Chapter 9

When I woke up, I felt exhausted, my mind a little empty, and my diary was still lying open on the desk.

“March 31, 2017. Heavy rain.” Only the date and weather were written; the rest of the diary entry was blank, as if part of it had been wiped away.

On the letter paper, there was a line written through gritted teeth accusing me: “What kind of fortune did you tell? I didn’t see her at all on that road.”

I sighed. “There are differences between Eastern and Western cultures-fortune-telling might not be the Fairy Godmother’s specialty. Next time, I’ll try prophecy for you. You didn’t manage to deliver her homework; she’s probably quite pleased about that.”

Chen Yabai said nothing.

I grinned as I wrote: “Don’t be mad. Let me tell you a secret about Yu’an (nicknamed Xiao Yuan). She really likes the song ‘The Wind Rises.’ She later said that if you play and sing that song at the Campus Arts Festival in June, she’ll definitely fall in love with you on the spot.”

I saw the ink blur beneath the word “love”-someone had lingered with the pen at that spot for a long time, then suddenly came to and wrote two energetic words: “Just wait.”

All the keys to the school piano room were in Jiang Zishu’s hands from Class A. As the head of the Student Council Arts Department, she was also in charge of the Campus Arts Festival. If Chen Yabai wanted to practice piano this time, he would inevitably have to interact with her. Jiang Zishu was beautiful, outstanding, and most importantly, she was practically a childhood friend to Chen Yabai, and liked him very much.

After Chen Yabai died, she came looking for me more than once. She grabbed my hair hysterically, asking me why I wasn’t the one who died. Later, Jiang Zishu went abroad, perhaps trying to forget Chen Yabai.

She and Chen Yabai were the same kind of people. I was not.

I felt as if I had forgotten some things, so I tried to write down everything I could remember. An ordinary notebook wouldn’t do-it would end up with its words erased just like my diary. I used the cover from that love letter; I had previously confirmed that if I wrote on the cover, Chen Yabai wouldn’t receive it.

After the heavy rain at the end of March, I couldn’t remember exactly what had triggered it, but I started to think Chen Yabai was actually pretty nice, and I no longer resisted his presence. He could more or less be counted as a friend. My parents eventually divorced, and I stayed with my father. My mother, after freeing herself from a failed marriage, quickly moved out of the city. My father, away on business, left me at my uncle’s house for a while.

I protested, but he ignored it.

My uncle had a cousin, Lin Sui, a student at a prestigious university, though for some reason he was on leave at home. My aunt spoiled him as if he were a treasure. When my dad dropped me off, he claimed it was so I could learn from my cousin and catch up with my terrible grades.

Lin Sui started tutoring me. He wore glasses and always smiled gently. He was actually more responsible than either of my parents-he even picked me up and dropped me off at school. He said it wasn’t safe for girls to walk alone at night. Chen Yabai once saw him waiting for me at the school gate, tugged me over by my backpack strap, casually slung his arm around my shoulders, and stood there lazily, his peach blossom eyes squinting at Lin Sui as he affectionately asked, “Xiao Yuan, who’s this?”

Lin Sui adjusted his glasses and replied politely, “I’m Yu’an’s cousin, Lin Sui.”

Chen Yabai’s tense posture immediately relaxed.

At that time, that incident hadn’t happened yet-everything was still gentle and soft. Chen Yabai was my only, special friend. He was annoying, but it was within tolerable limits. Before basketball games, he would force me to sit in the front row, deliberately put his jacket over my head, and I could smell its clean scent of soap. He was tall and stood out in a crowd, always surrounded by people, yet he liked to call out “Xiao Yuan” to me from afar to show I was special to him.

I started looking up information about Media University, but the computer page lingered for a long time on photos of the Police Academy next door.

His childhood friend Jiang Zishu had once come to warn me, “Chen Yabai only thinks you’re pitiful. He has lots of friends and treats everyone well. Don’t overthink it.”

I shrugged. If she hadn’t said it, I would never have thought of it at all.

All these things happened in April that year-beautiful, like willow catkins drifting through the spring breeze.