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Compared to the first semester of sophomore year, the second semester felt rather uneventful.
On one hand, there were fewer activities and holidays. On the other, with senior year looming, the school had stripped away most elective classes, replacing them with core subjects.
Such a hectic and monotonous schedule left little room for fun.
For Lin Zhan and her peers, the imminent challenge wasn’t the college entrance exam but the art unified exams in December.
It was already April—time was running out.
Lin Zhan was confident about passing, but a higher score would strengthen her competitiveness.
So she stayed vigilant, maintaining a sense of urgency.
Her goal was Wei University in City Z, ranked among the top three for art programs nationwide.
If she could boost her art score by ten points and her academic score by thirty, admission would be within reach.
What appealed to her most was Wei University’s prestigious art program. Secondly, it was far from City W—away from Lin Zhengping’s constant scrutiny.
Lin Zhengping wouldn’t be able to meddle in her competitions there.
If their relationship improved, she could always visit during breaks.
On May 4th, Youth Day, the school finally organized an event.
As the notices were handed out, the class monitor grumbled, “I’d rather have half a day off than sit through some lecture. The school’s so stingy!”
Lin Zhan asked, “What’s the event?”
“A lecture,” the monitor said. “I hate lectures. Hours of motivational nonsense. Pure torture.”
Lin Zhan thought for a moment. “Are seats assigned?”
The monitor shrugged. “Dunno. Probably just a general area, free seating.”
On Youth Day, the monitor’s prediction came true.
Each class was assigned a section—Class 2 behind Class 1, Class 3 beside Class 1, Class 4 behind Class 2, and so on.
Lin Zhan arrived early, securing seats at the edge of Class 3’s section, right next to Class 1.
She saved two spots and texted Shen Xi:
[Saved seats for you and Zhang Ze.]
As the event began, students trickled in.
Bored, Lin Zhan flipped through an art book until Shen Xi arrived.
Her gaze lifted instinctively, spotting him instantly in the crowd.
Once Shen Xi took his seat, whispers erupted among the girls nearby. A bold one even sat next to Zhang Ze.
Lin Zhan glanced over, then returned to her book.
The speaker soon took the stage.
After a brief warm-up, Lin Zhan slumped in her chair, drowsiness creeping in.
She nudged Sun Hong in front of her.
“Got any water?”
Sun Hong spread his hands. “Nope.”
She leaned back, whispering to Zheng Yimian, “Let’s sneak out later for a bathroom break and grab water?”
Before Zheng Yimian could reply, another voice chimed in.
“I have some.”
Lin Zhan turned. “You brought some? What is it?”
Shen Xi: “Coffee.”
Zhang Ze had dragged him to buy it earlier.
Lin Zhan’s eyes lit up. “Perfect, I’m exhausted… Are you drinking it now?”
Shen Xi shook his head, handing her the can after popping the tab.
Lin Zhan pulled the tab open and took a sip.
Zheng Yimian, jotting notes, asked, “It’s almost May. Training camp soon, right?”
Lin Zhan paused. “Yeah, when?”
Zheng Yimian: “July or August.”
Training camp meant intensive art practice—no academics until the unified exams.
Some would stay at school, while others enrolled in external studios.
With approval, they’d be exempt from school during those months.
Sun Hong overheard and twisted around. “Staying or going out?”
Lin Zhan: “Probably out.”
Sun Hong: “Found a studio yet?”
Lin Zhan: “Narrowed it down but haven’t decided. You?”
Sun Hong: “Dunno. Studios here seem similar.”
Lin Zhan grinned. “Why not City Z or X? They’re training hubs with top instructors.”
Sun Hong: “You going?”
Lin Zhan teased, “Maybe abroad.”
Sun Hong saw through her. “Yeah, right,” he scoffed, turning back.
Shen Xi remained silent.
The coffee perked Lin Zhan up.
She set the empty can aside, fiddling with the detached tab.
This brand’s tabs separated completely from the can.
She stripped off the base, leaving just the ring.
As the speaker droned on, she slipped the ring onto her ring finger.
Shen Xi, witnessing this: “...”
Sun Hong, hearing something amusing, turned to share it with Lin Zhan.
The bright lighting made the “ring” glaringly obvious.
Sun Hong: “What’s that on your finger?”
Lin Zhan decided to test Shen Xi’s reaction, as her friends had suggested.
“Don’t you know?” She wiggled her finger. “It’s a love token.”
Sun Hong nearly shoved his face through the chair gap.
“From who?”
Lin Zhan smirked. “Guess.”
Sun Hong’s eyes darted to Shen Xi. “Even an idiot could tell.”
“Then why ask?” Lin Zhan flipped the sharp edge toward Sun Hong, startling him.
“Lin Zhan,” Shen Xi tapped the armrest. “Take it off. It’s dangerous.”
Reluctantly, she removed it. Gathering courage, she ventured a playful probe.
“So just toss this ‘love token’ back in the can?”
Shen Xi, missing her subtext, nodded. “Don’t wear it.”
She was too fidgety—might cut herself.
Lin Zhan turned, dropping the tab into the can with a clink.
She shook the can lightly.
Pursing her lips, she blew her bangs aside and reopened her book.
________________________________________
During evening self-study, the teacher handed out test papers.
Finishing early, Lin Zhan had ten minutes to spare.
Propping her chin, her thoughts drifted to Li Chuci.
Li Chuci, her middle school friend, had mistaken a boy’s friendliness for affection. After repeated confessions post-graduation, she was consistently rejected.
Their last meeting was in high school. The boy traveled across districts to see her, arriving three hours late to their 5 p.m. meeting.
Li Chuci’s voice had been raw with tears when she called Lin Zhan:
“You think he takes me for granted, right? If it were someone he liked, he wouldn’t make me wait like this?”
Lin Zhan gripped the phone, unable to offer even hollow comfort.
An hour after hanging up, Li Chuci quietly changed her signature:
—[You really didn’t say goodbye. You said farewell.]
Lin Zhan’s heart sank. She called back immediately.
Li Chuci answered, tone forcibly light but voice still hoarse.
“Zhanzhan, I’m done waiting.”
Lin Zhan: “...What happened?”
Li Chuci’s words carried a weight of resignation and despair.
“I always thought if I tried hard enough, we’d work out. You know how even fools stop scratching lottery tickets after seeing ‘thank you’? Why was I so stubborn? Why couldn’t I stop?”
“I thought if I tried harder, maybe I’d find a surprise. Maybe the next words would be ‘thank you, you won’?” Her voice broke. “But I scratched to the end. There’s nothing left.”
“I’m giving up on Zhang Muzhi. He’ll never love me.”
That day, City W’s drizzle fell unpredictably—light, intermittent, as if mourning Li Chuci’s unrequited pursuit.
Three years of her youth spent loving someone, only to end like this—no resolution, no closure.
In loving him, she’d known joy and fulfillment, her heart racing at his attention. But the pain was equally real.
At the crossroads of ambiguity, one path led to mutual affection, the other to solitary longing.
Lin Zhan absentmindedly clicked her pen, thinking of herself and Shen Xi.
Their relationship had progressed, moving toward something undefined. But without clarity, she felt adrift.
Perhaps, as Sun Hong said, she needed a catalyst—to lay bare their feelings, whatever the outcome.
Whether Shen Xi reciprocated or not…
She might get her wish or become the next Li Chuci.
But she needed an answer.
Zheng Yimian nudged her. “What’s on your mind? Class is over.”
Lin Zhan snapped back, smiling faintly as she packed up.
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