September 1st was a Sunday. The next day, Monday, was usually the day when universities started formal classes.
At nine o’clock in the morning, Jiang Ran opened her eyes, lying in bed with the blanket over her body, staring at the ceiling. She felt like she was sick. Her life had developed a strange illness—”leaving people makes eating inconvenient”—and even her daily schedule had become that of an old person.
At 9:15, she drank coffee, opened her laptop, and prepared to check her stocks, something she rarely looked at. She also logged into WeChat. At that moment, she noticed the computer’s WeChat buzzing with notifications.
Curious, she clicked to see and found that Beijiao had been sending her something intermittently since 8:30 a.m.—
At 8:30, there was a bowl of white porridge from the campus canteen and half a piece of fermented tofu.
At 8:45, an empty classroom with no one inside.
At 9:00, his roommate was busily copying from two test papers, neatly pressing the filled-out sheet under his arm, with the top line clearly signed: Beijiao.
At 9:15, exactly the moment she was looking, he sent a picture of a classroom full of students and a teacher just stepping into the classroom door.
Jiang Ran yawned, hesitating whether to reply.
After all, he hadn’t written a single word, only sending pictures, as if arranging a picture-based diary.
As she scrolled through these images while sitting in front of the computer, she felt drowsy again when he sent a new message—
[Beijiao: Zhao Keyan told me there’s a co-op venue fee for teaching students at Guangrong, about 500 yuan per day. Is that true?]
This sudden question left her puzzled. Her instinct told her the tone was different, but she couldn’t ignore such a serious question, so she replied with [Yes].
Immediately, the other side showed “Typing…”
[Beijiao: Then if I teach for two hours, I’d make 100 yuan?]
[Ranran Duck Said: At least it’s not handing out flyers in 38-degree heat wearing a mascot costume and ending up with heatstroke and a fatality. Besides, lately three hundred million people are getting into winter sports, and two hundred million are hitting the slopes. There are many newbies. You can just take more students and finish them all in one day, right?]
[Beijiao: Oh.]
Jiang Ran: “?”
She couldn’t believe he wouldn’t understand such a simple concept. She felt he was just talking nonsense. After this useless conversation, she twisted in her chair, hesitated for a moment, and randomly opened a social media app. She typed in the keyword: #When someone clearly has nothing to say but still tries to make conversation.
There were plenty of people bored enough to ask similar questions. The search results popped up a bunch of related answers. The first post, with the highest number of likes, read—
[Every seemingly reasonable and casual question or conversation starter, no matter what I say or ask, can actually be translated into four words: I miss you.]
Jiang Ran: “…”
Her fingers stiffened, and she “slammed” the laptop shut.
…
In the second week of school, Beijiao’s plan to save up for a plane ticket to Xinjiang wasn’t going smoothly.
As National Day approached, it was like the emperor wasn’t worried while the eunuchs were panicking. This negotiation process was nothing short of bumpy.
It was a Friday afternoon in the first week of school. Late September in Guangzhou was still scorching hot. The central air conditioner blew cool air, and Jiang Ran was wearing a pink spaghetti-strap nightgown. Her hands were folded on her knees as she curled into a corner of the couch, glaring at the person on the other side of the couch—
The returned puppy from school was sprawled on the other end, sucking on an ice pop, enjoying the air conditioning, watching TV, his eyes showing nonchalance. As she told him that someone would be teaching twelve classes, spread over three days, after deducting the venue fee and ski ticket costs, he could still earn more than 2,000 yuan, but he showed no reaction at all.
“Just like that, the plane ticket to Xinjiang is already covered!”
She said firmly.
But Beijiao didn’t even look away from the TV: “Oh, there’s such a good deal?”
From the other side of the couch, Jiang Ran sensed something was off: “Why do you sound so suspicious?”
“You noticed?”
Beijiao turned his head and gave her a glance that said, “You’re smarter than I thought.”
His gaze couldn’t help but lower slightly, pausing for a few seconds near the pale skin around her collarbone before he casually redirected it back to the TV.
