Summer in Your Name - 44

The evening of the festival always made everyone especially excited, and the classroom was buzzing with noise.  

But when it suddenly went quiet, something was definitely up. Everyone instinctively glanced toward the back door, and sure enough, Old Wang stood there, arms crossed, his face dark as coal.  

“Sheng Xia,” Old Wang said softly, “come out for a moment.”  

Her leg injury made moving around difficult, so their usual Brother Heart-to-heart talks had been skipped for a while. Wang Wei hadn’t called her out in ages, this had to be something important. 

As expected, Wang Wei got straight to the point: “Director Li told me you’re planning to study abroad. If there’s anything the school or teachers can do to support you, just let us know. We all hope you have a bright future.”  

So fast. Wang Wei already knew…  

It seemed that Sheng Mingfeng’s so-called ‘discussion’ wasn’t about asking for her opinion at all, it was just going through the motions.

Sheng Xia didn’t speak, and Wang Wei took it as an agreement. “You can ease up on other subjects for now. Some universities do consider high school grades, but they don’t weigh them heavily. Our grades don't have much reference value to them. Just focus on getting your language skills solid.”  

“En.”   

Wang Wei continued, “Originally, Teacher Fu had found an independent enrollment¹ plan for you, but it comes with a lot of requirements, pretty tough ones. Secretary Sheng planned ahead for you, and studying abroad is actually a great option. If you strive for it, you could get into a top university overseas.”  

(¹: A special university admission process allowing students to apply based on specific achievements or qualifications, often with lowered score requirements.)

Sheng Xia barely heard the rest, quickly latching onto one detail: “Teacher, what’s independent enrollment?”  

“It’s for Heqing University, though I forgot which specific major, something related to Chinese language and literature.”

“Heqing University?”  

Wang Wei smiled. “Yeah, but it’s part of the principal’s named recommendation quota. Since you didn’t study at Affiliated High School in your first two years, you’re not considered a full Affiliated High School student, so that path is closed.”  

The principal’s named recommendation was something only provincial key schools like Affiliated High School had, unlike No. 2 High School which lacks such privileges.  

Sheng Xia asked, “So, does that mean there’s another way?”  

Wang Wei caught something in her tone and looked at her seriously. “You don’t want to go abroad, do you?”  

Sheng Xia’s brows furrowed slightly as she gave a faint nod.  

Wang Wei sighed, remembering when Sheng Xia first arrived. He’d asked why she chose science, and her answer was that her family chose it for her.  

Now, at another critical crossroad, this seventeen- or eighteen-year-old girl still didn't have the choice to make her own decision. 

But Wang Wei felt Sheng Xia was different now.  

Compared to her previous resignation, there was a spark in her eyes, a force ready to break through any barriers and burst forth. 

Though it was faint and subtle.

Wang Wei shared, “You can ask Teacher Fu for specifics, but she said the requirements are extremely strict. No one in her three classes meets them, and honestly, it’s hard to find anyone in the entire Affiliated High School who does.”

Strict requirements, so tough that no one in Affiliated High School could meet them.  

Sheng Xia didn’t know what those requirements were and wasn’t confident, but if Teacher Fu thought of her, didn’t that mean she had a glimmer of hope? Something called ‘hope’ seemed to peek out, teasingly scratching at her, saying playfully: Hey, grab me!  

Sheng Xia’s heart itched with anticipation.  

“Does Teacher Fu have evening study tonight?” she asked.  

“Yes, in Class 22.”  

Sheng Xia said, “Teacher, I want to go talk to Teacher Fu.”  

“Now?” Wang Wei was surprised, glancing at her leg. “There’s no rush. I'll call Teacher Fu to come down after class.”  

“No need!” Sheng Xia said quickly. “I’m almost healed; I can walk without crutches now.”  

Wang Wei hesitated for a moment before saying, "Be careful then. Ask Zhang Shu to go with you.”  

Sheng Xia shook her head. “No, no need Teacher. I’ll be back soon.”

