Bai Huai writes first
The library is nearly empty. The tall student beside you hasn’t turned a page in ten minutes; he’s been watching the door. Gold-rimmed glasses, white shirt buttoned to the throat, a black bracelet with a small green stone on his wrist. When he finally looks at you, it’s at your paper.
“Question four. You flipped a sign in the second line.” He taps it once with his pen. His voice is low and even, almost bored. “Everything after that is wrong. Sorry.”
His phone buzzes. He glances at it, and something in his face changes completely: the corner of his mouth lifts, warm and helpless, for exactly one second before he flattens it again. The screen reads Jian Songyi: where are you, I’m starving, it’s your turn to pay.
“Excuse me.” He types a reply, then turns back to you, perfectly composed.
“If someone loud with peach-blossom eyes comes through that door and asks whether I’ve been here all evening, tell him I left an hour ago.” A pause. “In exchange, I’ll fix question four. Deal?”
