“W-what’s ‘idiot’ supposed to mean?” The word snagged like a thorn on his tongue.

“Literal.” The girl with the tilted ponytail let out a lazy yawn, a cloud drifting that said she wouldn’t explain.

Yexiaobai ground his teeth at Zhaomingming, gravel crunching in a dry stream; his fingers itched to tug that ponytail like a kitten reaching for a dangling ribbon.

While their banter chirped like sparrows in a hedge, Xu Yanfan’s gaze slid past, catching a different glimmer, like sunlight on a hidden pond.

The lively girl who always leapt into the “battle” at this moment had her head bowed, lip caught between teeth like a cherry petal; silent, she only lifted her eyes now and then to the lively dance between Xiaobai and Mingming, a watercolor tint swimming in her gaze.

From the doorway on, Teacher Xu Yanfan had smelled something off, like incense gone faint; the easy chain between the three felt as if one lantern in the string had gone dark.

A quiet Mu Xiaowei like this was a rarity in a hundred seasons, snow landing in midsummer.

“A girl’s heart finally—” she murmured, her words misting like breath on glass.

“Teacher, what did you say?” Yexiaobai looked over, like a deer pricking its ears in tall grass.

“Nothing.” Her eyes turned, two fish gliding under shade; after a beat, she said, “You three head back.”

“Uh, okay.” He didn’t know why they were waved off so easily, but he wasn’t dumb enough to stir muddy water with questions and bring trouble onto himself.

The three turned, their backs drifting like leaves, and headed for the office door.

However—

“Yexiaobai, stay a moment.”

The relief-smile hadn’t even budded at his lips before his face went stiff, like frost on a window; Zhaomingming gave him a helpless look, a squeezed lemon, then walked out with the silent, head-down Mu Xiaowei.

Abandoned, the boy watched them go, his sigh a small wind through reeds; with a heavy face, he trudged back in.

His gloomy, cornered look always lifted Xu Yanfan’s mood, like a cat finding a sunspot; that was why she so often “made things hard” for Yexiaobai—this time was no different.

She let out a soft pfft of laughter, a bubble popping; she pointed at the chair and smiled. “Sit.”

“Know why I asked you to stay alone?” Her question hung like a bell in a quiet hall.

“No idea.” The word dropped like a pebble into a well.

“Some things aren’t fit to say in front of them.” Her tone drew a curtain of rain across the room.

Yexiaobai looked at her, his brow rippling like water under wind.

Xu Yanfan sighed, bamboo leaves whispering. “You and Mu Xiaowei argued, didn’t you?”

He shook his head, a willow swaying. “Just a spat. Not that serious.”

“Maybe not that serious. But—” she paused, a drumbeat held, “in another sense, it is ‘serious.’ Because—I’m guessing—something in your relationship shifted, like a season turning.”

“Shifted? You mean our friendship’s damaged? Come on, not that dramatic! It’s been years. What we’ve got isn’t that easy to break.” Yexiaobai smiled, sunlight through blinds. “I’ll find a chance and apologize later.”

“Mm!” Xu Yanfan faltered, meeting his eyes, ink and snow clean; she shook her head, a willow flicking rain. “I just said you’d shed the idiot label. Looks like I spoke too soon.”

Idiot again—Yexiaobai covered his face, his palms a curtain; in his head he groused, Who slapped that label on me? I don’t remember signing up for it!

“Fine, fine. As homeroom teacher, I don’t have much standing to say more. Maybe this is youth—ah, youth.” She sighed, an autumn breeze; she touched the corner of her eye, smooth jade without a wrinkle. “I’m getting old, after all.”

Old where? Say you’re a freshman and half the guys would buy it! Yexiaobai ranted inside, seeing her dewy face, a peach you could press and draw water.

“Back to business. About the play—” Xu Yanfan’s expression straightened, a banner pulled taut. “If you’re short on hands, recruit more. Don’t limit it to our class—other classes, even other grades.”

Yexiaobai froze, a reed in sudden wind; a slender, hazy figure whooshed across his mind, and a bold idea popped—bo—like a seed breaking earth, rooting fast and rushing through his whole heart. This might be the chance!

Seeing him silent, Xu Yanfan misread it. “Worried their teachers won’t agree? Don’t. Qingya School always values the anniversary. If I put in a word, their teachers will—”

“It’ll work!” Yexiaobai nodded hard, a drum thumping; excitement sparked like tinder he couldn’t quite smother. “Leave it to me!”

Xu Yanfan blinked, a pause like a moth’s wing; she didn’t know why he got excited so fast, but drive was a good wind in any sail.

“Just make it happen.” Her words stamped down like a neat seal.

“Business done, let’s talk personal.” She slipped off her hair tie, and black silk spilled like a river; she stretched, lazy and lithe, her waist blooming like a flower, sunlight pouring along those curves. She exhaled with a soft whew, then let her bright eyes settle on Yexiaobai. “Xiaobai, when will you visit Xiaotao? She’s been chanting your name for ages.”

...

...

“Mu Xiaowei. Xiaowei—hey—Mu Xiaowei?” The name flitted down the corridor like a paper crane.

“Ah? Y-you mean me?” Her voice fluttered like a sparrow startled from a branch.

They spoke in the hallway leading from the senior office back to Twelfth Grade Class Seven, the corridor a long river of white tiles and light.

“Yes.” At the corner, Zhaomingming stopped, her gaze a steady lamplight turned toward Mu Xiaowei.

“W-what is it?” Mu Xiaowei couldn’t meet the girl’s eyes, her own sliding away and sticking to Einstein’s tongue-out poster on the wall, as if afraid her secret garden would be seen through.

“I’m asking if you argued with Yexiaobai.” Her words shot clean, like an arrow to the target.

“Who’d argue with that idiot?” Mu Xiaowei denied almost at once, her pitch a touch high, like a bamboo flute; passing classmates threw her several looks.

The short-haired girl hunched her shoulders, stuck out her tongue like a kitten, then repeated in a low mumble, “I wouldn’t argue with that idiot.”

“Not that it’s my place,” Zhaomingming said after a pause, a comma like a step, “but I bumped into Xiaobai at the intersection today. Looked like he’d been posted there since dawn.”

“Posted there? In this heat, early morning—why would he…?” The words left her, and realization bloomed; her eyes widened, twin lakes catching light.

“Yes.” Zhaomingming nodded, a pine bough dipping. “He said he wanted to apologize to you there, face-to-face.”

She’d guessed it, but hearing it made Mu Xiaowei let out a soft ah, a drop rippling a pond.

“That idiot… I rode here in my dad’s car today. He couldn’t have caught me.” The word idiot rode her tongue, but the image of Xiaobai standing at the crossroads softened her voice, a thaw in early spring; her hands couldn’t help but pinch her hem, petals crumpling between fingers. “He really is—an idiot.”

Then her brows gathered, a small knot in silk. “Ugh, it’s back again—” She clutched her collar, feeling that sourness misted with sweetness rising once more, like raw honey dissolving in the heart-lake, sweetness wrapped around an unprocessed tang. “It’s so uncomfortable.”

“What’s wrong?” Zhaomingming watched the odd look on her face, a cloud brewing rain.

“Nothing. Zhaomingming—”

“Mm?”

Mu Xiaowei hesitated, a leaf caught in eddy, then asked, “I wanted to ask you… I don’t know why, but when I think of Xiaobai, I—”

Her words snapped mid-string, like a kite cut by a sudden gust.

“Eh?” Yexiaobai’s voice came from behind them, a pebble plinking into quiet water. “Why are you two still here?”