Summer night brought fireworks once more.
Pei Yue stood in the square with everyone, gazing up together.
The constant gasps of amazement around her ears were no longer unfamiliar. She watched silently for a while, then remembered to quickly pull out her phone and snapped a photo with a “click.”
It was an utterly ordinary Tuesday night in Boston.
She sent the photo into the chat box. Scrolling up, she saw quite a few more of her own green self-talk bubbles had accumulated.
As she got to know more friends, Pei Yue noticed that everyone loved gathering on weekends—going to bars together, camping together.
Pei Yue had little interest in any of it, except when they occasionally went to the art museum; then she would join them.
But Pei Yue was hardly someone who could appreciate art.
Famous paintings were, to her eyes, nothing more than people, objects, or scenery—either a jumble of colors or monotonously plain.
That day, they had stood before a painting called “Lily Pond.” Pei Yue stared quietly at the lake surface in the image for a moment before she finally understood her friends beside her saying, “These are water lilies.”
“Hahaha.” That weekend, she had tried sharing it as a funny story with Bai Kou over video. Bai Kou laughed heartily in the video but also agreed with her, “Lotus flowers, lotuses, water lilies… okay! Can’t blame you! They really do look alike sometimes when painted!”
【Look, the fireworks blooming in the night sky tonight are like water lilies too.】
Pei Yue typed out the line.
An incoming video call interrupted Pei Yue’s thoughts.
“You’re still out so late?”
“Mm.” Pei Yue stepped away from the crowd to the quietest spot and nodded to Pei Ying on the video. “Roommate’s birthday.”
“Another birthday. Exams are coming up—where do you find the time?”
Pei Yue lowered her gaze. “Mom, don’t worry. I’ll manage it well. I won’t let you down.”
“Pei Yue, this has nothing to do with whether I end up disappointed or not. You know your last mock exam results weren’t ideal—just barely over the admission cutoff. You have to realize this is your critical period right now. Every minute counts. You really shouldn’t waste too much time on these trivial things.”
“…” Pei Yue fell silent.
Seeing this, Pei Ying softened her tone a bit and continued, “I know I might set the bar a little high for you sometimes, and because of work, I haven’t been attentive enough. Your friend was right about that—I’ll try to do better.”
“Pei Yue, you’re my daughter, the most important person to Mom.”
“I just don’t want your life to have any regrets.”
“I know being alone out there must feel lonely and stressful. I’m working on applying through the bureau. In a bit, I’ll find a chance to come see you.”
At those words—”come see you”—Pei Yue, who had been keeping her head down, slowly lifted her gaze. A hint of delight clearly appeared on her face, and she even overlooked the earlier words that had weighed so heavily on her.
“Really?”
Pei Ying smiled in the video and nodded, even playfully hooking her pinky. “Pinky promise. Deal’s a deal, right?”
“Mm, pinky promise.” Pei Yue raised her hand. Two seconds later, she curved her eyes into a smile. “Then you have to tell me ahead of time before you come. I… I’ll prepare properly.”
“Mm.” Pei Ying glanced at her watch. “Alright, I have a meeting now. Head back soon and stay safe.”
“Okay—” Pei Yue raised her smile, about to say “you too,” when the video cut off.
Bang!
A firework bloomed in the night sky again.
“Mom, take care of your health too.” Pei Yue murmured softly to the black screen.
Bai Kou spent the entire month of August in a complete daze.
Her phone was confiscated, and the standard check-in time for entering the classroom each morning shifted from eight to seven.
And because her class was particularly cutthroat.
Many people were seated in the studio before six. Some even painted until two or three in the morning, splashed water on their faces, napped in their chairs for a bit, then started again.
Bai Kou had no choice but to try the same grind for a while, but she found it didn’t work. There really were huge differences between people.
It felt like the older she got, the weaker her stamina became. Staying up all night left her utterly exhausted—chugging coffee did nothing.
Once, right before color theory class, she nodded off while sitting and forgot to change her water.
She was still half-asleep when rinsing brushes during class, then dipped into paint. What she produced… the TA criticized her in front of the whole class: “This color mix looks worse than shit!”
And she didn’t know if it was a mindset issue or if she truly wasn’t suited for design—but from the scoring that started in July through August, two months in, her homework scores still hovered between the worst and second-worst in the class.
Fine.
Even if it kept going like this, forget design or City Academy—the joint entrance exam was a huge question mark.
