From childhood onward, one memory after another came flooding back on a very ordinary night in the second semester of sophomore year. I sat at my desk, asking myself again and again—what right did I have not to study hard?
If I were more capable, Dad could be driving a new car.
If I worked a little harder, Mom wouldn't have to agonize over vegetables that went up a few cents.
If I studied just a bit more, maybe Mom and Dad wouldn't sigh every time they looked at my report card, worrying about my future. If I got into a good university, Dad and Mom could stand tall and proudly say, "My daughter is a student at a top university."
But wanting those "ifs" to come true requires paying the price.
My grades always fluctuated wildly. Other people could maintain their rankings effortlessly.
I couldn't. When similar-sounding multiple-choice options A, B, C, D came up, the slightest lapse meant choosing wrong. Key information hidden in question stems was hard to find.
Ellipses, parabolas, hyperbolas that I could never wrap my head around. What I wrote down were answers, what I filled in were little darkened boxes, but behind them lay countless hours of effort that needed constant making up.
For me, the price of not working hard was something I'd already experienced during the high school entrance exam.
I'd spent a long time catching up, but in this elite high school, how would anyone wait for you? What greeted you was only the shadows of others sprinting just as hard.
My dad always said the early bird catches the worm. Actually, I never thought I was dumb when I was young.
But after starting high school, I realized that people who aren't as smart as you will work twice as hard, and people who are smarter than you will study even harder. To catch up with others, there are no clever tricks, no shortcuts.
The only way to make up the gap is to grit your teeth and put in twice the effort.
Under the Hengshui model, the high school schedule was extremely tight. Trying to squeeze out extra time from it was like squeezing toothpaste from an empty tube.
So what could I do? I could only wake up half an hour earlier than everyone else.
In the morning I'd splash cold water on my face and dash out the door. My hair was tied in the dark, any which way. Every day I was the first to reach the classroom and turn on the lights. At night I'd stay an extra ten minutes before heading back. Even when eating in the cafeteria, I'd pull out Chinese poetry flashcards to memorize.
Both backs of my hands were covered in English vocabulary. Whenever I had a free moment between classes, I'd glance at them.
I remember a friend asking me: wasn't I exhausted, waking up so early and staying so late?
How could I not be tired?
I also wanted to wash my face leisurely with warm water every morning.
I also wanted to stay curled up in a warm bed every day.
I also wanted to fix my hair into a nice style.
If I could, who'd want to go bare-faced in the prettiest years of seventeen or eighteen?
Who'd want to splash freezing cold water on their face first thing in the morning? Who'd want to walk around with dry, dull hair, losing handfuls of it?
Who wouldn't want to stroll around the track with friends after school, get a boyfriend, hold hands secretly?
This kind of life was actually hard to sustain. Countless times I was on the verge of breaking down, struggling at the edge of giving up.
Eventually, when I really couldn't hold on anymore, I started printing photos—I'd print photos of my mom and dad and tuck them into my books. I'd take a picture of my dad's beat-up car and on the back write: "I will definitely buy Dad a new car." I'd photograph my mom's empty skincare bottles and on the back write: "I'll buy Mom the best skincare products in the world."
It was this thought—that I couldn't let my parents down—that kept me going through senior year.
Every time I couldn't hold on in high school, I'd call my mom and dad.
One phone call, and my health bar was fully restored.
My foundation was really shaky. My goal was simply to get into a solid Tier 1 university.
But every mock exam in senior year, I was far, far from the Tier 1 cutoff line. I knew deep down
That to make my wish come true, I had to redouble my efforts and work even harder.
Because I often woke up earlier than others to catch up on material, I was always the first to arrive at the classroom.
In summer it was bearable, but in winter, it got light incredibly late.
Walking alone on the road, it would be a lie to say I wasn't scared.
But I would often find that the hallway lights in the classroom building were already on before I got there.
Every time I stood on our class's balcony memorizing material, I could see the light on in Class One on the first floor across the way.
I used to sigh to myself—no wonder the kids in Class One studied so well.
Every time the darkness frightened me and I hesitated to move forward.
The lights in the classroom building felt like my lighthouses.
As if someone was always there keeping me company.
I'd often look at that lamp and think to myself: let's work hard together!
