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Chapter 11: Never Changing in This Life

Hearing her name from his mouth after more than ten years gave it an inexplicable new meaning. Those two years of quietly watching his figure, silently trailing behind him through time, finally brought her in front of him—to be remembered by him.

They were standing very close. As long as she looked up, she could count every eyelash on Zhou Shubei’s eyes. The scent of sandalwood enveloped her senses, and Jian Li felt the air grow warm and heavy. Across from them, the stage lit up, and the flickering red characters reflected faintly on her face.

“No,” Jian Li answered honestly, “I’m not very good at communicating with people.”

How could I be afraid of you? I just never knew what you’d be interested in. I was afraid of offending you, more afraid you’d notice how I feel.

Zhou Shubei hadn’t expected that answer. He chuckled, tied the cord, and stepped back. “Try again.”

Performing in front of Zhou Shubei made Jian Li a little nervous, but she knew that making mistakes would only be more embarrassing. She took two deep breaths, ignored his presence, and performed the routine from start to finish according to the music. When she raised her middle finger, the index finger followed slightly, but since it was tied, it only rose a little before being pressed back.

The final movement completed.

“Exactly 0.02.”

Jian Li was surprised he had timed the interval with a stopwatch. As if sensing her confusion, Zhou Shubei showed her the screen.

“Just practice a few more times with the tie. You’ll get used to it.” He looked down. “And stop rubbing your fingers.”

“…”

Jian Li remembered her overly dramatic excuse earlier and felt a little embarrassed. “It was just that one time.”

Zhou Shubei responded just as his phone rang. His brows furrowed with a trace of impatience and annoyance.

“Need to take this.”

Jian Li nodded, “Okay.”

She watched him walk into the shadows of light. His voice was low, emotion unreadable. “What is it?”

Whatever was said on the other end, he lit a cigarette, the flame flaring between his fingers. After a couple of puffs, he let out a laugh. “Alright. Next time I’ll apply to be a criminal investigator, just so you all can save face.”

Clearly, the caller got angry. Zhou Shubei’s smile didn’t fade, but a flicker of hostility flashed in his eyes before quickly vanishing.

He hung up, lit another cigarette. The pendant on his chest pressed into his skin like a brand.

“This matter ends here. He’s your big brother, after all. I’ll handle it,” Zhou Zhenhong said, thinking he was being fair. “Tomorrow, I’ll have someone transfer some money to your account. Don’t embarrass the Zhou family again.”

Zhou Shubei bit the cigarette and sneered. The harsh drag left his throat dry. Just as he reached for water, a hand passed a bottle to him.

Jian Li saw him tilt his head back to drink. She asked, “How’s your 100-meter dash?”

Zhou Shubei raised a brow. “You want to race?”

Jian Li nodded. “There’s a physical test next week. I want to practice.”

Beicheng University emphasized a well-rounded education—academics, physical fitness, arts, labor. A failed physical test could affect graduation no matter how strong the other grades were.

Zhou Shubei capped the bottle and let out a soft laugh. “Really treating me like your personal trainer, huh, little classmate?”

Jian Li looked down, gripping her water bottle tightly. “I’ll treat you to dinner next month?”

Seeing how sincere she was about thanking him, Zhou Shubei set the bottle aside. “Just messing with you.” He stretched a bit. “From here to that white line—I’m not going easy on you.”

“No need to.”

Jian Li rolled up her pant legs a couple more times, revealing her pale ankles. After warming up, she stood next to Zhou Shubei at the same starting line.

He gave the countdown. As he said “One,” he burst forward like the wind, his arms moving fluidly with each stride.

Jian Li pushed herself with all her strength toward the finish line. Her shoes compressed the rubber track with increasing pressure. Near the end, Zhou Shubei glanced back, and right at that moment, a streetlight that had been off flickered on. The loudspeaker started playing music for night runners.

Jian Li crossed the finish just over a second after Zhou Shubei.

It had been a while since his last 100-meter sprint. Zhou Shubei brushed back his bangs and looked at her slightly flushed face. “You’re pretty fast.”

Jian Li’s lashes fluttered. Was that… praise?

Once she caught her breath, she suggested, “One more time.”

“Competitive, aren’t you?”

“I just think I can go faster.”

Zhou Shubei looked at her determined, unyielding eyes and chuckled. “Alright.”

Same distance, opposite direction.

He counted down again. On the empty track, the wind whooshed past their ears. Jian Li gave it her all, and she could see herself getting closer to him.

Nearing the finish, Zhou Shubei suddenly turned around. Coincidentally, the lyrics from Blue Bird and Flying Fish played: “Looking back, I’ve never walked far away—lingering for the one I can’t forget.”

Jian Li looked at him, too. All surrounding sounds faded. She saw herself reflected in his eyes—just her, ordinary and plain. All those times in the past she had watched him from afar, pretending to look at something else just to sneak a glance as he passed by, hoping he’d notice, and also afraid that he would.

Finally, after three years, she had closed the distance to just a meter—even if only for a moment.

Both of them were sweating after the run. Jian Li bent over, hands on her knees, panting. When she recovered slightly, she took a sip of water—small and careful, like a goldfish. Her slightly parted lips were full and pink, like a ripe peach.

Zhou Shubei’s throat itched inexplicably. He finished his water and tossed the bottle into the trash like a basketball shot.

Never Changing in This Life had finished playing. Jian Li and Zhou Shubei sat under a tree on a bench. He stretched one leg out, the other flat on the ground, eyes staring into the dark night sky.