“Because you sounded hesitant when you were talking about it, so I was just waiting for you to finish.”
His answer was very patient.
But Jiang Ran longed for the days when he couldn’t be bothered to say more than a sentence to her, when it took three nudges to get a word out of him.
At least that way, you wouldn’t suffocate from frustration.
“The one who wants to learn is Song Die’s sister,” Jiang Ran smiled tightly, “You know her.”
Beijiao bit through his pineapple-flavored ice pop, looking a bit confused. He clearly didn’t know what she was talking about. How could he know Song Die’s sister? Who was she?
“You know, the day we first met, you spilled wine on her bag, and she poured a glass of wine and insisted you drink it—”
Beijiao tried to recall, finally remembered, nodded, thinking to himself that not a single member of the Song family was good news. Then he said, “I can’t earn this money. Forget it. Think of another way for the plane ticket.”
He was so decisive that Jiang Ran even suspected he had been possessed.
She widened her eyes: “What’s wrong? Are you scared of her? Back then at the bar, you were so arrogant, didn’t show even the slightest fear of her. I even suspected that if I had spoken a second later, you’d have poured the entire glass of wine over her head!”
Beijiao sneered.
Jiang Ran knew she had guessed correctly the moment she heard it.
Across the couch, she kicked his thigh with one foot. With her long legs and strength, she gave him a good shove—
“Just teach her, will you? Once she puts on the skis, her life is in your hands. Do you still worry she’ll mess with you? Thousands of yuan, are you just going to give it up? You need to buy that Xinjiang plane ticket soon!”
As she kicked, suddenly her ankle felt warm and tight. Before she could react, her bare foot was already in his hand.
She had always known he had long arms and legs, but now, with one of her feet in his hand, she realized just how wide his palm was.
The sole of her foot rubbing against the slightly calloused palm felt ticklish.
Her ears inexplicably started to heat up. She tried to pull her leg back, but as she kicked again, he silently tightened his grip.
Beijiao glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He saw her lips part slightly, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t, her nose slightly reddened. He pressed his thin lips together: “I’ve never seen someone as reckless as you, jumping into a fire pit for a few thousand yuan? If something really happens, will those two thousand yuan be enough to cover your psychological therapy fees at the hospital?”
Sure enough, the foot thrashing in his hand stilled.
He casually gave her ankle a gentle squeeze. Her skin was incredibly smooth. He couldn’t help but wonder where she had stored her ski boots all summer. His own heels had developed calluses from skiing throughout the season, yet despite skiing just as frequently, her feet remained flawless.
As he was lost in thought, he heard a protest from deep in her nose: “What fire pit could she possibly be?”
Beijiao’s lips curled: “Oh, how did Song Die initially approach you to ask for lessons?”
Jiang Ran was speechless.
Seeing her quiet down, his hand slid down from her foot to her ankle, and then, taking advantage of her daze, moved even higher, his palm pressing against her soft calf—
His fingers were long, and one hand almost covered most of her long, soft calf.
His gaze darkened slightly, the mockery on his lips fading. He hummed deeply from his throat, “I can figure out the plane ticket myself…”
His voice was slightly hoarse, his Adam’s apple moving.
Then he let her go.
The warmth of his palm disappeared instantly, and Jiang Ran was freed before she could even protest. Coincidentally, a gust of cool air swept in from the air conditioner, causing goosebumps to rise on her skin. She lifted her head, bewildered, and looked at him.
He casually picked up a cushion from the couch, naturally hugging it in front of his waist.
“Jiang Ran, let’s make a deal.”
“What?”
“Go put on a jacket?” he said calmly. “It’s the end of September, and the air conditioning is set so low. Aren’t you cold?”
She was still lingering in the sensation of his palm pressing against her calf just moments ago. Her back was already damp with sweat, and beads of perspiration threatened to form on her forehead. At first, she didn’t react, simply uttering, “Ah,” before adding, “Not cold.”
He looked at her calmly.
