[“Hou Zihao... you should go first.”]

She sat on the cold concrete floor of the basement parking garage, hugging her knees and crying. The chill of November was so intense that it made her feel an overwhelming sense of coldness, and with that coldness came an inescapable loneliness.

The incandescent lights in the garage flickered on and off, sometimes offering her a sliver of light, other times plunging her back into darkness without mercy. This constant flickering mirrored her future—just as unstable, just as indistinct between black and white.

Perhaps senior year was some kind of calamity for her. It felt like she had stepped into a deadly vicious cycle. Each time, she held her breath, hoping to break free, but inevitably found herself back at square one. It seemed the harder she tried, the deeper she sank into this quagmire.

What if she failed the college entrance exam again this year?

The province where A City was located faced immense competition. Every year, at least 500,000 students took the exam. What did 500,000 mean? How many people were in each score range? How many tied scores existed within each bracket? People were like ants—uncountable masses crushed together.

What would happen if she lost even one point? Her provincial ranking would plummet. Losing a single point in the high-score range might only affect a few or several dozen students, but what if she fell into the middle tier? One point could mean a thousand people surpassing her. Those thousand would snatch up the meager spots available at top universities, leaving her with nothing but obscure schools.

And then what? Where was her future? She no longer had a father, and her mother didn’t work. She needed to find a good job, earn a lot of money, and support their small family. She dreamed of buying an outrageously expensive tiny apartment in another unfamiliar city. If she couldn’t achieve all of this, there was no future to speak of.

She absolutely could not afford to fail again… She had no time, no conditions, no right.

Zhou Leqi clutched her knees tightly, curled up in a dusty corner of the basement parking lot, watching the seconds tick by. She was anxious and restless, yet her tears refused to stop. In the distance, footsteps echoed—it might have been the security guard’s third patrol. She wondered what would happen if they found her. Would they take pity and let her go home? Or would they report her to her homeroom teacher and impose some kind of punishment?

Please, she silently pleaded.

Don’t find me.

Let me hide here just a little longer…

Just a little more time, and I’ll be able to regain my strength.

Her prayer was sincere, but ultimately, she was discovered.

She had hidden in a very dark corner, yet he still found her. He arrived with slightly labored breathing, as though he had been searching for her for a long time. Now that he had finally found her, the world—and he—gradually grew quiet.

He walked over to her and sat down right next to her, seemingly unconcerned about the dust and dirt that might soil his clean clothes. As they drew closer, she felt his body warmth, which was always slightly higher than hers. On this cold night, it felt especially comforting.

He didn’t scold her, nor did he ask why she was hiding alone here. He simply took off his coat and gently draped it over her shoulders, then wordlessly embraced her.

His embrace was so warm.

Her tears had almost dried up, but in that moment when he held her, more spilled from her eyes. Though weak, she still tried to push him away and said, “Hou Zihao… you should go first.”

You should go first.

Don’t wait for me, don’t try to save me.

The ground beneath me is a swamp that devours people whole. I’m already sinking. If you try to pull me out, you’ll fall with me.

I don’t want to drag you down.

Even worse, I don’t want you to end up like me.

Her words sounded simple, but the meaning behind them ran deep. She didn’t know if he understood, but she felt him hold her tighter.

“I won’t leave,” he said softly. “I’ll wait.”

His response was as simple as hers, but it made her want to cry even more. At that moment, her emotions were tangled, making it hard to tell whether the urge to cry stemmed from gratitude or anxiety.

“Go, please,” she continued trying to push him away, nearly collapsing as she explained, “You can’t help me. You’ll just get dragged down with me…”

Why must there be one more unfortunate person among us?

She was almost drowning in grief and helplessness when suddenly, he chuckled.

“Do you weigh ninety pounds?” he asked, his tone casual despite the seriousness of the moment, carrying an inexplicable tenderness. “You’re so light—how could you possibly drag me down?”

His demeanor was relaxed, not feigned but genuinely calm, as if telling her that none of this was a big deal. He wasn’t panicked, nor did he intend to retreat.

Instead, he moved closer still, tightening his embrace and giving her all the warmth he possessed.

“I’m right here,” he told her. “Unless you leave first, I’ll stay here.”

What was this?

A threat? Or the most generous act of kindness in the world?

She didn’t know, but she felt her descent slowing. For a moment, she wasn’t as afraid of falling because she realized that beneath her awaited a tender blue ocean.

She stopped pushing him away and instead hugged him tightly, using every ounce of strength she had left, clinging to him like someone holding onto the last piece of driftwood.

Finally, she admitted, “I’m scared…”

Hou Zihao, I’m so scared.

Scared of exams, of failure, of running in circles.

His breathing was rhythmic, like the ebb and flow of tides, giving her a near-mystical sense of security. She felt him gently patting her back, and even the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights seemed softer now.

“I know,” he said.

That night, he stayed with her in the corner of the parking garage for a long time until she finally calmed down. Only then did he cautiously attempt to ask about her past.