Sheng Xia went upstairs, unsure why she was in such a hurry or why she insisted on going herself. Maybe it was an urge to take a gamble, a feeling that she had to bet something and plead: God, see how hard I’m trying, how much I want this, please give me good news!  

But she wasn’t being reckless. These past few days, she’d gone to fetch water without crutches, and it didn't hurt as much anymore. Still, since it was the fifth floor, she cautiously brought her crutches, slowly climbing the stairs. When she reached the fifth floor, the view opened up before her.  

She’d always been on the first floor and never knew the fifth floor had such a view.  

Affiliated High School was an integrated building, with all teaching and office buildings connected by covered walkway, allowing seamless movement even on rainy days.  

From the fifth floor, the greenery, flowers, and shrubs on the covered walkway were in full view, like an aerial garden.  

Looking out after a tiring study session, wouldn’t this view wash away all your fatigue?

The first floor had a garden too, but it was a completely different scene.  

Just for this view alone, the trip was worth it.  

Class 22 was right by the stairs. Sheng Xia, hobbling on crutches, was too conspicuous, and Fu Jie spotted her immediately, hurrying over to sit her down on a bench outside Class 22’s corridor.  

The students in the class craned their necks to peek curiously, Fu Jie shouted “Focus on your own work!”  

Most turned back to their tasks, except for one tall figure in the back, still stretching his neck to stare.  

Sheng Xia blinked in surprise. Was that… Han Xiao?

“Are you here about Heqing’s independent enrollment?” Fu Jie asked knowingly. “You could’ve just called me.”  

Sheng Xia lowered her head. “It’s stuffy in the classroom; I wanted to come up for some air.”  

Fu Jie picked up on her tone. "Did Zhang Shu bully you?”  

Sheng Xia froze, staring at Fu Jie in shock.  

“Haha, just kidding,” Fu Jie said, then turned serious. “You won first prize in the Wutong Tree Essay Competition, right?”  

Sheng Xia nodded. “Yes.”  

“But the policy of guaranteed admission through essay competitions has been canceled.”  

“I know.”  

Back then, she joined the competition not for the chance at guaranteed admission, she just enjoyed writing.

“Heqing’s independent enrollment is different from others. If you get in, you only need to pass the minimum score for the first-tier line.” Fu Jie said, pulling out her phone and opening Heqing University’s website.  

That night, Sheng Xia had browsed Heqing’s website thoroughly but skipped the ‘Admissions’ section, thinking it was irrelevant to her.  

From guaranteed admissions, high-level art troupes, and athletic teams to programs for Hong Kong, Macao, Taiwan, and international students, Heqing’s recruitment methods and target groups were diverse, beyond just the college entrance exam. There were also programs like the Strong Foundation Plan² and Dream-Building Plan, mostly for competition-based students.  

(²: A special enrollment program aiming to select and cultivate outstanding students on foundational disciplines like literature, history, and sciences.)

Fu Jie clicked into the Strong Foundation Plan, and among the majors listed were history, archaeology, philosophy, and Chinese language and literature.  

“It’s this one, Chinese language and literature, but it’s not that simple,” Fu Jie said, opening the admission guidelines.  

“It focuses on Classical Chinese literature, a newly established major. You can’t switch majors during your studies, and the career prospects are unclear. Plus, it might be a bit monotonous.”

Sheng Xia had a basic understanding of classical Chinese literature. “Monotonous? I’m not afraid of that. I love Chinese Literature.”  

Fu Jie smiled. “Other independent enrollments require competition achievement, written exams, and interviews. This one’s different, no exams or interviews. You can apply as long as you meet the requirements, and if you pass the review, you can get a score reduction to the first-tier admission line. However, the conditions are brutal. Competitions have patterns and prep classes; this doesn’t.”  

The admission criteria included standard requirements like being a full-time high school graduate and politically sound, but the real hurdles were:

1. Publish one work in a national-level literary journal or five works in provincial-level literary journals.  

2. Publish one literary work (over 100,000 words) with a B-level or higher publisher.  

3. Win third prize or higher in a provincial-level literary competition.  

…  

Sheng Xia finally understood what 'brutal’ meant.  

Publishing in a national-level literary journal³ was the threshold for provincial writers’ associations.  

