He Dongli came down from the third floor, originally intending to call Zou Yan to leave together.
At the buffet table, Zou Yan was standing properly with a wine glass beside an older man—no need to guess, that was his father, Zou Director from the Stomatology Hospital.
Zou Yan gestured at her, probably meaning for her to wait five minutes.
During this time, the Liang Family’s grandchildren and their classmates were being praised and encouraged by the elders, then performed a Waltz.
Tu Yumei passionately explained to the ladies’ circle that this was a new club course added this year at Yizhong Affiliated High School.
The vigorous twelve- or thirteen-year-old youths, paired as boys and girls, showed not a hint of stage fright as they danced to the Second Waltz by Shostakovich.
The adults formed a circle around them, making them the center of the universe, dazzling and radiant.
He Dongli almost saw, amid their energetic movements, the shining sweat—fervent, pure, with no trace of ambiguity.
When the dance ended and the young dancers bowed, she joined the others in applause.
He Dongli hadn’t noticed when Zou Yan came over; the echoes of the waltz still lingered.
He waved a finger in front of her eyes, “So, how was your chat with Liang Jianxing?”
He Dongli answered with something else, “After all these years, Yizhong’s sense of aesthetics hasn’t changed.”
“Hmm?”
“Elegant and revolutionary.”
Back when Zou Yan was in school, his grades weren’t outstanding, failing enough classes to delay graduation, “Did you guys already have ballroom dance classes back then?”
He Dongli shook her head, but she was more than familiar with this Second Waltz—her muscle memory had it down.
Back when Yizhong’s first and second year select group formed the School Orchestra, she was the pianist.
During the intensive training, their conductor was the soon-to-retire vice principal, who had a background in Chemistry, but that never diminished his passion for music.
Everyone said that amateur enthusiasts often become big shots; everyone knew he was holding back a fire, wanting to stand out in that ten-school joint performance, to give a perfect farewell for his Retirement.
The training was every Friday, on club day.
That day, several classmates were late one after another, and Principal Cong wasn’t pleased with everyone’s spirit, so he scolded them first thing.
He Dongli happened to be on her period that day, but not wanting to hold back the group, she endured the pain until practice ended.
Because she didn’t go to the restroom in time, when the session dismissed, she sat dazed on the Green Velvet Piano Bench, not moving for a long while.
In the end, only she and Zong Chi from the Clarinet Group were left in the music classroom.
He had come back to get his water bottle or something, and suddenly, towering over her, asked what she was sneaking around for—was she eyeing the school’s piano bench or the music room’s floor tiles?
He Dongli was so startled she sat back down.
Back then, like most girls her age, she had a natural, almost culturally ingrained sense of vague, shallow embarrassment about her period.
She couldn’t remember how she explained it to Zong Chi, or maybe she remembered wrong.
Maybe Zong Chi figured it out himself.
They weren’t even in the same class anymore, and as Zong Chi put it, he and He Dongli weren’t close—top students like her didn’t care to mingle with their crowd.
He’d said it himself, but after hearing from other classmates that He Dongli agreed with his assessment, he came to confront her at the Cafeteria, carrying his tray and plopping down like a bomb, making the table shake.
He accused He Dongli of being a loner. In her eyes, only other top students existed, just like his aunts said—people only connect with those from their own world.
That was He Dongli, so of course she wasn’t close to anyone.
He Dongli didn’t want to argue, but Zong Chi wasn’t done, mocking her—if you spend all your time studying and keeping up your rank, of course you have no time for friends.
He Dongli shot back, yes, I spend all my time maintaining my rank, things your Young Master Zong wouldn’t care about—satisfied now?
She made him so mad, for once he fired back, “If I spent all my time making friends like you, I’d rather do more problems and improve my ranking, leaving you all far behind.”
That night, before evening self-study, Zong Chi was so angry he didn’t eat a bite, carrying his tray away to dump it.
He Dongli kept her distance for half a month, until they met again at orchestra training.
He had seen through her embarrassment or awkwardness, as if he’d come just to laugh at her.
He asked her, “If I hadn’t come, what would you have done?”
There was a stain on He Dongli’s pants.
She didn’t care anymore, didn’t even look at Zong Chi, just stood up, used tissues from her bag to wipe the Piano Bench—the bloodstain had already seeped in.
“Can I borrow your phone to make a call?”
In the end, she softened her tone.
The school had strict rules against bringing phones, but she knew Zong Chi would never follow those rules.
He took out his phone, asked her to recite the number, and only handed it to her after connecting the call.
