Last Sunday, Mr. Sherman officially brought up the idea of her applying to the Shanghai Conservatory of Music’s affiliated middle school. “Mr. Green has told me many times, although your fingers aren’t particularly gifted, you’re very talented and willing to work hard. He hoped you could prepare for the Level 10 exam this summer while also getting ready to apply to the conservatory’s affiliated middle school. This was his last wish.”

Zoe Young had never discussed this with her mother; she didn’t know what she was avoiding. In a daze, she remembered that day—the older girl holding her violin, endlessly applying rosin to the bow, her face now blurry in memory, but her voice still echoing in her mind. “I’ve always known I’m not Mozart.” “In this field, how many can really become masters?”

“Anyway, I’m not good at academics. If I can’t get into a good high school, I might as well go to an art school or the conservatory’s affiliated middle school. At worst, I can get into a music college. After a few years, I can graduate and join an orchestra, have a stable job, and even become a teacher and take on students—you have no idea, being an instrument teacher is really profitable! My mom says if I work hard, at least I won’t be left with nothing in this life.”

Zoe Young leaned on her cello and asked softly, “That’s it?” “What else do you want?” The girl looked her and her cello up and down. “This is already pretty good. Who do you think you are? How many Yo-Yo Mas are there in the world?” Zoe Young shook her head and didn’t argue. That path was good, but she didn’t like it.

Mr. Green wouldn’t lead her astray, but there’s more than one right path, and at least this one, she didn’t want. It’s not that she disliked the cello, but she didn’t love it either. The path of applying to the conservatory’s affiliated middle school seemed to have a clear end from the start. Her future had always been a fog, but she’d never panicked—instead, she was full of longing. She had once fantasized about entering the world of “Slam Dunk,” imagined wearing the slightly embarrassing sailor suit of a Sailor Moon, imagined taking Simic’s hand and riding a rainbow to challenge Demon Mountain… But all of that, in truth, couldn’t compare to Zoe Young’s own world.

Her story hadn’t even begun. Benny once said, Zoe, you’ll definitely become the most amazing person. What does the most amazing person look like? She didn’t know.

But definitely not like this.

Someone jabbed her hard with an elbow, and Zoe Young snapped awake, looking up to see Mr. Hughes staring at her expressionlessly. She’d been so lost in thought she had no idea what had just happened. She lowered her head, and Fiona James whispered quietly beside her, “The teacher just called your name, didn’t ask anything.”

Andrew Lane started laughing, and in a tone Zoe Young had never heard before, said to the teacher, “Zoe Young must be frozen silly. She was wearing the least when we were on duty outside the door just now.”

Mr. Hughes didn’t seem to care at all about Andrew Lane’s attempt to help. She changed her tone, speaking coldly: “Zoe Young, have your mother come to school sometime. I keep calling the number she gave me, but it’s always busy. I don’t know what she’s so busy with. No matter how much time you spend making money, your child’s education is most important. I’m responsible for fifty or sixty kids by myself, I’m exhausted, and I can’t possibly take care of everyone. Other parents have already come to talk to me about their children’s advancement. I mentioned this at the last parent meeting, too, but your mother hasn’t responded at all. Your future is your own business. If your parents don’t care, there’s nothing I can say. If you don’t care, then anything I say is pointless, isn’t it?”

This long speech left Andrew Lane a bit dizzy. He looked up and saw Zoe Young standing off to the side, lips pressed together stubbornly, her expression cold, like an unpopular and stubborn underachiever in the class, but with a composure the others didn’t have.

Was that Zoe Young? After four or five years of brilliance, it was as if he was back to a certain afternoon in first grade, when he saw her from afar clutching a grid notebook, on the verge of tears, quietly pleading with a stern upperclassman on duty—so pitiful, it made your heart ache.

So similar, yet so different. Zoe Young listened to the teacher’s complaints with her head down, her face cold, no longer showing the pleading or longing of her childhood, her attention seemingly drifting elsewhere. At this moment, the girl before him had become the snowman on the horizontal bar again, separated from him by mountains and rivers, unreachable.

“Zoe, let’s go home together.” He blurted it out without thinking. Zoe Young seemed to finally be pulled out of her little world, staring at him with wide eyes. Fiona James reacted quickly, turning and running off, calling out as she went, “Don’t worry, I’m leaving right now, I definitely won’t tell anyone!”

