Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Little Thing Called First Love

Chen Jinglong treated everyone to dinner, and afterward invited the group to have some fun at a bar. Cheng Xiaoyu, remembering she needed to return to school for her transcript the next day, politely declined. After all, their band would soon debut at Lanternwood Forest, and she’d have no choice but to come anyway. Chen Jinglong didn’t press her.

When it was time for everyone to head home, Cheng Xiaoyu said, “Wang Ou, you and Summer are going the same way—why not give her a ride home?”

Wang Ou hesitated. “But I take the subway and she’s on her bike!”

Cheng Xiaoyu was speechless, thinking to herself, That’s as much as your brother can do for you.

But Summer quickly waved her hands and said, “No need! My place is really close. Besides, it’s barely after seven! Still early.”

Cheng Xiaoyu smiled, “Alright then! See you at school tomorrow.”

Summer waved goodbye to Cheng Xiaoyu and Wang Ou, then rode off.

Cheng Xiaoyu nudged Wang Ou with her knee and muttered, “Are you stupid?”

Wang Ou, uncharacteristically, didn’t jump up and banter back. Instead, she offered a wry smile. “I only have a tiny bit of courage for this secret crush. If I take one step further, I’m afraid I’ll lose even the right to have it.”

Cheng Xiaoyu forced a smile and hugged her. “What’s there to fear? Your brother supports you. Trust yourself—you can do it.” Yet, as she said this, she felt a faint sense of betrayal against her own will.

Wang Ou, ever carefree, threw an arm around Cheng Xiaoyu. “With your support, that’s enough! Honestly, I kind of like having a secret crush. The happiness is simple: a chance encounter, a few meaningless words, the closest distance just enough to catch the scent of her hair. I should thank you, Xiaoyu. Because of you, I can be close to her, and each day happiness comes so easily. I don’t ask for more, because I’m afraid if I do, I’ll lose it all.”

Cheng Xiaoyu sighed inwardly—this is the fate of eternal singleness, she thought. Out loud, she teased, “Who would have thought our Big Zhuang had an artistic side! If I were a woman and heard that monologue, maybe I’d fall for you right there.”

Wang Ou pushed her away in mock disgust. “Fatty, seriously! I can barely put up with you as a guy. If you were a woman, even I wouldn’t want you.”

Cheng Xiaoyu swore, gave Wang Ou a playful smack, and said, “Still pretty springy! Maybe we should just settle for each other!”

Wang Ou grabbed at Cheng Xiaoyu’s chest and retorted, “Yours is bigger! You’d have to be the bottom.”

“I swear, tomorrow I’ll tell Summer you have a crush on her!”

“Bro, I’m sorry! Tonight I’ll send you the latest uncensored Japanese romance film.”

“What the—why didn’t you send it sooner?”

“It’s just the holidays now! If I’d sent it during school, it’d have distracted you.”

“I watch those like the nightly news. I don’t even notice the censors anymore—my eyes see the blocks, but my heart’s already past them.”

“Fine, I’ll send you the full-screen version later.”

“If you’ve got the guts!”

Their noisy banter faded into the night, beneath a sky of stars set like jewels in a deep blue velvet canopy. The midnight wind was like a teenager’s secret love: invisible, yet you could feel its warmth.

For most young hearts, first love is born quietly out of secret longing. It waits at the corner for a chance meeting; it’s the concern hidden in casual words; it’s the warmth of a cup of coffee passed between hands; it’s the length of a diary entry written late into the night. And most of all, it’s that single, precious tear after love’s first heartbreak.

In that brilliant season of our youth, to say ‘love’ was too heavy a burden for our young shoulders. To say ‘like’ was too easy, when our sincere hearts gave everything, exposed to both storm and sunlight. Such feelings are merely ‘like,’ yet come infinitely close to love—beautiful, yet so close to pain.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Splendid dividing line –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

When Cheng Xiaoyu returned home, she was anxious that Xu Qinning might actually be there. Fortunately, she was late enough that Xu Qinning and Su Yuxi had already gone to their room. According to Qiao Sansi, during winter and summer breaks, Xu Qinning stayed at the Su household more often than at her own.

The thought gave Cheng Xiaoyu a headache.

The next morning, Cheng Xiaoyu got up early to collect her transcript. As she arrived at the teaching building, she noticed a crowd around the announcement board.

Usually, the school posted a red honor roll for the top twenty students of each grade. Cheng Xiaoyu didn’t think much of it. After changing into indoor shoes, she headed for her classroom, not knowing that this time, in addition to the honor roll, both his Chinese and math exam papers had been posted for all to see. Once again, he had become the talk of the school.

When Cheng Xiaoyu entered, the previously noisy classroom fell silent the moment he stepped in. Confused, he went to his seat and asked Wang Ou, “What’s going on? What happened now?”

Wang Ou looked at him in disbelief. “You didn’t see the announcement board?”

Cheng Xiaoyu was equally puzzled. “Don’t tell me I made the top twenty?”

Wang Ou blurted, “Way cooler than that! Both your Chinese and math exams are posted on the announcement board!”

Cheng Xiaoyu was baffled. “Why?”

Wang Ou sighed. “I thought you were only talented in music, but you’ve got the makings of a great poet.”

