Seventeen Years Old

June 7th.

The sky was shrouded in gray, with a fine drizzle falling steadily. The road was wet, and as cars passed by, splashes of water blossomed like little flowers on Mu Qingxi’s trousers. She glanced up and saw the other students, each accompanied by family members who shielded them from the rain as they crossed the road. Lowering her head to look at her own damp trousers, she let out a faint smile.

June 8th.

At five in the afternoon, the bell rang, signaling the end of the final English exam and the collection of the last papers.

Standing outside the examination hall, Mu Qingxi looked up at the rain-filled sky and took a deep breath. How liberating! Perhaps she did care after all, otherwise why would she feel so unburdened after the exams?

From the fourth floor, she gazed out at the sea of people below. The scene outside the entrance was almost indescribable—crowds of parents craned their necks, pressing eagerly against the iron railings, desperate for a glimpse of their children’s faces, hoping to see the joy of success.

Mu Qingxi knew her parents were not among them. Her father was away on a work assignment, and her mother was at home, preparing dinner and waiting for her to return.

As the gates finally opened, the students surged forward, all eager to be the first to share their results with their parents. Outside, the crowd was abuzz, parents calling out their children’s names, longing for their sons and daughters to emerge triumphant, as if the old sayings of “leaping over the dragon gate” or “hoping one’s son becomes a dragon, one’s daughter a phoenix” could finally be realized.

Once through the gate, Mu Qingxi glanced back; only a handful remained, most of them proctors slowly making their way out. Turning around, she could see people across the street, some elated, others devastated.

She herself felt neither joy nor sorrow, only relief.

She carried an umbrella in her hand but left it closed, strolling through the fine rain. It was such a light drizzle—she didn’t need the umbrella. She told herself it was a baptism for her seventeenth birthday.

“Mom, I’m home.” There was a bowl of noodles on the table, but no words were exchanged. Mu Qingxi picked up the bowl and ate her longevity noodles quietly. Halfway through, her mother, Shen Yali, finally spoke. “You’ll be repeating this year. I’ve already made the arrangements.”

Mu Qingxi paused, looking at her mother, wanting to protest. She truly didn’t want to spend another year in her final year of high school. She said, “The results aren’t out yet, I…”

Shen Yali cut her off sharply. “Whether the results are out or not, you’re repeating this year.”

Mu Qingxi fell silent. She neither agreed nor objected, but it wasn’t acquiescence either. Her mother was right—she had nowhere else to go this year.

After dinner, Mu Qingxi said to her busy mother, “I want to work during the holidays.”

Her mother neither approved nor refused. Perhaps she knew she couldn’t stop her daughter and could only give tacit consent. After a moment’s thought, she said, “Find a job yourself. If you can’t, let me know and I’ll help.” Then she returned to the kitchen.

Mu Qingxi understood—her mother wanted her to find a job on her own, to prove her capability. If she failed, she could turn to her for help.

Three days later, she told her mother, “Mom, I found one—sales clerk at the Unicom company.” Her mother nodded. What Mu Qingxi didn’t say was that she hadn’t found the job herself; a friend had recommended her, so she became a clerk.

Her work began at seven thirty every morning, half an hour earlier than the others, to clean. She’d switch shifts at lunch and finish at six in the evening.

A little over a month passed. Shen Yali looked at her and said, “Stop working. Tutoring classes are starting. When is your registration?” After a moment’s thought, Mu Qingxi replied, “Seventeen days until two months. I want to finish.”

She sensed her mother’s anger, but she truly didn’t want to return to school. For others, being admitted to the best local school was a stroke of luck, but for her, it was torment. There were too many familiar faces—everywhere she went, people were asking questions. She couldn’t tell if they meant to care, encourage, or mock her.

Mu Qingxi wondered if she should give up reading novels and devote herself wholeheartedly to her studies.