“Senior Sister, it hurts so much.”
The moment Yue Bai saw Sang Wan, all the grievances she had bottled up inside suddenly came surging out. Her nose tingled, turning the rims of her eyes faintly red as a layer of mist clouded her pupils, blurring her vision.
A flicker of deep worry showed in the depths of Sang Wan’s gaze. She gripped Yue Bai’s arm, which hung limply at her side, and slowly brushed her slender fingers over the other girl’s eyes. The dampness on her fingertips shattered the emotions she had been holding back.
“Good girl, just bear with it a bit longer.” Sang Wan slipped her fingers into Yue Bai’s, their pale palms clasping tightly together.
In that moment, all the comforting words Sang Wan wanted to say caught in her throat. Seeing those red-rimmed eyes and the swollen ankle made it nearly impossible for her to contain her feelings.
But micro-expressions couldn’t lie. The usually gentle, smiling girl showed not a trace of a smile now.
She should have rearranged the rehearsal order to perform earlier. That way, she could have watched Yue Bai’s competition. Maybe then, this injury could have been avoided.
“Senior Sister.”
Once someone found an outlet for their emotions, they let them pour out without restraint.
And in this moment, Sang Wan was Yue Bai’s outlet.
Tears streamed uncontrollably from Yue Bai’s eyes, twin trails sliding down her cheeks. Her stifled sobs struck Sang Wan’s heart like hammer blows, each one a dull ache.
“Don’t cry.” Sang Wan fumbled to wipe away the tears, not even having time to grab a tissue. Instead, she used her hands, over and over, to dry Yue Bai’s face. “Senior Sister’s here.”
“Senior Sister.” Yue Bai’s eyes were bright red.
She tugged harder with her hand. Sang Wan, who had been holding back for fear of hurting the swollen ankle, was easily pulled forward.
Yue Bai spread her arms and hugged the person in front of her tightly, pressing her forehead against the other girl’s shoulder.
Sang Wan’s arms stiffened as she returned the embrace, gently patting Yue Bai’s back in an attempt to soothe her.
“Senior Sister, it really hurts.” Yue Bai’s voice choked.
The fabric of Sang Wan’s clothes grew damp with tears, a cool patch spreading on her shoulder. The hand she had behind Yue Bai’s back clenched unconsciously, and her voice softened to a whisper, afraid of startling her. “Mm, I know. It hurts a lot. Can Little Bai just hold on a little longer?”
A gentle hum rose from Sang Wan’s lips, paired with the rhythmic patting on Yue Bai’s back. Slowly, Yue Bai’s emotions began to steady.
Outside the school infirmary, Xu Nuo pulled Chen Han and Zhao Yu along. “Senior Sister Sang’s here now. Let’s head back.”
Chen Han craned her neck for a peek inside, but Xu Nuo yanked her back. “Don’t look. Let’s go.”
Some time later, the grip in Yue Bai’s hands loosened. Her arms around Sang Wan relaxed, and she lifted her forehead slightly. A few teardrops clung to her long, upturned lashes, on the verge of falling.
Sang Wan tenderly brushed away those tears. Seeing that Yue Bai’s mood had improved a little, she placed her hands on Yue Bai’s shoulders and gently pulled back to create some distance between them. “Does it still hurt?”
“Mm.” Yue Bai’s voice was as soft as a mosquito’s hum. “Not as much now.”
Sang Wan lowered her eyelids, casting a thin shadow beneath them. “Little Bai, can Senior Sister ask why you twisted your ankle?”
“I accidentally stepped on someone else’s foot.” Yue Bai didn’t want to shift the blame, even though Xu Nuo and the others had said the girl stuck her foot out on purpose. It was too early to conclude.
“Is that so?” Sang Wan pulled the chair behind her around and sat down. With her other hand, she held Yue Bai’s, resting her chin on their joined hands.
It didn’t quite match what she had heard.
Yue Bai nodded. After a long hesitation, the pain in her ankle had eased considerably under the ice pack. “Senior Sister.”
“Mm?” Sang Wan waited for her to continue, holding the ice pack steady with her other hand and adjusting its position.
“Actually, compared to the injury, what bothers me more is what that girl said.” Yue Bai kept her head down, her long hair disheveled from sweat and tears, falling messily behind her. “She called us ‘a bunch of artsy types who only know shortcuts.’ But we art students put in just as much effort as anyone studying academics.”
“Daily sketches, watercolors, and quick studies pile up until I can barely breathe. I can’t relax for a second, terrified that even a tiny slip will cost me my shot at university. I’ve spent entire nights in the art studio during slumps, chasing the smallest breakthroughs. Sometimes, I didn’t even have time to eat.”
“My hands and clothes are always covered in charcoal smudges and paint. Right before the provincial unified exam, some people even slept in the studio. Holding the same pose for hours on end left our backs so stiff we couldn’t move them much.”
“I don’t know as much about sports or music tracks, but I’ve seen athletes grimacing through leg stretches after sprints on the field, and music students who can barely speak after practice, afraid to strain their vocal cords.”
“Whether it’s pure academic students or art students, we’re all striving for our futures. So why do so many people think art is some easy shortcut? Honestly, I admit most art students aren’t great at academics, but is art really that easy to master?”
“After the provincial exam, I dove straight into school auditions. Once those were done, I jumped right back into academics.” Yue Bai endured the pain as she voiced the question weighing on her heart.
Compared to the injury, she wanted to know why so many academic students saw art as a shortcut. Why were the stereotypes so entrenched?
