The first time Chen Yanbai noticed Lu Zhaoran was because of his little action of biting the pen cap while solving a problem.
In the third week of the second year of high school, the physics competition class conducted an in-class test.
The sunlight shines through the tall glass windows, obliquely cutting through the floating dust in the room.
Chen Yanbai finished answering twenty minutes early, closed the pen cap neatly, and when he stood up, the wooden chair legs made a short, light sound as they dragged on the floor.
He habitually scanned the classroom with his eyes, and his peripheral vision happened to be fixed on the window seat in the third row - the top student Lu Zhaoran who always sat upright, like a young poplar.
At this moment, Lu Zhaoran was lowering his head slightly, unconsciously holding the transparent plastic end of the ordinary blue ballpoint pen between his lips and teeth, and the teeth marks left a shallow mark on the pen cap.
He frowned slightly, and his long, thick eyelashes cast two fine shadows in the morning light, trembling slightly with the rhythm of his thinking.
The pen cap was wet with saliva, reflecting a faint water mark in the light.
Chen Yanbai suddenly felt as if there was a small ball of dry cotton blocking his throat, making it a little tight.
He picked up the test paper, took a long step, and deliberately let the tip of his shoe knock lightly on the metal leg of Lu Zhaoran's old desk, making a dull "clang" sound. "Excuse me."
Lu Zhaoran seemed to be startled from the deep water by the sound and suddenly raised his head.
The eyes behind the lenses were as clear as a mountain stream that had just thawed in early spring. With a hint of interrupted confusion, they then focused on Shen Yanbai's face.
He didn't move aside. Instead, he pointed at the last complex mechanics problem on his paper with his fingertips. "Wouldn't it be faster to use the Lagrange multiplier method for the last problem you just solved?"
His voice was not loud, but had the clear and bright quality that is unique to young people.
——He was actually looking at his paper.
A short, mocking sneer escaped from Chen Yanbai's nose. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze oppressive: "Hey, good students are cheating too?"
"Just curious." Lu Zhaoran didn't seem to care about the sarcasm and calmly took off his pair of silver-rimmed glasses.
He took out a neatly folded piece of velvet from his pocket and carefully wiped the lens with his head down.
The lines of his profile were clean and sharp, and behind his right ear, a small, cinnabar-like red mole was faintly visible among his hair.
"The solution to the last electromagnetic induction question on your last monthly exam was very unique," he added, his tone filled with pure inquiry.
The sound of cicadas outside the window suddenly became louder at this moment, like countless tiny drum beats, beating on Shen Yanbai's suddenly disordered heartbeat.
Lu Zhaoran had a secret habit. He always left a letter for Chen Yanbai on shelf 13 in section C of the library, between the row of dusty old physics books and science fiction novels.
Sometimes it was a thick collection of physics competition questions, with a neatly cut note between the brand new pages, on which were written in blue ink a few tricky questions and Lu Zhaoran's unique, concise and clear thinking tips.
Sometimes it is a science fiction novel with a yellowed cover. When you open it, you will see the blank spaces filled with comments and questions written in fine black pen, like a unique jungle of thoughts.
The most outrageous thing was Hawking's A Brief History of Time. When Chen Yanbai flipped open the title page, he saw Lu Zhaoran writing a line of neat, small characters in green highlighter on the edge of the page where Hawking discussed the space-time paradox:
"If I could go back in time, I would go meet you in kindergarten."
Chen Yanbai stared at the line of words, and a nameless anger suddenly rose in his heart, as if some hidden itch had been touched.
He immediately pulled out the black signature pen he always carried with him and, with a hint of anger, wrote back in a flamboyant voice: "Then I absolutely won't play with you."
During lunch break the next day, he somehow wandered to shelf 13 and took out the book "A Brief History of Time".
Sure enough, there was a small color photo with worn corners in the book - the photo was of five-year-old Lu Zhaoran.
He was wearing sky blue overalls and squatting in front of a pile of golden sand in the children's playground. He was concentrating on building something with a small red bucket. His cheeks were chubby, but his eyes were quiet and serious.
Next to the photo, there was a note written in the same green fluorescent pen: "Is it too late to regret now?" The back of the photo seemed to have been caressed by fingertips many times, with a very light, refreshing scent of lemon soap.
Chen Yanbai held the photo in his hand, standing in the shadow cast by the bookshelf, his fingertips slightly warm.
Finally, he carefully put the photo into the innermost layer of his black wallet, right next to the plastic cover of his ID card.
Lu Zhaoran carried with him an old tin candy box the size of a palm. The cartoon pattern on the lid had long been worn out and blurred.
When you open it, you will see twelve colors of individually packaged Band-Aids neatly arranged in categories, like a small, neatly arranged color palette.
"Red is suitable for Mondays. It is energetic."
He once used his body to stop Chen Yanbai, who had just finished a fight and had a bruise on the corner of his mouth, at the door of the infirmary, and explained in a steady voice as if he was stating a physics theorem.
"The blue matches the color of your school uniform collar, and the green looks refreshing..." He tried to pick out the corresponding color from the box.
Before he could finish his words, Chen Yanbai pushed him away impatiently and slammed open the door of the infirmary with anger.
But the next morning, a small, appropriately colored Band-Aid would always lie quietly in the upper right corner of Chen Yanbai's desk, which was piled high with messy books and test papers.
A small hole was torn in the plastic packaging, as if silently inviting you.
Until that time when the Shen family's bodyguards broke into the classroom looking for someone, Shen Yanbai hadn't shown up at school for three days. When he returned, his right hand was wrapped in a thick white bandage, with a faint glaring dark red seeping out of the edges.
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