Summer in Your Name - 45

With a plan in mind, Sheng Xia struck while the iron was hot and started writing her book.  

A single piece took two to three hours just to write, not counting the extensive research and reading beforehand. As a result, when Sheng Xia returned in the evenings, she could no longer work on practice exams. Instead, she dove headfirst into poems, songs, and ancient verses, sometimes staying up until one or two in the morning. Even her dreams were filled with long-deceased poets and lyricists.  

That left only lunch break as her uninterrupted, focused time.  

Every day, after hastily finishing lunch, Sheng Xia didn't go to the lounge, and returned to the classroom to work on practice exams, then she’d nap at her desk for fifteen minutes before afternoon classes. Whatever she couldn’t finish, she’d pick up again after dinner.  

It was her turn to sit in the single row this week, undisturbed, clear-headed, and independent.  

Her daily sleep dwindled to just four or five hours. Jasmine tea gave way to white tea, then to green tea—Sheng Xia didn’t care what it was, as long as it kept her awake.  

Despite the physical exhaustion, she felt like she’d been injected with adrenaline, not the least bit mentally drained.  

During the one-day New Year’s holiday plus an evening study session, Sheng Xia wrote three literary appreciation essays and finished a comprehensive science practice exam.  

What's New Year's Eve? She didn’t know.  

She crossed into the new year with Li Qingzhao¹.  

(¹: A famous Chinese poet from the Song Dynasty, known for her lyrical and melancholic works.)

In poetry, there was lamenting spring and grieving autumn, but in reality, her fighting spirit soared. The slow rhythm of reciting poetry and writing late at night was made up for in the daytime with formulas and equations. Sheng Xia felt that before she could become a ‘versatile genius’ excelling in both arts and sciences, she'd first turn into a ‘split-personality wreck’ failing at both.  

During a break, she scrolled through her social feed, something she rarely did before, but lately, for some reason, she found herself doing it often.

New Year’s Eve posts were, as expected, lively. Her old classmates from No. 2 High School were especially active—some set off fireworks by the river, others gathered at barbecue stalls, and a few even partied in glitzy, neon-lit venues.  

Then Sheng Xia came across a post from Hou Junqi.  

The caption was bland: Happy New Year.  

The accompanying photo, though, was quite artistic. At its center was a hand holding a cup of… well, a yellowish drink. He must’ve been sitting when he took it. In the blurred background was a pool table, Sheng Xia could still make out a figure rolling up their hoodie sleeves, leaning over to play, it was Zhang Shu.  

Lately, she’d been immersed in his notes, constantly marveling at how a top student was forged. Sheng Xia had almost forgotten that her deskmate was no goody-two-shoes, he was a ‘multitasking’ delinquent scholar.  

What time was it, and he was still out having fun?  

So social.  

Not wanting to miss the festivities, Sheng Xia also posted a status update, then turned off her phone to focus on her writing.  

---

At Hou Junqi’s house, in the basement.  

Bang! A shot sank a ball into the pocket.  

Zhang Shu finished his turn, set the cue aside, and said, “Your go.”  

Han Xiao eagerly ran over to rack the balls, starting a game of black eight with Liu Huian.  

Zhang Shu flopped onto the sofa, pulled out his phone, and tilted it to start a game, looking thoroughly bored.  

Wu Pengcheng noticed and said, “Let's double-up, A-Shu!"

“Sure, let’s go,” Zhang Shu replied, his tone flat, lacking enthusiasm.  

“Hey, someone posted a status!” Hou Junqi, who was scrolling on his phone, suddenly read aloud with great interest: “Peng flies north to the sea, phoenix greets the dawn, carrying books and swords on a boundless road. Next year, I’ll soar to the azure clouds, laughing at the mortals toiling below… What’s that mean?”  

The game had just matched, and Wu Pengcheng leaned over. “What’re you mumbling about?”  

“A status update,” Hou Junqi said, all mysterious.  

Zhang Shu’s brow twitched.  

Among the people Hou Junqi knew, only one person would post something like that…  

He exited the game screen, opened Q.Q. 

Wu Pengcheng, who’d entered the game solo, realized Zhang Shu hadn’t joined. He wailed, “A-Shu, confirm already! What’re you doing?”  

Zhang Shu ignored him and went to his feed.  

He didn’t have many friends on his list, so right below Sheng Xia’s post was Hou Junqi’s ostentatiously ‘decadent’ photo.  

Damn, it even caught him in the shot.  

Zhang Shu raised an eyebrow. Was her post supposed to praise her own quiet diligence while subtly mocking him for partying?  

He suddenly chuckled, this scholar is so adorable. Even their shade is so refined.  

Wu Pengcheng caught that smile and rubbed his arms. “What’s with that lovesick grin?”  