Andrew Lane swallowed, thinking he’d just go for it today—even though his parents had long since stopped picking him up, he still walked home every day with Charles Johnson, Charlotte Lee, and the others. He’d long since sensed that they didn’t like Zoe Young, and lately he’d vaguely understood why, so saying “let’s go together” wasn’t without fear.

It felt like he was hiding something from his parents, like he’d done something wrong. Zoe Young tilted her head at him, the look in her eyes unreadable. Andrew Lane steeled himself and said, very seriously and loudly, “Zoe, let’s go home together.”

“Let’s go home together.” He said it so easily, as if yesterday, the day before, last year, the year before… they’d always gone home together, and today was just a routine greeting. Don’t forget to go home together today.

Zoe Young lowered her head, carefully stepping on the snow, avoiding all the places where there were already footprints, deliberately treading on the quiet, untouched ground.

“…Zoe?” “Hm?”

“Just now your teacher Mr. Hughes mentioned your advancement…” “It’s nothing.” Zoe Young quickly turned her head, and after a few seconds of silence, asked, “Andrew Lane, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Andrew Lane was stunned. Zoe Young was asking the same question she’d once asked on the horizontal bar, a question only his parents, uncles, aunts, and Mr. Zack had ever asked—and only when he was very young. Back then, he’d answered loudly, “I want to be an astronomer!” Beside him, Charles Johnson would sniffle and say quietly, “I want to be Secretary-General of the United Nations.” Secretary-General of the United Nations was the biggest official Charles Johnson could imagine, but when they grew up, they realized it was actually the most useless official in the world. Faced with Zoe Young’s question, Andrew Lane could only shake his head. “I don’t know.” He added, a little embarrassed, “But as long as I keep moving forward, it’ll be fine.” “Keep moving forward?”

“Yeah,” he said, a confident smile on his face, “My dad says, if I haven’t figured it out yet, then just keep moving forward, do my best, get into the best middle school, learn the most skills, get into the best university, see the most, learn the most—he says all of that is… capital.” Andrew Lane thought for a moment, making sure he’d used the word “capital” correctly. “That way, when I finally know what I want to do, I’ll have enough skills to work toward it, and I won’t regret it.” Zoe Young looked up at Andrew Lane. His smile was bright, like a poplar tree in the snow, its tender green branches swaying in the wind, as if spring had come early. “That’s great,” she said, smiling. “Zoe, what about you?”

“Me?” Zoe Young didn’t look at him. She lowered her head and stepped on all the fresh snow within a meter, then looked up. “I don’t know either.” “Then we’re the same!” Andrew Lane happily grabbed the strap of Zoe Young’s bag and shook it. Zoe Young smiled and shook her head.

“No, Andrew Lane, we’re not the same.”

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12. Help

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“How are we different?” Zoe Young couldn’t say.

She had already started trying to touch the nerves beneath the surface of this world, but faced with the tangled lines of fate, she couldn’t see anything clearly.

Andrew Lane didn’t ask again. He exhaled a breath of white air, kicked at the snow, and asked a little blankly, “Zoe, do you want to grow up?”

Zoe Young shook her head. “No.” She used to want to. “You’re not like Fiona James, are you…”

“No,” Zoe Young kept shaking her head, “I want… I want to go back to childhood.” “Childhood?” Andrew Lane reached out and tugged her pigtail—he hadn’t done that in a long time. Her hair was cold and smooth, slipping through his fingers like a mischievous fish. Andrew Lane reached out again, playing happily, not noticing the slightly sad look on Zoe Young’s face. “Because childhood was happy, I didn’t understand anything.” Zoe Young closed her eyes, helplessly realizing she could no longer remember the faces of Duke Gregory and Viscount Clark. Don’t you want Her Majesty the Queen anymore? Or did you fix your spaceship and return to your own planet? She hadn’t even had time to say goodbye.

When she opened her eyes, Zoe Young paused, stopped in her tracks, then quickly turned and ran off. In the deep snow, her slightly clumsy figure left Andrew Lane far behind. Andrew Lane’s hand was still in midair, as that black carp slipped away from his grasp, never to be caught again.