Sang Wan pressed her lips together and fell silent for several seconds. Rather than answering Yue Bai’s question, she stood and walked to the water dispenser. She retrieved a disposable paper cup from the cabinet below, filled it with warm water, and handed it to Yue Bai. “You’ve said so much. You must be thirsty.”
“Senior Sister?” Yue Bai took it in surprise.
“Drink some water. Soothe your throat.” Sang Wan repeated.
Yue Bai did as told, downing it in one go. Her gaze lingered on the pale beige bottom of the cup.
“Little Bai, are you hung up on the idea that ‘art students take shortcuts’?” Sang Wan gently pressed the ice pack in place, letting the melting water soak her palm. She stared intently at the ankle, which had swollen less, and spoke in a warm voice. “You’re right, actually. A lot of people see art as an easy path and overlook the hardships involved.”
Sang Wan tapped her index finger against her glasses, then decided they were a hassle and removed them with one hand, folding them neatly to the side. “But right now, Little Bai, I’m more worried about your ankle.”
Her tongue brushed along her lower teeth. “We can talk about the rest later. Let’s focus on healing your foot first, okay?”
Yue Bai opened her mouth, then closed it. From the moment Sang Wan arrived at the infirmary, the phrase she had repeated most was “okay?”
“Okay.” A fresh twinge of dense pain radiated from the swollen spot on her foot.
Sang Wan took a deep breath, her tone softening even more. “Little Bai, I just want you to be safe.”
Yue Bai tilted her head back slightly. She gazed in confusion at the sadness in Sang Wan’s eyes, her throat tightening as if blocked.
“The X-ray results are back,” the doctor said to the two of them.
Sang Wan went over.
The doctor examined it carefully. “Good news—it’s just a regular sprain, no fracture. Keep icing it for a while. I’ll prescribe some meds in a bit to help with recovery.”
“Thank you.” Sang Wan waited, collected the medicine, and turned back to Yue Bai.
Yue Bai wasn’t far away. Hearing that her foot wasn’t seriously injured brought a wave of relief. She leaned weakly against the soft cushion, fiddling with the empty paper cup in her hand.
“Stay with me for a while.” Sang Wan didn’t give Yue Bai a chance to refuse. “Your roommates probably don’t have time to look after you, and the dorms are all loft beds with desks underneath. It’ll be tough hopping up and down on one foot. I applied for the teachers’ apartment earlier—the process is almost done, just waiting on approval. But Wen Mo and the others already got theirs approved. I talked to Wen Mo, and they’re clearing out a side bedroom for us to stay in temporarily. It’ll make taking care of you easier.”
Yue Bai processed the long explanation, latching onto a few key points. “Can students live in the teachers’ apartment?”
“Mm, as long as it’s not full, some students can apply. Student Council members usually know about perks others don’t.” Sang Wan continued icing Yue Bai’s ankle, pressing lightly with her fingertips. “I didn’t live on campus freshman year, so I didn’t apply then. I just put in for it at the start of this semester.”
“I see.” Yue Bai nodded thoughtfully.
Sang Wan pressed her lips together without replying. She focused on massaging just above the swollen ankle.
About half an hour later, Zhou Qingyan and Wen Mo arrived on their electric scooters at the infirmary. Upon seeing Yue Bai’s ankle, both frowned involuntarily.
Wen Mo instinctively glanced at Sang Wan’s reaction. Noticing the persistent gloom between her brows, Wen Mo’s cool gaze darkened.
“Yue Bai.” Zhou Qingyan called her name and strode over in a few steps to inspect the injury. “What did the doctor say?”
“Ice it and apply some ointment,” Sang Wan answered simply on her behalf.
Hearing this, Zhou Qingyan gave Sang Wan an extra look. She turned to exchange a glance with Wen Mo behind her. Both saw the helplessness mirrored in the other’s eyes.
Yue Bai sat on the back of Zhou Qingyan’s electric scooter, while Sang Wan rode behind Wen Mo.
The four of them, on two scooters, headed toward the teachers’ apartment.
Wen Mo deliberately kept distance from Zhou Qingyan’s scooter. Once she was sure Yue Bai couldn’t hear, she spoke to Sang Wan behind her. “What do you plan to do? I watched the video you sent me—that girl definitely stuck her foot out on purpose.”
After seeing the video Sang Wan had sent, she and Zhou Qingyan quickly spotted the anomaly in it.
“What else can we do?” A smirk tugged at Sang Wan’s lips as she disdainfully watched the scenery and people passing by her side. “Little Bai suffered such a serious injury. We’ve got to get some payback for that, right?”
Wen Mo hesitated for half a second. Then she asked, “You’re not planning to do something rash, are you? This is school grounds—some things can’t just be done anywhere you please.”
“So you’re reminding me to handle this off campus?” Sang Wan replied, amusement lacing her words.
“Don’t twist my meaning.” After a pause, she added, puzzled, “I’m really curious about your deal with Yue Bai. Why are you so invested in a junior who’s not even that close to you?”
From the poster incident at the start of the Sports Meet to Little Bai’s foot injury now, Sang Wan had followed it all closely.
Sang Wan fell silent. After a long moment, she said, “Wen Mo, since when did you turn so gossipy?”
Wen Mo froze.
“What do you plan to do to her?” As they approached the Teachers’ Apartment, Wen Mo asked once more, unable to shake her worry. There was no need to spell out who “her” meant.
She and Sang Wan had known each other since childhood. Sang Wan had always been gentle and soft-spoken. But this time, who knew what she might do?
“While I’d love to make her suffer the exact same injury Little Bai did, that’s obviously impossible,” Sang Wan said with a faint smile. “But… she has to pay some price for her actions, doesn’t she?”