Hou Junqi, with a knowing tone, said, “Heh, pondering what a beauty’s thinking about is way more fun than gaming, huh?”  

Wu Pengcheng thought for a moment before catching on. Who else could have that kind of influence on him? Sheng Xia, obviously. He no longer had interest in the game, humbly asked, “So what does that line mean?”  

  

“No clue,” Hou Junqi shook his head.  

Then they saw Zhang Shu’s comment appear under Sheng Xia’s post:  

[Secretly studying? Who are you trying to blind with your brilliance?]  

Huh? That’s what it meant?  

Why did the comment feel so… sticky?  

“A-Shu, what exactly is going on between you two?" Wu Pengcheng asked.

After all, that day was still vivid in their minds, Sheng Xia’s dad with his dazzling resume, chatting and laughing with Lu Youze.  

  

Zhang Shu’s voice stayed flat: “Nothing’s going on. Just study hard and make progress every day.”

Hou Junqi rolled his eyes. Quit the act. Zhang Shu’s recent gloom was practically suffocating him.  

“Study hard and make progress, yeah right,” Hou Junqi said sarcastically. “To get those old first- and second-year exams for Sheng Xia to practice, how many nights did you stay up? Typing out every question word by word! And don’t get me started on those math and physics diagrams, you had to go to a print shop with a drawing tablet to sketch them, then you solved them yourself and wrote a full set of detailed solutions, like they were straight out of a 5-3 workbook answer key. Man, I’m impressed. If I were a girl, I’d be throwing myself at you!”  

Over by the pool table, Liu Huian and Han Xiao heard this and clicked their tongues in amazement, “That’s awesome!”  

Hou Junqi went on, “Get this, he then sold a copy to Chen Mengyao for a hundred bucks, and used that money to buy a little deer plushie for Sheng Xia. Absolute legend.”  

“Who was it that said life’s too short to be hopeless romantic and would rather go on a quest for enlightenment? Looks to me like this quest is no easier, A-Shu.”  

Wu Pengcheng cut to the chase: “Don't get in too deep. Life’s long, no need to tie yourself down so early. Let go now and spare yourself the torment. Her parents’ background, her family, they’re not in the same social class as us…”  

Everyone knew this, but no one dared to say it outright. That day, after learning Sheng Mingfeng's identity, Liu Hui'an had dug into his wife's background. Turned out she was formidable. The average person might only know that the Zou family owned one of the earliest shopping malls in Nanli. But those in the know understood Zou family was a century-old scholarly merchants, involved in both business and culture. Wealth was one thing, but they carried an air of aristocracy.  

In short, they were worlds apart.

At their age, what was the rush? It's just a youthful infatuation. Once the college entrance exams are over, everyone goes their separate ways. A relationship with no future—best to let it go early. Years from now, you’d probably laugh at yourself for being such a fool.  

Wu Pengcheng left it at that. The guys exchanged glances.  

Zhang Shu just listened, saying nothing, expressionless, scrolling through his phone.

Wu Pengcheng peeked over. Good lord, the screen showed a photo from the school sports festival.  

It was originally a group shot, but someone had cropped it until only Zhnag Shu and Sheng Xia remained, there was enough space between them to fit another person.  

Gotta admit, they looked good together.  

Well, all that talk was wasted; this guy didn’t seem like he was letting go anytime soon.  

The pool table was down to a few balls, all tough shots. Liu Huian circled the table for a while, still unsure how to proceed.  

Zhang Shu suddenly tossed his phone aside, leaned back, and cursed, “Fuck!”  

A burst of frustration.  

Everyone turned to look. Zhang Shu was slumped on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, muttering to himself, “Still want it so bad.”  

A tone of surrender.  

Want it. Want what? Want who?  

It went without saying.  

Zhang Shu stood abruptly, grabbed the cue from Liu Huian’s hand, and eyed the red ball that just wouldn’t go in. He raised the cue, angled it, and with a sharp tap, the white ball jumped, clearing the obstructing black eight and sinking the red ball into the pocket with a clean jump shot. 

“Nice!”  

“Beautiful!”  

Zhang Shu’s gaze was distant, seemingly sighing or maybe just exhaling. Then he spoke, his voice steady, almost to himself: “Social class is there to be crossed.”  

He knew everything, but when those eyes looked at him, all he wanted to do was to be good to her.  

He hadn’t even started yet. How could he let go?

Since that’s how it was, he’d fight to death and see it through.    

---

Not long after New Year’s, Sheng Xia could finally get her cast removed.  

Xin Xiaohe was more excited than her, clamoring about wanting to scribble on the cast.  

“Such a ceremonial moment, how could we miss it!”  

Sheng Xia, good-natured as always, propped up her leg for Xin Xiaohe to scribble on.  