“What actually happened?” Cheng Xiaoyu suspected it had something to do with his poems, but didn’t expect such a stir.

“You’ve made history at Fudan High! You’re the first to have points docked on your Chinese exam, yet still get full marks from the teacher. And on your math paper—you got a lot of the multiple choice right, but the math teacher still gave you zero! Now the whole school knows about you. You’re blinding everyone’s reinforced, kryptonite-coated eyes,” Wang Ou said with admiration.

Cheng Xiaoyu had underestimated the chain reaction his poems would cause. He hadn’t considered that the verses he scribbled down were, in fact, modern treasures—especially “Ride the Horse of Dreams,” which once shook the hearts of countless literary youths. Now, he felt a tinge of regret for squandering such masterpieces on a mere final exam. If it had been the college entrance exam, it might have caused a national sensation. But then again, what were the odds the test would have a dream-related prompt? He let it go and told Wang Ou, “Well, it’s no big deal to me. The score doesn’t really matter.”

Wang Ou sighed, “What a pity. If you looked like Li Liwei, you’d have girls falling over themselves for you! Even looking like me, you’d get a stack of love letters.”

Cheng Xiaoyu glanced at Wang Ou. “You? Please. Ugly lasts a lifetime; being fat is just temporary.” The classmates around them burst out laughing.

Huang Lijuan, who sat in front of Cheng Xiaoyu with her hair in braids, turned and said, “Cheng Xiaoyu, you’re incredibly talented. I need to get to know you better!” It was the first time she’d spoken to Cheng Xiaoyu outside of handing over papers.

Wang Ou was unfazed. “This is called having an edge, called manly charm. You wouldn’t understand.”

Cheng Xiaoyu ignored her and replied to Huang Lijuan, “Haha, I just like writing for fun. Never thought the teacher would appreciate it—I’m surprised myself.” Cheng Xiaoyu had mastered the art of modesty; showing off wasn’t his style, and he preferred to play the humble genius.

Huang Lijuan wasn’t a beauty, but had a scholarly charm. She especially loved gentle Song lyrics and could have stepped right out of a classic novel. She took out a delicate notebook, opened to a blank page, and handed it to Cheng Xiaoyu. “Your handwriting is beautiful, and your poetry too. Could you write ‘At This Most Beautiful Moment’ for me? It’s my favorite. If you become a famous poet, I’ll have a keepsake.”

Cheng Xiaoyu couldn’t refuse such a request. He took out his pen and, using He Lan’s semi-cursive script, wrote “A Blossoming Tree” as the title. His elegant handwriting flowed across the page, the scratch of the pen as gentle as a silkworm devouring a leaf. When he finished, Huang Lijuan tucked a golden ginkgo leaf into the notebook and said softly, “It’s as beautiful as a painting.”

Soon, other notebooks were passed his way, with classmates clamoring for their favorite poems.

Summer glanced at the slightly overwhelmed Cheng Xiaoyu and smiled to herself, thankful she’d already asked for lyrics and sheet music—a sign of her foresight.

When Mr. Wang came to hand out student handbooks, the noisy Senior Three (Class 2) finally quieted down. He announced the top ten students in the class and the top twenty in the grade. Adjusting his glasses, Mr. Wang said, “I want to especially praise Cheng Xiaoyu. There was clear progress this term. Even though you got a zero in math!” The class erupted in laughter—not mocking, but warm and good-natured.

Cheng Xiaoyu laughed along. Mr. Wang continued, “If you can improve your math, you might even make the class top ten.” That set off a new round of commotion.

After distributing the handbooks, Cheng Xiaoyu checked his scores: Chinese 150 (full marks), History 119, Geography 127, Math 0, Politics 90, English 50 (full marks), PE 19—ranking 33rd in the class, solidly middle of the pack.

Chen Haoran was once again both class and grade number one. Summer placed ninth in the class, just missing the grade’s top twenty. Wang Ou looked utterly dejected—he’d thought he might do better than Cheng Xiaoyu, but ended up at the very bottom. Luckily, as an athlete, his academic scores didn’t matter as much, and in a class full of scholars, he’d done his best. At another school, he’d have been mid-tier, not last.

After Mr. Wang announced some winter break reminders, wishing everyone a happy holiday, the class burst into enthusiastic applause—the winter vacation had officially begun.

As Cheng Xiaoyu packed up, a commotion broke out in the room. Students at the door, some not even from the class, pointed at him while whispering to their friends from next door. Cheng Xiaoyu was exasperated—how could a few poems turn him into a campus idol? When he’d had his name in the newspaper, no one had come to gawk!

Wang Ou hurried over to see what was happening. After a moment, she returned and said gravely, “Brother, you’re in big trouble!”

Cheng Xiaoyu rolled his eyes. “What could possibly have happened?”

“Your poem for Ji Yunyun—she posted it on the announcement board!” Wang Ou said with a sly grin. “Impressive! Without a sound, you’ve won over the campus belle. This confession outshines even Chen Jiajun’s!”

Cheng Xiaoyu was left speechless. He hadn’t been in touch with Ji Yunyun for ages, and now she’d struck with a dramatic, critical hit.