The sea wind bit sharply against the skin, cold and stinging.
Beside Nan’an City’s new pier stood a cemetery, where a battered red sports car idled before the graves.
Qin Yuqing placed a bouquet of white carnations before a nameless tombstone.
“Are they inside?”
“Nope! They killed themselves in America—burned the house down with them inside. Left nothing but ashes. Just dumped this kid outside like they knew I’d come.” Qin Yuqing glanced down at the infant in her arms, a bitter smile twisting her beautiful, heartbreakingly desolate face.
“They even stuffed a stupid letter in the baby’s blanket. ‘Repenting for our sins,’ ‘wishing for the child’s healthy growth’—what nonsense! After all the evil they did, they just vanish and dump this mess on me. What kind of people are they?”
“Wah… wah…” Baby Qin Chan, overwhelmed by Qin Yuqing’s shouting, began to wail.
Qin An took the child. After two soft murmurs, the crying miraculously stopped. Her large, round eyes blinked up at him; her plump little hands waved. Her delicate cheeks flushed with a trace of pink—utterly adorable.
“Brother, let me hold my sister!” Qin Yage bounced nearby, eyes wide. She’d never seen a baby before, let alone her own sister.
But the moment Qin Chan landed in her arms, the infant erupted into loud, unforgiving sobs.
“Hmph! I don’t want to hold you anyway! Brother, you take her!”
*Sisters are no good at all.*
Qin Yuqing bit her finger until it bled. On the blank tombstone, she scrawled: *“Here lies my brother, Qin Shaofeng.”* She paused, then added: *“And my sister-in-law, Long—”* But her blood ran dry. She lifted her finger—the flesh was already rotting.
“You must leave this place. It’s dangerous. So dangerous. Qin An, Qin Yage, Qin Chan… you have to live. Even if I die, I’ll make sure you live.”
The sea wind carried the infant’s cries. Sleep would not come tonight.
***
The last day of May dawned bright. Students fidgeted in class, minds already drifting to tomorrow—their favorite holiday. New clothes awaited. Certificates of achievement. Games with prizes.
An Qi arrived early. She’d spend the whole day helping her father greet guests. Only this morning offered a sliver of free time. She’d forgotten something crucial yesterday: she never gave Qin An her address.
*He was so happy when he agreed—he must’ve forgotten too. Please let him be here already.*
But their shared desk remained empty.
*Wait—the class monitor!* An Qi’s eyes lit up.
“Jiajun, I need a favor.”
“What is it?” Huang Jiajun asked, smug as a victor. *Enjoy sitting alone now. I’ll grant you this small mercy.*
“Please give this to Qin An.” She handed over an unsigned letter.
“Thanks, Jiajun.”
An Qi waved and dashed out. Her father waited at the school gate. She couldn’t anger him—his time was worth millions per second.
Alone at her desk, Huang Jiajun doodled hearts, giddy. *Why isn’t Qin An here? He’s never late. When he comes, I’ll tell him the big news: I’m his new desk partner.*
He finally burst in, breathless. His first glance wasn’t at her. *It’s fine. He’ll come to me. I’m his partner now.*
“Monitor, An Qi isn’t here. Give her this. I have to go.”
Qin An strode away, then turned back. Huang Jiajun shot up, knocking over her chair.
“Oh—and tell her I’ll wait at the pier before eight tonight.”
*Why didn’t you call my name? Why won’t you look at me? I’m your partner now!* Clutching the beautifully wrapped gift box meant for An Qi’s birthday, Huang Jiajun’s throat tightened. *I’m going to that party too!*
Tears blurring her vision, she fled the classroom. The hallway held no trace of him—as if he’d never existed.
She skipped class. Her first time. Her last. She hid in a bathroom stall. Without him, the classroom was unbearable.
She opened An Qi’s letter to Qin An. She hadn’t given it to him. *Didn’t want to, deep down.*
The plain white envelope bore a rare Japanese Fuji Mountain stamp—stunning.
Guilt didn’t touch her as she read. Just an address. And at the end: *“You have to come! We promised.”*
*Promised… promised…*
*So sneaky. Always doing things behind my back.*
Huang Jiajun’s mind went blank. When she snapped back, the letter was confetti in her hands.
She stared at the pink gift box. Pretty. Sweet. Not hers.
Her fingers hovered over the ribbon. Withdrew. Reached again.
*Just one peek. Just one.*
Inside lay an ordinary harmonica. Unremarkable, yet full of heart. Beside it rested a note folded into a heart—on paper matching An Qi’s letter. *Always so in sync. So inseparable. So hateful.*
The note read: *“For My Desk Partner.”*
*Tomorrow, will you recall*
*The diary you wrote yesterday?*
*Tomorrow, will you still remember*
*The girl who cried the most…*
Same handwriting. Same warmth. Sheet music brimming with meaning. But meant for someone else.
“I have nothing!”
Tears splashed onto the paper, soaking through to her heart.
She wanted to tear it up—but it carried his scent. She couldn’t.
***
At the gates of An Qi’s mansion, she stood in a misty gray lace sleeveless gown. Ethereal. Elegant. Otherworldly.
But her eyes burned with worry. *He’s not here. Still not here!*
“An Qi, your birthday banquet is starting.”
“I know, Dad.”
Back in the hall, she recited her speech like a robot. Smiled like a zombie. No one noticed. They came for her father, not her birthday.
“An Qi, don’t you have a gift for your father?”
“Yes.”
She walked to the stage. An expensive Steinway grand piano waited. Her fingers moved mechanically over the keys—precise, metronomic. Thunderous applause followed. An Qi bowed stiffly.
*Once, two people mattered most: Mom and Dad. Then only Dad. Now two others… Maybe one won’t come. But if the other could just—*
Her hope dissolved. Head bowed, she missed the tremor in An Tie’s hands. *I only have Qin An.*
Huang Jiajun finally handed An Qi the gift box. *Let Qin An give you his gift himself. I’ll go to the pier. I’ll say what I truly want to say. I’ll stand in for you.*
“An Qi, you played beautifully.”
“Did I? Thanks.”
“Qin An asked me to give you this. He’ll wait at the old pier before eight.”
An Qi’s eyes blazed the moment she took the box. She checked the clock—7:30. *Might be tight. But I know the old pier better than anyone. It’s where I first stepped into this city.*
They walked out the gate together. One turned south. The other north.
