Chapter 57

For lunch and dinner, Yue Bai ate at the cafeteria with her roommates. She felt it was a bit unethical to have Sang Wan cook for her when Sang Wan had classes.

Even though Sang Wan was more than willing.

During evening study hall, Yue Bai idly spun her pen. Her drawing speed wasn’t slow, but focusing on one thing for so long had left her nerves numb.

She aimlessly opened various video apps and short-video platforms, but nothing caught her interest. With a sigh, she shut her tablet, laid her head on the desk, and padded her arm underneath on the cool surface made of synthetic materials.

Someone had apparently opened the classroom door and forgotten to close it. Gusts of chilly wind blew in through the half-open gap. Yue Bai pulled her jacket tighter around herself and shrank back toward the desk.

“Who left without closing the door?” the boy sitting by the door grumbled in annoyance. He stood up to latch it shut. Before he could turn away, someone knocked.

The boy looked irritated and was about to snap something when he peered through the transparent glass panel in the door’s center. His words died in his throat, and his expression shifted rapidly.

Yue Bai, with nothing better to do, watched the boy’s subtle changes in expression and found it amusing.

She glanced toward the door in the same direction as the boy. Through the glass, she saw several faces, each wearing a Student Council badge around their neck.

Yue Bai checked the time. Study hall had only been going for half an hour, but the attendance check was over an hour earlier than usual. She sat up straighter but didn’t spot Sang Wan.

The glass might have been too small a window to see clearly.

Thinking of who she was about to see, Yue Bai instinctively straightened her back. She wanted to present her best self to the person who was coming.

“Sorry to interrupt, but the Student Council is here for the attendance check,” came a polite male voice from outside, accompanied by another knock.

The boy who had just latched the door flung it open again and hurried back to his seat.

Yue Bai watched as one person after another entered, until the last one stepped in—Sang Wan.

Once inside the classroom, Sang Wan strode straight to the podium and spoke softly. “Could the academic commissioner please come up here?”

At those words, Yue Bai licked her dry upper lip and took a few steps to join her on the podium. She glanced at the sheet Sang Wan held, where slender fingers pointed to their class’s row. “Is everyone here?”

“All present,” Yue Bai replied promptly.

Before the words had fully left her mouth, a girl approached from the other side and murmured, “One person’s missing.”

Yue Bai blinked in confusion. She scanned the dozens of faces on the podium and in the room, but nothing seemed amiss.

Sang Wan lowered her gaze slightly and tilted her head. “All present?”

“Senior Sister, hold on a second.” Yue Bai dashed down from the podium to the League Branch Secretary’s side and whispered, “Did anyone from our class take leave?”

Wang Yi thought for a moment. “One from the school team is at a competition. They should have official leave. Let me check the records.”

Wang Yi rummaged for a bit and sent Yue Bai a photo of the stamped official leave form.

Yue Bai jogged back to the podium and showed Sang Wan the photo on her phone. “Senior Sister, he’s on the school team and has official leave.”

Sang Wan glanced at it and marked the sheet with her pen. “Got it.”

“Come out with me.” Before leaving, Sang Wan murmured to the person standing beside her, using the podium for cover as she gave a quick tug on her hand. But she released it just as fast.

Yue Bai met Sang Wan’s smiling eyes, her feet shifting before she paused for several seconds. Once the Student Council members had all left, she sauntered out after them.

Another girl took the sheet from Sang Wan—someone Yue Bai recognized as Wu Ling, the senior who had sat next to her at that group dinner.

“Alright, I got it. I’ll take them to the rest of the classes,” Wu Ling was saying as Yue Bai approached.

“Thanks for the trouble,” Sang Wan replied with a soft smile.

Yue Bai closed the classroom door behind her. Her jacket zipper was undone, revealing the light gray hoodie beneath.

“Senior Sister.” Yue Bai took Sang Wan’s hand. “What did you call me out for?”

“Why isn’t your zipper pulled up?” Sang Wan lowered her gaze and zipped it for her. “I’m taking you somewhere.”

She blinked mysteriously, her lively light blue eyes—thanks to the colored contacts—shimmering like pools of water. She loosely hooked three fingers into Yue Bai’s palm and led her toward the stairwell of the teaching building.

Yue Bai let herself be pulled along, trying to get a better look at the color in Sang Wan’s eyes.

Sang Wan had specially worn colored contacts today.

Under the yellowish glow of the streetlights, their shadows stretched long behind them. Their bodies were so close that the shadows merged, inseparable.

A sudden spark of inspiration hit Yue Bai. This scene perfectly blended with the memory of Sang Wan that day, head bowed as she admired Yue Bai’s portrait.

In the dim classroom, the elegant girl had leaned on her knees, gazing tenderly at the image before her. Soft light streamed through the window, warm and gentle. Outside, two indistinct figures held hands, their shadows echoing the beam of light pouring in.

In no time, the two scenes fused into one vivid image in her mind.

Yue Bai gripped Sang Wan’s hand in return, quickening her pace to walk side by side.

They walked in silence the whole way, accompanied only by the soft sound of their footsteps and snippets of conversation from passersby.

Sang Wan didn’t say anything, and Yue Bai didn’t ask.

Twenty minutes later, they stopped at the empty pavilion in the center of the artificial lake.

Sang Wan slipped her hand free and guided Yue Bai to sit on the stone bench. Looming over her, she cupped Yue Bai’s face and planted a light peck on her lips. “Little Bai, close your eyes.”