Jian Li pulled two candies from her pocket. “They soothe your throat. Want one?”

Zhou Shubei joked, “Are you a walking treasure chest?”

She didn’t reply, unwrapped one for herself. The sweetness filled her mouth, and a pang hit her tooth.

Neither spoke, quietly enjoying the moment. Two songs later, the cheers from the basketball court also faded.

Jian Li toyed with the bottle’s label, sneaking glances at him. He had folded the candy wrapper several times. On his wrist was a wound the length of her index finger, slowly healing.

Zhou Shubei stood up. “Let’s go, little classmate.”

Jian Li followed, then decided to correct him. “Just call me Jian Li.”

Zhou Shubei rolled the candy on his tongue, the corners of his lips curved slightly. “Sure, Classmate Jian Li.”

“…”

On the day of the performance, Jian Li stood in line awaiting her turn. The event was open to the public, with school leaders and anyone else welcome to watch. She looked toward the crowd but didn’t see Zhou Shubei.

Her class performed third. After the final performance and closing remarks, military training officially ended. Some people cried, unwilling to part from their instructors.

The next day was the weekend.

It had rained all night and showed no sign of stopping. Jian Li had a tutoring interview arranged with Liu Jie. Seven subway stops, a 300-meter walk from Exit 2.

The roads were full of puddles, and loose tiles splashed mud easily. Jian Li carefully avoided them under her umbrella and arrived at a gated community called Longhu No.1.

The British-style gatehouse and white brick walls blocked out the outside world—a clear boundary of class.

The gate was locked. A security guard saw her and asked, “Who are you here to see?”

“Liu Xinlan, Building 3,” Jian Li replied.

“One moment.”

The guard called the resident to verify. Jian Li stood in the rain, her jeans dotted with mud, forming stark contrast against the pristine white tiles.

Before this, she had no real sense of wealth. She used to think those with pretty cars and the ability to eat out anytime were already rich. But standing here, the forum post that called the Zhou family the peak of Beicheng’s elite finally made sense.

“This way, please.”

The guard had confirmed and opened the facial recognition gate. “Straight ahead, Building 3 is on your right.”

“Thank you,” Jian Li said.

The area was filled with stand-alone villas—British, Italian, and most notably, a Su-style villa with white walls and black tiles.

She paused to glance at it.

A woman in a deep green qipao emerged from Building 3. Her hair was pinned up with a hairpin, face elegant. A white shawl was draped over her shoulders. Behind her, a little girl peeked out, an auntie holding an umbrella for her.

“You’re Sister Jian Li?” the girl asked sweetly. “I’m Sheng Ying, but you can call me Xiaoxiao.”

Jian Li blinked. “Nice to meet you.”

This girl was nothing like the “shy” description she’d heard.

Sheng Ying warmly took her hand. “This is my mom, Ms. Liu Xinlan. My dad’s name is Sheng Qinian—he’s at work. That’s Aunt Wang Jie. Everyone here is very nice, Sister Jian Li. Don’t be scared.”

They all laughed at her words. Jian Li greeted them politely. Liu Xinlan smiled, “Let’s go inside.”

Sheng Ying gave her a tour, showing her the upstairs study for tutoring—lined with shelves, and the view overlooked the garden and a mini-golf course.

She patted a chair and brought out her test papers, waiting eagerly.

Jian Li reviewed them. Math and writing needed work, but everything else was excellent—her English was nearly perfect.

A little genius.

Jian Li decided to start with math.

The trial lesson lasted 40 minutes. Liu Xinlan was very satisfied—Jian Li was concise, clear, and adaptable when Sheng Ying didn’t understand something.

The job was set. Liu Xinlan even doubled the original pay. They decided to start immediately.

During a break, the little girl tilted her head. “Sister Jian Li, why do you wear glasses if you’re not nearsighted?”

Jian Li was surprised. “How do you know I’m not?”

“Because your lenses aren’t thick on the sides. People with nearsightedness have thicker edges. Yours are flat—no prescription.” She even pulled out her dad’s glasses to demonstrate.

Jian Li smiled. “I like wearing them. They make me look more cultured. But you should protect your eyes. Glasses are inconvenient.”

“I will. Brother Shubei says the same,” she nodded.

Jian Li caught the name. “Brother Shubei?”

“Zhou Shubei. He goes to your school, right? He lives just up front—in that Su-style house,” she pointed out. “But he rarely comes home.”

“Why?”

“He lives alone. Oh, except for a cat named Cotton Candy,” she grinned. “It’s smart—sneaks out when he’s asleep and comes back after eating. Look, there it is.”

Sure enough, a snow-white cat leapt down the wall and headed to a pavilion where food was placed. After eating, it sat and began grooming itself, then curled up to nap.

“Let’s go play with it!” Sheng Ying tugged her hand.

Halfway down the stairs, Aunt Wang opened the door.

“Ah, little Zhou is here. I was just about to call you. Cotton Candy’s in the back,” she smiled.

“No trouble. I’ll get her,” a low, husky voice replied.

Zhou Shubei looked up—and met Jian Li’s eyes on the stairs. He raised a brow.

“Brother Shubei, this is my new tutor, Sister Jian Li—she’s your classmate, right?” Sheng Ying said cheerfully. “Before she came, he helped me with tutoring.”

Jian Li nodded politely, “Hello.”

Zhou Shubei laughed. So this girl pretends not to know him in a new setting? Fine. He decided to tease her a little. His voice was lazy, the tone drawn out, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Classmate Jian Li, I’ve heard so much about you.”

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