The sudden "Happy birthday" caught Miao Jiayan off guard—it took him a moment to realize it was indeed his birthday today.

Chen Chao told him to "grow up fast," a phrase Miao Jiayan had never heard before, yet he found it inexplicably endearing.

—Thanks, Brother Chao! I’ll grow up quickly!

Seeing his reply on his phone, Chen Chao chuckled and sent another message: "Just saying, no need to rush it."

Miao Jiayan replied: "I’m in a hurry."

Growing up fast was every child’s wish—to become an independent adult. Miao Jiayan wanted it more than anyone else.

This year seemed to have flown by.

Perhaps it was because high school time naturally passed quickly. Every day was packed with classes and studying, weekends were just one day off, and after four breaks, another month was gone.

By the end-of-term exams in his first year of high school, Miao Jiayan ranked 15th in his class. His school typically sent over twenty students to top-tier universities each year, so being in the top twenty was promising.

Miao Jiayan had been an average student in elementary and middle school—not particularly bright. Ranking in the top twenty in high school was somewhat unbelievable.

When Chen Chao called to ask about his results, Miao Jiayan told him, and Chen Chao praised him: "Good job."

They didn’t keep in touch often, sometimes going a month without contact if nothing came up. His phone’s battery was failing—even fully charged, it wouldn’t last a day. Miao Jiayan went to a phone shop in town and bought a new battery to replace it, so he wouldn’t have to charge it daily anymore.

Even during summer break, high school students had to attend make-up classes. That summer, Chen Chao’s grandparents were taken to the city by Chen Guangda for a while. The day Chen Guangda arrived was a Sunday, and Miao Jiayan was just about to head to the fields wearing a straw hat.

Chen Guangda walked over, car keys in hand. Miao Jiayan looked at him in surprise and called out, "Uncle Chen."

"Hey, hello," Chen Guangda said cheerfully. "You’ve grown taller."

Miao Jiayan quickly glanced behind Chen Guangda, who understood what he was looking for and smiled. "Don’t bother—Chen Chao didn’t come back."

Disappointment instantly swallowed Miao Jiayan. He nodded and said, "Oh," then bid Chen Guangda goodbye and left.

Chen Chao’s grandparents stayed in the city for over half a month. Chen Guangda wanted them to settle there permanently, but the elderly couple refused. They were used to living in the countryside—the city was inconvenient for them in every way.

While they were away, Miao Jiayan often helped water the flowers and vegetable garden after school and fed the chicks and ducklings daily.

By the time make-up classes ended, the hottest part of the year had arrived.

On a bright, sunny day, Miao Jiayan dug out the dress Chen Chao had given him from the wardrobe and put it on. The long dress was a few centimeters shorter now, but it wasn’t noticeable—it still fit well, though the narrow waist made Miao Jiayan look especially slender.

The wide brim of his hat hid his face, so passersby wouldn’t look at him too closely.

The cotton plants had begun to bud. Recently, people had come to inspect the fields, and half of the Miao family’s cotton had been pre-ordered with generous deposits. While working in the cotton field, Miao Jiayan spotted the group. He hadn’t spoken to them before, quietly doing his work, until one of them, standing nearby, struck up a conversation out of boredom.

The man called out, "Little girl," and asked, "Why don’t I see any drip irrigation here? Didn’t you lay pipes?"

Miao Jiayan had been bent over, pinching the tops of the cotton plants. Hearing this, he straightened up and looked over.

The moment he raised his head, the man froze, staring at Miao Jiayan’s face before his gaze drifted slightly downward to his neck.

Miao Jiayan said, "We have drip irrigation. See the pump house over there?"

He pointed toward a small red building in the distance.

The man looked to be in his early thirties, fairly young. He studied Miao Jiayan for a long moment before exhaling in amazement.

Miao Jiayan, wearing the long dress with his hair cascading down, didn’t care how others saw him.

"Incredible," the man muttered, scrutinizing Miao Jiayan from head to toe several times.

Miao Jiayan wanted to leave. He straightened up and turned to go.

"Are you still in school?" the man asked.

Miao Jiayan replied, "Yes."

"Can I take a photo of you?" The man quickly added, "I’m not a creep, don’t worry."

Miao Jiayan refused outright: "No."

"Just a casual one—just your back," the man persisted. "You don’t have to show your face."

Miao Jiayan took a big step back, shaking his head with a guarded expression. "No."

He quickly walked away, never letting the man take the photo.

Since half the cotton had been sold and didn’t require harvesting, they didn’t use machines this year—everything was picked by hand, resulting in cleaner cotton.

The buyers were florists who sold cotton as decorative flowers. They’d run short during a summer event and had to source more locally. They handled the harvesting themselves, taking multiple trips over several days.

During the National Day holiday, while Miao Jiayan was helping his grandparents gather cotton, the florists returned to trim branches. The same man was there, joined by a young woman in her mid-twenties, who seemed much more approachable.

She chatted with Miao Jiayan for a while, then spent even longer explaining things to his grandparents, showing them her phone. His grandparents didn’t see any issue, saying it was up to Miao Jiayan.

So that day, Miao Jiayan wore his old clothes, a large cotton-picking bag tied around his waist, half-filled with cotton. He worked as usual, only looking up when someone said, "Look here."

His face was completely bare, clean and slightly sweaty at the temples. His eyes held a trace of bewilderment—a little nervous and awkward at first, but he soon forgot about it.

By the end of the day, he’d stopped noticing the photos being taken. As the sun set and Miao Jiayan prepared to leave, the woman handed him two thousand yuan.

She explained they ran a flower-selling business online and wanted to work with him again in the future.

Miao Jiayan asked, "More photos of me picking cotton? There’s none left this year."

She said, "Not cotton—other flowers."

"We don’t have other flowers," Miao Jiayan said honestly. "We only grow cotton."

"You don’t need to. I’ll take you to shoot elsewhere," she said, her gaze oddly affectionate. "Just come with me."

"Where?" Miao Jiayan shook his head. "I’m not doing it."

She laughed. "You’re adorable. Afraid I’ll kidnap you? Do I look like a bad person?"

Miao Jiayan didn’t answer. Either way, he wasn’t doing it.

He gave the two thousand yuan to his grandmother, who told him to keep it as pocket money.

Miao Jiayan rarely spent money, so it sat in his drawer for a long time.

Later, the woman called again, wanting to send him the photos. She asked if he had an email or QQ, but he had neither.

"What about your parents?" she asked, exasperated. "How can you receive them?"

Miao Jiayan said, "I can’t. I don’t need to see them."

"Then check the store yourself?" She gave him a name. "If you can get online, search for this shop. You’ll see them there."

Miao Jiayan was curious—he wanted to know how he looked in the photos. But he’d never been online, and his family didn’t own a computer. The phone Chen Chao had left him was years old—it could load web pages but not images, only text.

The woman said, "I really think you should see them. You barely needed any editing. Kid, you’re stunning."

To a rural kid, the more enthusiastic someone seemed, the more they resembled a scammer.

No matter how much she insisted, Miao Jiayan refused to agree to more photos. Once he said no, he wouldn’t budge.