(³: Prestigious Chinese journals with rigorous editorial standards, often requiring significant literary merit or connections for publication.)

“You've got the third requirement covered. Have you published in provincial journals before?” Fu Jie asked.  

Sheng Xia replied, “Yes, I’ve published four pieces, but one is a poem.”  

Fu Jie gave a thumbs-up. “You need five poems to count as one piece, so that doesn’t count. Still, you’ve got three pieces.”  

Sheng Xia analyzed calmly, “Provincial journals might not be that hard…”  

At this, Fu Jie’s eyes widened, both impressed and shocked. Sheng Xia realized she’d sounded a bit too confident and lowered her voice, embarrassed. “I have some drafts I could submit.”  

Fu Jie said, “The real challenge is publishing.”  

This admissions program was clearly for those already prepared. It was almost impossible to meet the requirements by cramming at the last minute. 

Not to mention how hard the first two conditions were. Even the third requirement, a provincial literary competition, was a dead end if you hadn’t competed before.

B-level and A-level publishers have high literary standards, and the publishing process takes at least six months, or three at the fastest if you pull strings.  

The independent enrollment announcement came out in late December, with applications open from April 10 to April 15. Publishing a book in that window was a pipe dream.  

Unless you already had something ready.  

“Teacher, I’ve written some classical poetry and prose appreciation. An editor once offered to publish them as a collection, but it was a C-level publisher, and I don’t have enough words yet.” 

She’d planned to polish them after the college entrance exam, add more content, and submit them.  

Fu Jie realized this quiet student was a hidden gem. “How much do you have?”  

“About thirty pieces, around 2,000 words each, so roughly 60,000 words?”  

“My goodness!” Fu Jie was thrilled. Though it wasn’t enough, a high schooler writing thirty poetry appreciation was impressive. “How long would it take to reach the word count?”  

Sheng Xia calculated, “One piece takes two to three hours at night, plus revisions, about a month.”  

A month. The time is very tight. Even if everything went perfectly, it might only be published by late April, that would be cutting it too close.  

Fu Jie hesitated.  

That pace was already beyond most, but whether it could be published was uncertain. Such effort at this stage was a gamble.  

The time spent on this could be used for study and review, which would surely yield good results. With Sheng Xia’s unstable grades, focusing on this could risk falling below the first-tier admission line, all her hard work would then have been wasted.  

“It’s risky,” Fu Jie concluded.  

Sheng Xia’s eyes gleamed, gentle yet resolute. “Teacher, I want to give it a try.”  

Meeting her gaze, Fu Jie realized she’d been wrong before. This girl wasn’t a jasmine; she was more like a snow willow blooming on barren branches—precious yet resilient, enduring once it bloomed.  

“Alright, I’ll contact publishers for you,” Fu Jie agreed.  

“Thank you, Teacher. Also, some publishing standards count the manuscript approval or ISBN issuance, not just the books release. Could you ask Heqing’s admissions office how they verify this?”  

Fu Jie was impressed by Sheng Xia’s knowledge—calm, confident, and thorough. She nodded. “You…”  

Before she could finish, a figure burst in from the staircase.  

Literally bursting.  

The boy seemed to have rushed up in a hurry, nearly crashing into the wall at the top. He braced himself with his arms, bounced back, and looked around frantically.  

Seeing Sheng Xia sitting there quietly, he let out a relieved breath, panting as he strode over, leaned on the table with one hand on his hip. “Why are you running around? Feeling so great you can climb five floors without aching? Don’t you know going up is easy, but coming down is hard? When class ends, it’ll be a mob, you want to fall and limp for another two months?” 

Sheng Xia stared blankly at the fuming Zhang Shu.  

What was he so angry about now?  

Fu Jie grinned at the fiery young man. “Zhang Shu, no greeting for your teacher?”

“Hello, Teacher,” Zhang Shu said dutifully, though his tone was perfunctory, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Sheng Xia.  

By now, Class 22’s curious heads multiplied, students craning their necks, whispering and grinning, their faces screaming one thing: Drama!

