Time slipped through fingers like water. Spring gave way to summer, cicadas and frogs took turns singing, girls swapped skirts for shorter ones, and Nan’an City began breathing summer air.

That creepy old Ren Yin never returned after being summoned by his superiors. Ms. Lin Chunlan’s temper grew even fiercer. Qin An eventually skipped her Chinese class entirely, napping on the grass instead.

Half a month later, Ms. Lin vanished too. A young intern replaced her—Ms. Ma Linxue. Her body trembled constantly during lessons, her voice quivered, and she often snapped chalk from gripping too hard. Yet Sixth Grade Class 2’s boys adored her: she was pretty, young, felt like an older sister… and most importantly, blessed with generous curves.

Qin An recognized her—sort of.

“Qin An, come to the office for exercises later.”

“Okay.”

He rose, reluctant.

Just as he stepped away from his chair, something tugged his shirt. He turned. An Qi had grabbed his sleeve.

“An Qi? What is it?”

“Explain why Ms. Ma treats you so well when you get back!” An Qi planted her hands on her hips, big eyes clouded with suspicion. The air thickened with a trace of jealousy.

Ma Linxue was brilliant—she’d skipped grades throughout elementary school. While peers were still in high school, she’d already graduated college. She’d planned to pursue a master’s, but her family’s finances forced her to work instead. Her younger brother needed support. Through her university’s recommendation, she landed at Red Star Elementary.

She’d buried herself in books during college, avoiding clubs and activities. Her first class nearly made her bite her tongue—until she spotted the boy who’d helped her at Happyland. Seeing his usual disdain somehow steadied her voice, though her body still shook.

“Xiao Ma, calling on Qin An again?”

Qin An’s homeroom teacher beamed at the frequent office visitor. *Such a good student.*

He was nearing retirement. In two years, he might not teach anymore. He dreamed of students entering Red Star Middle School with top scores, then elite high schools, finally universities like Jinghua—to honor their alma mater. He might witness it… or rest beneath the soil by then. Perhaps they’d leave flowers on his grave every Teacher’s Day. That would be his greatest joy. He hadn’t seen his accomplished former students in years.

And there was another reason—he shared Qin An’s surname.

“Ms. Ma, why not ask the class rep for the homework?”

“Because I only know you!”

“My Chinese sucks. I got zero on my last essay.”

“I read it. Some teacher even photocopied it to submit to a newspaper! The content was… questionable, but your handwriting—so neat it didn’t look human. You could make a living writing for others.”

“…”

Alone with Qin An, Ma Linxue’s chatter never stopped. He endured as a patient listener. Only when the bell rang did he escape the office, sprinting to the playground for PE. *She did that on purpose.*

But the playground buzzed with normalcy: basketballs bounced, jump ropes slapped pavement, shuttlecocks flew. Harmony. Qin An could almost hear laughter from the office. *Definitely on purpose.*

He headed to his favorite spot—the evergreen banyan tree. Someone already waited there.

“Qin An! I thought you’d spend the whole class with Ms. Ma!”

“Where’s the PE teacher? He loves roll call.”

“He’s preparing for Children’s Day the day after tomorrow.”

“June already?”

Qin An stared at his hands. They’d grown larger. Time flew.

“Don’t dodge the question,” An Qi tugged his ear, scowling. “How do you know the new teacher? You used to make teachers hate you.”

“Alright, Miss An, I surrender!” Qin An raised his hands. It wasn’t a big secret anyway.

“How lucky must you be to keep bumping into each other?” An Qi gasped dramatically.

“I feel weird hostility from her.”

“Nonsense! She clearly cares about you. Trusts you.”

“I don’t want that kind of trust.”

“Come see something amazing—it’s my secret!” An Qi grabbed his hand. She no longer blushed at simple touches… but only with Qin An.

She led him past pebble paths, through quiet groves, by the echoing voices of third-year junior high classrooms, to a weathered door.

“Where’s this?”

“The music prep room!”

The heavy door creaked open at her push. Dust rained from the frame, coating both their faces.

“Cough… cough…” An Qi’s cheeks flushed red, adorably soot-streaked.

