The final joint exam of their second year ended, and everyone packed up their things and walked out of the school gates. It felt like they had just fought a long battle; everyone’s face showed signs of fatigue, and the evening sunlight was beautiful yet desolate. The so-called summer vacation was only half a month long, but for them, it was enough to get a good night’s sleep to prepare for the third year.

The holiday passed quickly, and when they entered the school again, the class sign had been changed to Grade 3, Class 3. Some students, in order to better discipline themselves, voluntarily applied to stay at school. Some girls even cut their long hair short to save time on washing and combing.

But on this day, as she passed by the next class, she sneaked a glance at Han Chao’s seat, only to find it empty, with not even a single book on the desk.

She immediately called Zhao Nanzhuo out to ask about it. With a helpless sigh, Zhao Nanzhuo dialed Han Chao’s home number and learned that Han Chao had injured his leg while playing basketball a few days ago and had to rest at home for a week. Han Chao’s parents even made sure to thank Zhao Nanzhuo for his concern.

When Qianye heard the news, she was stunned for a moment. Zhao Nanzhuo shouted, “Last time I got injured too, even had stitches, and you acted like nothing happened, forcing me to take out the trash… How is this fair?!”Qianye didn’t bother responding to him. The bell for class rang, and she went back to her classroom. The high school curriculum was very intense, and missing even one or two classes made it hard to catch up later.

Thinking that Han Chao wouldn’t be coming for a week made Qianye a little worried. However, with his intelligence, he’d probably still be able to top the class. She thought she might be overthinking it. The books said that when you love someone, you find their clumsiness endearing. When you don’t love someone, you think they’re clever and can handle everything without worry.

However, Qianye still quietly made extra copies of the notes every night—one for each subject. They were neat and tidy, with key points marked in red. The high school workload was heavy, and after completing her study tasks each night, Qianye was already exhausted. Yet she still insisted on spending two extra hours organizing notes for Han Chao.

On Friday, Han Chao finally returned to school. After the school bell rang, Qianye took the initiative to wait near the next class. When Han Chao met her gaze in the crowd, it seemed like he understood something and walked toward her, flashing a smile as if they hadn’t seen each other for a long time. Qianye waited until the crowd thinned and then handed him the six notebooks she had prepared. Even though it was a cloudy day, Qianye could feel her ears burning.

“These are the notes since the beginning of the semester, um, I’m giving them to you.” She spoke almost shyly, her voice trembling a little, as if guilty, though Han Chao didn’t notice her emotions.

He looked at the neat notes and said, “Thank you so much! When I was at home, I kept having nightmares about falling behind in the lessons, haha.” Han Chao’s voice was full of genuine joy, and even the cloudy day seemed to brighten.

They rode home together.

He would never understand that these six notebooks were carefully chosen by her. The slightly yellowish paper, with sentences printed at the top of each page, was something she hoped he would glance over while reading the notes. The phrases were deliberately printed by the notebook, rather than written out plainly, so they seemed more incidental, less obvious. Some of the lines were from poems by Xi Murong and Shu Ting, while others were lyrics. Every sentence reflected a sense of longing and sorrow, the loneliness of unrequited love.

“Beautiful dreams bring beautiful sorrow,
Passing down through generations,
But can the heart really turn into stone?
For the crane that gazes toward the distant sky,
It misses countless spring nights with the moon shining on the river.”

Would he ever understand this hidden intent?

For lives like theirs, who had never witnessed war, the most unforgettable experience of their lifetime was perhaps the three years in a competitive high school. Those were years of pure effort, something no other time could compare with.

In the summer nights, the campus was so quiet that you could hear the cicadas chirping outside the windows. More than thirty classrooms faintly glowed with the soft light of incandescent bulbs, like bright futures in the dark night. Everyone was racing against time, solving problems, silently reading.

The homework papers, once flipped over, had the imprint of words pressed onto them by someone’s arm. When exhaustion hit, students would rest their heads on the desk but still remind their seatmates to wake them up in ten minutes.

Those who discussed problems with the teacher would instinctively go into the hallway so as not to disturb others. Every girl had dark circles under her eyes, forcing herself to keep her bloodshot eyes open, studying tirelessly. Their futures, the path for the next few decades, depended entirely on the upcoming college entrance exams.