They went through three rounds of rehearsals.
The first time was awkward, but familiarity came quickly—by the second run, their control over maintaining a safe distance had improved dramatically. Their hands only brushed twice despite hovering dangerously close the entire time.
By the third rehearsal, Yun Wulai’s focus had narrowed entirely to her hands. Avoiding physical contact with Zhu Kaixuan became secondary; now, it was more like an obsessive compulsion—akin to stepping only on pavement cracks or needing the national flag to sync perfectly with the anthem.
Details determined success, and the world of a designer demanded nothing short of perfection. A little obsessive-compulsiveness was practically a job requirement.
They were the last pair to walk, covering the longest distance. Yun Wulai meticulously adjusted the rise and fall of her hand with each step, maintaining zero contact despite hovering close enough to feel the warmth of Zhu Kaixuan’s palm.
As their destination neared, success within reach, she quietly exhaled in relief.
Only for that breath to hitch the next second.
"Tap."
Zhu Kaixuan’s palm suddenly lifted, lightly colliding with hers, shattering her hard-won restraint at the last possible moment.
Seriously? Annoyed, Yun Wulai turned to glare at the culprit.
Zhu Kaixuan met her gaze, eyes widening slightly in feigned innocence, as if utterly baffled by her irritation.
For a fleeting moment, she wondered if he’d done it on purpose—but surely he wasn’t that childish. Letting it go, she followed the script and separated from him, taking her place on opposite sides of the platform.
"Perfect! Just like that for the real thing," the director praised, though he couldn’t resist a final reminder to Zhu Kaixuan and Yun Wulai: "Make sure you actually hold hands during the ceremony."
After the rehearsal, the wedding party, trailed by photographers armed with an arsenal of cameras, roamed the school grounds for photos.
Class 4 of Senior Year 3 had been Fu Xingci and Zhu Kaixuan’s homeroom. With permission from the school and the current class, they headed inside to shoot.
High school seniors didn’t get proper summer breaks—desks and drawers overflowed with textbooks, and a countdown to the college entrance exams loomed like a sovereign ruler above the blackboard.
Most of them had revisited their alma mater at some point, but today was different: dressed in school uniforms, sitting at desks buried under papers and tests, the air thick with the scent of ink and paper mingling with the floral breeze from outside—every breath tasted like youth at its ripest.
It felt like time had rewound.
The newlyweds sat center stage, flanked by three pairs of groomsmen and bridesmaids, striking poses under the photographer’s direction.
"Bride and groom, rest your chins on your hands and gaze at each other. Groomsmen and bridesmaids, keep your heads down like you’re scribbling away. Be natural—pretend it’s study hall back in the day."
Yun Wulai obeyed, picking up a pen and uncapping it.
Beside her, Zhu Kaixuan did the same, half-sprawling across the desk. The cramped space forced his arm to trespass past the "38th parallel" dividing line.
Through the thin fabric of their uniforms, their elbows brushed faintly.
She glanced at the boundary, confirming he was the one crossing it—and instantly felt justified.
Zhu Kaixuan caught her look, glanced down at the line, and, after a beat, withdrew his arm to his own territory.
The classroom setting had everyone in high spirits. The photographer lined up the shot and began the countdown: "3, 2, 1."
Back in school, they’d rarely shared a classroom.
Only once came to mind: a fall outing notorious for its dull location, which many students skipped. Those who stayed had study hall. That day, they’d been bickering over something trivial—long forgotten now—and Yun Wulai had refused to acknowledge Zhu Kaixuan. Undeterred, he’d marched into her classroom (with teachers away chaperoning the trip) and planted himself right beside her.
He’d opened his notebook with exaggerated seriousness, deliberately sprawling his arms to invade her desk space, nudging her elbow.
She ignored him, shifting away—only for him to follow.
She retreated further; he pursued.
Neither spoke, locked in a silent battle of wills.
By the time he’d commandeered her entire desk, she couldn’t hold back a laugh.
Back then, reconciliation was just a desk’s width away.
Leaving the classroom, the group marched toward the sports field, another prime photo spot.
