“Think you’re all so capable now, huh? Hmm? Just one PE class and you all forget your place, is that it?” Zoe Young was already used to this kind of talk. She turned away from the main entrance, walked to the back door, and pushed it open to avoid everything happening at the front of the classroom. Right at the door, she ran into Claire Daniels. “Jiejie, what’s wrong?” Zoe Young asked in a low voice. Claire Daniels smiled, “Daniel Hughes and some classmates were horsing around when they came into the classroom just now, and they kicked over a bucket, spilling water all over Fiona James.” Zoe Young was puzzled, “Then why was everyone laughing just now?”

“Someone joked that if we took Fiona James out to the playground and left her there for half an hour, she’d turn into a snowman.” “What’s so funny about that?” Claire Daniels gave her a gentle push and whispered, “Are you silly? What shape is a snowman, and what’s Fiona James’s figure?” Zoe Young suddenly understood, her gaze passing over the crowd to the girl standing at the center of the podium, crying so hard she was choking. Once a short, round, doll-like child as cute as a little dumpling, now at the awkward age of early puberty, she was neither graceful and beautiful like a young girl nor innocent and adorable like a little kid. The once enviable complexion was still as pure and white as snow, but the fair skin that used to make her a little Snow White was now just white—white like a snowman.

Zoe Young couldn’t quite describe how she felt. She admitted that when Claire Daniels explained the joke, she also found it fitting and almost wanted to laugh. But as her eyes lingered on that little snowman, a wave of bitterness suddenly welled up inside her. And just like that, the matter was over. It had never been so simple and easy before.

She knew how her classmates felt about Fiona James. Back in first and second grade, there was blind admiration, treating her like a second little teacher. During breaks, there was always a crowd around her, listening to her tell stories about TV shows she’d recorded, or about the comedians and celebrities she’d met from the province… Whenever someone argued with Fiona James, no matter the reason, Fiona James was always right, just like Mr. Hughes could never be wrong.

She didn’t know when it started, but at some point, when the new issue of the provincial student newspaper came out, someone would point to the interview with Fiona James and read aloud, “Even though she’s always out recording shows and filming TV dramas, Swallow has never slacked off in her studies. There was even a time when she barely attended a full day of class for an entire semester, but she still got the top score in the class on the final exam.” Laughter would fill the whole break. Then everyone would whisper—fourth and fifth graders, while creating their own pink bubbles of adolescence and magical girl dreams, couldn’t wait to topple the idol they’d once built up themselves.

Zoe Young couldn’t remember when the statue of Swallow had been smashed to pieces. Maybe it was when the teacher first criticized her homework format? Maybe it was when the provincial TV station first cut her poetry recital from the anniversary gala? Maybe it was when a new “Swallow” was cast in “Little Red Riding Hood”? No child stays forever young and cute.

But there are always young and cute children. Childhood can be squeezed dry.

As for what happened afterward, no one cared. Mr. Hughes no longer defended Fiona James with the same sternness as before—Fiona James didn’t come from a powerful family; her only background was herself.

The scary thing was, she had grown up. Swallow had grown up, but that didn’t mean she would naturally become a big swallow.

“Call your parents and have them pick you up to change clothes, so you don’t catch a cold. And the rest of you, what are you messing around for? Don’t want to have PE anymore? Hurry up and clean this up!”

Zoe Young suddenly felt a tightness in her chest. She couldn’t describe the feeling—the classmates’ slightly gloating expressions, the homeroom teacher’s casual tone, and the crying, fragile Fiona James—everything told her that something had changed.

She was still too young, so it was only much later that Zoe Young understood this feeling was called “sympathy for the fallen.” The unity was gone, and the group was hard to lead—she knew that the classmates’ respect for the class officers now was only because of lingering authority. What’s more, ever since last week when Mr. Hughes announced the school’s reforms and that midterm class officer elections would be held by vote, boys like Daniel Hughes had started saying to the class officers, “Better behave, or we won’t vote for you…”

But what Zoe Young worried about wasn’t just the votes. Her sharp intuition vaguely told her that a certain so-called qualification had expired; a so-called golden age had come to an end.