Qin An burst out laughing.

“No laughing!” She smeared grime on his cheeks, grinning. “Now you’re dirtier—a little spotted kitten!”

Qin An wiped dust from the door and retaliated. Soon, both pointed at each other’s filthy faces, howling with laughter.

The room was a mess. Instruments lay scattered. A dusty electronic piano dominated the center.

An Qi spread a newspaper on the floor, sat before the tilted keys, and lowered her gaze. Her slender fingers coaxed notes from the piano—clear, delicate drops like late-winter rain.

Her focused beauty was unreal: dignified yet warm, pure yet vibrant. Impossible to look away.

*Focused girls are beautiful.*

Her fingers danced across black and white keys. Notes sprang to life. She played *Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star Variations*.

The melody began with the universally known nursery rhyme, later expanded by Mozart into twelve variations. Simple at first, it grew fierce at the eighth variation’s shift to C minor—a showcase of Mozart’s elegant ornamentation.

An Qi faltered. Pitch and rhythm slipped. She gave up halfway.

She turned, sticking out her tongue. “So hard! But I want to play it for Dad once. Mom used to play it for him all the time.”

Qin An knew the piece well. In Japan, he’d often missed his Shinkansen stop because of it.

Unthinking, he drifted to the piano. His fingers brushed the keys—then moved on their own. Agile, practiced, like a master’s. Notes wove into a brilliant cascade.

The final chord faded. An Qi stared, dazed. Only after a long moment did she clap. “Qin An, you’re amazing! Teach me!”

“I was just messing around.”

“I don’t care if you ‘messed around’ or used your eyes—teach me!” She yanked him beside her. “How do I start?”

“Just keep the focus you had at the beginning.”

“But the later parts are impossible! Key changes, my hands can’t keep up—”

“Your hand position is wrong.”

He demonstrated—textbook perfect.

An Qi mimicked stiffly. Qin An reached to adjust her wrist. At his touch, her body jolted. Her cheeks flushed.

Their arms tangled awkwardly.

An Qi slid backward, settling between Qin An’s knees on the bench. She twisted to face him. “Better like this.”

Then she froze. His face was millimeters from hers. One breath would brush his cheek. Her crimson blush deepened—a lit fuse on a powder keg.

“Teach me before PE ends!”

Qin An guided her hands, correcting her posture. An Qi’s skin burned. *Mom said girls shouldn’t let boys touch them… but with Qin An? It’s okay.*

He taught eagerly. She learned eagerly. Time vanished. They forgot the next self-study period. Class monitor Huang Jiajun fumed at their absence—especially since Qin An’s whole desk skipped class. She marched off to catch the rule-breakers red-handed.

An Qi had natural talent. She grasped Qin An’s tips instantly. Soon, she’d surpass him.

The dismissal bell rang. Sunset bled through the blinds, gentle and orange. It painted everything beautiful.

“Qin An… thank you so much today.”

“No need. We’re friends, right?”

“Qin An…” An Qi fidgeted. “Tomorrow night… it’s my birthday. Dad’s throwing a party. Will you come?”

“I’m a stranger…” Qin An rubbed his nose.

“You’re not a stranger. You’re my friend. My only friend.”

An Qi shouted with all her might, tears slipping down her cheeks unnoticed.

"It was only you who said that..."

Qin An gently wiped her tears away and sighed helplessly, "Alright, alright. I'll go, okay?"

"No, no! You say it with zero sincerity. I'm cashing in one promise you owe me. I order you, Qin An—you must come to my birthday tomorrow night."

An Qi still seemed unsatisfied. She held out her pinky. "We need a pinky swear too."

"Seriously? When have I ever lied to you?"

"Nope, it's mandatory! Mom says boys always trick girls with empty words!"

Seeing An Qi's dead-serious expression—so solemn it was scary—Qin An gave in and extended his pinky.

Their pinkies hooked, thumbs pressed together.

"Pinky swear: forever true, no backing out. Break it, and you're a dog."

Snap—

The sound of a dry twig snapping. Both whirled toward the door. Only a yellow handkerchief lay there...