"January 18, 2019—Cloudy—Friday"
Next week it's our class's turn for weekly duty.
The teacher said it's voluntary.
Theo and Ryan both signed up.
I signed up for evening study duty too.
Hmm.
I'll get to see you every day next week.
Good night, my Blanket Girl.
"January 21, 2019—Sunny—Monday"
Passed by your class. Saw you sitting in the last row.
Head down, seems like you're doing math.
Very focused. Keep it up.
"January 25, 2019—Cloudy—Friday"
Duty week ends tomorrow.
No more chances to peek at you through the back door.
I could only pretend to casually stroll past your class window.
What about you then.
Can you see my roaring, surging feelings?
Our high school had a rotating weekly duty system. Every class would get at least one turn over the three years.
The class on duty needed to select fifteen duty students, who'd be issued armbands and ID badges. Duty students got a week off from morning exercises—they only needed to check the excuse slips of students not running.
Beyond that, duty students could legitimately stroll through every class during morning reading and evening study.
This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, nobody wanted to miss. Only the top students declined—they'd rather spend the time studying than waste it on patrol.
I remember when it was our class's turn, we were a humanities class with mostly girls, and everyone jumped at the chance to be a duty student, all for the sole purpose of trekking across campus to catch a glimpse of their crush.
Thinking about it now, that was probably the only time in all three years of high school that you could openly and legitimately go look at the person you liked.
"January 26, 2019—Sunny—Saturday"
Last week was exam week.
Blanket Girl studied very hard.
Should get a good score.
Don't worry too much.
Winter break is coming soon.
Such a long stretch of days.
I don't have your contact info.
I don't dare disturb you.
You shouldn't be burdened by my feelings.
"January 27, 2019—Sunny—Sunday"
Saw you hopping around happily on the balcony. Results came out today. You must have done well. Seeing you smile made me smile too.
That way, your parent-teacher meeting will have something to show for it.
No need to hang your head and cry anymore.
"January 28, 2019—Sunny—Monday"
Blanket Girl.
Happy Little New Year.
Happy Winter Break.
"January 29, 2019—Light snow—Tuesday"
Approaching the New Year.
Red lanterns are hanging along the streets.
Colored lights adorn the tree branches.
Shops are busy with clearance sales, owners rushing home for the holidays.
As night fell.
It happened to start snowing lightly.
Drifting down onto the cobblestones.
People coming and going, all wearing smiles.
In the brightly lit evening.
Every touch of red.
I always think of you.
"February 1, 2019—Cloudy—Friday"
Feels like ages since I last saw you.
Today is the 27th of the twelfth lunar month.
I went to the supermarket to try my luck.
Didn't run into you.
Bought chips though.
The flavor you like.
"February 4, 2019—Light snow—Monday"
Today is New Year's Eve.
Lights burning bright into the night.
Fireworks ringing in the new year on the dot.
If only I could say "Happy New Year" to you in person.
Happy New Year, Blanket Girl.
Lately I've been reading Maugham's "The Moon and Sixpence."
There's a line in it that I love.
"All over the place were sixpences, but he looked up and saw the moon."
The ground may be littered with sixpences reeking of copper and greed, but some people still irresistibly rely on the power of spirit to look up and appreciate the beautiful night sky.
Though it may seem out of place.
Yet at this very moment, I suddenly thought of you.
Blanket Girl.
In this world, you are the courage that allows me to look up every single time.
You are not the moon. You are the radiant sun.
"February 5, 2019—Cloudy—Tuesday"
First day of the New Year.
I wonder if you had dumplings.
Went to pay New Year's calls early in the morning.
Happened to be right in your neighborhood.
Many times I've ridden the bus past your neighborhood.
But never had a chance to go inside.
Wandering between the buildings.
Trying to catch a glimpse of your figure.
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"Next stop: Wangyue Community East Gate. Passengers alighting, please watch your step. Passengers boarding, please move toward the back. Next stop: Wangyue Jingyuan West Gate."
Holding the diary, tears soaked through the pages again. I wiped the wet pages while frantically getting off the bus.
