The morning sun burned over the military training field. Freshmen, lined up in rows, sweated under the firm voices of the instructors.
Su Yue adjusted the worn-out uniform she had borrowed from a neighbor. The fabric was coarse, its color faded. It didn't take long for the stares to close in on her.
— Look at that, it's like secondhand clothing! — one girl said loud enough for everyone to hear.— Couldn't she even afford a new one? — another added, laughing.— I bet her mother had to scavenge it from the market trash. — a third shot out, sparking bursts of laughter all around.
The ridicule spread like wildfire, leaving Yue frozen. Shame rose hot to her face, her eyes stinging. She tried to swallow the knot in her throat, but couldn't stop the tears from welling up.
In the ranks, Meilin and Xiaoran exchanged furious looks. They wanted to run to her, but Yue raised a hand, silently begging them not to. Speaking up would only make it worse.
That was when Zhou Yichen, still in formation, lifted his gaze. His gray-green eyes narrowed. He didn't laugh, didn't comment. He simply watched — with the silent fury of someone who sees injustice and has already decided it won't remain.
For Yue, that instant felt like plunging into icy water: everything hurt, and yet, paradoxically, someone had truly seen her.
The day ended heavy. After the final exercise, Yue found a quiet corner far from the field, where the grass still held the sun's warmth. She sat down, pulled her knees to her chest, and finally let the tears fall.
The footsteps that approached were steady, but not hurried.— Yue. — The voice was low, steady.
She lifted her face, eyes red. Zhou Yichen stood there, cap in hand, as if to show respect for her space.
— I… just wanted to be alone. — she whispered, trying to compose herself.— Sometimes, solitude weighs more than it helps. — he replied. — May I sit?
She hesitated, then nodded. He sat beside her, leaving a respectful distance.
— Today… — she began, her voice trembling — it felt like everyone saw what I try hardest to hide. That I'm poor. That I don't belong here.
Yichen stayed silent, waiting.
— My mother… — Yue drew a deep breath. — She's been sewing for as long as I can remember. Sometimes late into the night, until her hands turned red. I studied beside her, the hum of the machine as my soundtrack. We never had much. Some nights dinner was only thin soup and stale bread.She lowered her eyes. — But she always told me: "If you study, Yue, you can have a future that doesn't end in needle and thread."
The night wind brushed lightly across them. She went on, as if the words had been caged for years.
— I tutored children in the neighborhood, saved every coin in a little iron box. All for books, for classes… When I passed the college entrance exam, she cried like it was the first victory of her life. And yet… here, it feels like none of it matters. Like I'm just the girl in the wrong uniform.
The tears came again. She wiped them quickly, but Yichen offered her a handkerchief.
— Yue… — he said firmly — you are not less than anyone here. On the contrary. You carry more than most could ever bear.
She looked at him, startled. In his eyes there was no pity, only respect.
— See those stars? — he pointed upward. — We always think the brightest are the ones that matter. But if you look closely, it's the smaller ones that make the patterns. They're the ones guiding travelers. You're like that. You may not shine the loudest, but you're the one showing the way.
Yue's heart raced. For the first time, someone saw her struggle not as shame, but as strength.
— Thank you. — she whispered.
Yichen reached into his bag and pulled out a small chocolate bar.— It doesn't fix everything. — he said, handing it to her. — But sometimes, sweetening the night helps remind us not everything is bitter.
She laughed through her tears as she accepted it. The gesture was simple, yet it brought an unexpected warmth. While they shared the silence beneath the stars, Yue realized that perhaps, for the first time, she wasn't truly alone.
The next morning, when Su Yue returned to the dorm after training, she found a small box wrapped in plain paper resting on her bed. Her roommates gathered curiously as she slowly opened it, her hands trembling.
Inside was a new thermos bottle, brushed steel, light and elegant. Tied to the lid was a short note written in a firm hand:
"So you'll never have to swallow cold what was meant to be warm. — Z."
Yue's heart leapt. She pressed the bottle to her chest as if it were more than an object — it was care, it was recognition.
At training, drinking the still-warm water, she felt a heat spread within her. Lifting her eyes, she caught Yichen in the men's row. He didn't smile, but his gaze said more than words ever could.
Behind her, Meilin and Xiaoran nudged each other, giggling quietly. Together they formed a heart with their hands. Yue noticed and flushed scarlet, quickly turning away.
But inside, something had shifted: a weight she no longer carried alone.
The week drew to a close, but the instructors saved the harshest for last: a long run under the blazing afternoon sun. Freshmen pushed forward in rows, shouted commands blending with the heavy thud of boots on dirt.
Su Yue ran with effort, face damp with sweat, legs heavy. Determined not to be the last, she pressed on — until the uneven ground betrayed her. Her foot caught on a loose stone, and before she could steady herself, she fell hard on her knees.
A brief silence rippled through the row. Some chuckled softly, others simply kept going. The instructor barked impatiently:— Get up and keep running!
Yue tried, but blood seeped from her knee, the throbbing pain making her stumble.
Then a shadow broke from the men's formation. Zhou Yichen ran to her, ignoring the instructor's scowl. Kneeling beside her without hesitation, he asked:— Can you lean on me?
— I… I think so. — she murmured, her voice choked.
He guided her arm over his shoulder and helped her to her feet. The instructor shouted again about discipline, but no one dared stop them. Together, they crossed the field in silence, his steps steady, carrying her weight.
In the small white infirmary, the nurse cleaned the wound carefully, but Yue's gaze kept drifting elsewhere: to Yichen, seated beside her, his expression so intent it was as though he felt her pain himself.
— This will sting a little. — the nurse warned, applying antiseptic. Yue winced involuntarily.
Immediately, Yichen took her hand. He said nothing, but didn't let go until the bandage was tied.
When it was done, he helped her stand slowly.— I'll take you back to the dorm.— You don't have to, I can—— It's not about whether you can. — he interrupted firmly. — It's about not letting you walk alone.
Her heart skipped, beating faster despite herself.
They reached the dormitory doors. Yichen stopped, respectful, but leaned slightly closer to murmur:— Take care. And… if it hurts too much, come find me.
She nodded, cheeks burning.
Opening the door, she was greeted by a chorus.— Yue! What happened? — Xiaoran cried, rushing over.— We saw! He stayed with you the whole time! — Meilin chimed in, laughing as she mimicked the scene dramatically.
The two of them made a heart with their hands, giggling. Yue buried her face in her palms, overwhelmed by both embarrassment and happiness.
That night, lying in bed with the thermos beside her and her bandaged knee aching faintly, Su Yue admitted to herself what she hadn't dared before: every gesture from Zhou Yichen made her heart beat faster.
And for the first time, she wasn't afraid to feel it.
While Su Yue curled beneath her blankets in the dorm, heart still racing, across campus the sound of a piano filled an empty room.
Zhou Yichen played slowly, his fingers wandering the keys like someone searching for an answer. The notes weren't any song in particular; they were fragments, hesitant, as if translating the memory of a conversation.
He stopped suddenly. Turned to the open window, where the night sky stretched wide. The same stars that had glimmered in Yue's eyes now shone above him.
A faint smile touched his lips, discreet, like a secret held close. The memory of her speaking about her mother, her dreams, the small star that guides travelers — it had carved itself into him.
Yichen closed his eyes, letting silence finish the melody. For the first time in a long while, he didn't feel alone — because somewhere on campus, under the same sky, was someone bound to him by an invisible thread.