Chapter 30

The second semester of my junior year felt like it was on fast-forward. The countdown timer next to the blackboard hadn't even been posted yet, but the invisible pressure had already permeated every corner of the classroom. The teachers spoke faster, more tests were handed out, and the number of students catching up on sleep at their desks during breaks was visibly increasing.

Fang Chi's life was simplified into a few clear lines: classroom, library, home. He rarely participated in casual conversations between classes, and no longer went to the basketball court. Most of the time, he was either doing problems or on his way to do them. He could always finish the newly issued workbooks much faster than others, and then ask the teacher for even more difficult ones. The physics and math teachers looked at him with increasing admiration, and occasionally they would pat him on the shoulder and say things like "Keep it up" or "The competition is all up to you."

That empty seat by the window gradually became part of the classroom's background. At first, some people would bring it up or cast curious glances. But as time went on, everyone got used to it. Occasionally, a new substitute teacher would call out "Xing Jiayan's" name, and the classroom would quiet down for a moment. Then a student would whisper, "He transferred schools," and the teacher would say "Oh," cross out the name, and continue calling the next student. That name, like that empty seat, slowly faded from daily conversation.

Only Fang Chi knew that some habits are not so easy to change.

For example, when faced with a particularly tricky problem, my fingers will unconsciously tap the table, as if waiting for someone next to me to offer their opinion. When looking for a seat in the library, my gaze will still first sweep over the corner by the window. And when I hear people discussing a competition problem, my ears will involuntarily perk up, wanting to hear if that person's name is mentioned.

But he said nothing. He simply suppressed those fleeting moments of distraction and focused more intently on the book in front of him.

He Chen and Tan Si still came to see him often. He Chen seemed to have accepted the fact that Xing Jiayan had "left without saying goodbye" and no longer mentioned it all the time. Only occasionally, such as when they were short of players for a game of basketball, or when they encountered a particularly difficult math problem, would he mutter, "If only Brother Yan were here." Tan Si was even quieter, but when Fang Chi was doing math problems late into the night, he would quietly bring him a bottle of water, or when Fang Chi was pinching his brow and looked particularly tired, he would ask, "Want to go get a late-night snack?"

Days passed by. In the midterm exams, Fang Chi unsurprisingly came in first place in the grade. When the report cards were posted, some of the students watching whispered, "Sure enough, without Xing Jiayan, no one can compete with him."

Upon hearing this, Fang Chi didn't stop and went straight back to the classroom. Sitting in his seat, looking at the sycamore trees outside the window that were beginning to sprout buds, he felt no joy, only an emptiness. Before, every time exam rankings came out, regardless of who came first or second, there was always a tense excitement, like fighting a battle. Now, it seemed the battle hadn't even begun, and his opponent had already disappeared.

Meanwhile, in Singapore.

Xing Jiayan's life also settled into a certain routine. School courses weren't too difficult for him; he even had the energy to self-study university material in advance. The teaching methods here were very different from those in China, emphasizing autonomy and exploration, with very few piles of exam papers. His classmates came from all over the world, and their interactions were polite yet distant. He quickly adapted to this atmosphere—keeping his distance, doing his own thing, not forming close friendships, and avoiding trouble.

His mother was very busy with work and often traveled for business. Most of the time, he lived alone in the apartment. He learned to cook simple meals, take his clothes to the laundry room, and complete his homework and self-study plans on time. His life was almost rigidly routine.

He almost never proactively contacted anyone in China. He kept his old SIM card deep in a drawer, occasionally taking it out to look at it before putting it back. His new phone's contact list was nearly empty. He rarely logged into that forum account after that. Initially, he would check it daily, but the grayed-out avatar never lit up. Gradually, he stopped checking it altogether.

Sometimes, after finishing his homework late at night, he would stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of his apartment, looking down at the never-sleeping highway. The traffic flowed silently like a luminous river. In the distance, the three iconic buildings of the Marina Bay Sands Hotel were lit up, like giant sailboats floating in the night. He would think of the photo he posted on New Year's Eve, and the account he had blocked.

He didn't know how Fang Chi was doing now. Knowing that person as he did, he was probably burying himself in a sea of ​​practice problems, trying to prove something with more first-place finishes, or perhaps forgetting something altogether. This thought made his heart clench, yet he also felt a sense of relief. That was for the best, he thought. Keeping their distance was better for both of them.

Singapore's rainy season comes and goes, the weather is always hot and humid. His skin is a bit tanned, his hair is shorter, making him look more neat, and perhaps more silent. Occasionally, girls at school would show interest in him, but he politely and coldly rejected them, giving them no chance. Scattered rumors began to circulate among his classmates about this Chinese transfer student: good grades, handsome, but hard to approach, as if he was hiding something.

He heard it, but didn't care. Being a loner became his defining characteristic.

In the midterm assessment, his report card was almost entirely filled with A's. His advisor spoke with him, suggesting that he could start preparing for some international competitions or consider applying to universities early. He nodded and said he would consider it, but he felt nothing in particular.

The afternoon he received his report card, he went to Marina Bay alone. Not to see the iconic landmarks, but to a relatively quiet park nearby. He sat on a bench, gazing at the calm water and the bustling buildings across the bay. A breeze blew in from the sea, carrying a salty, damp scent.

He suddenly remembered a long time ago, on a breezy afternoon like this, he and Fang Chi had been arguing endlessly about the solution to the last competition problem, from the classroom to the playground, neither able to convince the other. Finally, both were exhausted, leaning against the basketball hoop, panting. Fang Chi's face was flushed with excitement, and there was sweat on his forehead, but his eyes shone brightly as he said defiantly, "I'll definitely beat you next time."

