“What’s your wish, then?” I ask, more curious than taunting. What could Cyrus Sui possibly want in life? But he doesn’t answer me, and I don’t have a chance to pester him for more details. By the time he finishes with his wish, everyone’s already gathered around on the platform.

“We’re doing a team-building activity,” Wang Laoshi announces, passing pens and paper around the group. “It’s a tradition on this trip. You write an anonymous compliment to every person—”

“I’ve done this before,” Lydia says excitedly.

I’ve done something like this before too at school, and I’ve never known how to react to the results. I’m sure the teachers mean to boost our self-esteem, but I could never stop myself from feeling along the edges of each compliment, like how you’d feel a dress to test for fake silk or frayed threads. And for every compliment I received, I could think of a way to discredit it.

You’re so pretty—except they’d rescind it in seconds if they had any idea what I looked like before. Except so much of my beauty is an illusion produced by the right outfit and makeup. Except I’m never as pretty in motion.

You’re so mysterious—except there’s nothing really mysterious about me. It’s just that I’m not very loud and open about the things I love, or I can’t be sure of what I love in the first place.

But complimenting others is another story. It’s so much easier to see their strengths, to speak about them sincerely, to say the things I’d be too shy to tell them out loud.

To Daisy, I write: I know you don’t consider yourself very brave, but I think you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met—even if you’re scared of something, you never let it stop you from doing it. I also just think you’re really sweet and pretty and funny without trying, and I’m so glad the universe (or the admin team at Jiu Yin He) paired the two of us together for this trip. There’s nobody else I’d rather share a fancy hotel bathroom with.

To Oliver: Your ego probably doesn’t need this, but I have to admit that you’re a lot of fun to be around, and that you’re very sweet in surprising ways.

When I get to Cyrus, I pause, my pen hovering over the paper. It seems unnecessary to write something snarky, though the temptation is there, a devil hovering over my shoulder as I chew the inside of my cheek. I ultimately settle for a casual note, neither sentimental nor taunting, simply: Thanks for making sure I didn’t get crushed by rocks back there. Out of habit, I add a tiny heart after the sentence.