After dinner, their steps were leisurely and slow.

Xia Jiuli still couldn’t let go of the imported rice incident. Chen Dao, meanwhile, had decided to pretend he’d seen nothing during the meal.

Bathed in the night, their shadows stretched longer under the streetlights—one tall, one short—moving at nearly the same pace until they reached the commercial street.

“I’ll buy it myself. You’ve spent enough on me already.”

Xia Jiuli shook her phone—cracked screen protector, still working—and turned to climb the steps toward the women’s clothing store.

The street looked just as he remembered, slightly cleaner yet still littered near the bins. Narrow roads, cars parked on both sidewalks. To the right of the clothing store stood a stationery shop where he and Bai Qiaoqiao had often shopped. He’d brought Xia Jiuli here simply because, over the past year, he’d “escorted” Bai Qiaoqiao home more than once. She and her best friend lived in the same neighborhood.

He wasn’t worried about running into anyone. Bored, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through QQ. Chasing Bai Qiaoqiao had made him quit gaming. He still had no urge to play now.

At the top: Bai Qiaoqiao. Below, a muted class group (no teacher), and another with a red notification badge (teacher included). Feeling uneasy, he removed her pin and “special care.” Still, he stole a glance at his old messages:

“Are you there?”

“Asleep already?”

“Sleeping early is good. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”

…

Forget it.

Chen Dao covered his eyes, helpless and heartbroken. How naive to think sincere effort guarantees sincere return?

“What’s wrong?”

A voice from behind. He glanced at the storefront first, then turned.

Zhao Lexuan—Bai Qiaoqiao’s best friend, about the same height. Back in her hometown, a relative ran a seaside seafood stall Chen Dao had visited once during summer break. A decent student with a small nose, big eyes, delicate features. But at this age, she buried herself in books, sporting a mushroom cut that made her look helmeted. Thick lenses left symmetrical marks on her petite nose bridge; she constantly pushed them up. As she spoke, she did it again. Still in uniform, she clutched a plastic bag.

“Just reflecting on my own foolishness. Out for a stroll?”

He met her gaze. Zhao Lexuan shyly turned her head.

She rarely spoke to him before—his eyes and heart were always on her best friend, something others found enviable. She’d even tried matchmaking them, believing his devotion deserved reciprocation while Bai Qiaoqiao kept him strung along. But today? Seeing him carry a coquettish girl… Awkward was an understatement. Anyone with eyes knew they weren’t siblings. Yet calling them a couple felt off.

Her friend Li Fang had already raged: Chen Dao was a scumbag jumping ship after rejection, lacking resolve and manliness. Li Zhiqiang called him petty. Bai Qiaoqiao, though, left without a word—even Zhao Lexuan’s visit changed nothing. Now Zhao Lexuan wondered: Why give up when he was so close? Wasn’t it a waste?

“Mm, just back from the bookstore—bought textbooks. That ‘little sister’ of yours… real? Ah! I won’t tell Qiaoqiao.”

She had to ask. Torn between loyalty to her best friend and care for Chen Dao.

“A good friend.”

Chen Dao answered without pause, gaze drifting past her to the barbershop across the street, its LED sign flickering.

“I see… Which class?”

Chen Dao fell silent. Xia Jiuli wasn’t even from this city, let alone province. *She was born to her mother*—but he bit back the joke.

“I’ll tell you another time.”

Zhao Lexuan frowned slightly, didn’t press further. After a quiet “bye,” she headed home to review her new textbooks.

“Oh—wait.” Chen Dao called after her. “Pretend I lied. Grow your hair long. Middle part. And skip the thin-rimmed glasses.”

He felt a pang of regret. Her current style hid her beauty; she wouldn’t learn to dress well until junior year. Zhao Lexuan, puzzled, still committed his words to memory.

Once she left, Xia Jiuli peeked from behind a mannequin in the shop window, appearing beside Chen Dao like a suddenly materialized little sprite.

“A ‘good friend’~ Hmm?”

Her face stayed icy, but Chen Dao caught a trace of amusement in her tone. He felt the need to clarify:

“Technically, we were boyfriend and girlfriend—even if only in name.”

“But we broke up.”

“Then… should I call you my best friend?”

He joked. Xia Jiuli shook her head.

“Anyway… thank you for considering me a friend.”

Her voice was soft. She picked up her bag and turned to leave—then backtracked after a few steps. She’d gone the wrong way.

Chen Dao stood dazed, replaying her words. He hurried to her side.

Inside the plastic bag, her phone kept flashing its notification light—a silent plea to pause, to turn back—but not once did she glance behind.