“What should I write…” Xin Xiaohe pondered, already starting with a black marker, leaving her bold handwriting: [Dongzhou University, here I come!]  

Sheng Xia: …  

Now everyone is hyped up.  

  

“Sheng Xia, I want to write too!”  

“Me too!”  

“Me, me, me!”  

Soon, a crowd gathered around Sheng Xia, lining up to scribble. Sheng Xia felt a bit embarrassed, after all, they were holding her leg…  

But her classmates didn't notice anything, chatting among themselves. 

“This is way cooler than signing school uniforms!”

“Once-in-a-lifetime chance!”  

Sheng Xia: …  

  

Still, she was happy, watching everyone write their college entrance exam wishes. She thought about keeping the cast after it was removed, maybe preserving it somehow for future class reunions.    

Luckily, Sheng Xia had plenty of markers in every color. Before long, half the cast was covered, with barely any space left.  

Zhang Shu and Hou Junqi arrived late, seeing so many people gathered they thought something was wrong.  

Pushing through the crowd, they saw a girl squatting next to Sheng Xia, holding her leg to write on the side.  

Hou Junqi: “This looks fun. Shu, write something?”  

Zhang Shu eyed the cast, dense with clusters of university names. Not wanting to dampen the mood, but glancing at Sheng Xia, who was clearly tired but still indulging everyone, he said lightly, “Hurry up, class is starting.”  

“Brother Shu doesn’t need to write, he can get into any school he wants!” someone said.  

“So, A-Shu, are you leaning toward Heqing University or Haiyan University?”  

Everyone was curious, staring at Zhang Shu.  

Sheng Xia didn’t look at him but perked up her ears to listen.  

Zhang Shu didn’t answer. Staring at the dark crown of her head in the middle of the crowd, he asked, “Why didn’t you write something yourself?”  

Sheng Xia didn’t realize he was talking to her until a hand ruffled her hair, sending strands flying.  

“Oh, come on!”  

“Enough, enough!”  

“Ugh, forget I asked, how silly of me...”

“Alright, everyone, break it up!”  

Sheng Xia looked up, meeting a pair of eyes that could only be called gentle.  

  

The crowd scattered like birds taking flight. Sheng Xia froze, what was he doing now?  

She lowered her leg, muttering, “I can’t reach it.”  

“What do you want to write? I’ll do it for you,” Zhang Shu said, picking up a marker and squatting down.  

She quickly tucked her leg under the desk. "I don't want to write anything."  

“Is that so? Then I’ll write.” He tugged her leg out slightly and quickly scribbled on the blank spot behind her knee.  

She was sitting, he was squatting, his head bent close to her side, this position was... awkward.

He finished, stared at it for a couple of seconds, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Without another word, he tossed the marker on her desk and went back to his seat. 

Sheng Xia looked down and saw a line: [My life is up to me, free and unbound, I walk my own path.]  

---

On a sunny weekend, Sheng Xia finally had her cast removed. When the doctor’s electric saw buzzed, she dove into Wang Lianhua’s arms, making Wang Lianhua chuckle.  

The cast split, revealing pale, bruised skin that looked almost lifeless. Sheng Xia was startled.  

The doctor prescribed pain-relief ointment and went over a long list of precautions, then Sheng Xia was free to go.  

Thanks to her prior exercise, she felt no pain when walking, just a lightness sensation, hesitant to put weight on the injured leg.  

Back home, Wang Lianhua looked at the cast. “This is really special. We should seal it up someday, bring it out at a class reunion. It’ll mean a lot!”  

Sheng Xia couldn’t agree more.  

“With dreams as my steed, I won’t waste my youth, nice… My life is up to me, free and unbound, I walk my own path…” Wang Lianhua read aloud. “Who wrote this? So profound for someone so young.”  

Sheng Xia: …  

“Fortunate to know your peach-blossom face, from now on, every path blooms with warm spring…” Wang Lianhua paused, clearly recognizing the handwriting. “You wrote this?”  

Sheng Xia’s heart skipped a beat.  

She’d written it last night, twisting awkwardly to do so. The handwriting wasn’t her best, but it was unmistakably hers.

So she nodded. “Yeah, for my classmates.”  

Wang Lianhua’s gaze lingered briefly but said nothing more.  

Sheng Xia exhaled in relief.  

With so many words crammed onto the cast, her mom probably hadn’t noticed that this line had a name attached.  

Sheng Xia had indeed quoted the poem for her classmates, but not for all of them.  

At the top right of that line was a name.  

[Song Jiang:  

Fortunate to know your peach-blossom face, from now on, every path blooms with warm spring.]  

No matter whether they’d end up in the same city or cross paths again in the future, she was glad to have met such a dazzling person at the tail end of her youth.  

I’m so glad to know you, Song Jiang.  

---

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