At that time, they still had countless "next times".

Now, "next time" has become a vague and uncertain word.

Xing Jiayan took his phone out of his pocket, opened the camera app, and snapped a picture of the water. He didn't post it; he just saved it to his album. Then he put his phone away, stood up, and walked towards the subway station.

I should go back and preview tomorrow's lessons.

Life goes on.

The sycamore leaves at Linjiang No. 1 Middle School are gradually becoming denser, and spring is drawing to a close. The competition season is here again, with various selections and training sessions for physics, mathematics, chemistry, and more. Fang Chi's name appears on the list for every important competition. He is busier than before, shuttling between the classroom and various laboratories every day, sometimes even forgetting to eat.

Old Liu had spoken to him several times, his meaning clear: the school had high hopes for him and hoped he could continue his previous success, achieving good results in national or even international competitions to increase his chances of being recommended for university admission. Each time, Fang Chi simply nodded and said, "I understand, I will try my best."

He was indeed working very hard. One could even say he was overdoing it. Several times, He Chen saw him stay in the lab until late at night, emerging pale and unsteady on his feet, and couldn't help but advise him, "Fang Chi, you don't need to push yourself so hard. What if you ruin your health?"

Fang Chi shook his head and said, "It's nothing." The next day, he was still the first to arrive at the lab.

Only he knew that besides the pursuit of results, there was something else in this relentless drive that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was as if he was using this method to fill a void, or to prove to someone who wasn't there—look, I can do just fine without you.

But he knew in his heart that this feeling was wrong. In the past, his competition with Xing Jiayan was the excitement of meeting a worthy opponent, a mutual stimulation of their competitive spirit. Now, however, it felt like punching the air; no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find a landing point, leaving only exhaustion and emptiness.

In early May, the results of the provincial physics competition were announced. Fang Chi unsurprisingly won first prize, achieving the highest score in the entire province. The news caused another sensation at the school. His name was listed first on the honor roll, followed by a long list of other award-winning students. Some noticed that the name that had tied with Fang Chi last year was absent.

At the commendation ceremony, Fang Chi spoke on stage as a student representative. Dressed in his neat school uniform, he stood on the platform, looking down at the sea of ​​people below. His speech, revised with the help of his teacher, was filled with gratitude and determination. He read it aloud, his voice steady and even. As he stepped down the stage, he was met with enthusiastic applause. He bowed slightly and walked down the steps.

At that moment, he suddenly remembered this time last year. In a similar setting, he and Xing Jiayan stood on the stage together, receiving their certificates. Camera flashes went off everywhere. Xing Jiayan stood beside him, her arm brushing against his, and whispered, "Next time, it'll be my turn to be number one." He replied then, "Dream on."

Now, he has won first place, but no one is there to tell him, "It's my turn next time."

The awards ceremony ended, and the crowd dispersed. Fang Chi didn't immediately return to the classroom; instead, he went to the small garden behind the teaching building. It was quiet there, and a trellis of wisteria was in full bloom, its fragrance so strong it was almost suffocating. He sat down on a bench, took out his provincial competition certificate from his bag, and spread it out on his lap.

The paper was stiff, with gold edges. His name was printed prominently in the center.

He looked at it for a long time, then slowly folded the certificate and put it back in his schoolbag.

It doesn't seem as joyful as I imagined.

At the same time, in Singapore.

Xing Jiayan had just finished a Singapore national selection exam for the International Physics Olympiad. The questions were difficult, but he did them smoothly. As he walked out of the exam room, the afternoon sun made him squint.

Several classmates who were taking the exam together gathered around to compare answers and discuss which questions they might lose points on. He briefly explained his thought process but didn't participate in the heated debate. When someone asked him how he felt, he nodded and said, "Not bad."

He was actually quite good. The questions were all within his ability, and he even used more than one solution for a few of them.

On his way back to school, he received an email from his advisor congratulating him on passing the preliminary selection and advancing to the next round of training. The email also included a training plan and schedule, densely packed and taking up almost all of his remaining free time.

He replied "Received, thank you," and then turned off his phone.

The subway arrived at the station, and he followed the flow of people out of the carriage. There was a huge advertising screen on the platform, playing a promotional video for a university, showing a tree-lined campus and smiling students. He glanced at it, but felt nothing.

When he got home, the apartment was still empty. His mother texted him, saying she was going on another business trip this week and told him to take care of himself. He replied "okay," opened the refrigerator, and saw that there were still instant noodles and some fruit inside.

He took out instant noodles and boiled water. While waiting for the water to boil, he went to his desk and turned on his computer. The desktop was clean, with nothing except a few folders for studying.

He opened his browser, hesitated for a moment, and then typed "National High School Physics Competition Provincial Results" into the search box. The page redirected, and he quickly found the relevant news. Scrolling down, he immediately spotted that familiar name in the list of winners.

First prize. Highest score.

Xing Jiayan stared at that line of text for a few seconds, then closed the webpage.

The water boiled, emitting a sharp hiss. He got up to make instant noodles, his movements unhurried. Steam rose, blurring his glasses. He took them off and wiped them with the corner of his shirt.

The noodles were ready, and he sat down at the table with the bowl. Outside the window, night was falling in Singapore, and lights were coming on one by one.

He ate his noodles slowly, his mind blank, only noticing that the instant noodles tasted a little bland than usual.