If she didn’t pass the joint entrance exam, with no qualifying score, she wouldn’t qualify for anything else. She’d have to obediently head back to Heyan.
It was finally Saturday, phone return day.
Bai Kou sat in the back row of the classroom, scratching her ears and cheeks in anxiety—she was about to go mad!
The neighbor’s seat, the front seat—everyone’s paintings were done, everyone was improving, but she was stuck once more on what she thought was a pretty good color scheme.
Classmates went up to the podium one by one to collect their phones…
In the end, only Bai Kou remained.
“Kou—” The TA in charge of handing out phones called her. “Come get yours—”
“Oh, sorry.” Bai Kou jumped up hurriedly.
Splash.
The freshly mixed paint palette flipped over.
“…” Bai Kou froze in place, her heart shattering along with it.
She sprawled on the studio hallway railing, listening to Pei Yue talk in the video, zoning out while replaying the teacher’s demo from class over and over in her mind.
Where exactly was the problem…
“Bai Kou?” Pei Yue, who had been chatting happily for half the call, noticed the person on video had gone still. She paused, stared at Bai Kou for a bit, then asked, “What’s… wrong?”
Bai Kou snapped back, focused on the camera, and gave an obviously embarrassed smile.
“Sorry, I was thinking about what the teacher said—kinda zoned out. You said Auntie is coming to see you?”
Pei Yue looked at Bai Kou for a moment with pursed lips, then smiled and nodded. “Yeah, we pinky-promised. September, or October at the latest. By then, my big exams will be done, and I can take her around sightseeing.”
“Mm.” Bai Kou smiled. “That’s great. Remember to take her to that beach we went to last time—I thought it was beautiful!”
Pei Yue nodded, then showed a hesitant expression.
Now fully focused, Bai Kou spotted Pei Yue’s reluctance to speak and smiled as she asked, “What is it? Something up? Spill!”
“It’s, nothing.” Pei Yue looked at her. “I was just thinking—depending on how things go, you probably won’t have a summer break.”
Bai Kou: “Ah… yeah…”
Who could have foreseen this mess back then.
Now, forget the studio letting them off—even if it did give a full month’s vacation, Bai Kou definitely wouldn’t leave.
This video call lacked enthusiasm from both sides and ended abruptly around nine that evening.
Guilt over inevitably breaking the promise, pressure from wanting to improve but stagnating…
Bai Kou’s mood was complicated. She gripped her phone tight and walked laps along the basketball court’s white lines under the streetlights.
On the other side.
With filming long wrapped, Yang Wanxi finally got word from the director inviting her to Beijing for the review screening.
Sad Confession had finished all post-production by late June, but unfortunately, new industry review regulations hit during editing. Director He Wei had to tweak the plot, turning a pure same-sex youth romance film into a youth crime thriller.
On the plot level, it was just reordering clips and shifting narrative focus.
But as Yang Wanxi sat in the dark watching the finished cut, she couldn’t help sighing once more at the post-production wizardry.
She had gone from a secret admirer to a killer.
The final scene showed her as “Fu Wen,” holding “Chen Nuo” and giving a light, sweet smile to the camera.
“Am I really that scary an actress…” Yang Wanxi muttered, propping her chin.
After that, the film got its Dragon Mark approval and entries into four film festival side awards. Once Yang Wanxi wrapped school matters, she got another message from the director to come to Beijing for the awards.
An international film exhibition, best newcomer award.
This time in Beijing, Li Wan sent someone to pick up Yang Wanxi at the airport again.
Yang Wanxi felt bad for troubling them so much but couldn’t refuse the enthusiasm. Li Wan bluntly told her it was Future Media’s idea—everyone hoped to officially sign this promising newcomer before year’s end.
Yang Wanxi didn’t respond.
September first, a Sunday. Yang Wanxi, conveniently in Beijing, messaged Bai Yuqiao.
She asked Bai Yuqiao to dinner alone and to deliver the birthday gift.
Of course, the meal had another purpose.
It had probably been last week.
Ever since saying some unhappy words to Bai Kou once, Yang Wanxi had deliberately cut back on checking the group chat. When Bai Kou messaged her occasionally, she replied coolly.
She felt she couldn’t stop liking Bai Kou anymore, but because of that, she couldn’t bear worrying every day that Bai Kou might suddenly bring up Pei Yue.
She was afraid she’d get even angrier, even crazier.
Her first time liking someone in life hit such a major setback—no one taught Yang Wanxi what to do, so she could only avoid it.
That night.
