Yizhong Affiliated High School ninth grade, second semester—this was also their last spring field trip in the Affiliated School division.
He Dongli was in charge of collecting the permission slips and fees for this field trip.
Zhu Fengchun repeatedly emphasized that unless there were special circumstances or health reasons, everyone should participate in the class activities as much as possible.
After all the delays, only Zong Chi’s permission slip hadn’t been returned.
She went to ask him; Zong Chi sat at his desk, spinning a basketball on one finger, saying nothing.
He Dongli relayed Lao Zhu’s words: whether you’re going or not, you still need to hand in the permission slip with your parent’s signature.
If you don’t give it to me by tomorrow morning, I’ll turn it in myself.
Zong Chi couldn’t care less.
He let her stand by his desk for ages, until the class monitor called He Dongli over—the blackboard in the hallway had a corner wiped off, and that section was their responsibility.
The class monitor asked He Dongli to help touch it up.
After she left, a few boys in the back row started teasing and gossiping.
As usual, it was about how He Dongli really listened to Wei Chenyang, how she did all the work, but the class monitor took all the credit, and yet some people still foolishly ran around working hard.
Someone argued, “Ha, maybe she’s just doing it willingly.”
“Who? You mean He—”
The boy was suddenly kicked hard in his chair by Zong Chi from behind, nearly toppling forward with his seat. Zong Chi stood up as if nothing happened, went to borrow the permission slip from them.
The boy in front, puzzled, finally said, “Already turned it in.”
Zong Chi didn’t even wait to hear the rest and left through the back door.
That evening, before the end of self-study, he slapped the signed permission slip and the fee onto He Dongli’s desk.
She was packing her bag and called out to the silent Zong Chi, who didn’t even look back.
He Dongli warned him, “Zong Chi, did you forge your parent’s signature…?”
The person at the door suddenly turned back, his expression a bit threatening, but He Dongli didn’t care at all.
She finished packing, slung her bag over one shoulder, and with the permission slip pinched in her hand, walked right up to Zong Chi, brushed past him, and said in a voice that skimmed by his chin, “Let’s talk outside.”
In the hallway, facing the night, He Dongli reminded Zong Chi: “If you don’t want to go, then don’t—it’s not a big deal. But forging a parent’s signature? Lao Zhu will definitely check with your family. If the homeroom teacher passes along a ‘crime’ like that, it’ll turn serious even if it wasn’t.”
Zong Chi thought he had imitated Zong’s Father’s signature perfectly.
When he played pranks, he’d sign for documents Zong’s Father brought home, and even his father’s secretary couldn’t tell the difference.
Yet He Dongli saw through it in a second.
She handed the slip back, but Zong Chi refused to take it, insisting, “I was going to give it to you this morning—you ran off.”
He Dongli corrected him, “Me? Run? You’re the one who didn’t listen. I’m not wasting words with someone who can’t hear.”
Zong Chi retorted coldly, “You say you won’t talk, but you’re still talking so much.”
Annoyed, He Dongli folded the slip again and again, saying calmly that she’d keep it safe and hand it to Lao Zhu first thing in the morning, and tell him she had reason to suspect Zong Chi’s parent’s signature was forged…
Zong Chi immediately tried to snatch it back.
As she stuffed it into her bag, he reached in to grab it. In the struggle, he managed to tear out half.
Bookworm as she was, He Dongli’s first reaction was, “Still say you didn’t forge it? If you weren’t guilty, why are you so anxious?”
After wrestling for a while, Zong Chi found he only had the top half—the part with the signature was still in her hand.
He fumed, and He Dongli, equally annoyed, tossed the other half back to him, threatening like Lao Zhu’s lackey: “Go if you want, don’t if you don’t, but stop with these tricks. Zong Chi, if you’d just be honest for once, you wouldn’t get called out by Lao Zhu every time!”
He Dongli’s blunt advice didn’t work.
The next day, Zong Chi turned in a genuine permission slip.
On the day of the field trip, he called Lao Zhu, claiming a stomachache and said he couldn’t go.
Zhu Fengchun didn’t say a word and contacted Zong Jingzhou’s secretary.
The result: halfway up the mountain, Zong Chi was personally escorted by his father’s secretary.
Along with him was a former classmate from before he transferred—
Lin Jiaoyu.
Zhu Fengchun, not far from the Buddha statue amid the lush mountains, let Zong Chi have it with a scolding.
And that wasn’t all—he’d skipped school to play games behind his family’s back, and after hiking, he still had a stir-fried bamboo shoot and pork lecture waiting for him at home.
During the lunch break, everyone was sharing the snacks they’d brought for the trip.
Only Zong Chi and his friend, unprepared, stood empty-handed.