Let's both achieve our wishes. Here's wishing you well, and me well too.
My hand was still holding the milk cup. The milk had gone cold.
I hadn't taken a sip, just held it like that, trembling slightly.
"September 20, 2020—Sunny—Sunday"
Recently each class put up a college entrance exam countdown sign.
The display screen on the building also showed a countdown.
"260 days until the 2021 college entrance exam"
I stared at it and felt a bit dazed.
After 260 days.
Will we have to say goodbye?
"September 21, 2020—Sunny—Monday"
The mock exam results came out today.
I saw your grades.
Better than last time.
But... math is still dragging you down a bit.
Liberal arts math and science math are different.
Wait a little longer for me.
I'll review the liberal arts section soon and write out the solutions for you.
"September 24, 2020—Cloudy—Thursday"
I've finished writing out the solutions for that math paper from the last mock exam.
They don't distribute answer sheets anymore.
I didn't know how to get it to you.
Went to the fourth-floor office.
Found where your class's assignments were stacked.
Slipped it inside your workbook.
Well, I hope it doesn't get blown away.
My brain felt too exhausted to keep turning, everything a muddle.
It felt like—every moment I'd thought was my own luck, every blessing I'd thought came from heaven, was actually someone quietly helping me from where I couldn't see, one thing after another.
They say the bystander sees clearly, the one in the game is lost.
At the time I didn't look deeper into those things: the quilt that disappeared, the boy who handed me the microphone, the hand that steadied me on the bus, the physics answer sheet filled with solutions, the "Go for it" at the Sports meet, that silhouette in the rain, the lights left on in the corridor, the math solutions tucked inside the workbook... And all these things happened so quietly, without my noticing. Every coincidence I took for granted was actually someone's deliberate doing.
What if I'd paid closer attention then? Would I have noticed that the handwriting on my workbook in senior year was the same as the handwriting on that physics answer sheet from freshman year? If I'd looked more carefully, would I have realized that the figure retreating down the stairs was the same silhouette from the rainy day? If I'd been more observant, would I have noticed that the profile of the boy who handed me the microphone was the same Lucas on the honor roll? If I'd been just a little more attentive, would I have understood that the boy who was good at studying, the cross-country champion, the tallest boy at the Sports meet—was the beginning and end of everything?
But there are no "what ifs" about the past. My high school years won't replay themselves just because of my carelessness.
Missed moments, missed people—how can you start over? We seemed to exist in the same time, but we were separated by a three-year time difference.
Lucas had known me for three years, but I was only just getting to know Lucas.
"October 2, 2020—Sunny—Friday"
I wrote before.
Freshman year, five days off for National Day.
Sophomore year, three days off.
Senior year, will there be no days off at all for National Day?
Sure enough.
Just one day off for National Day.
That's fine.
Racing against time to review.
Racing against time to see you.
"October 5, 2020—Sunny—Monday"
Chinese class.
The teacher displayed the top-scoring essays from the last mock exam for the whole grade.
One of them was yours.
Blanket Girl is amazing.
Seeing you praised.
Feels even happier than winning an award myself.
"October 7, 2020—Sunny—Wednesday"
Looked up absentmindedly today.
And saw that countdown sign hanging high up.
College entrance exam countdown: 243 days.
Actually, this countdown doesn't matter that much to me.
This sign is just a constant reminder.
A countdown to the moment I completely lose my last connection to you.
I know this day will come sooner or later.
But I still hope—later.
A little bit later.
What about you?
Are you also afraid of seeing that countdown?
21
Our class had also hung up a college entrance exam countdown sign, and we took turns changing the numbers by student number.
The sign hung right next to the blackboard.
You could see it the moment you looked up.
The countdown digits were even in red.
Every time I saw them, I felt a suffocating sensation.
As if reminding you how many days of struggle you had left.
It felt like the sign weighed a thousand pounds.
Every time I lifted my head from the sea of exercises.
Looking at the numbers on the sign, they'd blur slightly.
Looking back, those days were nothing but endless practice problems.
Unfinished error-correction notebooks, exam after exam after exam.
Red and black pens crossing back and forth across my youth, leaving their marks behind.
I used to tell Tang Jia.
I said that TV shows, movies, and novels are all liars.