  

Han Xiao flashed a toothy grin, giving Zhang Shu a thumbs-up.  

Fu Jie sighed. “Alright, you two, head back. Don’t stir up my class.” They’re all going nuts over this.  

“Are you coming or not?” Zhang Shu looked at the unmoving Sheng Xia. 

Sheng Xia hesitated, then stood.  

They headed to the staircase.  

Zhang Shu crouched in front of her, glancing back. “Get on.”  

“I can walk by myself,” she said. She’d been managing the Afternoon Care stairs on her own lately; he knew that.  

“Hurry up!” He sounded impatient.  

Sheng Xia looked at his sturdy back, and inexplicably, her nose stung with emotion.  

Feelings bottled up for days surged up all at once.  

His care for her was sometimes… too much. It wasn’t just her misreading it anymore, since the sports festival, she’d been receiving curious looks and teasing comments from others around her.  

Though Sheng Xia had never dated, she’d experienced being liked or paired up a few times.  

At first, she'd react, but after a while, she grew numb, simply ignoring the chatter.  

After all, gossip and rumors cost nothing, but responding or refuting drained her precious energy.  

She didn’t want to waste her already limited time and precious energy on something so uncertain.  

But his actions keep confusing her, making her overthink.  

That day coming back from Binjiang Square, she felt something shift between her and Zhang Shu.  

The simplest way for people to grow close is by sharing secrets. He’d opened up about his family, showing empathy—that she wasn’t alone in her struggles; he had faced similar pressures and had been troubled by them too.

While she felt aches for him, it also gave her the courage to change her situation and strive forward.

In that moment, she felt truly close to him.  

After that day, their simple deskmate relationship seemed to have a crack in it, they both cautiously peering through the gap, testing the waters.  

Unable to advance, unwilling to retreat.

She knew this phase was called ‘ambiguity’.  

But lately, Zhang Shu seemed to be trying to seal that crack himself, taking a step back first.  

Why? Was it because the person he truly liked had finally made a move? Was he conflicted?  

Although Sheng Xia wasn’t very experienced in these matters, she was aware of everything happening around her.

She could feel he might like her a little, but maybe not enough.  

At least, not as much as someone he’d liked for years.  

  

That's why sometimes he acted grumpy towards her, and other times he was very nice to her.

Sheng Xia glanced at her leg. It was because of this, wasn’t it?  

Was it a male’s instinct to protect the weak, or his guilt toward her, that sprouted such shallow, fleeting feelings?

Soon, she’d be healed. Soon, the semester will end. Soon, he wouldn’t be so conflicted.  

Soon, that fleeting spark would flicker out.  

But, at this time, she was greedy for his care for her.

Once her leg fully healed, there’d be no more chances for him to carry her, right?  

  

Sheng Xia indulged herself, slowly climbing onto his broad back.  

He walked steadily, Sheng Xia tightly wrapped her arms around his neck.

At this time of day, everyone was in class, leaving the stairs empty and quiet.

The outdoor spiral staircase had open railings, offering wide views that shifted with each step.  

On his back, she took in the scenery from the fifth floor, fourth, third, and second—each floor distinct.  

The sky was fully dark. In the distance, the city lights was dazzling, the river’s surface shimmering. Nearby, the camphor-lined avenue glowed under streetlights, the lawn twinkling like a starry sky under ground lights…all unfolded before her eyes.  

Every frame felt like a slow-motion movie scene, so beautiful it dazed her. In the varying depths of the scene, his back was the eternal focus.  

  

This scenery, Sheng Xia would probably never forget.  

As they neared the first floor, she gathered her courage and softly said, “Zhang Shu…”  

His back stiffened. It had been a while since she’d called his name so gently.  

“Hm?” His tone softened too.  

“Do you really want my leg to heal quickly?”  

“Of course,” he replied.  

Sheng Xia knew his answer was sincere well-wishing, without deeper meaning. 

Yet her heart tightened inexplicably, wave after wave.

She’d known before that liking someone wasn’t always a sweet feeling.  

But she hadn’t expected it to taste so bitter.  

This couldn’t go on.  

---

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