“…It is a little cold,” she said, getting up from the couch as if talking to herself. “Then should I go get a jacket?”
She said while turning her head to look at him inquiringly.
He smiled, almost gently, “Go ahead.”
…
With Beijiao’s stubborn resistance, National Day arrived in an instant.
According to past traditions, the major ski resorts in the northeastern part of the country usually start their season around mid-November. Because the weather isn’t cold enough and there isn’t enough natural snowfall, the opening of the season usually only involves one main ski slope…
As the weather gradually gets colder and the natural snowfall increases, the resorts will gradually open other slopes. Usually, all the slopes are fully open only by mid-to-late December.
But Xinjiang is different.
Thanks to its geographical advantages and vast terrain, winter comes earlier to Xinjiang. Therefore, ski resorts in the Altay region of Xinjiang can usually start their season during the National Day holiday.
So by the end of September, the ski community was already getting restless.
In Jiang Ran’s words, she was fed up with the narrow, short indoor “big fridge” where you ride the cable car up for five minutes and ski down in three.
The plane tickets were booked. Although Beijiao had firmly refused Song Yan’s lessons before, now that it had come to this, he still felt a pang of regret over the ticket cost—
Originally, he had planned to guide some newbies to accumulate teaching hours and exchange them for plane tickets. But after school started, he was so busy with his studies that his feet barely touched the ground. When he occasionally had free time, he either rushed into the study room or into the “big fridge” to ski by himself.
At this point, Beijiao was shocked to discover that he had developed a hobby more important than making money.
That was shocking enough.
Even more shocking was that on September 29th, at the airport, he saw Song Die, who was also dragging a board bag and had a calm expression on his face. Beside him was Song Yan, dragging a suitcase and staring at him.
“What is this?” Beijiao turned his head and asked the young woman beside him, “Are you messing with me? The National Day hell package?”
His voice was lazy, slightly mocking, and low-pitched.
Warm breath sprayed on the side of her face. Jiang Ran shrank her neck and backed away slightly.
“You need someone to share a room with, right?”
Lately, she had become somewhat afraid of him, like dealing with a mentally unstable person who occasionally goes crazy—
Out of respect for his madness, her Taobao search history had changed from “pure and tempting spaghetti-strap pajamas” to “conservative oversized mom pajamas.” Now, her closet was full of cotton Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck pajamas. Even Botan Eri would turn to the director and say today’s episode can’t be filmed.
“Besides, Song Yan wanted to come herself… so let her come. When you get tired of skiing, you can teach her for a while. The ski season has just started, and there’s no venue fee in Altay. The ski tickets aren’t expensive either. you can earn your tuition for next year.”
As she spoke, she handed him her ID card.
After a moment of contemplation, he said he wouldn’t teach her.
She thought the next sentence would be “If you want to teach, teach her yourself,” but the apprentice even controlled the master. He added that she should also stay away from Song Yan.
Jiang Ran was silent, sighing inwardly that the suddenly ten-years-older Cinderella younger brother had returned.
Just then, the person in front handed over her ID card, pointing to Song Die and his sister behind her, and said to the airline staff, “Anywhere is fine, as long as it’s not with them.”
The airline staff: “…”
Jiang Ran: “…”
…
After a long journey by plane and car, they arrived at their accommodation late at night.
While the southern part of China was still sweltering with air conditioning and ice cream, the Altay region of Xinjiang was already covered in snow, turning into a kingdom of ice and snow.
After getting off the plane, the cold air refreshed everyone’s spirits. It was an indescribable feeling of exhilaration, probably the unique charm of winter and snow.
Jiang Ran and others stayed in a village near the ski resort. The small, one-story houses were lined up one after another, forming the most primitive and ancient village, surrounded by mountains and covered in snow.
The roofs were covered with thick snow, like the little wooden huts of Santa Claus living in the forest in fairy tales, very atmospheric.
There was already thick snow at the village entrance, and villagers had manually cleared a path with shovels, piling the snow at the entrance…
The wooden huts were hidden under the snow, and the entire village was immersed in tranquility.
