Monthly Examination

The first monthly exam of the second year of high school was approaching, held jointly with another school in the city. Since the streaming of classes, everyone was an honors student from their previous class; no one was willing to fall behind, and the sense of urgency regarding our studies had climbed another notch. This was likely the intended effect of the streaming. We were all hares, not tortoises, and even if we ran until our strength failed, we were pushed forward by those around us.

During those endless evening study sessions, tormented by reading comprehension, cloze tests, weekly math drills, and physics problems involving sliding blocks on inclined planes, I would unconsciously look toward the silhouette of Lingquan in front of me whenever I felt like surrendering to the piles of books.

With the exam imminent, Lingquan had been looking incredibly desperate lately. Between classes, she was still waging war on a composition prompt from the new National College Entrance Exam papers. The outline on her scratch paper lay to the side, her body tense, her ballpoint pen scratching frantically across the page. She bit down hard on the thumb of her left hand; there were several bite marks on the back of her hand that made my heart ache. I wondered if this unconscious physical output helped fuel her brain’s output.

I wanted to call out to her to go get water together, but after a moment’s thought, I decided not to disturb her. After I finished getting my water, I hurried back to my seat. Ripples spread through my heart as I watched her—it was as if I had donned armor, yet simultaneously had my softest spot pierced. How to describe it? It began by chance, then we grew closer through a shared sense of loneliness, and then, my entire life trajectory shifted because of her, much like a wandering asteroid captured by the gravity of a star. Her smile, a sigh, or the vulnerability and instability she had begun to reveal all struck my heart with unerring accuracy, as if she were the enchanting yet fate-tortured heroine of a fairy tale. Thus, an excessive, maternal desire to protect her and an untimely, romantic affection ignited within me.

I lowered my head to the unfinished solid geometry problem and started writing. I had to become someone worthy of Lingquan, I had to study hard to get into the same university as her, and I had to be able to protect and save her one day, finally achieving a "happily ever after" ending. No, that’s just a delusion. Not to mention whether it’s possible, but at the very least, isn't the one who saves the princess always a prince? And you are... a girl.

A desperate fact. I had doubted it time and again—was it really just friendship? So, I secretly searched online for signs of having a crush, and every symptom matched. I was truly beyond help. But no, Lingquan would never be with anyone else. My lonely Lingquan could never do such a thing as holding hands in intimacy with another. Just imagining such a scene was impossible. And as for me, even if I could only stay by her side in the name of friendship and watch over her in silence, that would be enough. So, I still had to become better…

Ah, I calculated cosα wrong... I’m still not proficient with the projection method. I’ll find a few similar problems in the exercise book later to practice.

After the monthly exams on the fourth, fifth, and sixth of October, the sports meet followed. When I was drawing the class poster for the meet this year, I drew a silhouette of a young girl running on the track, her single braid flying high. Then—hesitating for a moment—I added another girl with short hair next to her. I hoped this small, selfish design wouldn’t be discovered—or perhaps, was it actually drawn that way because I secretly wanted someone to notice?

The familiar cool morning breeze, the familiar formations and marching music, but everything felt different. As Lingquan and I walked past the bleachers, she stopped in front of our class poster. I watched her with a mixture of expectation and anxiety. She froze, she smiled, she turned her head—but she said nothing.

Back at the bleachers, Lingquan first read *Principles of Biochemistry* borrowed from the library, then took a blue-covered *Inorganic Chemistry* from Ye Zihan and started flipping through it. I pulled my long-neglected sketchbook from my bag, stealing glances at Lingquan from the corner of my eye while drawing lines with my pencil.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. I looked up to see Lingquan had snatched the top edge of my sketchbook with lightning speed. "Let me see." I clutched the book and shook my head vigorously, but I couldn't win against her. I had no choice but to bury my head between my arms like an ostrich.

"Why... do you always draw me?" Lingquan shook me, pointing at an open page with an innocent face: on the paper, she was laughing happily while holding cotton candy. I flipped to the next page—it was a silhouette of her blowing bubbles. The page after that was the one I had just drawn of her crouching on the bleachers, reading.

"Because you are all I see..." I almost blurted out that cheesy line.

I struggled for a long time without finding a suitable answer, finally brushing it off with something like, "Oh, this? It’s nothing, you just happened to be there..." before quickly snatching the book back.

She tilted her head and sat back in her original spot, continuing to read her inorganic chemistry book. Her posture remained unchanged. I picked up the pencil I had dropped in my panic and continued to draw.

In the afternoon, we stood at the 1,500-meter starting line just as we had a year ago. After a firm look at each other, the starting gun fired. Having run together during every PE class, I was familiar with her pace and breathing rhythm; I even knew exactly when she would sprint. Facing the four-o’clock autumn sun, I too moved my heavy legs toward the finish line. Lingquan stood in the light at the end of the track, raising her right hand high toward me. Run, run, run, while there was still a last shred of strength—sprinting toward the finish.

One third place, one fourth place—we added quite a few points to the previously blank class scoreboard.

After crossing the line, I stumbled forward. A strange yet warm touch landed on the back of my hand; it was Lingquan resting her hand on mine. I leaned toward her, longing for the touch as we walked—the scent of alcohol, chocolate, the bitter aroma of traditional medicine, all mingled with the smell of fresh sweat. She took the opportunity to raise her hand and ruffle my hair into a tangled mess.

I wanted to keep having these autumns, running recklessly with her like this.

The monthly exam results came out. Lingquan was third in the class, fifth in the school. I was guarding the gate of the top ten in class and top twenty in school. These were scores I had never dared to dream of before, but now, Lingquan was ahead... it still wasn't enough, not enough.

The next day at school, I was standing at the front overseeing discipline. Two days ago, we had been divided into study groups based on our seats, and I had been appointed as the leader of this six-person group, a role that also carried the duty of being the rotating duty monitor every eight days.

Lingquan was standing there holding her book. Suddenly, her expression changed drastically, and she rushed down the stairs to the sinks in the restroom.

I followed her closely and saw Lingquan retching up food residue mixed with stomach acid and a dark brown substance.

"Xiao... Xuan?" Lingquan saw a familiar face in the mirror.

"Are you okay? Should we go to the infirmary?" I patted Lingquan’s shoulder in a panic.

"I’m fine, really fine. Go back to your duties, Group Leader Gu." She cupped some water to rinse her mouth, then swayed as she stood upright again.

I helped her back, and during the break, I rummaged through my bag to find a small pack of biscuits; at least it could help replenish her blood sugar.

Yes, the outermost pocket of my bag was essentially a first-aid kit—menthol oil, inhalants, pills (in case she got heatstroke again), adhesive bandages (in case she cut herself on the small knife she carried), chocolate, biscuits... It was all because this girl, Lingquan, would never take good care of herself.

Even so, the scent of disinfectant and herbal medicine on her still filled me with a vague, lingering unease.

She seemed to be... falling ill. And I, I was always thinking about protecting her, but on my own, with just these things, what kind of danger could I protect her from? I didn't know.