…Wait, what date is it today? (Finished writing on July 9.)

“At the start of the start, September brought us to the classroom;

“At the end of the end, July carried us apart;

“The days that once were once remain vivid before our eyes;

“The regret of regrets is that we cannot return…”

In the blink of an eye, four years have passed since middle-school graduation. During those years I moved back and forth, inside China and abroad, and missed several visits my classmates organized to our old school. Still, I have been fortunate: many friends remained in touch. Even after everyone entered university, old friends could reunite; when I invited them to visit our teachers, they came gladly. (One person could not make it because of his own schedule, but believe me, we carried your share into the meeting too. Somehow xxy’s name kept appearing in conversation. Any clues, gentlemen?)

And so I recruited xjy and zy, old friends from our Minecraft days—sorry, cts, I forgot to invite you, aaaaaah—and the three of us returned to Huixing.

At the beginning of the cards for our teachers, I wrote:

“The distance from enrollment to graduation passed in the snap of a finger;

“The gate, classrooms, field, and plum garden deserve one lingering look;

“A century of Huixing’s culture gathers and flows into a new poem;

“We raise our sails toward an unknown distance and keep pressing ahead…”

Like the opening lines above, these came from Days at Huixing Middle School, the song Class 903 performed at graduation. By the way, how did you know I rewrote the lyrics? (

There was not much thought behind it at the time. Every class had to perform at the graduation gala, and we agreed to carry on 903’s tradition. After rewriting Running as our class song and Let Love Live in My Home for a class meeting, we reached our enormous hand toward Teacher Lan’s favorite, Days on Beijing East Road. Teenagers released from the high-school entrance exam possess unlimited energy. I volunteered for the job: one night, one pen, one miracle.

It was not actually that impressive. Beyond the many allusions—plainly speaking, things I copied—most of the lyrics reused ideas from a graduation rewrite of Transference of Love / Under Mount Fuji that I had considered earlier. Besides, my urge to create was overflowing at the time. I even posted a Moment showing the mysterious “code” involved. It should still be there somewhere. (The numbers on the paper represented each line’s character count.)

Enough digression. We returned just after the high-school entrance exam, so sadly we missed Teachers Fan, Cao, and Zhang, who had just finished leading the graduating class. Teacher Feng had apparently been at school that morning, but by the time we arrived she had left on an errand. Busy. Busy is good… With Teacher Cheng long retired, only a few teachers remained for us to meet.

When I reached the school gate, I had not finished all the cards, so I plunged into the “Northeastern Barbecue” across the street to borrow its air-conditioning. (Hey, how did Zhengxin Chicken Steak die?) xjy and zy arrived one after another. After marveling at how long it had been—the last meeting was probably in 2022, before I left for Malaysia, when Mom brought the four members of our MC group together for a picnic by Xianghu; apologies again to cts—we openly assembled Lego inside the restaurant without buying anything. It was an old Minecraft set rescued from the bottom of my collection, a special gift to the teachers from the whole MC group.

Unable to reach Teacher Lan—we later learned she was teaching—I, an internet introvert, abandoned all restraint and mass-messaged our teachers, begging someone to deal with security. (The guard at Wawa Primary wins by miles.) Teacher Feng replied first, bringing the sad news that she was away. We missed her last time too, when the old cycling group visited, noooo. Fortunately, Teacher Liu called immediately afterward, and we gained entry.

The three university students stared blankly at one another once inside. The campus had barely changed, yet we had completely forgotten where Huixing Building, Meiqing Building, and everything else stood. We forced ourselves into a familiar teaching block, captured a younger student, and asked. Good—we had at least chosen the right building.

Teachers and students reunited after so long naturally found endless things to discuss: university majors and ambitions, household trivia and extraordinary stories. Incidentally, every teacher was extremely optimistic about nursing and declared that a certain Xu was needed immediately. When they mentioned classmates who visited often, we admired them and felt slightly guilty. But look on the bright side: we came back too. Our cycle is simply longer…

Teacher Lan messaged during the conversation. She had been teaching and needed to catch us during the break; a mock PE entrance exam filled the afternoon, so thank goodness we came in the morning. After a photo with Teacher Liu, we hurried toward the old Class 703 room. Its wall decorations remained. The name “Qinglan Class” was still looked up to by younger students—because, admittedly, it was posted very high on the wall.

We met Teacher Lan in the corridor, sat in her office, and began another round of talking about everything. Remembering our first meeting, I complained about leading a group of roommates into the wrong dorm at the People’s Armed Forces College, only to arrive later and find zy already sitting on his bed. We recalled how impossible xjy had been; nine out of ten strange incidents in class bore his fingerprints. Those days are past now. In memory, that entire month passes like a moment.

Of course, that month also gave birth to Boring Notes, haha.

