It was a transfer student, a girl named Lin Xiao.
She sat just diagonally in front of Li Nanzhu. She had naturally curly hair that she could never quite pull back properly, with a few fluffy strands sticking out. Her eyes were large and bright, looking at everything with curiosity.
She wasn't like the other students who kept Li Nanzhu at a respectful distance. Perhaps she had never heard the rumors, or perhaps she had heard them but simply didn't care.
Their first active interaction happened on a dull afternoon.
Li Nanzhu was alone at her desk, meticulously copying vocabulary words stroke by stroke with a pencil sharpened down to a stub. Lin Xiao, likely bored from sitting still, turned around and leaned against the edge of Li Nanzhu’s desk. Blinking her large eyes, she asked directly, "Hey, why is your pencil so short? My mom says if a pencil is too short, your hand will hurt when you write."
Li Nanzhu froze for a moment, the tip of her pencil poking a dark dot onto her notebook.
She looked up into Lin Xiao's clear gaze. By reflex, her lips curled into that standard arc as she answered softly, "It’s fine. I’m used to it."
"Used to it?" Lin Xiao tilted her head, seemingly finding the answer interesting. She pulled a brand-new, long pencil out of her cartoon-printed pencil case. "Use this one! I have lots!"
Li Nanzhu looked at the new pencil and then at Lin Xiao’s radiant smile. For a moment, she didn't know how to react.
Reject it? Accept it? In her library of rules, there was no option for dealing with such pure kindness.
In the end, she simply shook her head slightly, her smile unchanged. "Thank you, but there's no need."
Lin Xiao didn't mind. She took back the pencil and asked curiously, "What’s your name? I’m Lin Xiao, the 'Xiao' as in the break of dawn. Your handwriting is really pretty!"
"Li Nanzhu."
"Nanzhu? That sounds so nice! Is it a candle from the south?" Lin Xiao’s thoughts jumped quickly, and she giggled to herself.
Li Nanzhu didn't know how to respond, so she just curled the corners of her mouth again as a reply.
Lin Xiao was like a carefree breeze, easily bypassing all the fences Li Nanzhu had erected.
Her enthusiasm was direct, her curiosity was pure, and her sharing was a matter of course.
She didn't seem to notice how 'standard' Li Nanzhu’s smile was, nor did she care about the whispers regarding the orphanage. In her eyes, Li Nanzhu was just a deskmate who 'wrote very pretty words' and was 'a bit quiet but not a bad person.'
This kind of approach—devoid of judgment or hidden agendas—was an experience so foreign to Li Nanzhu that it was almost terrifying.
But beneath the fear, a more powerful, almost instinctive longing began to grow wildly, like a seedling finding rain after a long drought.
When Lin Xiao insisted on stuffing a fruit candy into her palm for the third time before running away giggling, Li Nanzhu stood frozen in place, gripping the candy that still held the warmth of the girl's palm. For the first time, her perfect smile faltered.
She looked down at the bright candy wrapped in cheap paper in her hand, her heart thumping heavily in her chest.
This wasn't a rehearsed script, nor a 'rule' observed and imitated. It was... a real candy, given to 'Li Nanzhu' by 'Lin Xiao.'
After school that day, in the corner of the empty classroom, Li Nanzhu carefully unwrapped the paper and placed the small, orange candy into her mouth.
The sweet and sour taste instantly dissolved on her tongue. It had the intense flavor of artificial essence, yet it made her eyes sting for some reason.
Sweet.
So this was the taste of 'sharing.'
So this was how it felt to be 'given' something by someone, so naturally and without any reason.
When Lin Xiao grabbed her cold fingers during PE class and pulled her from the shade into the game circle under the sun, Li Nanzhu was utterly stunned.
Her physical instinct was to retreat, to return to the familiar shadows and her position as an 'onlooker.' But Lin Xiao’s grip was so firm, her smile so bright, and her voice so clear: "Nanzhu! Hurry up and come!"
From then on, Li Nanzhu’s life seemed a little bit different.