After He Dongli explained the situation to her mother on the phone, Zong Chi lent her his school jacket, telling her to keep her own on.
The night wind outside was strong, and He Dongli looked pale as a ghost dusted in flour.
She ran back to the classroom, found some dish soap, and insisted on scrubbing the bloodstain from the Piano Bench until it was invisible.
While she was cleaning up her “mistake” at the sink, only the sound of running water and his occasional coughs echoed in the hallway.
When He Dongli heard him cough, she turned to look at him, and for a moment, neither said a word.
It was too quiet.
Zong Chi, getting impatient, crossed his arms and mocked her, “You look just like someone cleaning up a corpse after a murder.”
That night, He Dongli dragged the Piano Bench under the south-facing window, letting it “bask” in the moonlight in a bizarre way.
Then she said to Zong Chi, “Alright, let’s go.”
He was silent for a long time, then coolly commented, “He Dongli, you’re a bit neurotic.”
He was vicious with his words, but He Dongli still thanked him.
They walked out the school’s main gate together.
The Xu Family’s car was, of course, long gone.
Zong Chi said he’d give her a ride.
He Dongli took out some spare cash from her backpack, saying no thanks, she could take a taxi.
Zong Chi held out his hand for the taxi money.
Seeing her hesitate, he simply snatched it.
He told her to get in the car, and tried to scare her with the recent news of a young woman’s body being found hidden in a rented apartment’s secret compartment, saying his school jacket was still tied around her waist—he didn’t want to see the police at his door the next day asking, “What’s your relationship with the deceased?”
He Dongli thought this person was truly spoiled by his parents, through and through.
Zong Chi opened the backseat car door, gesturing for her to get in.
Seeing her comply, his sharp tongue wasn’t done yet, “You still haven’t answered—what’s your relationship with me?”
He Dongli didn’t care for his dark humor, snapping back, “I’m already dead, what’s there to answer?”
Zong Chi finally smiled, then slammed the car door shut.
The youthful, unrestrained dancing below seemed to also draw the attention of the distinguished guests upstairs.
Liang Jianxing’s honored guests for tonight’s banquet came down applauding.
The woman Liang Jianxing lived with joked that his nephew and Mr. Zong were still schoolmates.
Chen Xiangyang corrected her objectively, “Not ‘still’, they are.”
Zong Chi nodded slightly, took a sip of wine, and said in his usual mild tone that outsiders often took as humility, “Mm, I almost didn’t get in back then. I wouldn’t dare compare myself to these kids.”
Chen Xiangyang exposed him, “Almost? You were way off, weren’t you?”
Zong Chi acted like he didn’t hear, as a guest, it was only right to go greet the hosts.
He asked Liang Jianxing to introduce him to the Liang Family parents.
While Zong Chi went off to socialize, Chen Xiangyang looked around and, almost as He Dongli and her companion turned to leave, called out, “Dongli, why didn’t you pay attention to me just now?”
Chen Xiangyang smiled warmly, like a gentle tiger—but a tiger still has fangs.
He was, after all, the tiger who served as the fox’s right-hand man.
He Dongli hadn’t had a single hot meal all night, and now that Chen Xiangyang called out to her, she simply picked up a piece of buttered rice cake to fill her stomach.
He came over and first introduced his girlfriend, Li Miss, properly.
He Dongli was running low on carbs, not enough to keep her mood stable, especially with Chen Xiangyang smiling and holding her back like this.
She almost blurted out, “Oh, this isn’t the same one as last time.”
But she wasn’t as bad as she imagined.
She nodded stiffly, greeting the other politely.
Li Anni heard that He Dongli worked at Affiliated Hospital No. 1 and exclaimed in admiration, “You really don’t look it, Dr. He—you don’t look like a doctor at all.”
He Dongli swallowed her snack and softly asked, “What does a doctor look like?”
Li Anni quickly shook her head, saying she didn’t mean that, “Dr. He, you look so young. If Chen hadn’t told me, I’d have thought you were still in school.”
Chen Xiangyang chimed in, “She’s been in school for too many years—still is, in a way.”
Li Anni whispered in Chen’s ear, “So how old is Dr. He?”
He Dongli overheard, and Chen Xiangyang chided his girlfriend for being gossipy and nosy.
Li Anni pouted, thinking of the scene upstairs.
She’d wanted to ask if Dr. He and Mr. Zong knew each other—were they a couple?
Quarreling exes?
But she didn’t dare, only privately felt the other seemed younger than herself.