your studies,” he reminded her, both a senior and a teacher. “You’re only a freshman. Finding direction in your studies is most important.”
Hearing this, she eagerly nodded, fearing he might think poorly of her as a student. She debated telling him her GPA of 3.86 from last semester but decided against it, thinking it too deliberate.
“I will definitely study hard,” she declared earnestly, like a model student proving herself to a teacher. “I’ll read diligently, write papers seriously, and prepare for exams.”
After a pause, her small thoughts peeked out again. She stole a glance at him, her voice softer. “… I’ll also visit the library often.”
At that moment, they walked along the tree-lined path outside Xiaohongding. The spring breeze was warm, and the rare sunny day was bright. She was dazzled by the sunlight, unable to confirm if a strange smile flickered in his eyes. She only heard his gentle response—
“That’s good.”
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