Association

For the past two days, I have been in "intense study mode." As soon as class ends, I pull up my hoodie—my personal barrier against the outside world—to focus on homework (multitasking during class is still beyond me), and once I get home, I grapple with math competition problems. But… I am so tired.

I pull down my hood and rest my chin on the cold, tiled windowsill, catching snippets of a conversation from the seats in front of me.

"Which clubs are you thinking of joining during recruitment? The Mystery Club? The Anime Club? Both sound pretty interesting to me."

"You can only join two at most. I’m thinking about the Fantasy Sci-Fi Club. Last semester, they invited Professor Wang to give a lecture on *The Three-Body Problem*."

Club recruitment? I couldn't help but blurt out the question. The two in front turned around, looking at me as if to say, "How could anyone not know about this?"—"Yes, next Wednesday."

The student on the left—a boy with the surname Ye (forgive me, I’m terrible with names)—handed me a club directory. Having grown up in a small county, I had only ever encountered such things in manga and light novels. But here I was, at a high school renowned for its well-rounded education, where, guided by the spirit of "autonomy and initiative," there were actually over forty student-run clubs.

I hadn't paid much attention to them before, only noticing that the bulletin board under the teaching building had suddenly sprouted a plethora of posters. Now, however, I couldn't help but feel excited. As soon as the physical education class ended and the running was over, I grabbed Lingquan to discuss which clubs we should join.

"Me? I think I might go for the Biology Club," she said, scanning the list.

"Hmm, I want to join the Painting and Calligraphy Club, but I’m a little afraid to..."

"Eh? Afraid of what?"

"Uh, I don't know." My mood suddenly grew heavy. I took a breath, trying to organize my thoughts. "I don't study art anymore, so whenever I see an easel, a pencil, or a paint box, I feel a bit melancholic. It feels like saying goodbye to another life path I could have taken. I feel a bit guilty toward them."

"Possibilities, huh? Possibilities." She murmured the word and nodded. "But don't we have art class every week?"

"You call that an art class? It's just listening to the teacher read from a PowerPoint while we hold our art appreciation textbooks, just to learn a few basic facts."

"Then why did you study art in the first place?"

"No reason. Back in elementary school, everyone had to have a specialty. Instruments were expensive and noisy, and sports... let's not go there. So I signed up for painting, and somehow, I just kept doing it. There was no reason."

"Oh—so do you regret giving it up?"

"No regrets!"

Before I could even think, the words had popped out like a conditioned reflex.

"Why? Tell me why?"

I hesitated. "Because I want to take the math competition class with you?" No, I couldn't say that! "Well... I don't think I could have achieved much in art anyway. Sometimes the teacher would say my work was precise, and other times she’d say it was too rigid. It was fine for passing exams, but when it came to art... I really don't have the talent."

"Who says? I think the drawings in your Chinese textbook are quite nice," she whispered.

"And also... I want to understand this world more. Even though it's difficult and exhausting, I want to grasp whatever I can. Math, physics, biology... I feel truly happy when I finally understand them. Really, really happy."

She looked at me with a smile. "Me too."

"So, shall we go to the Biology Club together?" she asked, tugging at my arm.

I hadn't expected her to have the same thought—that she wanted to do something with me. I let her tug at my arm, unable to answer. Autumn nights fell earlier and earlier, and it was already dark around us. Thank goodness for that—otherwise, she would have seen the foolish grin on my face.

Next week would be a blur of dull weekend study sessions, a mountain of midterm review papers and handouts, nerve-wracking dictations and pop quizzes... and the club recruitment!

Recruitment was scheduled for the third period on Wednesday. During the second period, our math teacher, Mr. Xu, dragged the class out. While he was busy writing on the blackboard, I snuck a glance downstairs and saw the senior club leaders busy moving tables, chairs, and promotional materials to the clearing around the koi pond near the track. As soon as the bell rang, the buzzing in the classroom grew louder and louder—a clear form of protest.