I crouched by the bus stop near my house. In a daze, I felt as if someone had stood here long ago, waiting for my arrival.
If only I had turned around then, would I have seen his love?
The moon still hung over the distant mountaintop, shining on my face, my heart a barren wasteland. I had missed the most measured guardianship of a boy's entire youth.
I didn't go home. Leaning on the light from the intersection and the glow spilling from the still-open shops, I continued flipping through the pages.
"February 8, 2019—Sunny—Friday"
Don't know if you've been doing your homework properly at home. School starts on the 11th. This long winter break is finally almost over. It's been so long since I last saw you.
"February 11, 2019—Sunny—Monday"
School starts today.
Passed by your class.
You're copying your winter break homework.
Sigh! Were you up late last night rushing through assignments too?
My parents never demanded much from me. As long as I finished my winter and summer homework by the time school started, that was fine.
Every time a break was about to end, I'd start a week before the deadline. I'd always copy the English homework first because it was mostly multiple choice, so with the answer key, I could finish copying in a few hours.
Then came the physics and math homework—formulas were easy to copy and required less writing. The only troublesome part was that I had to add some fake work traces, so after copying everything straight through, I'd have to go back and touch it up.
Chinese was the biggest headache—there was so much writing required, and many answers were just the word "omitted." I couldn't leave blanks, so I had to wrack my brain and make things up.
In elementary school, I could rip out a dozen pages from my "Happy Winter" workbook and hide them in the gap behind our shoe cabinet. While everyone else handed in a thick stack, mine was only half as thick. Every time the teacher looked at my workbook during inspection, I'd stare at her with my most sincere eyes, and she'd move on to the next student. Worked like a charm.
In my elementary school diary, I once wrote: "Why do we have to do 'Happy Summer' for 'Happy Summer'? Why isn't 'Happy Summer' called 'Miserable Summer'? I wish the school would be bombed tomorrow so I could have a real happy summer."
My mom got called into the principal's office over that. When she came back, she couldn't even be bothered to deal with me—just gave me an eye roll.
Middle school was better—I had a slightly more active conscience. Sometimes when I was in a good mood, I'd actually do a few pages myself. But middle school winter and summer homework only got harder, and the answer keys became increasingly sparse.
Our middle school teacher was strict, especially about checking our math homework—not a single blank was allowed.
I'd stare at the spread-open workbook, unable to understand: if I already knew everything in this book, why would I still need to be in school?
Of course, no one had time to humor me. Back then, all those homework-searching websites were massively popular. I'd photograph questions with my phone like crazy, but some still couldn't be found online. I'd leave those blank, then show up early on the first day of school and furiously copy from my classmates.
By high school, whether it was because I was getting older or just getting bolder, I felt like Sycamore City High only gave us a few days off anyway—why bother with homework?
We already studied enough at school. Why should we have to do more at home? With that attitude, I just played even more recklessly. But good days always come to an end, and things you don't want to face always catch up with you.
The night before every new semester started was my death-by-all-nighter day. I was sleepy but didn't dare sleep, trying to work a miracle in one night. Tang Jia, Tian Yaqin, and I agreed to stay up all night—checking in with each other on the hour, then going back to writing. By the second half of the night, my handwriting had turned into wavy lines, and I still didn't dare sleep. That's when I'd start hating my homework-procrastinating self, crying and posting a status on QQ, then continuing to write, and making a solemn vow that next winter or summer break I'd turn over a new leaf and start doing homework from day one.
And then the next year, it was the same story, an endless vicious cycle that somehow got me through high school.
Thinking back now, I really should have done my homework properly. I later realized that winter and summer breaks were the ladders for soaring and the corners for overtaking. Some people quietly surpassed everyone else during those gaps. The time you lazily wasted would eventually come back to make you pay in even more painful ways.
But there's no point in thinking about it now. People only ever realize that they could have done better on an exam after the exam is already over. But the test has been taken, and no amount of regret will help, because regret is the norm of this world.
Now that I've graduated, I never have to pull an all-nighter for winter homework again.
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