“Adults aren’t always right. Even if you don’t want to study, I don’t think you’re a bad kid. I still want to play with you.”
To Zhao Anqing, the short-haired girl’s calm words felt like a heavenly melody.
“Ziqing…”
So moved he was nearly in tears, the boy gazed at her with glistening eyes, able to whisper only her name.
“Studying is nothing but good for kids. Don’t you want to know how to write your own name?”
Chen Ziqing held his gaze, speaking earnestly.
Honestly, though she didn’t look down on him for skipping books, she knew learning would give them more time together—and more to share.
“How do you write it?”
He looked up at her, eyes wide with hopeful longing.
“This is your name: Zhao Anqing.”
Chen Ziqing, brighter and more studious than most her age, had already learned many characters. At his request, she traced three neat, delicate strokes in the sand.
“Ziqing, you’re amazing.”
It was the boy’s most frequent praise.
He truly admired her—she built sandcastles, drew pictures, wrote characters.
Himself? He was no good at anything. Hopelessly clumsy.
The more he thought, the smaller he felt, convinced he didn’t deserve her friendship.
“It’s nothing special. If you’re willing to learn, you can write your name too,” Chen Ziqing said calmly.
“Let me teach you. It’s simple.”
She gently took his hand, ready to guide him stroke by stroke—just as her mother had once done for her.
Naturally quick to learn, she no longer needed help. Now, it was her turn to teach.
“Your hand is so soft.” The warmth of his skin lingered in her mind.
“Ziqing… can a bad kid like me, who doesn’t even want to study, really learn to write?”
Zhao Anqing’s voice trembled with tangled anxiety and shame.
“Yes. Just study hard.”
Her firm reply softened his doubt, just a little.
“Mm!”
“Let’s begin.”
Chen Ziqing whispered beside his ear, her breath warm against his cheek.
Two children, sandbox as paper, began tracing words in the sand.
“Now you try.”
After guiding him through three repetitions, she reluctantly let go.
*Good kids learn to stand on their own*, her mother always said.
She was putting those words into practice.
“Can I do it?” Alone, his confidence wavered.
“Why not? Take your time. Copy it like drawing. I believe in you, Anqing.”
They’d played together awhile—but this was the first time she’d used his given name.
“Mm.”
His hand trembled slightly, yet he pressed on, encouraged.
“First time? Don’t rush. Stroke order: top to bottom, left to right.”
She watched closely, cheering him softly.
“How do I tell up from down… left from right?”
Still fuzzy on the world’s directions, the boy looked lost.
“The hand you write with is right. The other is left. Sky above is up. Ground below is down.”
Chen Ziqing explained patiently, like a little teacher.
(Her mother *was* a teacher, after all.)
“Oh! So *that’s* how!”
Confused but happy, he’d learned something new.
“You’ve written your surname! Great job. Now finish your name.”
A crooked “Zhao” sat proudly in the sand—his own work.
“Mm.”
Determination lit his eyes. He kept going.
Three simple characters—but his first solo attempt took minutes. The result? Crooked, messy… adorably so.
“Again. Write it a few more times. Then I’ll erase it—you try from memory.”
Her teaching grew gently firm, just like her mother’s: start easy, step by step.
“Okay.”
Not restless by nature, he found writing strangely fun—and kept practicing.
He copied his name carefully again and again.
“Think you can write it alone now?”
Seeing his strokes grow slightly neater, Chen Ziqing asked softly.
“I… I think so?”
Hesitant, afraid to fail.
“Try. It’s okay if you can’t.”
She smoothed the sand clean.
“If you write it, I’ll give you chewing gum.”
A tiny incentive, meant to lift his spirit.
“Mm.”
He focused—not for the gum, but to honor her trust.
His small hand trembled as it touched the sand.
“My name is Zhao Anqing… I’ve written it before. Zhao… An…”
Brow furrowed in effort, he slowly shaped the first two characters.
But the third—“Qing”—slipped away.
“I… I…”
Frustration flushed his face. Anxiety tightened his chest; a nervous flutter stirred within.
“It’s okay. I’ll show you.”
No blame in her voice. She gently took his hand and guided him through the final stroke.
“Ziqing… I’m so stupid.”
Head bowed, spirit crushed, he looked utterly dejected.
“Mom told me: ‘Even if you’re not the quickest learner, hard work can carry you just as far as anyone else.’”
Chen Ziqing spoke softly, sharing her mother’s wisdom.
“I’ll work hard! I’ll write my name!”
Easily encouraged, his resolve reignited in an instant.
“Mm. You can do it.”
Chen Ziqing smiled—glad to see his resilient heart.
“Open up. Chewing gum. Don’t swallow. Spit it out when the flavor’s gone.”
She offered it anyway—rewarding his effort, not just the result.
“No need. I didn’t write it right.”
Zhao Anqing declined gently, already bending back over the sand, fully focused once more.
