September was still hot in Zhangjiang City. On a pebble beach along the Zhangjiang River, Lao Bai found a child, soaked from head to toe. The child had no name or family, and his memories before the age of twelve were completely blank. All he had left were an old shop, a blue ledger, and a string of wind chimes. Lao Bai’s surname was Bai, so he named the boy Bai Ye. The local police station searched every missing-person report in the city but couldn’t find out who the boy belonged to.
Bai Ye grew up in the shop until he was old enough for middle school. On registration day, he got into Zhangjiang No. 3 Middle School and sat beside the class monitor, Jing Xiaoyue. He memorized the way she wore her hair in a ponytail, the sound of her reading aloud, and the way she ran on the track. He also kept slipping a piece of paper, written on and crossed out, back into his pocket again and again.
There was something else he was quietly trying to confirm: the cuts on the back of his hand from the edge of a piece of paper were gone by nightfall. Was it his imagination, or was it real?