The wooden huts used the oldest kind of latch, and the key had to be pushed in with effort. When the door opened, it even made a creaking sound. To prevent the wind from leaking in, there was also a felt curtain behind the wooden door.
Inside the hut was a small irregular wooden table, a long bench covered with a thick fur blanket, an old electric blanket under the bed, and the bedding was clean and smelled of being washed and sun-dried. The lamp was a dim hanging light.
To turn on the light, you had to pull the rope next to the door.
Compared to other mature commercial ski resorts, the shortcomings in Xinjiang were probably the lack of materials and facilities, and the accommodation conditions couldn’t keep up.
For example, the light in Jiang Ran’s room was broken when she checked in.
Pitch black.
She told the landlord, who didn’t look surprised at all. He apologized with a smile, saying that the new ski season had just started, and many facilities hadn’t been updated or checked yet. As he spoke, he handed her a brand new light bulb, letting her try to replace it herself, then calmly drifted away to arrange for the next batch of guests.
Jiang Ran stood there holding the light bulb, stunned and disoriented in the wind.
At this moment, the light bulb in her hand was pulled away from behind. The young man’s calm figure brushed past her, pushed open her half-closed door, walked in, and only turned back when he reached the door: “What are you standing there for, use your phone light.”
Jiang Ran hurried in, seeing him take off his shoes, stepping on the thick fur, climbing onto the table—skillfully unscrewing the original light bulb.
“You can change a light bulb too?”
“Jiang Ran, I’m twenty, not two.” Standing on the table, he said without much mockery, “What’s with that surprised tone of yours?”
The light bulb was loose, and the thick layer of dust accumulated over a year made him slightly squint, turning his head away and sneezing.
His slender fingertips held the light bulb, slowly unscrewing it. Jiang Ran used the light from her phone to look at his clearly defined side profile. The light hid his perfect jawline in the shadows…
Like the most perfect statue, sleeping in an art museum that hadn’t opened yet.
No one spoke for a moment. She could almost hear her own careful breathing.
And her heartbeat.
She wished he would make more noise while unscrewing the bulb, so she could hide her heartbeat. In the darkness, her hand holding the phone tightened slightly.
“Light.”
He said succinctly, his voice a bit low.
But it still startled her, raising the flashlight on her phone a little higher… He lowered his eyes, glancing at her with a half-smile, “Too high. Shine the light on the bulb, not my face. Where are you looking?”
His words made her ears burn, but luckily it was so dark around that no one could see clearly.
She bit her lower lip, holding the phone until her arm ached, before the bulb was finally replaced.
He clapped his hands and jumped down, then went to pull the light switch with a clack, and the room was lit with a warm orange glow.
“It’s done. Thanks—”
“The bulb I replaced myself,” he said naturally, “I want to stay here.”
“…You’d have to talk to Song Die if you want to change rooms, in case he’s already unpacked—”
“Jiang Ran,” he interrupted her, “you know what I mean. Don’t pretend.”
“Okay,” she said expressionlessly, “Don’t even think about it.”
A brief silence followed. After a long while, he didn’t throw a tantrum, but instead nodded with a slight smile and said, “Fine.”
She felt a chill run down her spine from his smile.
“Just pray this place holds up for the next seven days without any more problems, so I don’t have to come back.”
While putting on his shoes, the young man slightly turned his face to stare at her.
“When it’s time to sleep, I’ll take the bed. You can sleep wherever you like.”
He leaned in too close. Jiang Ran backed away slightly.
But with his long legs and arms, he easily reached over and tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. His warm, slightly rough fingertips lightly brushed her earlobe.
It was restrained, yet not overstepping.
Touching her like this was wrong.
But he just couldn’t help wanting to get close to her.
It was a sudden bad habit he had picked up.
She coldly slapped his hand away.
“Get out.”
He snorted, nodded, “Fine, fine. I’ll leave right away.”
The author has something to say:
Beijiao: Holding her in my arms is the best, but I can’t say it because saying it would be harassment.
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