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Chapter 24: Against the Night

Zhou Shubei used private chat.

Jian Li thought something had happened:
[Jian Li: What’s going on in the dorm?]
[Zhou Shubei: Mm.]

Mm???
What does “mm” mean?

Jian Li had always been the best in language class, but now she found herself unable to comprehend:
[Jian Li: Is it about the rehearsal?]

The chat showed he was typing, but after a couple of seconds, it disappeared again.

After a while:
[Zhou Shubei: Have you set up campus internet yet?]
[Jian Li: No.]

She didn’t use the computer much, usually downloading videos at the cafeteria using the free Wi-Fi. After buying the computer, she hadn’t touched the money left on that card.

[Zhou Shubei: Since I gave you that card, use it when you need to. Don’t suffer unnecessarily.]
Her fingers paused on the keyboard:
[Jian Li: Okay.]

The next day, Jian Li set up the campus internet. Tan Xueying dragged her out shopping, saying they needed new outfits for the performance.

Their program had passed selection and was scheduled last.

“We’ll be performing in front of the entire school! We have to look amazing—even if it’s freezing, we have to look good. I don’t want to look like a bear in the promo video,” Tan Xueying said, holding a dress up to Jian Li, then putting it back. “Let’s make Zhou Shubei see a brand new you.”

After much deliberation, they finally picked a pale moon-colored dress.

“This one’s perfect for you,” the saleslady said with a smile. “You have such a slim waist and graceful figure, plus your fair skin means you can pair it with anything. And it’s unique—won’t clash with others—and perfect for galas and parties.”

The saleswoman’s flattery didn’t stop.

Jian Li looked at herself in the mirror. The dress was fitted at the waist, with butterfly decorations at the shoulders—elegant and simple.

It looked beautiful.

So this was what wearing a dress felt like.

Her closet had always been filled with jeans and T-shirts. She had never worn a dress. As a child, she’d admired others wearing pink dresses with butterfly clips, their wings colorful and fluttering as they walked—so vivid and alive.

She’d stared in envy, finally working up the courage to ask Zhang Wenxiu,
“Mom, that butterfly—”

“Stop bothering me!”
She was cut off. Zhang Wenxiu glanced at her irritably from her card game, “Go ask your dad.”

Jian Li looked over at Jian Zhiguo, drinking at the table, face flushed. When someone nudged him, he didn’t explode like he did at home. He just smiled as if nothing happened.

“Aww, little Jian Li looking for her dad?” another woman smiled and turned to Jian Zhiguo, “Hey Old Seven, your daughter’s looking for you.”

Jian Zhiguo was the seventh child, with six older sisters. Everyone close to him called him “Old Seven.” People outside always said he was easygoing, not petty.

A far cry from how he was at home.

Without even glancing at her, he replied, “Ignore her. Probably saw someone with something and wants it too. Can’t spoil kids.”

That woman looked Jian Li over again, “In that case, no, you really can’t spoil her.”

Without saying a word, Jian Li was labeled as greedy and spoiled.

Zhang Wenxiu never bought her dresses. To save trouble, she’d just get oversized T-shirts and shorts. The shoulders would slip constantly, the shoes never fit right. One time, someone stepped on her shoe during P.E. and she had to run barefoot, her sock turning black with dirt. It took forever to wash out—and she still got scolded.

Back in the store, the salesperson and Tan Xueying kept complimenting her in the dress. Tan looked at her, giving her the final say,
“Li Li, what do you think?”

Jian Li stared at herself in the mirror. The dress she didn’t get at six had finally come to her twelve years later.

It was affordable, and wearing it wouldn’t embarrass the team on performance day.

“I’ll take this one.”

She bought the dress using the card Zhou Shubei gave her, but also transferred some of her own money out and kept a record.

---

In December, Beicheng officially entered deep winter.

The Level 2 Computer Science and English Level 4 exams were close together. Jian Li spent every day either in class or studying. In the evenings, she commuted to Jingnan Hospital—her days were packed.

Tan Xueying hadn’t seen her for days.

“What’s Jian Li up to lately? She’s like a ghost—never at meals,” Song Lang asked Zhou Shubei during lunch. “Hey Zhou, maybe you should ask her.”

Tan Xueying, about to say something, held back and looked at Zhou Shubei too.

Zhou Shubei didn’t even glance up, “Exams.”

“But she’s been going off campus every night. I’ve seen her taking the same bus route, rain or shine,” Song Lang guessed. “You think she’s dating someone?”

Zhou Shubei paused mid-napkin tear, leaned back lazily, and said, “You’ve got her on WeChat. Ask her.”

Song Lang replied, “She won’t tell me. She seems gentle, easygoing—but she actually keeps her distance from people.”

Zhou Shubei smirked but said nothing.

Tan Xueying stepped in, “She’s not dating anyone.”

Song Lang: “You sure? What if she just didn’t tell you?”

Tan Xueying rolled her eyes and stuffed a chicken drumstick in his mouth, “Not possible.”

After their meal, Tan Xueying grabbed a milk tea and messaged Jian Li:
[We were just talking about you at dinner. Song Lang thinks you’re dating someone. I cleared it up for you.]

At that time, Jian Li had just come out of the traditional medicine shop. Her handmade sandalwood incense was finally coming together—just in time to package it for New Year’s.

She got on the bus, ready to rest, when she saw Xueying’s message.

She hadn’t told anyone about the incense project.
[Thanks.]

[“Already a Mature Adult” (Xueying): Did Zhou Shubei message you?]
[Jian Li: No. Why?]
[“Already a Mature Adult”: I’ve got a guess. Not sure yet. I’ll tell you when I know.]
[Jian Li: Okay.]

