Notes of Youth

The morning wind was crisp and dry as Class 11A1 gathered at the edge of the school field. The winter sun peeked through scattered clouds, casting long shadows across the grass. Breath fogged in the air as students zipped up their jackets and tightened their scarves.

"No laps today," the PE teacher announced, folding his arms with a grin. "Instead, you can choose your activity. Court A is for volleyball, Court B for badminton, and the rest of the field is free for skipping ropes or jogging. Just don't wander off."

A cheer rose from the class.

Lin Keqing, who usually dreaded PE, blinked in surprise. No mandatory 800-meter run? That was a first.

She looked around. Le Yahan had already dragged Chen Yuke toward the badminton nets, arguing about which one of them had the better smash. Fang Zichen was unwrapping a jump rope with excessive flair, while Tran Vuka sat on the bleachers humming quietly, tapping out a beat on his knee.

"You're in my team," Chen Yuke suddenly called, waving at Keqing. She hesitated.

"We're short one," Gu Yuyan added calmly from behind.

And just like that, she found herself in a volleyball group with Chen Yuke, Gu Yuyan, and Tran Vuka.

The game began with light-hearted chaos. Keqing missed the first two serves, tripping over her own feet. Chen Yuke dramatically fell to his knees each time and howled, "Coach, substitute!"

Tran Vuka chuckled. "She just needs warming up."

Gu Yuyan said nothing, but during the next serve, he positioned himself slightly behind Keqing, just enough to cover her side subtly.

"Ready?" he asked, softly.

She nodded.

The ball soared. Keqing reached up—this time, she touched it. The ball bounced awkwardly but stayed in play.

"Nice!" Chen Yuke yelled. "Improvement detected!"

By the third round, their movements were smoother. They didn't keep score. It wasn't really about winning. It was the way the cold wind turned cheeks pink, and how laughter felt warmer than the sun.

"Heads up!" Tran Vuka shouted suddenly as the ball went flying sideways. It bounced and landed neatly on the head of a dozing Fang Zichen, who woke with a startled yelp, causing an eruption of laughter.

Elsewhere on the field, Le Yahan and Liu Tianxue were locked in a fast-paced badminton match. Yahan moved with swift, practiced steps; Tianxue played with sharp precision.

Each smash and return held tension not just of the game, but of something unspoken between them. They didn't exchange a single word during the match, but when it ended—12-10, Yahan's win—they sat side by side on the low steps, sharing a bottle of water in silence.

"You're good," Tianxue muttered.

"So are you," Yahan replied. Neither of them smiled, but neither walked away.

Nearby, a few students tried out double-dutch jump rope, while others walked slow laps around the field. The PE teacher, sipping tea from a thermos, occasionally called out, "No cutting corners!" and waved at students too close to the fence.

While walking to fetch a dropped volleyball near the edge of the field, Keqing noticed something shining near the base of the fence. It was a small, weathered pin—round, silver, engraved with faded initials:

"W.Z."

Her breath caught. Wanzou?

She picked it up gently, brushing off the frost.

Just then, Gu Yuyan appeared beside her, handing her a bottle of water without a word. He followed her gaze to the pin.

"Do you know whose it is?" he asked.

"Not yet," she said. "But maybe I will."

He gave a faint nod. "You're running better today."

She laughed. "You mean I'm not falling over anymore?"

He looked at her. "I mean you're running without hesitation."

Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful quiet.

The class gathered under the leafless tree at the edge of the field as the bell rang. The PE teacher clapped his hands.

"Good energy today! Next week—we're back to running laps," he added with a grin.

Groans followed.

As they walked back to class, Keqing kept the silver pin in her pocket. It felt cool against her palm.

Something about it told her that Lin Wanzou's story wasn't just fading into the past. It was still waiting to be found.

That evening, Keqing sat by her desk, pin placed beside her journal. She flipped to a blank page and wrote a single line:

"Even if the story was buried, someone left it for me to find."

Across town, Gu Yuyan reread the last passage he had written the night before. Then, without hesitation, he picked up his pen and began a new paragraph—this time, with Lin Keqing in the first line.

Just as Keqing was about to close her journal, a notification buzzed on her phone. It was a message from an anonymous sender: "Ask the librarian about the girl who stopped coming."

Keqing stared at it, her heartbeat quickening.

She had almost forgotten about the old librarian—a quiet, sharp-eyed woman who had once scolded her for returning books late. Could she be a thread that linked back to Lin Wanzou?

Compelled by something she couldn't explain, Keqing stood and reached for her coat.

The evening air outside was bitter, but she barely noticed. Her feet carried her to the library without thinking. The halls were mostly dark, but a light still glowed faintly from inside.

She knocked.

The door creaked open.

The librarian looked up. "Lin Keqing?"

Keqing hesitated. "I... I wanted to ask about someone. A girl who used to come often. I think her name was Lin Wanzou."

The librarian's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. For a moment, there was only silence.

Then she said, "Come in. Close the door behind you."