Under the scorching sun, they followed the photographer’s orders, rolling and posing across the grass.
Yan Sui was the first to mutiny, retreating to the shade: "Let’s call it here."
The photographer, reluctant to wrap up such a unique shoot, protested: "We don’t have many shots yet. Sure you don’t want more?"
It was a once-in-a-lifetime event, and Yan Sui didn’t want regrets—but the blazing sun sapped her resolve.
Finally, she struck a compromise: "Let the guys take a few more first. We’ll rest and then decide."
The men collectively groaned.
So the bridal party lounged under the trees, sipping iced milk tea while the groomsmen were herded toward the pull-up bars.
The metal rods burned under the sun. Zhu Kaixuan touched one and yanked his hand back with a hiss, dousing it with ice water before gripping it properly.
At the photographer’s signal, all four men hoisted themselves up.
Ni Dong was the first to falter, managing a pathetic two pull-ups before collapsing.
The ridicule was merciless.
Ni Dong, defensive: "Back in school, I couldn’t even do one! This is progress!"
"Then why manage two today?" Fu Xingci teased, glancing pointedly at Zhu Kaixuan. "Trying to impress someone with your manly strength?"
Zhu Kaixuan looked down at Ni Dong.
The sheer calm in that stare made Ni Dong bluster: "What? No! I’ve been hitting the gym—that’s why I’m stronger now."
Meanwhile, the women, despite their own lack of upper-body prowess, had no qualms mocking him.
Luo Jingjing: "Didn’t realize Ni Dong was this weak."
Qi Yuanyuan: "Did we need to realize? It’s obvious."
Yan Sui, firm: "Yun Wulai, don’t give him a chance. He’s hopeless."
Yun Wulai rested her chin on Yan Sui’s shoulder. "Oh, I know. Don’t worry."
Haozi gave it his all but failed to lift himself for the sixth time, ending his pull-up challenge with a modest count of five. Only Zhu Kaixuan and Fu Xingci remained on the equipment, locked in a fierce competition.
The two had already done seventeen pull-ups without showing any signs of stopping, their stamina nothing short of impressive.
Meanwhile, the ladies’ conversation had veered into decidedly risqué territory.
Luo Jingjing clicked her tongue repeatedly. "A-Sui, seems like you’re living quite the... fulfilling life, huh?"
"Sure am," Yan Sui admitted without a hint of embarrassment, then turned to Yun Wulai with a teasing smirk. "Right, Wulai?"
Yun Wulai’s gaze suddenly felt too intense to hold, as if staring directly into a blinding light—much like the searing burn of touching a scorching metal bar moments earlier.
Unbidden, memories of intimate moments flooded her mind—sweat-slicked skin, hazy unfocused eyes, whispered words against her ear, where unbearable torment and overwhelming pleasure intertwined.
She hadn’t come of age until her sophomore year, and before that, he had endured a long, grueling wait. Once the dam broke, he made sure to reclaim every lost moment in full—until she left the country. To describe that period as indulgent or debauched would hardly be an exaggeration.
Pull-ups were exhausting, and the two men, now locked in competition, were both drained yet unwilling to concede defeat, stubbornly clinging to the bar.
Before long, things took a turn. No one knew who started it, but soon they were grappling with each other, hands and feet tangled in an attempt to yank the other down.
The women watched the spectacle, laughing so hard they nearly toppled over.
But their amusement was short-lived. In the tussle, Zhu Kaixuan’s jacket was torn apart—ripping from the shoulder down to the hem, not along any seam but in a jagged, haphazard tear, leaving the fabric hanging off him like a ragged flag.
"Are you two out of your damn minds?" Yan Sui was torn between anger and laughter.
Both Zhu Kaixuan and Fu Xingci knew they’d messed up, but neither was willing to take the blame.
Yan Sui wasn’t interested in excuses. "Enough with the nonsense. Just tell me how you’re going to fix this."
Who could’ve predicted such a mishap on the wedding day? Only three men’s and three women’s uniforms had been prepared, with no spares.
Suggestions flew thick and fast—some proposed ditching the jackets altogether and just wearing the uniform T-shirts, others suggested finding someone to stitch it up quickly, while a few even floated the idea of rushing a replacement from the factory.
