They got to the field early. The start was still far off, yet entrants had already gathered, their fighting spirit flaring like torches in dawn fog. They were dead set on the champion’s throne, like archers eyeing a hawk.

The pressure sat on Yun Shi like a mountain ridge. These people came armed like winter hunters; she was a last‑minute stand‑in, a reed in wind.

To race is easy; to win is hard. The words thumped in her chest like a drum.

This wasn’t a solo show. It was two breaths braided, two legs tied—two oars pulling one boat through choppy water.

She spotted a familiar figure on the track. Misaki Kumiko, changed and warming up, muscles coiling like springs. The girl beside her was yesterday’s partner, a twin shadow at her hip.

“Misaki Kumiko…” Of all people, fate set her as the opponent, like chess pieces colliding under a silent moon.

Today wasn’t going to be easy. That girl had stacks of plaques from middle school, medals glinting like swallows’ wings in spring.

The three‑legged race didn’t care about gender. Any pairing went, like mismatched shoes still kicking dust, though most teams ran same‑sex. Lonely singles, tough luck—that’s the weather.

Misaki spotted Yun Shi and jogged over with a smile, light as a kite’s tail on wind. “Hello, Bianqi~”

“Mm.” Being admired was old rain on a tile roof. Yun didn’t blink.

Funny. The first time they met, things were jagged like broken porcelain. How did it soften into this, like ice melting into stream?

“Even though I owe you, I won’t hold back on the track!” Misaki’s eyes flashed like steel.

“Good. Neither will I.” Their banter snapped like banners in a clean wind.

“Kumiko~” a friend called, voice ringing like a bell.

“Sorry, my friend’s calling. I’ll go first~” Misaki waved and drifted away like a petal.

The thought of facing that kind of opponent pressed like an iron lid. Those tough words were kite‑paper for face; would the wind carry any reply?

Yun Shi shook her head and headed for the lockers. At the door, she ran into Mizuki going into the women’s room, moon‑calm and rain‑soft.

“Xiao Yun, let’s do our best~” Mizuki paused, then smiled, and slipped inside like a fish through reeds.

“Oh…” The encouragement brushed Yun like warm spring wind. If it was Mizuki’s voice, the coal inside her caught flame.

She pushed the men’s door by habit, and a boy came out. They froze like deer in lantern light.

“Did I walk into the wrong room?” Yun blinked, voice flat as a pond.

The boy paled like wet ash. He looked doomed, as if thunder was about to strike.

“What’s with you?” Yun tilted her head, puzzled, a cat at a window.

“S‑sorry!” He bowed ninety degrees like a folding knife, then bolted. Yun poked her head out, and saw him yank open the women’s door.

“Hey, you—”

Too late. He vanished inside like a pebble into a river.

“Yaaaaaah!” “Pervert!” “It’s a misunderstanding!”

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

The ending was obvious. He burst out with red handprints blooming like maple leaves, chased by angry girls swarming like bees, the whole flock stampeding toward the track.

Brother, I’m sorry. Yun lit a silent incense stick in her heart. How was she supposed to know he’d be that naive, thinking he’d walked into the women’s and then charging the real one?

She could already see a “pervert” rumor sprouting like weeds across campus—rootless and wind‑blown, like the old lies about her.

She didn’t dare touch the men’s door again. Shame would fell her like frost on thin grass. She wore a boy’s shell, but she was a real girl—a peach blossom under borrowed armor—so best not stir that hornet’s nest.

She slipped into a bathroom stall to change, a hermit in bamboo shade. Don’t laugh; she used to do P.E. swaps there too, rain or shine.

Coming out, she ran into Mizuki again, freshly changed, stars crossing like threads of fate. Was this some troublesome karmic knot?

“What happened just now?” Mizuki asked a nearby girl, voice like light rain on eaves. She hadn’t heard the locker‑room thunder.

“Lemme tell you…” They chattered like sparrows on a branch, not seeing Yun’s shadow at their feet.

Seriously, look at me! Yun squinted and circled Mizuki like a moth around a lantern, trying to pull her eyes away from the other girl.

“Really? That scary.” “What’s there to fear? We smote him with heaven’s wrath.” Their laughter flashed like sun on water.

Mizuki still didn’t notice the orbiting phantom. Yun’s temper swelled like a summer storm. She never knew Mizuki’s ignoring her would sting like a nettle.

Watching Mizuki lean in with someone else, she wanted to wedge between them like a fan cutting heat. She planted herself, cheeks puffed like a drum. If Mizuki kept ignoring her, she’d ignore Mizuki too.