They discussed buying something, but at this tourist spot, there were only a few options—expensive and tasteless at that.
Zong Chi complained about the bread Lin Jiaoyu bought, “Hard as a rock, like your dad died.”
Lin Jiaoyu, ever outrageous or maybe just trying to annoy Zong Chi, shot back, “What, you’ve eaten your dead dad before?”
He Dongli happened to be passing by to throw out trash.
Lin Jiaoyu had met her a few times, and cheerfully greeted her, calling out, “He Ali!”
Zong Chi snapped at his friend, “If you like chatting with girls so much, go join the girls’ group.”
He Dongli approached openly, asking if they wanted a sandwich.
Lin Jiaoyu immediately brushed off the bread crumbs and reached out.
He Dongli nodded and went to get them.
When she returned with a lunchbox, Zong Chi was already gone.
Lin Jiaoyu said he went to the bathroom and told her not to worry.
He pointed at the box, “Is all this for us?”
He Dongli nodded. Inside were several bacon, egg, and ham sandwiches, as well as some cantaloupe with ham and air-dried beef.
Lin Jiaoyu was genuinely touched and couldn’t help but praise her mother’s cooking—careful and exquisite.
He Dongli said nothing, only reminding them to return the box when finished.
When Zong Chi returned, he coldly said from behind her, “If you gave it to him, let him wash the box. Don’t count me in.”
He Dongli replied with a drawn-out “Mm,” as if repeating herself, “Lin Jiaoyu, after you’re done, wash the box and return it to him.”
Then she asked for his name.
Lin Jiaoyu grumbled that she didn’t even know his name, but still introduced himself.
He Dongli asked, “Which ‘Yu’?”
“Yu, as in Zhou Yu,” Lin Jiaoyu shamelessly replied.
Zong Chi, the troublesome friend, added, “The ‘Yu’ from ‘Why was Zhuge Liang born after Zhou Yu.’”
He Dongli didn’t say anything more and returned to the girls’ group.
That day’s field trip was full of incidents.
The weather forecast had said clear skies, but a sudden rainstorm caught everyone off guard, forcing the group to take shelter in the mountains.
A student from the neighboring class, horsing around, accidentally fell into a rocky hollow, tearing their knee open to the bone.
Luckily, a military doctor visiting her hometown for Qingming happened by, cleaned and bandaged the wound, and got the student to the hospital in time.
Meanwhile, in Tianwen (1) Class, a fight broke out at this critical moment.
He Dongli had just returned to the group when a classmate told her someone was looking for her.
Before she could get up, two striking students appeared before her.
She recognized the girl—it was Xu Xilin from the competitive rowing class.
The boy introduced himself as Xu Xilin’s older brother, a student at Yizhong Senior High School.
Xu Xize was also on the mountain for the field trip.
Tall and long-legged, he sat right down on the girls’ picnic mat from the Affiliated School.
Xu Xilin stood by, clearly annoyed at her brother’s easygoing manner.
Xu Xize ignored her, sitting cross-legged, shooed away the other girls, and said he wanted to talk to He Dongli alone.
He asked the younger girls if it was okay.
Under the green sandalwood tree, petals falling in the rain, clouds drifting lightly—whatever Xu Xize said to He Dongli, she didn’t move for a long time, her face turning from red to pale.
When Xu Xize finally stood up, he pointed at He Dongli’s lunchbox and said, “What a coincidence, we had the same food today. No wonder—Aunt Lu made so much last night, but Linlin and I only got a little bit.”
Xu Xilin, not as good-natured as her brother, had long heard about He Dongli and couldn’t stand that it was thanks to her own father that this country bumpkin could attend the same school as her and her brother.
As she left, she hooked her foot under the lunchbox and flipped it over.
The whole thing spilled onto the back of He Dongli’s hand.
Lin Jiaoyu came over to return the lunchbox as promised and immediately exploded, “Who the hell raised you? Wearing shoes on someone’s mat is already out of line, now you’re kicking things around—are you a dog? No hands?”
Xu Xize immediately shielded his sister, but Lin Jiaoyu tossed the box aside and pulled He Dongli up.
She had lost all her earlier energy and openness, just staring blankly, barely breathing.
Xu Xize tried to leave, but Lin Jiaoyu wouldn’t let him.
In the scuffle, the (1) Class suddenly united, causing a commotion that caught Zong Chi’s attention.
When Zong Chi arrived, he found He Dongli silent and dazed.
As she was about to speak, Zong Chi cut her off, telling the troublemakers to clean the mat.
“If you don’t have hands, then lick it clean.”
Zong Chi’s words were harsh, and Lin Jiaoyu egged him on, “So this is what kind of people Yizhong produces? Unbelievable.”
