Volume 1 / Chapter 18: Unfamiliar Long Stockings

October 9, 1999, early morning.  

The deep blue sky hadn’t fully brightened yet. A chilly breeze swept into the bedroom, making Mò Xuěyáo shiver and hug her blanket tighter.  

Yes-hugging, not wrapping.

Because she turned so much in her sleep, the quilt never quite stayed over her back. No matter how she tossed and turned, the cold wind would still find her.

"Ring ring ring—!" The familiar alarm blared. Xuěyáo sat bolt upright almost instinctively. Eyes still shut, she accurately switched off the alarm like a sleepwalker, then stumbled out of bed and pushed open her bedroom door.  

"Err... so cold..." Only after opening the door did she finally crack her eyes open, swaying unsteadily into the bathroom.  

From the kitchen came the usual clatter of her mother juggling pots and pans—cooking while washing vegetables, scrubbing dishes in between, and seizing any spare moment to swipe the mop across the floor. Frantically busy, as if wishing she could split into multiple selves.  

"Mom, did Dad leave already?"  

"He left ages ago."

"Oh..." Xuěyáo didn't really need to know; she just asked out of habit. Even though she knew her father had to be up early for work, she couldn't stop herself from asking every morning.

Today was Saturday, but with the National Day holiday just ended, the next two weekends would still have classes. And today they'd follow Monday's schedule- so there'd be no early dismissal, unlike yesterday.

Her mother bustled into the room, setting dishes on the table while yelling at Xuěyáo to hurry up and eat, all while rapidly mopping the floor.  

"Mom, just eat first. I’ll mop when I get back this afternoon."  

"Once a day isn’t enough! Don’t mind me—focus on eating so you’re not late for school."  

"Late? No way!" Xuěyáo brimmed with confidence. She woke at 5:30 daily, leaving ample buffer for any mishaps.  

She shoveled down her monotonously familiar breakfast and dashed back to her room.  

After yesterday’s ordeal, wearing the girls’ uniform felt less jarring now. Just like regular clothes, nothing particularly special.  

"Hmm... kinda... cold..." She rubbed her chilly thighs, muttering to herself as her gaze drifted to the pristine, unopened package of long stockings.  

Indecision churned inside her.  

"Even if I don’t wear them now, I’ll have to when it gets colder... unless the winter uniform has pants..." Her fingers twisted anxiously, thumbs rubbing her palms, as if preparing for some shameful act.  

Whoosh—howl—! A fiercer wind blasted into the room, seeming to hurry her decision.  

She hunched her shoulders, imagining the cold bike ride ahead. Finally, she gingerly tore open a pack and clumsily pulled on the stockings.  

Unlike regular socks, these felt more like pulling on pants—much longer and snug against her skin, lending an unexpected sense of security.  

Yet they weren’t uncomfortable. Almost as if fused to her skin.  

Wind still nipped through, but warmth quickly followed.  

Those who’d never worn long stockings couldn’t grasp this delicate sensation.  

Xuěyáo stood up shyly but couldn’t resist stealing glances at herself in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe.  

A slender, petite girl stood reflected—simple high ponytail, bangs swept aside and pinned with a plain white clip. Below the blue-and-white plaid skirt stretched proportioned legs made all the more alluring by black stockings, exuding both youthful innocence and burgeoning maturity.  

This was the natural beauty of feminine allure.  

Xuěyáo drifted closer to the mirror, momentarily mesmerized.  

This is exactly the type of girl I used to like.  

Back in junior high, she’d secretly crushed on someone similar—but far less striking than the girl in the mirror now!  

Ahem! She cleared her throat, cheeks flushing as she tore her gaze away, snatched her backpack, and headed out.  

"You wore them? They look good on you." Her mother paused mopping, eyes traveling up Xuěyáo’s black-stockinged legs with an appraising stare.  

Somehow, it felt like a mother-in-law scrutinizing a prospective daughter-in-law...?  

If I were a real boy bringing a girlfriend home, would Mom look at her like this?

"Wh-what’re you staring at?" Xuěyáo mumbled, prickling under the gaze.  

"Mmm, not bad at all. Our Xuě'ér’s becoming more womanly by the day."  

"Eww—!" Xuěyáo fake-gagged. "Gross! And stop calling me ‘Xuě'ér’—can’t you just say ‘Xiăoyáo’?"  

"Xuě'ér sounds more girly!"  

"Enough! It’s nauseating!" Xuěyáo viciously ruffled her mother’s not-so-silky long hair, turning it into a bird’s nest, then fled like a mischievous child who’d pulled off a prank.  

"You little... brat! Daring to mess with your mother’s hair! Asking for a beating!?" Mom brandished the mop, half-laughing, half-scolding.  

"Nyah nyah~!" Xuěyáo stuck out her tongue and patted her backside in childish glee. "Can’t catch me~!"  

"Grow up, will you?" Mom rolled her eyes dramatically. "Alright, get to school! Be careful on the road."  

"Got it—!"  

Xuěyáo raced downstairs, expertly tossed her bag into the bike basket, and mounted her canary-yellow bicycle. Another day in an endless cycle of repetitions.  

Wasn’t this ordinary life?  

Day after day, year after year.  

Yet within these repetitions lay subtle variations—the very details that kept people going.  

Those skilled at finding novelty in monotony lived happily.  

Xuěyáo arrived early. The security guard greeted her warmly again.  

"Mornin’!"  

"Morning!" she replied brightly, her playful mood from earlier still lingering. "Tofu pudding today?"  

"Yep! Sweet one day, salty the next. Rotating." He grinned. "Sweet or salty?"  

"Uh... sweet... I guess?" Xuěyáo wasn't even sure herself. Since she usually ate breakfast at home and wasn’t picky. Certainly wouldn’t fight over the eternal sweet vs. salty debate.  

"Sweet, huh? Fits you—you’re just like sweet tofu pudding!" His awkward compliment left her speechless. She offered a strained smile and wheeled her bike into the underground parking.  

The class rep arrived earlier today. When Xuěyáo reached the classroom door, it was already open, the monitor methodically unlatching each window.  

"Um... class rep... you just go0t here too?"  

"Mn." The class rep nodded, finished opening windows, and returned to her seat. Now she was reciting English vocabulary, radiating diligence.  

Academic success relied on talent, but effort like hers guaranteed at least above-average results.  

School is full of odd ironies: the naturally talented often work hardest, while those who struggle sometimes give up entirely.

Xuěyáo herself had once been average, following the crowd into apathy. But middle school brought awakening—she spent every spare moment catching up, then began reinforcing old lessons and tackling new ones...

Her steady effort is what got her where she is now.TStudents like that tend to do well, because once you've tasted failure, you know that if you don't advance, you'll fall behind.

Among the gifted, some soared effortlessly—until complacency became their downfall. Even "good" became failure when measured against squandered potential.  

Many get into a fine university through sheer aptitude, mistaking college for liberation-only to crash against its demands. By the time they barely graduate, they realize they wasted three or four years without learning anything.

Those people mostly never tasted hardship in primary, middle, or high school-never hit rock bottom. So really, a life too smooth can be dangerous; it breeds complacency.

Lost in her thoughts, Xuěyáo retrieved her homework and placed it at the corner of her desk, ready for the group leader to collect later. The clasz rep's perseverance had inspired her: having a few leaders in the class makes all the difference. It's like the proverb "You are influenced by those you're near"-close to black ink, you turn black; close to cinnabar, you turn red.

Soon the quiet classroom filled with two voices-text recitations and vocabulary drills intertwining. It didn't sound chaotic, just... somewhat like chanting sutras?