Ever since I was little, I’ve always been an incurable pessimist.
I tend to imagine the worst possible outcome for everything around me.
I find logic in this.
If you prepare for the absolute worst, reality can never disappoint you—it’ll always exceed expectations.
Back in elementary school, our teacher asked us to make sentences using "little flower," "little grass," "little bird," and "little dog."
Classmates showed off vivid phrases like:
*The little flower blooms warmly.*
*The little grass struggles to grow.*
*The little bird sings freely.*
*The little dog rolls happily.*
Young me frowned slightly. After recalling nature documentaries at home—knowing all living things meet the same end—I picked up my pen and wrote:
*The little flower is dead. The little grass is dead. The little bird is dead. The little dog is dead too.*
What could be sadder for them than death? Even as a child, I sensed the bleak truth of this world.
But handing in that answer brought me an even grimmer fate.
"Lu Fan! Lazy homework! Rewrite it!" the teacher snapped.
*Hmph. Foolish humans.*
I grumbled inwardly while redrawing those fake, "lively" sentences...
My real name is Lu Fan—not "Fan Lu," the girlish name that girl used.
What guy would be named after a precious jade? "Lu" meant beauty fit only for girls.
A month ago, after rescuing her from a 16th-floor ledge, I’d panicked during police questioning and reversed my name on the report.
Yet she still found me. Fate’s irony left me awestruck.
Memories flooded back...
"Fancy meeting you here—we’re actually in the same high school?" I tilted my head, smiling at the hopeful girl before me.
She just stared. Silent. Unblinking.
"Something on my face?" I wiped sweat from my cheeks, uneasy.
She shook her head, still smiling faintly.
"You’re doing okay now? Family and friends must’ve talked to you."
"Seeing you so lively puts my mind at ease."
Her unbroken gaze made my skin crawl. I forced a stiff, comforting expression—I’ve never handled girls staring at me.
"Not because of them."
At the mention of family, her smile vanished. Her face hardened as she shook her head.
*Is she upset... because I heard her delirious rambling that day?*
A girl blurting shameful things to a stranger would be mortified if taken seriously...
I noticed her mood darkening.
"Don’t worry about it! I didn’t take your words seriously—I’ve forgotten everything. I won’t tell a soul!" I chirped, trying to ease her mind.
"... ..."
Her satisfied expression crumpled. The color drained from her smile, freezing it in place.
"... ..."
She took a long, shaky breath before speaking again.
"Do you care about me?"
"That’s for family and friends. We’ve only met twice." I shifted awkwardly.
"Do you *like* me?"
"Maybe a tiny bit, like any stranger. But that’s not *liking*."
The air turned thick with awkwardness.
"Do you *love* me?" Her voice turned grave.
"Family has kinship. Lovers have romance. We’re strangers. At most, I’m just your ‘good Samaritan’." I smiled, trying to lighten the mood.
She bit her lip hard. In the lush summer heat, her face paled like a withered flower.
Her teeth ground together. Her slender legs trembled beneath her skirt.
"Will you be my boyfriend?" Her whisper dropped even lower. Her eyes swelled red, brimming with stinging liquid.
"High schoolers should focus on studies. What’s the point of dating now? It wastes time and distracts us. You’re the top student giving speeches in the auditorium—you understand this better than I do."
Her words baffled me. Why say such irrational things?
A crystal tear escaped her eye, tracing down her porcelain cheek.
I froze.
*She’s crying?!*
*Why? Did I say something wrong?*
"Why did you say those things that day?" She glared at me with bloodshot eyes, voice shrill. "It was just to calm you down! Forget it—I won’t tell anyone! Don’t get so worked up!"
If she cried here, I’d look terrible. Her sharp cries had already drawn stares from students nearby. No matter who’s right, the guy always gets blamed for making a girl cry.
"Are you feeling unwell?" I reached to steady her trembling shoulders.
"Fan Lu... why did you do it? When I’d already..." She shoved my arm away fiercely.