He Dongli tried to stop them, her face pale as paper, telling Zong Chi to leave it alone, that it was her own problem.
Zong Chi, stomach empty, had been scolded all morning by Zong’s Father, pestered by his mom’s overseas calls, chased up the mountain by his father’s secretary, and then chewed out by Lao Zhu.
Now, He Dongli wanted to push him away and tell him not to meddle?
He exploded, yelling at her, “He Dongli, you’re so good at arguing with me, but when it comes to outsiders, you go all weak? Don’t make me look down on you! You think I care about you? I just can’t stand people coming onto our turf!”
At the time, He Dongli was a year younger than them, and her only stubbornness was never to cry in front of others.
Zong Chi, with his bad temper, grabbed Xu Xize, not caring that he was a few grades older, demanding he clean the mat before he could leave.
Xu Xize cursed at Zong Chi, and before Zong Chi could react, Lin Jiaoyu was already brawling.
He Dongli had seen Zong Chi fight before, but now he had backup—at that hot-blooded age, their punches landed solidly.
When Zhu Fengchun arrived, it was almost chaos.
With the earlier accident in the neighboring class, all the homeroom teachers were already on high alert.
The two incidents happened almost simultaneously, and Zhu Fengchun—seeing the melee—was furious.
He stopped them immediately, making an example out of Zong Chi.
“Call your parents now. If they’re not here in an hour, expect a withdrawal notice from the school.”
That afternoon, He Dongli followed Lao Zhu and took the initiative to explain, taking all the blame herself, saying she’d argued with a student from the other class over personal matters, and that it had nothing to do with Zong Chi.
He was just standing up for her.
For the first time in her life, He Dongli wrote a self-reflection, but she refused to defend herself.
When Zong Chi found her, he asked what had happened, but she remained listless, offering no explanation or complaint, just saying that she’d already cleared his name with Lao Zhu.
Zong Chi didn’t want to hear that.
He just asked, “What happened? Where’s your usual tough, never-give-up attitude?”
He Dongli, cold and distant, simply drew a line, “It’s my own business.”
For a moment, Zong Chi’s face turned red, like when he practiced shooting at the range—he’d always thought his aim was good, but hadn’t expected the real recoil, nearly dropping the gun.
Or like when Zong Jingzhou taught him cards during the New Year—he thought he was sure to win, but Zong Jingzhou cheated, he cheated, and lost big.
The most embarrassing part was, Zong Chi didn’t remember the cards, and even when his opponent cheated, he didn’t notice.
He threw down his cards, refusing to play anymore.
But Zong Jingzhou insisted on teaching his son how treacherous the world was: if you only play cards for the game, you might as well go home and play with cats and dogs.
Sitting down to play is just a pretense—what matters is the people.
If you want to win, you have to watch both your hand and the whole table.
Never just focus on yourself, or you won’t even know how you lost.
In that moment, Zong Chi felt a flash of insight, like looking in a mirror and seeing He Dongli.
He despised people who only cared about themselves—“Your own business, huh? Then go deal with it yourself.”
After a pause, he continued sarcastically, “Anyway, I’m leaving soon. I only came to the Affiliated School to relax. Who wants to get involved in your drama?”
He Dongli, a few steps down the stairs, turned back, looked up at him, her expression clear and youthful, a trace of envy she couldn’t hide.
She finally said “Mm,” tightened her grip on her bag, and clattered down the stairs.
After that, until they graduated from the Affiliated School, they never spoke again.
Zong Chi’s brief reminiscence ended as quickly as it came, like a boomerang landing a glancing blow on an old classmate—painful but fleeting.
Looking at her face, sitting across from him again, he felt his anger fade away.
So he tried to gloss things over.
He was good at this—if something unpleasant or awkward happened, once it passed, it passed.
If he came to talk to you, that was his biggest concession.
Right now, he saw He Dongli choked up by his words, silent.
Leaning back in his chair, Zong Chi suddenly straightened and changed the subject, “Have you eaten? It’s so late.”
He Dongli still ignored him.
Zong Chi circled back, as if turning the page, “So, how did you see through my fake signature on my dad’s behalf back then?”
He Dongli was even thinner than when they parted.
The watch on her left wrist was deliberately worn loose.
She spun it easily, checked the time, then glanced up at him, correcting him, “I told you before.”
“I forgot.”
He Dongli seemed lost for a moment, then replied with a faint, mocking tone, “Because with your personality, you’d never let something your dad signed sit in your backpack for a whole day.”
Zong Chi acted as if he really couldn’t remember, but clearly his sense of humor hadn’t improved—he started laughing coldly before she finished.
He Dongli didn’t mind mocking him again, “Also, your dad’s taste is better than yours. His ink is always lighter than yours when he signs, and his strokes are more elegant.”
