I’ve also decided to keep the point system in; the three highest-ranking working-class users at the end of each year will get a full scholarship to any school they wish, sponsored by Henry’s company.

“Oh yeah—I sent the business proposal to Chanel, too,” I tell Henry.

He doesn’t look surprised. “Of course you did. What does she think?”

“She’s in,” I say, which is a massive understatement. When I pitched the idea to Chanel over WeChat three nights ago, she’d squealed and started brainstorming slogans and making calls to her fuerdai friends right away. “I mean, her exact words were: fuck yeah! She also thinks the three of us should have weekly meetings to sort this out, starting with hot pot tonight. Her treat.”

The corner of Henry’s lips tugs up, briefly. “I suppose we’ll be seeing each other quite often then. Even after you leave.”

“Even after I leave,” I echo, and the gravity of these words, this reality, pulls both of us back into silence once more. I don’t know what else to say, so I move to nestle my head against the strong curve of his shoulder. He lets me.

“What do you imagine you’ll do?” he asks, a few beats later. “In the future?”

“I don’t know. I want...”

I trail off, my mind whirring. I still want so much, so badly. My heart still aches for all the bright things beyond my reach. I want to be smarter and richer and stronger and just...better.

But honestly? I also want to be happy. To invest in something meaningful and fulfilling, even if it is difficult, and maybe not the most practical option in the world. To spend more time with Baba and Mama and Xiaoyi, and finally hang out with Chanel, and go out on a proper date with Henry. I want to laugh until my stomach hurts, and write until I’ve crafted something that delights me, and learn to bask in my small, private victories. Learn to accept that these things, too, are worth wanting.

“For a start, I think I want to focus on English more,” I muse, and just saying it aloud feels...right. Like my heart has been waiting for my mind to catch up this entire time. “Maybe sign up for a journalism course over the break. I’ve compiled a list of suitable options already—ones that offer full merit-based scholarships...”

“That sounds great,” he says, with full sincerity.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a deal then,” I say, angling my head to look up at him. “You’ll become the head of the number one tech start-up in all of China, and I’ll be a renowned, award-winning journalist or English professor. Together, we’ll—”

“Be the nation’s greatest power couple?” he offers.

“I was going to say conquer the world,” I admit. “But sure. I guess we can start small.”

He laughs, and the sound is like bottled magic. Like birdsong.

I turn my gaze toward the sky, my fingers still intertwined with his. In the distance, the darkness has started to lift like a veil, the first light of dawn spilling over the Beijing skyline, a promise of all the beautiful and terrible and sun-soaked days to come.