After Teacher Lan returned to manage her class, we asked around and discovered that Teacher Zhang was teaching nearby. Immediate deployment. I still carried guilt toward her. She had been enormously important to me—the only period when I entered the top five in our grade was under her teaching—yet the glance we exchanged during the graduation photo became our last meeting, without a single word between us. I vaguely remember wjy asking, “Do you hate Teacher Zhang that much?” Only then did I realize that my careless language at the time—copied from certain students in Class 2; why was Class 2 so evil?—might have created a misunderstanding. By then she no longer taught us, and I never found an opportunity to explain.

But when I saw Teacher Zhang again, saw her smile, and heard her call my name immediately—partly because my two sturdy supports had unanimously chosen me to lead the charge—I knew no extra words were needed.

Teacher Zhang walked with a cane, so we talked outside the classroom. xjy encouraged me to go in and give the younger students an impromptu speech. I would not have refused—but class began, so it must wait until next time.

In the small room where we once rehearsed class-meeting performances, we competed at a newly installed miniature pool table. I finished addressing the remaining cards and, before leaving, asked Little Tiantian to give them to Teacher Lan for the teachers we could not meet this year. Then we somehow wandered casually into Gonglian CC. (Casually?) Barbecue! Followed by karaoke!

Yes, we sang Lemon again. This time the highest dice roll had to perform the Teens in Times version. The full chorus singing together achieved maximum entertainment value. If nothing else, the advertisement certainly worked. What it advertised, none of us could remember. (Which drink brand was that?)

When karaoke ended, I planned to visit my elementary school too. The other two willingly came along. Primary School Affiliated with the China Academy of Art, here we come!

We parked our shared bikes and entered without trouble. I spoke fluently about every corner of my old school, briefly becoming the child who once introduced the campus to foreign visitors. (Looking back, I really did speak too quickly…) We passed the familiar survival-training base and discovered that its swimming pool had become an auditorium. Later I learned that the Asian Games raised water-quality and other requirements beyond what the school could meet, so the pool had to be filled in. We passed the music room; Teacher Zheng appeared to be teaching, and for once I resisted the other two urging me to interrupt. The result was that I later talked with Teacher Yu beyond dismissal and never saw Teacher Zheng again.

After a full circuit with no reply from Teacher Yu, I looked at my companions, who had nearly melted in the heat, and forced myself into the office to ask directly. Several turns later, I found Teacher Yu still occupied; following her directions, I located the office shared by Teachers Chen and Zhang. Conversation revealed that this had become the default rendezvous whenever former students returned. (Think carefully about how long you have been away, zzt.) I told them about the years since graduation, trusting that all of it had been beautifully arranged by God.

It felt as though we had spoken only briefly when they had to leave. Going downstairs to find Teacher Yu, I met her coming up. We sat in her classroom, and I began the nth introduction of the day. With Teacher Yu, there was far more to discuss. We went through almost every classmate’s destination like reciting a menu, and I awkwardly discovered that my return frequency ranked somewhere near the bottom.

Teacher Yu remembered that when she first took over our class, none of the boys seemed to apply themselves; the girls were threatening to dominate completely. (What could we do? In the patch containing top-tier players like hyh and lrr, the game was unplayable without a nerf.) sxj’s arrival brought the boys “alive,” and only then did a three-way balance of power emerge. Inside, I screamed: why didn’t we bring Little Su this time?! Can you see this, Little Su? Answer my WeChat messages!

I also learned that Teacher Yu had always regretted failing to let a few of us poetry lovers give a presentation during art appreciation. I stared: but we did present one. Why did I remember so clearly? Because after finishing the slides, I had declared with total confidence: “No rehearsal needed. We can go straight in! I checked—there are no obscure characters!” Then during the presentation, I could only stare helplessly at symbols on the screen. Anyway, we resolved one of Teacher Yu’s lifelong regrets, hahaha. (Polite but profoundly awkward smile.)

The iron gate connecting the school to the art academy had not opened in years either. I remembered when our Left Brain Right Brain Photography Club ran through it every few days for exhibitions and could only lament that I had not treasured the opportunity. Strangely, after “Wawa Primary” became the “Primary School Affiliated with the China Academy of Art,” it grew more distant from the academy. We remain the only class to have held graduation there… Never mind. Better not to think about it.

Perhaps elementary-school classrooms carry a special feeling of familiarity. During all this, my two classmates slept very well. (Thank you sincerely for accompanying me back!)

On the way home, we recalled gatherings at one another’s houses while resisting the urge to launch Minecraft on the spot. One final incident: as we parted, I discovered my power bank had vanished. Thinking back, I had probably left it in a shared-bike basket. I immediately withdrew to search, but predictably it was gone. xjy checked the bike’s current location through the account he had used to rent it for me. With little hope, I hurried toward Gaoyin Lane. Fortunately, the power bank still lay peacefully in the basket. After this separation and reunion, a bond now exists between us. Confirmed.

And so the day drew toward its end. At the bottom of the cards, I had written: “I have not forgotten the ability to learn and the attitude toward life that every teacher taught through word and example.” By the time I wrote this diary entry, I had already left China. I will return, but our next meeting will probably be at least a year away. Time can change a great many things.

Fortunately, I have an anchor to follow.