“Huh? Xiao Yun, when did you get here?” Fate played its trick. The moment Yun stopped peacocking for attention, Mizuki finally saw her. By then, the pot had boiled over like soup on a stove.

Serves you right for ignoring me! Joy flickered, but the volcano won. Her grievance burst like lava.

“I’m never talking to you again, you idiot!” Yun stomped off like a storm cloud, leaving classmates frozen like statues.

She… tsundered. Heaven help us. The pretty‑boy cracked, and out hopped pure cute like a rabbit.

“Huh? What just happened?” Mizuki stood in fog without a compass.

“Vice President, you look like someone about to placate his girlfriend,” a girl teased, words fluttering like paper darts.

“Huh? What do you mean?” “Don’t ask. Run. Bianqi hasn’t gone far!” “O‑okay!”

She didn’t know what sparked the fire, but instinct flew like an arrow. Mizuki chased after Yun.

“Didn’t expect it—Vice President’s luck is all peach blossoms,” the friend sighed, seeing the play like a lake’s reflection. As a friend, she could only bless them in silence, a lantern adrift on water.

Yun stalked alone, sulking like a rainy day. She vowed not to return before the drums of the race. Ignore me, will you!

“Wait up, Xiao Yun~” That voice again, soft as a breeze and maddening as a mosquito.

Yun bristled like a cat to static. She turned her head away on purpose, yet her feet rooted and waited like a stubborn pine.

“Um, Xiao Yun…” Mizuki sounded helpless as a lost bird. Yun was mad, probably at her. She had to coax the storm down.

“Hey, Xiao Yun, let’s go get ready. The race starts soon.” “Hmph.” Yun snapped her face aside, cool as frost. Mizuki smiled, shaky as a reed.

“Then, after the race, my treat. Dinner?” “Hmph.” “Come to my place?” “Hmph.” “Help me with homework?” “Hmph.”

No matter how she coaxed, every word sank like a pebble into a deep well.

For the love of—she was the girl here. Why was she coaxing a “boy”? Mizuki’s heart frayed like old silk.

She was out of tricks. She’d said everything, and the sky stayed gray. What else? She lowered her head, quiet as falling snow.

Yun peeked from the corner of her eye, still puffed like a steamed bun. Why won’t she apologize? One more push and I’d have forgiven her as a pretext.

Regret pricked like thorns. She could’ve let it go. Now it was a knot in a cord.

Honestly, Mizuki just didn’t see her. There was no “ignore.” Yun herself was being willful, a kite tugging against kind wind. The thought dimmed her mood like dusk.

“I don’t know why you’re mad,” Mizuki said at last, voice soft as a willow, “but it must be my fault. I’m sorry.”

“Eh…” She apologized!

Yun’s heart tangled like vines. Mizuki was good at everything, and she took blame that wasn’t hers, like a hill taking wind.

“No, it’s not your fault. It’s on me.” “…”

“Okay, okay, I’m not mad anymore! You don’t have to apologize!” “Really? You’re not mad?” “I’m not mad!”

“But you just—” “That wasn’t anger. I just had a bad mood, that’s all. Not mad!” Face‑saving clanged like armor.

Any passerby would think: what brazen denial. She’d sooner swallow a stone than admit it.

“Is that so? I’m glad~” Mizuki didn’t mind. If Yun smiled, everything else was clouds.

When you like someone, even flaws look like peach blossoms. Otherwise, why call it like?

Then Yun realized what she’d done—big, ridiculous things. Pouting on purpose, fishing for an apology… weren’t those the moves of a little girl behind gauze curtains?

Why did she do something so embarrassing!

“Xiao Yun, what now? Your face looks scary…” “I’m not tsundere, damn it!”

Mizuki only saw Yun flee with a near‑crying yelp, vanishing like a startled deer into brush. Who knew where she ran.

Mizuki stood baffled, as if fog had swallowed the road. She was sure she hadn’t poked a hornet’s nest this time.

Who could understand Yun’s ache? Two lifetimes of face, all dropped like leaves. That small, girlish side had flashed bare before Mizuki, bright as moonlight.

How could she face anyone now? Where’s a man’s dignity!

Leave her be. She needed still water to calm her ripples. As for a man’s dignity, she’d have to accept it was long gone, smoke over a river.

The meet rolled on, orderly as drums in a parade. Events bloomed and battled like fireworks. On the final day, cheers rose like a tide.

And behind the bright field, the private drama burned just as bright, lanterns glowing in the shade.