“Huh?” Yue Bai looked around suspiciously. Only the pavilion lamp illuminated the spot; everything else was dark. She couldn’t see a thing.

“Be good and close your eyes.” Sang Wan’s tone grew even gentler, her eyes brimming with indulgence and swirling emotions that could drown Yue Bai.

Yue Bai stared for a moment, then obediently shut her eyes.

The surroundings were so quiet that she lost track of time. She knew she couldn’t open them until Sang Wan said so.

Something like a hat was placed on her head. She instinctively reached up to touch it, but Sang Wan pulled her hand down. “Be good, don’t move.”

Yue Bai relented.

She strained her ears, but still couldn’t guess what Sang Wan was doing.

Finally, Sang Wan spoke. “All done.”

Yue Bai opened her eyes. On the stone table sat a birthday cake topped with two candles bearing the numbers two and zero.

The orange-yellow candlelight cast faint shadows across Yue Bai’s face. She looked up in surprise.

“Little Bai, happy twentieth birthday.” Sang Wan curved her lips in a gentle smile and ruffled the hair of the flustered girl.

“Make a wish quick.” Sang Wan’s warm voice sounded again as she wrapped her arms around Yue Bai from behind.

“Senior Sister.” Yue Bai’s voice choked up. Her eyes reddened, a layer of mist blurring her vision until the candle flames smeared into hazy orbs.

Sang Wan gently turned her around and crouched down. “Why are you crying? Are you unhappy?”

“I’m happy. So happy.” Yue Bai fought back the urge to sob, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her. “It’s been so long since anyone celebrated my birthday with me.”

“After Mom and Dad passed, we rarely celebrated birthdays.”

Her parents’ death had left her and her sister depending on each other. They had to fend off greedy relatives and watchful outsiders.

Her sister loved her dearly but was swamped with work and rarely had time to celebrate properly. Usually, she’d have her secretary transfer some money a few days early with a quick “happy birthday.”

Yue Bai understood her sister’s struggles and felt sorry for her, so over time, she grew accustomed to the quiet birthdays.

But she was still a kid at heart—how could she not crave someone to share it with?

“Little Bai.” Sang Wan called softly. “From now on, I’ll be by your side for every birthday.”

“Mm…” Yue Bai turned her face away, stealthily wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Come on, make your wish.” Sang Wan stood up lightly. “Birthdays are for being happy.”

“Mm-hm.” Yue Bai closed her eyes, clasping her hands under her chin.

While Yue Bai made her wish, Sang Wan sang a soft birthday song. The tune stopped as Yue Bai opened her eyes and blew out the candles.

“Happy birthday!” Sang Wan smiled. “Congrats to my little one on growing another year older.”

Sang Wan’s “my little one” made Yue Bai’s face flush red.

Senior Sister was getting better and better at flirting.

“Time for cake.” Sang Wan handed Yue Bai the plastic knife. “You have to cut it yourself for it to mean something.”

Yue Bai stood and took it, cutting a slice for Sang Wan. “Senior Sister.”

“Silly, the first piece is for you.” Sang Wan’s smile bloomed as she pushed it back. “The second one’s fine for me.”

Yue Bai cut another slice as instructed.

They sat facing each other. Yue Bai took small bites of the cake, stars sparkling in her eyes. She had never been fond of sweets, and cake had always seemed cloyingly rich to her.

But today, she discovered cake could taste this good.

It turned out she just didn’t like eating it alone.

“Senior Sister, how did you know today was my birthday?” Yue Bai scooped some cream from the plate into her mouth.

“I saw it during freshman registration and memorized it.” Sang Wan smiled faintly.

“Huh?” Yue Bai was puzzled. When had they filled that out?

“Your ID number has your birthdate on it. January fifth—your birthday.” Sang Wan reached out to wipe a smear of cream from the corner of Yue Bai’s mouth.

“Senior Sister, you notice everything,” Yue Bai said with a sigh of admiration.

Sang Wan smiled faintly, saying nothing.

Among all the people in the world, there weren’t many she bothered to commit to memory.

“Senior Sister, why aren’t we at the Teachers’ Apartment?” Yue Bai finished the cake on her small plate and frowned at the birthday cake that was still more than half uneaten. “We’ll have to clean up here and take the cake back. What a hassle.”

Sang Wan shook her head. “It’s no hassle. Someone else is coming soon.”

Yue Bai blinked in confusion. “Who?”

“Of course, it’s your dear Senior Sister Zhou.” Senior Sister Zhou strolled in arm-in-arm with Wen Mo, Hua Yun trailing alongside them. The three had slipped in under cover of night.

“To keep from ruining the mood, we crouched nearby for ages, and you only remembered us after stuffing yourselves. Not very thoughtful of you, huh?” Zhou Qingyan teased as she plopped down onto an empty stone bench.

Yue Bai froze. Had they seen her crying just moments ago?

She was utterly mortified, wishing she could bury her head under the table.

Sang Wan could read her mind and quickly sent her a message: “They were too far away to see anything.”

Yue Bai let out a quiet breath of relief.

There were only four stone benches for five people. Yue Bai stood up considerately to offer her seat to the still-standing Hua Yun. “Senior Brother, please, sit.”

Hua Yun chuckled. “Today is your birthday. I can’t let the birthday girl stand on my account.”

With that, he circled behind Sang Wan, bent down, and whispered something in her ear. Yue Bai watched as Sang Wan nodded and rose from her seat to yield it.

Yue Bai was utterly baffled. What on earth had Senior Brother Hua said to convince Senior Sister to give up her spot so willingly?