“Fu Zhi’an?”
The boy froze, lifting his eyes with a hint of confusion in his brown pupils. The bright fluorescent lights in the classroom cast a harsh glow on his face, making the dark circles under his eyes even more noticeable. Fu Zhi’an seemed distracted, and even Wang Xiao could see it.
The black pen in his hand was loosely held as he met Wang Xiao’s concerned gaze. Fu Zhi’an smiled faintly and scribbled a letter next to a question on his multiple-choice test.
“Don’t forget to come to rehearsal after school. Chen Lin’s got something seriously wrong in her head. I mean, what’s the point of making you play a tree?” Wang Xiao felt a bit guilty seeing Fu Zhi’an like this, but the arts committee member was relentless. Even if Fu Zhi’an had no lines and was just supposed to stand there as a tree, he still had to show up.
Piles of worksheets on the desk nearly blocked the boy’s view. Lately, Fu Zhi’an had been drowning in practice tests. In addition to his daily homework, he’d somehow gotten hold of even more test papers, and he’d barely lifted his head from them.
Wang Xiao glanced at the empty seat towards the back. Smiling, he said, “If Chi Ge isn’t here, you could put your stuff on his desk.”
Fu Zhi’an only offered Wang Xiao the back of his head, continuing to scribble on the papers with his black pen, his voice calm and detached: “He wouldn’t like that.”
A sudden heaviness pressed on Wang Xiao’s heart, though he couldn’t quite figure out why. He was usually carefree, never letting anything bother him. He’d joke around with classmates at school and play mind games with his parents at home. Fu Zhi’an, the top student who sat behind him for almost a semester, had long gotten used to listening to his banter with Chi Yu.
But Chi Yu hadn’t been to school for nearly a week. Fu Zhi’an, who wasn’t much of a talker to begin with, had become even quieter, responding with little more than grunts. The homeroom teacher had explained Chi Yu’s absence as sick leave, but Wang Xiao wasn’t convinced. Chi Ge never needed a reason to skip class, nor would he bother asking the teacher for permission. Rumor had it that Chi Yu’s family had donated a new sports hall to the school, and now there was a construction crew working near the field.
Wang Xiao wanted to say something to Fu Zhi’an, but the words caught in his throat. Finally, he just said, “Don’t worry, Chi Ge definitely won’t transfer.”
Fu Zhi’an’s pen paused, the tip hovering over the paper, slowly seeping ink into a small black spot.
The play rehearsals didn’t require Fu Zhi’an to do much. He just needed to stand on the edge of the stage, occasionally turning as the plot progressed. It was such a simple task, yet Fu Zhi’an had messed it up seven times already.
The bustling street and freshly paved asphalt didn’t look quite right. But the droop of the boy’s eyes and the furrow by his nose seemed just perfect to Fu Zhi’an—perfectly suited and endearing. The seed he had buried deep in his heart had finally sprouted, no longer restrained by thorns or doubts, pushing through the cracks and growing wildly towards the bright sun.
Then, the clouds rolled in, and the sun disappeared.
Someone nudged his elbow, snapping Fu Zhi’an out of his thoughts. He looked at the dazed classmates on stage.
“Sorry.”
Wang Xiao watched Fu Zhi’an standing on the steps, his oversized school uniform practically hanging off him. Even from a distance, you could see his thin shoulders and bony knees. Maybe it was because Fu Zhi’an looked so pale and delicate that Wang Xiao’s long-dormant sense of chivalry stirred.
“You should go home and get some sleep,” Wang Xiao shouted from the audience, rolling his eyes at Chen Lin. “I mean, why make someone stand there when they don’t even have lines? People might think we’re punishing the top student by making him stand around.”
Chen Lin’s voice wasn’t as loud as Wang Xiao’s. She sneaked a glance at the pale, clean-looking boy not far away and stammered, “I just want the rehearsal to go well… How about we take a vote on whether Fu Zhi’an needs to stay?”
There were eight male roles in Snow White, and the guys playing the dwarves were already in a bad mood. Seeing a chance to voice their objections, they jumped at it, yelling like they were in some sort of reform meeting. The majority voted against it, leaving Chen Lin feeling embarrassed. She tugged at Ji Xiaoxiao’s sleeve.
“I don’t care,” Ji Xiaoxiao said, raising an eyebrow as she glanced at Fu Zhi’an. “I think he’s just in the way.”
No sooner had Ji Xiaoxiao spoken than Lin Chuan, who had been squatting on the floor, suddenly stood up, his face flushed as he added, “Yeah, Fu Zhi’an standing there is a total eyesore!”
In the end, Fu Zhi’an grabbed his backpack and left the rehearsal hall. The kindness of his classmates surprised him, especially Wang Xiao, who looked like he was about to find a wheelchair to push him home. The approaching winter night was damp, and the third-to-last streetlight had been flickering since it broke the night before, like someone’s blinking eyes.
Fu Zhi’an stopped about ten meters from the school gate, his grip on his backpack tightening involuntarily.
A boy in a white sweater stood outside the iron gate, holding something dark and wriggling in his arms. The thing wasn’t sitting comfortably and kept squirming around. The boy seemed highly irritated, cursing under his breath, but still adjusted the creature to make it more comfortable.
“I’ve told you, no dogs allowed in the school. Why don’t you understand that?” The security guard, hands in his pockets, sounded resigned.
“I said I’m holding it, right? I’m just here to find someone.” The boy’s tone was firm as he held the puppy up, glaring at the guard. “If I’m holding it, it won’t run around. How can it be a dog if it doesn’t run around?”
What nonsense. Who knows what goes on in his head.
The security guard said something else with his hands on his hips, then probably decided it wasn’t worth the trouble and went back into the guardroom, locking the door behind him.
Maybe sensing the stare, the boy looked up with a scowl and met Fu Zhi’an’s bright gaze. Fu Zhi’an found it odd—whenever he looked at Chi Yu, it felt like his eyesight suddenly sharpened to 20/20, so clear that he could even see the fuzz on Chi Yu’s cheeks.
It was so unexpected, seeing him here. The boy looked a bit flustered. He lowered his head, biting his lip, his feet seemingly glued to the ground, unable to move. He was gripping the squirming, dirty puppy a bit too tightly, and it struggled again, as if protesting against its fate.
Chi Yu took a deep breath and lifted his head again, finding Fu Zhi’an still staring at him, just like before, when Fu Zhi’an’s eyes always seemed to follow him.
Fu Zhi’an didn’t dare move closer. He was afraid that if he made even the slightest movement, Chi Yu would bolt.
So he just watched, watched as the boy seemed to gather all his courage to look up, licking his dry lips and furrowing his brows in that awkward way. Chi Yu carefully raised his arms, lifting the puppy high above his head, the little creature trembling in confusion.
“Um…” Chi Yu’s voice was cautious, almost as if he was testing the waters. To make sure Fu Zhi’an could see clearly, he stretched out his arms.
“Look, I found a dog.”
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