Zhu Kaixuan stayed silent through the debate. Finally, he offered the perfect solution: "I still have my old school uniform. I’ll go get it."
Aside from being slightly worn, it was nearly identical to the new ones.
The only difference? His old one had a girl’s name written on the back.
The two high school uniforms had been carefully preserved in his closet, untouched for years until now.
Zhu Kaixuan returned wearing one of them, its off-white hue a shade duller than the pristine new ones, but the difference was negligible—no one would scrutinize it closely enough to tell.
Ni Dong, standing behind him, spotted the three capital letters on his back and froze, taking a moment to process their meaning.
When realization struck, it hit him like a thunderbolt—he nearly dropped to his knees on the spot.
"Bro, I’m sorry—please forgive me, bro."
Zhu Kaixuan smirked, offering no reassurance.
"Fine, I’ll swear off dating for three years as punishment. Will that make it up to you?" Ni Dong’s forced grin looked more like a grimace.
"You weren’t getting a girlfriend in three years anyway," Zhu Kaixuan said.
"Then what do you want me to do? I can’t take back what’s already been said." Ni Dong fidgeted nervously. "Just name it, and I’ll do it."
Yun Wulai sat nearby, utterly indifferent, not even sparing them a glance—as if the matter had nothing to do with her.
Zhu Kaixuan tilted his head toward Yun Wulai and repeated her own words from earlier that morning: "Relax. It’s not like that anymore. Go chase your true love without worry."
Ni Dong didn’t hear reassurance—only a thinly veiled threat. Trembling, he stammered, "Once a sister-in-law, always a sister-in-law. I swear I’ll never so much as glance at her again, or I’ll gouge my own eyes out."
True to his word, Ni Dong transformed from a "sister-in-law detector" to a "sister-in-law blocker." Wherever Yun Wulai was, he refused to look, and if he had to face her general direction, he fixed his gaze rigidly on anything but her, avoiding even peripheral glimpses—so much so that he nearly went cross-eyed.
As the ceremony neared, guests gathered in the school auditorium, waiting to witness the most sacred moment in Fu Xingci and Yan Sui’s love story.
The lights dimmed.
From across the room, the director signaled for the bridal party to make their entrance.
Ni Dong led the way, escorting Luo Jingjing down the aisle with measured steps.
Once they reached their positions, Haozi and Qi Yuanyuan followed suit.
Backstage was dark, illuminated only by a faint floor lamp.
Zhu Kaixuan held out his hand.
There was still time before Qi Yuanyuan and Haozi reached their marks.
After a pause, Yun Wulai slowly placed her hand in his.
His palm was warm and dry, just as she remembered.
His fingers curled around hers, the movement so slight it was almost imperceptible.
Those twenty-odd seconds stretched endlessly, long enough to replay every twist and turn of their shared history.
At a specific cue in the music, they stepped forward in unison, ascending the stage. In the darkness, her toe caught the edge of a step, causing a slight stumble.
He steadied her, finally gripping her hand fully—tightening his hold until it almost hurt.
As they stepped into the spotlight, Yun Wulai instinctively squinted against the glare.
It felt like stepping into a time warp, transporting her back to the years she longed to relive.
Here they stood, in the Jialan High auditorium, dressed as students in the detested uniforms—his back bearing her name.
Below them sat their old classmates, friends, teachers, and school administrators.
But unlike back then, everyone was smiling.
Amid the well-wishes for the newlyweds, many offered silent blessings to them as well.
No one shook their heads at the name on his back. No one stopped them from holding hands in public.
What those well-wishers didn’t know was that fate had laid out a bright, smooth path for them—yet they’d somehow ended up on entirely different roads.
Once they reached the end of this walk, there’d be no more reason to hold on.
When the vows were over, he would take off that uniform—the one with her name.
By tomorrow, she will have returned to that distant country, and who knows when our paths will cross again.
Years of entanglement lie shattered like broken glass on the floor, impossible to piece back together.
The spotlight's glare makes her eyes sting with unshed tears.
