At first, when Bo Ranying discovered her, Nan Qi felt embarrassed about breaking down in tears like this in front of her. She wanted to hold it back, but she simply couldn’t. All she could do was gaze powerlessly at Bo Ranying, feeling her tears streaming down her cheeks in a ceaseless cascade.
Seeing Bo Ranying at a complete loss because of her tears—no disgust, no amusement at her misery, just pure panic—Nan Qi’s heart stirred ever so lightly.
Bo Ranying was truly wonderful.
If it had been anyone else in their class who found her instead, Nan Qi wouldn’t have regained her calm so quickly after the initial shock.
She continued to vent the sorrow churning inside her, her sobs interspersed with hiccups, her body shaking with each one.
Bo Ranying, awkward at first, tried her best to comfort Nan Qi. She babbled all sorts of silly things to coax her, showering her with praise and promises of delicious treats. Nan Qi remembered every single word, but in the moment, she was too consumed by her crying to respond.
Perhaps Bo Ranying’s later actions stemmed from Nan Qi’s own initial nonchalance.
Bo Ranying pulled out every trick she could think of, racking her brains, but nothing could turn Nan Qi’s torrential downpour into clear skies. In a bold, unorthodox move, she suddenly covered Nan Qi’s eyes with her hand and then kissed her lips—gently, as if cherishing something precious.
Boom—
Nan Qi’s tears shut off like a faucet slammed tight.
She stopped crying and turned to Bo Ranying in astonishment, dumbfounded, unable to form a complete sentence.
What was wrong with Little Sun? Had she been bewitched or something? Why on earth had she kissed her out of nowhere?
Nan Qi could vividly recall the serene, elegant fragrance as Little Sun leaned in close, along with the soft friction of their lips and teeth. She didn’t hate it at all…
But she hadn’t dwelled on it then.
Bo Ranying kissed her several more times. Once the tears had stopped, she helped Nan Qi to her feet and led her off to get something to eat.
She declared that good food could soothe any sorrow.
Nan Qi’s soul had floated right into Bo Ranying’s arms by then—what independent thoughts could she muster? She simply went along with whatever Bo Ranying suggested.
In the little eatery, the faint reserve they usually maintained amid the bustle of campus life dissolved away. They sat side by side on the same bench, pressed close, their shoulders brushing. Even as they ate, their hands frequently bumped into each other.
Yet neither of them thought to pull away or sit apart. Instead, each accidental touch prompted a shared, spontaneous smile, and their friendship warmed rapidly.
Their closeness felt utterly natural.
That evening, they talked for hours.
Bo Ranying asked what had happened that day. Had someone bullied her? Had she suffered some injustice? Why else would she come back to school alone and cry so heartbreakingly?
Nan Qi was surprised by how perceptive and spot-on her description was. It felt like having a peer girl stand up for her—her heart swelled with warmth.
“Yeah, I was bullied,” she admitted. Bullied by her own parents, and she seemed powerless against it.
“What? Who would dare bully the class president?! Tell me, and I’ll go sort them out for you!” Bo Ranying’s round, glassy doe eyes widened fiercely, giving her a adorably intimidating air, even if her actual fighting prowess looked dubious.
Nan Qi couldn’t help but laugh, the gloom that had shrouded her heart lifting considerably.
She held Bo Ranying back as she made to stand. “Be rational. You’re not my hired muscle, you know.”
“Fine, qaq.” Bo Ranying knew she wouldn’t actually go picking fights anyway.
“So what exactly happened?” she pressed again, stubborn now. “If you’re in trouble, tell me. I promise I won’t breathe a word to anyone. And if you think that’s unfair, I can trade you a secret of my own—one that only I know.”
Nan Qi wavered for a moment, tempted by the offer. But she still felt it wasn’t the right time to bare her soul; the sudden upheaval that day made it hard to even broach with Bo Ranying.
After a moment’s thought, she shook her head and said nothing more. Instead, she picked up a pan-fried bun and held it to Bo Ranying’s lips.
Bo Ranying instinctively opened her mouth and bit into the food right in front of her. The juicy bun burst in her mouth, and she promptly forgot all about her persistent questioning.
Once she finished eating and realized Nan Qi wasn’t ready to talk, Bo Ranying didn’t push. But she couldn’t just send Nan Qi home like that either. So she opened her heart and poured out the words she’d kept bottled up for so long.
She confessed that she’d noticed Nan Qi from the very start of school and had wanted to get to know her, to be her friend. She called Nan Qi the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen—like a stalk of bamboo, cool and resilient, inspiring longing yet too daunting to touch… From now on, Nan Qi could come to her with any troubles or worries; she’d always be there…
That night, in the smiling depths of the girl’s eyes, Nan Qi glimpsed her own hazy reflection. In the gentle cadence of her words, honed like fine jade, she absorbed an endless stream of energy that filled her shattered heart.
Suddenly, everything that had happened that evening didn’t seem so terrifying. It wasn’t some inescapable nightmare.
So what if she’d lost her parents’ love? She wasn’t alone. She had Bo Ranying. She had her Little Sun, shining warmly upon her.
Nan Qi’s restless heart settled into peace and calm.
She quickly came up with a way to handle her situation.
When they parted ways and Nan Qi returned home to face her parents’ complicated expressions, she bowed deeply to them and made her calm, rational declaration: “Thank you, Mom and Dad, for raising me these past years. I’ve been truly happy. And thanks to overhearing your conversation today, I now know what a burden I’ve been to you. You don’t have to worry anymore. I’ll earn the money I need myself and repay every cent you’ve spent on me.”
This time, too, she didn’t linger for their response.
From then on, she gave up nearly all her free time after classes and during breaks. Through Bo Ranying’s introduction, she tutored elementary and middle school students. She entered every citywide and provincial academic competition she could, winning scholarships. She made use of every spare moment, racing against the clock to earn money. She never asked her parents for a single penny again.
During those days when Nan Qi toiled tirelessly, Bo Ranying accompanied her whenever she wasn’t busy herself.
When Nan Qi had competitions, Bo Ranying would book tickets to the host city, show up at the venue, and cheer her on with homemade banners and confetti, single-handedly creating the atmosphere of a full-fledged fan club.
There were plenty of teachers and officials from their school and others in the audience, but Bo Ranying didn’t care one bit. She cheered as loudly and proudly as ever.
Thanks to her, Nan Qi drew extra attention even while solving problems onstage. She knew exactly why, and just thinking of Bo Ranying in the stands, full of energy and rooting for her victory, filled her with boundless strength. Her pen seemed guided by divine inspiration, and her cheeks flushed with a shy blush—all because of Bo Ranying.
The distance was too great for anyone in the stands to make out her expression clearly, but the high-speed cameras captured it perfectly.
In the videos of every match, Nan Qi’s face always bore a faint blush, like a dusting of rouge that amplified her beauty. That was how the outside world dubbed her the [No.1 Middle School Prodigy with Brains and Beauty].
Of course, Nan Qi herself, oblivious to the world beyond her studies, had no idea. She only learned of the nickname later, when Bo Ranying collapsed into her arms giggling, sharing the gossip she’d “accidentally” overheard.
“Accidentally,” sure—but the entire bit of gossip revolved around Nan Qi, with not a trace of anyone else.
