Chapter 3: The College Entrance Exam

The college entrance exam—the gaokao—began with great fanfare. Before dawn broke, five large buses, each adorned with bright red banners, lined up neatly in front of the only high school in Qiongmo. This was the town’s sole high school, just as it had only one elementary and one middle school. Because of that, the children here had grown up together—playing, studying, crying, laughing—all side by side. They’d passed through babbling toddlerhood, through youthful days of innocence, and now, they stood at the first major crossroads of life.

The exam venue was located in the nearest district to Qiongmo, about a 40-minute drive from the town. To ensure the students arrived on time, the town’s leaders specially arranged for a police car to lead the way, escorting the buses and clearing the path for a smooth journey.

Unlike students in the bigger cities, these eighteen-year-olds—sheltered in their small-town school lives—had never truly faced the storms of the outside world. This was the first real challenge of independence they would encounter. In Qiongmo, most of the working-age adults had long left to earn a living in the wilderness or remote areas, hoping to secure a better future for their families. As a result, many children in town were raised by grandparents, or if luckier, by one remaining parent.

The bond between the students was unusually deep—they had grown up like siblings, with unspoken trust and mutual understanding. With the buses handling transport during the exam period, most guardians remained at home, preparing meals for their children and waiting for them to return from the testing site. Unlike the scenes outside urban exam halls, there were no anxious parents pacing back and forth here—just quiet hope and trust.

Inside the buses, some students chatted excitedly, some shut their eyes tightly in nervous silence, and others clutched their notebooks, seizing every last second to cram in formulas, recite poems, wishing they could absorb their entire notes in an instant.

Sheng Han and Xiujie sat side by side, quiet the entire ride. Once they reached the testing center, they turned to each other and exchanged a simple “Good luck,” before heading off to their respective exam rooms.

After being together for so long, a couple develops a unique kind of understanding—a silence that speaks louder than words, a bond that doesn’t need explanation.

The three-day gaokao passed like a blink for some, and for others, it felt like the longest stretch of agony they had ever endured—as if they had used up every ounce of strength they’d built over the past eighteen years.

Outside the exam rooms, there were tears, there was laughter, and there were cheers. It was as if everyone needed to release all the tension and emotion that had built up over three grueling years. On the bus ride back to Qiongmo, the air was noticeably lighter, filled with laughter and relief. But in the days to follow, joy and disappointment would be scattered unevenly—each family with its own outcome.

Maybe it was a mutual decision, or maybe it was to avoid raising suspicion—so no one would think they had chosen the same university just to be together—but in the days following the gaokao, Sheng Han and Xiujie didn’t speak once. Not a phone call, not a meeting.

During the exam period, Sheng Han had come down with a severe cold, which drastically affected her performance—especially in science, her weakest subject. Originally, she had hoped her strong English scores would boost her overall average. But the untimely illness had been the final blow. Judging by her likely scores, getting into a decent university in Yongshu would be difficult.

Still, she decided to go for it. She boldly listed a university in Yongshu as her first-choice on her application. But to be safe, she also included a backup—a school she didn’t particularly like, but that would guarantee admission.

Sheng Han had never liked physics, chemistry, or science in general. If not for being with Xiujie, she would never have chosen the science track. So when it came time to pick a major, she didn’t hesitate—she avoided all science programs and switched to the liberal arts. For her backup school, she chose one located in the south.

Migu Valley, she thought. She’d heard it was beautiful. After living so long in the arid northwest, she wanted to see the lush greenery of the south.

The results started coming in. Miraculously, Sheng Han’s file was accepted by a university in Yongshu. The moment she saw the admission pull record, her eyes sparkled with joy and anticipation for the future.

But that afternoon, while still basking in her happiness, she received a phone call—a call that shattered her dream in an instant.

It was also this very call that would completely alter the course of Sheng Han’s life.