At this moment, Zoe Young hadn’t grown enough to see all this clearly. She could only stand where she was, looking up, waiting for the tide of time to submerge her.

On Sunday morning, Zoe Young was the first to arrive at the rehearsal hall. She held her hands over the radiator to warm them, stomping her feet to ease her frozen toes.

“You’re here early, Zoe.” Zoe Young turned around and saw Mr. Green walking toward the rehearsal hall. His voice, echoing in the acoustically perfect room, had a strange sense of age and weariness. She hadn’t seen Mr. Green in two months. Once the director of the youth center, Mr. Green had retired three years ago, but was rehired to continue as the student orchestra’s supervisor and advisor. Zoe Young felt as if a divine mirror stood before her—she grew day by day, while the Mr. Green in the mirror grew older and more stooped. A few times, his forgetfulness had caused minor mishaps at performances. No one dared blame him, but other teachers and orchestra members had long been whispering: what’s an old guy like him still doing here every day?

It was as if their gossip had cast a curse. Since last winter, Mr. Green’s health had gotten worse and worse. He resigned as advisor, but still insisted on coming to the orchestra every week. That interval stretched from a week, to two weeks, three weeks, a month, two months… “Mr. Green.” Zoe Young stood up respectfully. Mr. Green was still very strict. Sometimes, when he heard Zoe Young’s nonsense, he’d curl his right lip in a smile that seemed mocking but was actually approving. But now, Zoe Young no longer felt nervous or afraid when she saw him. Mr. Green was a good person. As Zoe Young grew up, she learned to observe others in many ways, to judge or ponder their actions and character. But when it came to Mr. Green, Zoe Young would always choose the simplest, most direct words: Mr. Green was a good person. He changed Zoe Young’s life. Four years ago, he came to her school, took her to a performance, and taught her how to stand on stage. At first, Zoe Young was stiff and awkward, but under his guidance, she gradually became relaxed and natural. When she was just starting out, she would subconsciously imitate Swallow’s style from class meetings and school arts festivals, but when that innocent, cutesy tone came out of her mouth, Mr. Green would always laugh until he doubled over.

“Close your eyes and imagine you’re already a big star. No matter how you perform, the audience will foolishly think it’s your personal style, that you’re the best. Imagine beautiful lights all around, everyone in the audience cheering for you. Close your eyes and say your lines again.” Mr. Green said patiently.

Zoe Young was stunned. “Like Sweetie?” “Sweetie?” This time it was Mr. Green’s turn to be surprised, but he quickly smiled. “Okay, you’re Sweetie.” The excitement Zoe Young felt at that moment was indescribable. For the first time, an adult was willing to be her audience and tell her, “Okay, now you’re Sweetie.”

Yet, when Zoe Young was already making a name for herself at various provincial galas, Mr. Green turned down the TV station’s invitation, as if he didn’t want Zoe Young to follow in Swallow’s footsteps.

“You don’t blame Grandpa Gu, do you, Zoe?” Mr. Green patted Zoe Young’s head, not a trace of a smile on his face. Zoe Young grinned and stuck out her tongue, “With that look, how could I dare blame you?” “You little rascal.” A faint smile finally appeared on Mr. Green’s face. The two of them stood in the darkened theater, only the small orange lights at the edge of the stage glowing softly. “I’ve worked at the youth center since I was young, watched so many kids come here to learn law, singing, hosting, acting, instruments, dance… then watched them grow up. Some keep going down this path, some give up halfway, some can’t go on but can’t turn back. There are so many narrow roads in the world, but everyone thinks they’ll be the lucky one. Actually, after all these years, I already know… sigh, maybe this sounds a bit heavy, but when you take the wrong path as a child, it takes many years to realize it, and even more years to face it, admit the mistake, and try to make up for it.”

Looking down at the confused face of this first grader, Mr. Green stopped himself. “Zoe, do you understand what I’m saying?”