"Anyone would help someone in danger! Whether I’m Fan Lu or Lu Fan!" My tone hardened, matching her glare.
*I saved her life. No thanks, just this attitude? What’s her problem?*
"Lu Fan? No wonder I couldn’t find you... Liar... Even your name was..."
"I really was too naive... I’d already given up on this world..."
Her hollow muttering contrasted sharply with her confident speech earlier—as if she’d become a different person.
"Classmate?" Her words tangled my thoughts.
"*Get lost!*" She shoved me aside like a madwoman, sprinting toward the building. She crashed into the glass door, stumbled, then vanished up the stairs.
I stood alone on the field, scratching my head in confusion.
Later, uneasily, I looked up her background.
Jiang Muqing.
Until recently, she’d been the top student at City No. 2 High—our fiercest rival.
Though No. 2 High had inferior resources, Jiang Muqing alone threatened our college admissions rankings.
Her academic record drew attention even from our school, which had the province’s best students:
Straight A’s since elementary school. National competition awards.
Her only stumble was the high school entrance exam—after acing mocks far above our cutoff, she bombed the real test, barely scraping into No. 2 High.
There, she dominated every exam as valedictorian.
No. 2 High celebrated their "hidden gem," while our school grew wary.
With only a handful of elite university slots province-wide, we couldn’t let rivals steal them.
Somehow, our school poached Jiang Muqing from No. 2 High’s grasp.
She’d just transferred—and despite skipping our midterms, she’d been chosen over our own top student to speak at the semester review.
*A show of force to No. 2 High?*
Our school’s creed: Talent exists only to glorify us.
Oh, and one trivial detail:
She was also the girl I’d saved from that 16th-floor ledge.
*Crazy. Two top schools fighting over her... I’d laugh myself awake dreaming of that. Why would she even attempt suicide?*
Lost in thought, my hands stilled over the stove.
"Xiao Fan! Dinner ready?" Mom called lazily from the living room TV.
"Coming!" I snapped back, hastily stir-frying cabbage.
Plating, serving—I moved with practiced ease, eyes half-closed.
Mom beamed at the table:
Chilled cucumber salad. Chilled bamboo shoot salad. Stir-fried cabbage. A big pot of cool mung bean soup. Steaming rice from the cooker.
Neatly sliced veggies. Crisp cabbage. The fragrant soup and rice filled the summer air. Light meals for hot days—I surveyed my work proudly.
"No meat again? Did Xiao Fan embezzle the grocery money?" Mom pouted.
"Meat causes heatiness in summer. And weren’t you dieting?" I shot back.
"Oh right! Right!" She happily shoveled rice.
Mom had just finished a manuscript deadline. These days, she slept in, her usual raccoon-like dark circles finally fading.
"Xiao Fan, Duanwu Festival’s coming. School holiday, right? Let’s travel!"
"Tutoring classes, Mom. Loads of homework. Finals decide our arts-science track next year." I declined.
"My good boy. Since high school, you’ve needed less nagging... but you still need breaks." She ruffled my hair.
"Stop treating me like a kid." Her antics never changed.
As we ate cooling summer dishes, the local news interrupted:
"*Breaking report: This morning, joggers discovered a female body in City People’s Park artificial lake. Police have opened an investigation. Preliminary findings indicate the victim is a 16-17-year-old female. Cause of death remains under review...*"
The anchor’s voice was solemn, precise.
"... ..."
My chest tightened.
"Xiao Fan? Something wrong?" Mom sensed my tension.
"Nothing." I jolted back to reality.
"Heatstroke? You’ve been off today... What’s this bump?" She touched the bruise on my cheek.
"Mom... I think I made a terrible mistake."
My nose stung. Tears threatened to spill.
Something heavy crushed my ribs—I could barely breathe. My face must’ve looked awful.
"Put vinegar instead of soy sauce in the cabbage? It’s fine—sweet and sour’s tasty!" Mom grinned, chopsticks busy.