---

Winter days were short, nights long. Time flew by in the busyness, and soon it was New Year’s Eve.

Fog blanketed the sky. Christmas trees had been taken down. Each class dragged chairs into the auditorium, everyone bundled up with just their eyes showing.

The venue had a festive feel. The art building’s first floor was converted into a backstage area. Jian Li changed into her dress, put on a coat, and sat in front of the mirror for makeup.

Student club members were doing the makeup, and the room was loud and bustling. Jian Li clenched her fists, rehearsing her expressions and moves over and over. It was her first time performing in front of such a large crowd. Her heart pounded; her palms were sweaty.

“You don’t need eye makeup. It’ll just take away from your natural charm,” the makeup girl said, leaning back and thinking. “Got contacts? Don’t wear those big glasses on stage. You’ve got great features—just some lip color will do.”

She picked a soft lip color and applied it.

Tan Xueying, all dolled up, came over and gasped, “Li Li, you look stunning!”

Jian Li’s features were naturally beautiful. Normally hidden behind large black frames, they looked merely pleasant. But now, with her face revealed—she was breathtaking, like a masterpiece that had just been completed.

The soul had returned.

Tan Xueying dramatically clutched her chest, “Shame I’m not a man!”

Jian Li laughed, “You’re even prettier.”

Xueying wore a light blue mermaid dress, her black hair pinned in a bun with a decorative stick—like a mermaid surfacing from the deep sea.

Xueying giggled and linked arms with her, “We’re going to steal the show and become campus legends tomorrow.”

Jian Li smiled lightly, putting on her glasses again.

The wait was long. Before the third-to-last act, she went to the bathroom. On her way out, she heard two girls touch up their makeup in front of the mirror.

“So, what’s it like partnering with Zhou Shubei? Is he as good a singer as people say?” one asked.

Jian Li waited for the water to warm, lathered soap, and replied calmly, “Yes.”

The program list had been made public. Once confirmed, no changes could be made. Everyone knew Zhou Shubei was performing, so naturally, Jian Li’s name was also known. She’d heard the whispers—both good and bad.

“Strange. He never used to join these events,” one girl said casually. “I remember the art department’s chair wanted to team up with him. He just said he couldn’t sing and turned her down. Now he’s doing a duet? Guess anything can happen if you wait long enough.”

Even without looking up, Jian Li could feel their eyes on her.

She didn’t react. Finished washing her hands and left after drying them.

Outside the dressing room, Zhou Shubei had arrived—black jacket and pants, leaning lazily against the wall. Song Lang stood across from him, chatting and giving him a subtle signal.

Zhou Shubei turned, lips curling slightly, “You really do look good.”

His one line sent Jian Li’s carefully steadied heartbeat into chaos.

---

“After that elegant and romantic dance performance, get ready to turn up the heat in this cold weather! Next up is… Since Childhood, I Had a Dream!”

Tan Xueying muttered, “We really should’ve picked a better name.”

Song Lang didn’t mind, “It’s straightforward. People get it right away.”

The four of them waited in the wings. Zhou Shubei looked at Jian Li, “Nervous?”

Jian Li nodded.

He gently adjusted her slipping coat, smiled, “I’m here.”

She looked up—his dark eyes reflected two tiny versions of her. He smiled easily, handed her a mic, eyebrows lifted,
“Let’s get soaked.”

The host stepped off. Xueying led the way, followed by Song Lang, Zhou Shubei, and Jian Li.

The audience was a sea of heads. Jian Li gripped the mic tightly, taking deep breaths.

They nodded to each other. A konghou (Chinese harp) started the melody.

Jian Li sat on a high stool, tapping her foot:

Fate laughs at me for being a foolish dreamer,
With naive courage I face the world.
The world turns me into a tragic figure—
But I will find another dream in return.

She and Zhou Shubei divided their lines clearly, uniting in the chorus.

When Zhou sang “It should shine,” the lights changed. They stood up together:

Call me crazy, call me hurt—
Let me carry ten million tons of weight.
Let me kneel, let me crawl—
But my burning heart won’t stop beating.
I will fight against the night,
Even if I can’t see tomorrow.
No rain, no rainbow—
Let me be soaked before I become a hero.

The drum thundered like a storm, while the konghou soared like a phoenix through the skies, howling against the rain, wings soaked but unyielding.

Zhou Shubei was the storm, breaking free from darkness. His voice carried defiance and power.

Time mocks me as a mere insect—
How dare I shake the heavens and earth?
It robs faces of innocence,
But never the fire in the eyes.

With a hand in his pocket, his final note felt like a flood crashing through mountains—ready to perish if it meant going out with glory.

He looked at Jian Li. They stepped closer, locking eyes:

Call me crazy, call me hurt…

Each verse grew more powerful. The lights circled around them, fading the rest of the world into shadow. It was just them—Jian Li’s nerves melted away in the music.

They were each other’s only warmth in a world that never fit.

She finally understood why they say songs have life.

They heal, they comfort, they empower.

The drums surged like unstoppable waves. The phoenix roared, burning itself to be reborn.

The crowd waved silver light sticks, singing along. Light spread from them, illuminating the path ahead.

No matter how long or wild the night—they would fight it.

Jian Li and Zhou Shubei took two steps forward. Countless glowsticks formed a galaxy before them, shining into her eyes.

Suddenly, she thought—

Why cling to the past?

Why punish herself for his mistake?

She had left that suffocating place. No more tiptoeing, no more fear of saying the wrong thing.

This escape, called freedom, had cost her enough.

Why shouldn’t she enjoy the reward?

As the chorus roared, Jian Li, her chest rising with the desire to break free—

Lifted her hand, and removed the glasses from her face.

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