He wanted to understand what had happened to her, but more importantly, he believed that only by voicing her pain could it begin to heal.

This time, she didn’t refuse him. She told him everything.

She told him about how her father’s affair erupted just before her first college entrance exam in 2011, about how he ran off with his mistress, about how her life plummeted from wealth to poverty, about encountering Luo Siyu’s biological father during her second attempt in 2012, about the vile conversations she witnessed, about the countless nights she spent sleepless, about how terrifying school and exams felt, about her bleak predictions for the future, about how much she hated her weak self…

She told him everything—what should have been said, what shouldn’t have been said—all of it.

In that moment, her heart felt surprisingly light, though shame and pain remained intense. Still, she felt a strange sense of relief, as if she could finally be free.

But unlike her, Hou Zihao’s heart grew heavy.

He pitied her deeply, unable to imagine how she had faced such upheaval alone years ago. Her recounting was brief and unembellished—after all, she was never one for dramatics—but even so, he could envision the devastation and helplessness of being torn apart during pivotal moments of life.

It pained him even more to hear about her sleepless nights.

He couldn’t fathom how she endured those endless, agonizing hours. He had experienced insomnia himself, though only occasionally, and even those few instances had taught him its horrors. But her? How many solitary nights had she weathered?

She broke his heart.

He took a deep breath, gripping her now-cold hand in the increasingly biting November air. “Shall we see a doctor?”

“I’ll be with you, always with you.”

“There’s nothing to fear. It’s not a psychiatric hospital—just a regular hospital. Doctors will help you; they won’t hurt you.”

“You’ve never been weak. You’re just exhausted. Exhaustion makes people sick—like catching a cold or running a fever. Being sick means seeing a doctor, taking medicine, and slowly getting better…”

The young man’s features were profound, shadows cast by the flickering fluorescent light dancing across his handsome face. His eyes sparkled, filled with tiny glimmers.

She looked at him, feeling the warmth of his palm, her gaze still clouded with uncertainty.

After thinking for a while, she asked, “… Will going there make things better?”

Will I stop being weak if I go?

Will my grades improve?

Will I stop crying?

The fragility in her eyes at that moment was so evident that it pierced his heart with unbearable pain. He didn’t fully understand depression, didn’t know how it was treated, and had no idea what recovery might look like. But he knew he couldn’t show hesitation now, or she’d only grow more afraid.

“Of course,” he replied with a smile, once again adopting a nonchalant tone. “You think this is such a big deal? I’m worried the really skilled doctors won’t even want to see you—they might think it’s beneath them.”

His playful banter somehow always hit the mark, convincing her that maybe things weren’t so serious, so dire.

She managed a faint smile, weak but genuine. After pondering for a bit longer, she finally nodded under his encouraging gaze.

“… Okay.”

By the time they left the school that night, it was already past nine o’clock. The elderly security guard in the gatehouse was asleep, and they didn’t dare wake him to open the door. So, they resorted to sneaking out by climbing over the wall.

Zhou Leqi, of course, had never done anything like this before. But watching Hou Zihao scale the wall with ease—effortlessly pulling himself up and then helping her climb over and down—was impressive. He made it look effortless.

He even boasted, teasing her, “See? I told you you don’t weigh ninety pounds. You’re lighter than your backpack.”

Zhou Leqi rolled her eyes, staring at him for a moment before asking, “How do you even know how to climb walls? And you’re so…”

…Skilled.

He flashed a cool smile, pulling her along as they walked down the empty streets at nine in the evening. “Basic survival skills, okay? Only straight-A students like you wouldn’t know these things.”

Zhou Leqi scoffed, then asked, “Did you used to climb walls often?”

“Not that often,” he shrugged. “Maybe once or twice a week. I went to a boarding school in elementary school—you couldn’t access computers without climbing walls.”

Zhou Leqi: ?

Once or twice a week isn’t considered ‘often’?

Still, this was the first time he’d mentioned anything about his childhood.

Curious, she prodded further: “A boarding school?”

He nodded. “Yeah, my parents were both very busy with work and didn’t have time to take care of me, so they sent me to a boarding school.”

Zhou Leqi had met Hou Feng before and knew he was a doctor—a profession known for its demanding hours. If his mom was equally busy, was she also a doctor? Or did she work in another field?

She thought about it but didn’t ask directly, feeling it might come across as prying. Instead, she simply hummed in acknowledgment and changed the subject.

He glanced at her sideways, smiling as he shook his head. “Why aren’t you asking anymore?”

Zhou Leqi: “Huh?”

“My family stuff,” he said, looking down at her. “Aren’t you interested?”

Zhou Leqi felt a subtle flush of embarrassment, pursing her lips. “I’m not. Don’t make things up.”

She sounded a little annoyed.

He chuckled softly, acutely aware of the emotions hidden behind her irritation. Without pressing further, he nodded good-naturedly. “Fine, I made it up.”

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly.

“Let’s talk about this next time,” he hinted suggestively. “My parents are really nice people.”