Finally, the teacher pushed the blackboard aside. "So, we have found the value of this function. Do you understand?" Before he could say "Class dismissed," the students in the back row had already pushed open the door and bolted. (Are they really that excited?)

When I reached the stairwell, I found that Lingquan, who had left earlier, was actually waiting for me. "Let's go!" she waved, and we rushed downstairs together.

Lingquan had a unique way of going down stairs: taking two steps at a time. "Don't do that, it's bad for your meniscus," I panted, chasing after her. "Pfft, you're only saying that because you can't keep up with me," she retorted, looking back, her pace not slowing for a second.

We ran across the tree-lined path between the buildings, which was already packed with people. Lingquan grabbed the sleeve of my jacket like a child afraid of getting lost.

Each club seemed to have its own unique charm. The DIY Club’s table was covered in handmade bookmarks and cards; the Japanese Club had speakers playing a song I didn't recognize—"Kanashimi no umi, ni shizunda watashi..."; the Anime Club’s table was scattered with postcards of anime characters, and behind it stood a tall, beautiful girl in a golden wig and cosplay outfit, handing out flyers.

"Senior, are you the club president? I want to join!" A familiar face—the boy named Ye from the front row—excitedly took a flyer from the beauty.

"Yes, just fill out the form here, thank you..." Wait, that response sounded like a rich, magnetic baritone...

Never mind.

Lingquan and I arrived at the Biology Club’s spot. Compared to the others, there were very few people there. On the makeshift desk lay a copy of *LIFE*, as thick as a dictionary, along with some small bottles and scraps of paper.

"What's this?" I asked, pointing to the book.

"Oh, it's an English textbook from the International Department... It's mine. I'm the president, I'm a sophomore in the International Department. This is the vice president," he said, gesturing to the person beside him.

"And this?" I pointed to some pigment bands on a piece of filter paper. "Paper chromatography for chlorophyll?"

"Exactly." The president nodded proudly.

"And... this?"

"We extracted this orange peel essential oil ourselves. It's a gift for joining—whether you use it yourself or give it to that special someone... it’s just su-u-uper, right? We just gave away a few bottles; this is the last one." The vice president unscrewed the cap and handed the small bottle to us. "Take a sniff."

Sure enough, a sweet, citrusy scent wafted out.

"This actually seems quite interesting..."

"Then just sign your name and student ID here, and you're in!" The president shoved a pen and paper into my hand with lightning speed, while the vice president did the same for Lingquan, looking as if they were terrified we might be lured away by another club in the next second.

"Then go back and join the group chat; here's the code... Alright, this essential oil is yours!" The president gave us a meaningful smile.

The bell rang again, and it was time to head back to class. "Here... you take this," I said, tucking the small bottle into her hand.

"Eh? No, no, you keep it!" She shoved the bottle back into my pocket. "I'm heading back..." She ran off a few steps and vanished into the crowd in an instant.

I stood on my tiptoes, looking left and right, but couldn't see her anywhere. A sense of melancholy washed over me—the feeling that it is truly difficult to find someone in such a vast sea of people.

Before evening study that day, our homeroom teacher appeared at the back door with her usual punctuality, then paced to the podium to begin her routine lecture. "Don't forget that your primary job is to study; club activities are just a supplement! I hear some of you have joined three or four clubs. I advise you to be careful... Midterm exams are next week. Once the excitement of recruitment fades, get your minds back on your studies!"

Midterms were next week already. There was also the routine math competition test over the weekend—is this the life of a competition student? I wondered if my nightly trysts with the Math Olympiad textbook would help me perform better than last time, or bring me closer to Lingquan's rank—but I hadn't done nearly enough work. How could I have such unrealistic expectations?

Classroom assignments (the school's own white papers), high school practice books for review, a notebook for mistakes, the Math Olympiad textbook—my small desk was completely covered. I placed the essential oil bottle in the corner of the desk, and whenever I felt sleepy, I would open the cap to stimulate myself with its sharp, intense fragrance.

"Tch, why does it smell so 'citrusy'?" the boy in the seat in front of me sniffed.

"Sorry."