She was still silent most of the time, still wearing her smiling mask, but Lin Xiao would take the initiative to drag her along for lunch, invite her to do homework together after school, and share plots of new cartoons during breaks.
Lin Xiao's mother was a slightly plump auntie who was always smiling.
Once, when it rained after school, Lin Xiao's mother came to pick her up. She was surprised to see Li Nanzhu coming out with her daughter, but she quickly offered a kind smile. "Oh, you must be the Nanzhu that Xiao-Yu always talks about? The one with the great handwriting? Let's go together. Auntie brought an umbrella."
At first, it might have been out of courtesy for her daughter’s friend, but Li Nanzhu’s excessive quietness and obedience, coupled with her cautious, small-animal-like expression, seemed to touch a soft spot in her maternal heart.
She would bring an extra snack, or gently ask her, "Is there a lot of homework?" and "It’s been cold lately, make sure to wear more clothes."
Once, Lin Xiao invited Li Nanzhu to do homework together at the small stone table beneath her apartment building.
It was a corner of an old residential block, shaded by several old locust trees. In the summer, the foliage was thick. Lin Xiao’s mother brought out two bowls of chilled mung bean soup, with cool droplets of condensation clinging to the rims.
"Nanzhu, Xiaoxiao, take a break. Have some mung bean soup to cool off." Her voice and smile were just like the soup in the bowls—sweet and soothing.
Li Nanzhu took small sips, listening to Lin Xiao chatter away to her mother about interesting things at school. Occasionally, the auntie would chime in with a laugh or pat Lin Xiao's fluffy head.
The afterglow of the setting sun filtered through the gaps in the locust leaves, casting mottled shadows on the stone table. The faint aroma of cooking food wafted through the air, and the distant voices of neighbors calling their children home for dinner could be heard.
In that moment, Li Nanzhu sat there quietly, holding the rough white porcelain bowl. The chill of the bowl seeped into her palms.
She didn't speak; she just lowered her head slightly and sipped the mung bean soup. But her entire heart felt as though it were soaking in warm honey, incredibly soft and filled to the point of aching.
It was a dizzying happiness, a kind she had never experienced before.
It wasn't stolen, nor was it a faked share. It was truly, genuinely being included in a warm, everyday moment filled with the breath of life.
When Lin Xiao's mother handed her the mung bean soup, her natural attitude was no different than how she treated any other child coming over to play. And as Lin Xiao drank her soup while lightly kicking Li Nanzhu’s leg and complaining about having too much homework, the intimacy was completely unfeigned.
Li Nanzhu even allowed herself to completely drop all the 'masks' from her face in that moment. She didn't force a smile; she just narrowed her eyes slightly, feeling the sweetness on her tongue, the murmurs in her ears, and the warmth surrounding her.
The corners of her mouth turned up naturally. It was a relaxed and satisfied smile that truly belonged to a child in a comfortable and safe environment.
That period was a rare time in her childhood that approached 'normalcy.'
The smiles on her face more and more frequently broke away from the standard template, carrying a real warmth.
She began to look forward to leaving school with Lin Xiao, even if it was just walking together for a short distance and listening to her talk about random things.
She began to try making a silly face back when Lin Xiao made one at her.
She even started to quietly save the fruit candies occasionally handed out by the director, thinking she could share them with Lin Xiao next time.
Li Nanzhu was like a person who had trekked through a desert for so long they were near death from thirst, only to suddenly discover a small oasis. She greedily, almost fearfully, drank in every drop of water and cherished every inch of shade.
She stopped thinking about those 'rules' and stopped practicing her 'smile.' She simply immersed herself entirely in this hard-won warmth and companionship, like a dying plant that had finally received sunlight and dew, beginning to tremble as it unfurled its leaves.
She thought this oasis would be permanent.
She thought that she was finally, perhaps, allowed to have a friend—to have a bit of real warmth that didn't rely on theft or pretense.
Until that rain, and the sudden distance pulled between them under the umbrella, returned everything to its original state.
No, it was even worse than the original state.
Because once one has tasted the sweetness of honey, falling back into a sea of bitter gall makes that bitterness become a bone-corroding poison.
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