“What, are you in school or in a spy agency, analyzing old men’s handwriting? He’s not Wang Xizhi, you know.”
“Mm. If he were, I wouldn’t have returned your ‘original’ so easily.”
“What do you mean?”
He Dongli stood up across from him, saying nothing more, “It’s too late. I should go.”
Zong Chi was silent for a second before catching her meaning.
He’d come down in a rush and hadn’t brought his phone, so he gestured to a waiter to contact Mr. Chen on the top floor. “I’ll have a car take you home.”
“No need, I’ll just get a taxi.”
He Dongli took her coat from the waiter, fingers tugging the sleeve of her sweatshirt as she put it on.
Zong Chi, as if remembering something, passed on a message, “Lin Jiaoyu wanted me to say hi to you. He blames you for deleting him.”
He Dongli replied, “Mm.”
Back in school, she and Lin Jiaoyu never had any real conflict—if anything, he’d always stood up for her.
“Say hi to him for me, too. It really is my fault. Tell him, if I see him again, I’ll add him back myself.”
As she spoke, she pulled on her coat.
Her look today was casual and relaxed, her low ponytail tucked inside.
She reached up to pull it out.
Zong Chi watched, memories surfacing even against his will—her similar gestures and silhouette from before.
When he returned to the country to see her, when she was busy, when their schedules didn’t match, He Dongli was always coming and going in a hurry.
He’d once blamed her for that, thinking, “It’s always guys who pull up their pants and pretend nothing happened—don’t be better at it than me, okay? He Dongli, your hair loves me more than you do.”
He Dongli finished dressing, looked up at the seated Zong Chi, ready to say some parting words, but Zong Chi looked up at her calmly, saying, “Wait a bit. Chen Xiangyang’s car is almost here.”
“I can go by myself…”
“I’ll take you.”
Zong Chi still sat there, unhurried.
Back in university, when he played cards with Lin Jiaoyu and the others, he’d raise the stakes bit by bit, not caring about winning or losing—messing with your mindset was his real fun.
“I’m already off the table anyway. If you’re not happy with Chen Xiangyang’s car coming just for you, then let me do it. No need to be so distant, okay?”
He Dongli stood in place, silent for a moment.
Before long, Chen Xiangyang’s driver arrived.
Zong Chi asked for the car keys, intending to drive himself.
The driver leaned in and said something to him, but Zong Chi just nodded indifferently, then called for He Dongli to come out.
The two of them headed for the hotel lobby.
In the fragrant, brightly-lit hall, the waiter who had contacted Chen Xiangyang for Zong Chi now brought over a heavy-looking kraft paper bag, addressing him as “Mr. Zong” and explaining that it was from a friend for “Miss He.”
Zong Chi nodded to indicate the recipient.
He Dongli stepped forward and saw that inside the bag was a pot of blooming Eighteen Scholars.
It was from Liang Jianxing.
He Dongli froze but didn’t accept it directly.
Instead, Zong Chi smoothly took it for her when the driver offered to help.
Though the kraft paper bag was sturdy, the waiter still reminded him softly, “Mr. Zong, please support the bottom.”
He Dongli watched from the sidelines.
Not far away, the revolving door spun like a giant tourbillon, swirling crowds in and out.
From those gears, she emerged along with a drifting soul—so different from her current outsider’s pose, the world spinning in reverse.
Zong Chi, in the past, couldn’t stand even a shadow of someone else near him.
In a fit of anger, he’d snatched He Dongli’s phone and smashed it to pieces in front of her.
“He Dongli, what do you take me for? And who do you think you are? You’d better get this straight— I like you, that’s why I think everything about you is good. It’s not that you’re so great that I like you. If I stop liking you, you’re nothing.”
Zong Chi really did take the waiter’s advice, lifting the kraft bag higher and supporting the bottom with one hand.
He looked at the person beside him.
He Dongli thanked him coolly and walked ahead.
The disappointment in her eyes flashed by—disappointment so overdone it became dull, as if some memories could never anchor themselves in place at the same time: He’d forgotten that he’d ever asked her how she’d seen through his forged signature.
Forgetting was only natural. Jiang Xingyuan often hosted drinking parties.
He Dongli rarely had time to attend, and even if she did, she’d be called back to the hospital after a short while.
But she loved listening to her girlfriends gossip—women at thirty loved their “toxic bibles,” and if everyone agreed on a rule, you had to take it to heart.
Rule number one: Never believe a man’s words in bed.
When lust clouds a man’s mind, he’ll even bark like a dog if you ask him to.
But once he’s pulled up his pants and left the bed, try asking again—he’ll either say he’s forgotten or can’t remember at all.