Their dorm chatted about nearing senior year, about to go separate ways—everyone felt deeply sentimental.
Someone later dragged out half a case of unfinished pineapple beer from under the bed.
Half-pushed, half-willing—and with her own worries—Yang Wanxi joined in drinking.
But she didn’t get drunk.
After lights out, Yang Wanxi slumped over her desk and scrolled through Bai Kou’s Moments back and forth… a hundred times…
Okay, exaggeration.
Anyway, she saw every post enough to memorize them. “Thud,” Yang Wanxi flipped her phone face down, pillowed her arms, and stared blankly at the towel rack on the balcony.
She wanted to find Bai Kou.
She wanted to see Bai Kou.
She wanted to know what she was doing now.
Knowing full well Bai Kou probably didn’t have her phone, Yang Wanxi still mustered the courage and tapped Bai Kou’s avatar—
After that unhappy time, Yang Wanxi had deleted their chat history in a huff. Later chats were also deleted after two or three exchanges.
Sigh.
No use regretting it after cooling off.
【You.】 Yang Wanxi typed one word first.
Deleted.
Dizzy-headed, she stared at Bai Kou’s avatar. It wasn’t those silly childhood ones anymore—now it was a stretch of pink sea.
After so long without a proper talk, messaging privately like this—wouldn’t it seem weird?
Yang Wanxi couldn’t help a wry smile at the thought. She never imagined a day would come when even chatting with Little Doudou felt this hard.
She switched instead, tapping into their three-person group chat.
The group had over 99+ messages piled up. Yang Wanxi scrolled up—up—
The more she read, the stranger it got.
It seemed like from some day on, Bai Yuqiao had gotten super busy. And that was the sister who doted on her little sister most.
Two or three weekends in a row, she had things and couldn’t meet Bai Kou.
Yang Wanxi slowly straightened up, instantly sobering.
Having just browsed Bai Kou’s Moments, she knew Little Doudou had turned a bit melancholic after the studio intensified training.
If she wasn’t there… and Sis Yuqiao had no time… Yang Wanxi didn’t dare imagine how tough things had been for Bai Kou lately.
It had nothing to do with Pei Yue—she knew their meanings to Bai Kou were different.
She immediately private-messaged Bai Yuqiao: 【Sis, you’ve been really busy lately?】
When Bai Yuqiao arrived at the restaurant, Yang Wanxi was gazing out the window, sipping tea and pondering how to ask naturally.
Once the other sat down, Yang Wanxi caught it from the corner of her eye, turned to look at Bai Yuqiao…
Her expression froze slightly.
Strange. Sis Yuqiao had worn this light pink shirt before, and the face was the same familiar one—why did the vibe… or something feel different?
Puzzled, Yang Wanxi watched as the server handed Bai Yuqiao the menu.
With the face blocked by the arm, Yang Wanxi looked away, frowning thoughtfully as she turned to grab the gift.
“Sis Yuqiao, happy early birthday!” Yang Wanxi handed over the gift.
【Thanks.】 Bai Yuqiao smiled and signed.
Yang Wanxi smiled too. Bathed in the restaurant’s warm lighting, she rested her hands on the table edge and stayed quiet for a few seconds, thinking there was no need to beat around the bush with Bai Yuqiao.
“Sis, have you had something going on lately?” Yang Wanxi asked. “I saw Bai Kou staying alone in the studio on weekends. You’ve been really busy?”
Bai Yuqiao met her gaze for a moment, then lowered her head to pick up her phone.
Buzz buzz.
【Mm, weekends lately I’ve been going to Zhejiang.】
【I told Bai Kou too.】
Zhejiang?
Yang Wanxi thought for a moment, then typed: 【Are you going to find Aunt Bai? What happened?】
The chat box stayed silent for a long time.
Just as Yang Wanxi wondered about it and wanted to look up at Bai Yuqiao’s expression, her phone vibrated again.
【My mom came to find me.】
Yang Wanxi frowned at this line of text. She reacted for a long time before drawing in a sharp breath: 【You mean, your… biological mother?】
……
They sat face to face, typing and chatting for a long time.
Finally, Bai Yuqiao expressed: 【I won’t leave Bai Kou.】
Her phone rang.
It was a call from Shi Yi Art Academy.
She answered, and heard the other side speaking with slight urgency: “Hello, are you Bai Kou’s older sister?”
Bai Kou had fainted in the hallway of the art studio.
Right now, she was being sent to the hospital.
