Chapter 16: Strolling Through the Campus

At noon in the cafeteria, I finally saw Ge Xin as I had hoped.

Ge Xin’s hair had always been beautiful. When she first started high school, she wore it in a ponytail; within days, she cut it into a neat bob that brushed her jaw. Whenever she lowered her head, her hair would sweep down with a soft, crisp sound, as if she could be in a shampoo commercial.

By senior year, she had cut her hair even shorter, barely longer than a boy’s crop.

Many people asked her why she kept it so short. She would reply, “Long hair takes too much time to wash…”

Well, that was certainly a convincing reason.

Ge Xin’s eyes weren’t large, but narrow and bright. Now, she squinted at me, a mysterious look on her face. “Ling Yin, sit down! Guess what I brought you?”

“Oh, is it stuffed flatbread?”

“Yes! My dad came to see me yesterday and brought some my mom made. This portion is for you.”

“That’s wonderful! Please thank your mom for me!”

“Not going to thank me?”

“Of course, thank you, Lady Ge!” I replied with a grin.

“The 800-meter run is on a cloudy day—are you ready for it?” Ge Xin asked with concern.

“Oh, you know me. No matter how hard I push myself, I still can’t finish it.”

“Don’t worry. If I finish first, I’ll come cheer you on!”

“Promise you’ll come.” I let out a long sigh.

“What are you doing after lunch? Want to rest in my dorm for a bit?” she asked.

“No need. I’ll just go back to the classroom,” I said.

The college entrance exam was just around the corner. I didn’t want to disturb Ge Xin. She should get a good rest at noon.

Ge Xin’s mother’s flatbread was delicious. I finished all the food I’d gotten in the cafeteria and then ate both pieces she’d given me.

The result was that I was absolutely stuffed.

Well, I’d have something to do after lunch—take a walk around campus to help digest.

I bid Ge Xin farewell and wandered the campus alone.

In just a month, I would leave this place where I had studied and lived for three years.

If there was anything I would miss, it was only my friends. The thought of parting with them filled me with reluctance.

We would all go our separate ways, perhaps never to meet again.

As for senior year itself, it was an experience I never wished to repeat.

Every year, many students chose to repeat the year. Several in our class had already decided to.

The reasons were always the same: some hadn’t met the cutoff scores and had nowhere else to go, while others hadn’t gotten into their dream schools and wanted to try again.

No matter what, I’d made up my mind: as long as I could get into any university, anywhere would do.

I didn’t want to repeat the year.

The pressure wasn’t just psychological; it was physical, too. I didn’t think I could take it again.

Even if I were forced to repeat, I wouldn’t do it at No. 1 High School.

Why? Two reasons.

Apart from the headache of tiered teaching, there was also the torment of late-night self-study.

Winters in Y City were often snowy. Sometimes, sitting in the classroom, you could watch the thick flakes drift down, blanketing the world outside.

Scenes described in song lyrics were everyday sights in Y City.

Usually, people from the south would see snow and think, “How beautiful! I want to play in it, build a snowman…”

But all I could think was, “How am I supposed to ride my bike home in this? How many times will I fall before I get there?”

Our classroom building didn’t have restrooms. We had to go to the public toilet in the northwest corner of campus.

In winter, during evening study sessions, if it started to snow, you had to bundle up in your down jacket, brave the howling northwest wind and thick snow, and trek across campus to the restroom.

At night, the streetlights around campus cast a dim, golden glow on the snow, making it shimmer as snowflakes danced in the light.

It was so cold your hands would go numb. If you reached out to catch a snowflake, it wouldn’t even melt in your palm.

The girls usually went in groups, since the restroom was in a secluded spot, and there were stories of things happening there in the past. For safety, it was best to go together.

Summer was much better. Even in the evening, there were always people out: some memorizing vocabulary, others reciting lessons, and a few couples finding a quiet place together.

But I was getting ahead of myself.

Time to think about reality—the huge challenge looming ahead!

On the track, a few young staff members were repainting the running lanes in white.

Oh no, the 800-meter run was coming up on a cloudy day. What on earth was I going to do?!