After entering high school, I began a new chapter in my life, and even once thought I had met a girl I could spend my whole life with. I had long since completely forgotten about Jane Jenkins.

It wasn’t until I turned twenty that, looking back on my romantic experiences, I naturally thought of Jane Jenkins. As for where she was or how she was doing, I had no idea.

When I was twenty-five, my views on love changed. I felt that instead of risking everything to love someone, it was better to find someone who would risk everything to love you. So I carefully reflected and, to my embarrassment, realized that in my life, the number of times girls had pursued me was pitifully few. Among the girls who had chased after me, I would, without hesitation, choose Jane Jenkins: first, she was beautiful; second, she had a great figure; and lastly, she had a wonderful personality.

Arranging them in this order made me feel especially superficial. Why wasn’t it her personality first, then her figure, and finally her looks? Why did I mention her beauty first, then her figure, and only then her personality?

I remembered many of her good qualities, but just couldn’t recall where she was.

That year, I gained a much deeper understanding of the word “missed.”

Chapter 008: This Is the End

“Is it you?”

I snapped back to reality, hesitated for a moment, and finally managed to utter those two questioning words.

My reaction was a bit exaggerated when I spoke, to the point where I couldn’t control myself.

This exaggeration wasn’t just because of the excitement of our reunion; it had a deeper meaning.

Compared to excitement, I should say I was deeply moved at that moment.

I thought, if I hadn’t stared at her just now, I would have missed her without a doubt, and it really would have ended up like those elementary school essays: From then on, I never saw her again…

My mind was a mess. Looking at Jane Jenkins, I wondered, is this fate?

After a while, I thought again, is this a miracle?

No matter what, she made me believe in one thing: as long as you dare to try, miracles really can happen.

That conclusion was enough to make me incredibly excited.

Many people who think they know me believe I’m always expressing something lewd, but I’ve always believed I’m spreading something inspirational. As for how inspirational it is, that’s up to each person to decide.

Not everyone gets the chance to witness a miracle. I’m very grateful that I’ve had several such moments in my life.

And these miracles, at their root, require you to take the initiative.

If you don’t take the first step, there will never be a miracle.

“If it’s not me, then who is it? You’re making me mad—you stared at me for so long and still didn’t recognize me?” Jane Jenkins pouted, then started counting on her fingers and muttered to herself, “Let me see, from ’97 to 2013, that’s sixteen years.”

“Fifteen years and nine months,” I corrected.

“You’re still such a stickler for details.” As she spoke, she started to laugh. I was relieved she was only wearing light makeup, not the kind that would flake off with a single smile. She continued, “You’ve gotten fatter, and taller too. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

I decisively ignored the comment about my weight, and was quite pleased with my height.

Actually, I’m not that tall. What I was really proud of was that I was finally taller than Jane Jenkins.

You know, at the age of 12-15, because of puberty, girls are often taller and more imposing than boys their age. Back in my second year of middle school, I had a rather embarrassing experience.

That year, during the school physical, Jane Jenkins had her height measured—an impressive 1.68 meters.

I was next in line, swaggering up for my turn, and the result was 1.67 meters.

You can’t imagine the laughter from the classmates around us. Anyway, I remember wanting to die at that moment.

The story doesn’t end there. The day after the physical, I kicked her several times in retaliation, and she endured it. After class, I pushed my luck and used my toe to poke at her butt. She finally couldn’t take it anymore, turned around and slammed my desk, shouting, “You’re so short, no wonder Little Fanny doesn’t like you!”

That was probably the fundamental reason I never thought of pursuing Jane Jenkins in middle school. I simply couldn’t accept being with a girl taller than me, let alone one who looked down on my height.

As for Little Fanny, she was the girl who made me want to sing “Dreams Shattered at Dawn.”

When I was little, I lived with my grandma and was deeply influenced by her. My grandma wasn’t Yi Zhongtian, but she could still analyze the Three Kingdoms. She often told me stories about Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei. Back then, my favorite was Guan Yu, who crossed five passes and slew six generals, and killed Cai Yang at the Yellow River. But my grandma always said Liu Bei was amazing. She said that before Liu Bei recruited Kongming, he had hardly ever won a battle. That big-eared bandit was truly something—losing again and again, but never giving up, and in the end, he carved out his own kingdom.

The main lesson I took from that story was to keep fighting no matter how many times you lose. I confessed to Little Fanny eight times, wrote fifteen love letters, and never succeeded. Later, I thought maybe it was Jane Jenkins’s comment about my height that gave me the courage to go all out and confess for the ninth time in the auditorium.

Back then, I was so naive. I thought if I made a big gesture, Little Fanny would be moved.

And the result? Still the same as in “Dreams Shattered at Dawn”: If I’d known heartbreak was inevitable, why did I fall so deeply in love…

“Strange, why aren’t you talking?” Jane Jenkins’s curious words pulled me back to reality.