The afternoon after Gu Pan completed his interview with "Qi Ai Community," his phone rang with good news. The organization's leader informed him that he had been accepted and would be taking on the role of Sports Committee Member. Given his limited understanding of organizational roles, Gu Pan tried to piece together what this meant. He figured he’d probably be the go-to guy for any physical tasks or heavy lifting.

　　A week later, this student-run volunteer group from the School of Management kicked off a book drive. They set up in front of the flower garden just south of the campus dining hall.

　　This was Gu Pan’s first event since joining the group, and being the new guy, he wanted to make a good impression. Eager to learn the ropes, he cautiously approached the senior student who ran the show, and asked what his duties as the Sports Committee Member entailed. Did this mean he’d be lugging heavy boxes around?

　　The senior, who was also the director of the community, couldn’t help but laugh, showing off her back molars in the process. She called him a bit old-school and too literal. “Titles are just labels, really. There’s no strict boundary here. What’s important is having a heart for serving the group and helping out wherever you can. That’s what truly matters!”

　　As soon as the word "heart" left the director’s lips, she clenched her fist and thrust it into the air like a triumphant banner. The gesture was so inspiring that it struck a chord deep within Gu Pan, lighting a fire of enthusiasm in his young, idealistic soul. He felt a powerful call to action, and a wave of anticipation surged through him, making him eager to dive into his new responsibilities.

　　After a thoughtful pause, the director decided to leverage Gu Pan’s talents. Drawing from the personal strengths he’d mentioned during his application and interview, she tasked him with assisting the Publicity Committee Member in designing and copying posters and flyers.

　　The Publicity Committee Member was another senior student, lively and full of chatter. Gu Pan immediately clicked with her, finding their communication effortless. They worked in harmony, swiftly making progress on their project.

　　Once their task was done, they stood up to leave the “Community” office. But as Gu Pan rose, his foot caught on a flagpole lying under the desk. He stumbled, losing his balance and awkwardly crashing into a nearby bookshelf. The sudden jolt made the senior student shriek, “Watch out!”

　　Her piercing cry and the alarm in her wide eyes jolted Gu Pan into action. He instinctively ducked, just in time to avoid a looming danger from above.

　　After the senior student let out a sigh of relief, hand still over her pounding heart, Gu Pan cautiously looked up. He hunched his shoulders and glanced sideways, spotting a wooden board teetering precariously on top of the shelf.

　　He was about to push it back into place when the senior student stopped him. “Hold on… take it down! I want to see what it is,” she said, her curiosity piqued.

　　It was a rectangular poster board, wrapped in plain brown kraft paper. Gu Pan took it down and handed it over to the senior, who carefully accepted it with both hands. She unwrapped it slowly, almost reverently, revealing a design that was slightly faded and worn, as if it had been held in the past's embrace for too long.

　　For a moment, she was lost in thought, gazing deeply at the artwork. When she noticed Gu Pan's curious stare, she snapped out of her trance and quipped, “What’s up? Spellbound by my charm?” She chuckled, her cheeks puffing up into a playful double chin.

　　“Absolutely, I’m captivated!” Gu Pan shot back with a grin. “But seriously, is there something special about this board?” He pointed at the seemingly ordinary piece.

　　“This was painted by one of our former Publicity Committee Members. Here, take a closer look,” she said, turning the board around and handing it to him.

　　Noting the gravity in her voice, Gu Pan accepted the board with newfound respect. He leaned in, examining the texture with a sense of awe. “It’s an oil painting!” he remarked, surprised.

　　“Yep, all hand-painted, no digital tricks here,” she confirmed.

　　Gu Pan couldn’t resist running his fingers over the textured surface, feeling the grooves and ridges of the paint. “It’s really fascinating.”

　　“It is,” she agreed softly. “That’s why, even though it’s just an old poster, we kept it. The main reason, though, is that the artist died not long after finishing it.”

　　Gu Pan picked up on the sadness in her voice, a kind that tugged at the heartstrings. Her eyes were glistening, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears. Feeling her sorrow, Gu Pan spoke gently, cautious not to say anything that might be out of place.

　　“Was the artist a senior student too?” he asked quietly.

　　“Yes,” she nodded, her voice tinged with a deep melancholy. “But I never had the chance to meet her. After I joined ‘Qi Ai Community’ and saw this painting, someone told me about a quiet, talented Publicity Committee Member who, sadly, passed away in an accident shortly after creating this…” Her eyes shimmered with a profound sense of regret, a longing to have known the artist she never got to meet.

　　“Take it easy, senior,” Gu Pan said softly, his voice laced with empathy.

　　Lowering his gaze back to the artwork, he realized it depicted an environmental theme. The Earth in the painting wasn’t a grotesque, devastated orb. Instead, it had a playful, almost cheeky face. The personified Earth had chimneys, like cigarette butts, sticking out from its head, puffing out smoke, and a drool of sludge hanging from its chin, perhaps from El Niño’s effect. Gu Pan didn’t fancy himself an art expert, but he could tell the real appeal of this piece wasn’t in its technique. It was in the artist’s simple yet vivid imagination.

　　He found himself deeply absorbed in the painting, a peculiar sense of déjà vu washing over him the longer he stared at it. “I feel like I’ve seen this somewhere before…” he mumbled to himself.

　　“Huh? You mean this painting?” the senior asked, intrigued.

　　“Yeah, it looks familiar.”

　　“Seen it before? That’s unlikely. This painting was stored away before you even started college. As far as I know, it hasn’t been displayed since. Volunteers at ‘Qi Ai Community’ treat it like it’s sacred. Hardly anyone touches it, and if they do, it’s just a quick peek before carefully putting it back. Today, it almost fell on you, and I thought maybe it wanted to be appreciated again,” she said with a thoughtful smile.

　　“Oh…” Gu Pan murmured, still deep in thought.

　　“As for why it seems familiar, well, a lot of environmental-themed art shares common elements. It’s not surprising you might find parts of it reminding you of other pieces,” she suggested after pondering for a moment.

　　“Yeah, you’re right…” Gu Pan agreed, but his gaze wandered to a distinctive signature in the corner. It read “Qi Ai Community,” and the style of the letters and the colors struck a chord. He was certain he had seen it somewhere before. But this time, he decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

　　Carefully, he rewrapped the poster in the brown kraft paper, tying the plastic string back into its original neat knots.

　　After placing the painting back in its spot, he left with a nagging sense of mystery. The artwork was tucked away, but the questions it sparked stayed with him.

　　2

　　After leaving, Gu Pan didn’t head straight home. Instead, he wandered around campus on his bike, weaving through familiar and unfamiliar paths, letting the buildings blur past him. He was searching for something—a visual clue that would help him piece together the nagging puzzle in his mind.

　　It had to be here, somewhere. Something tied to the everyday life of the School of Economics and Management. Maybe a person, an object, something in motion, or something still. Perhaps it was a scene—a decorative rock garden, the library, or even that little campus shop with the flickering fluorescent light…

　　Suddenly, Gu Pan slammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt. Planting one foot on the ground, he quickly pulled out his phone and opened a website he hadn’t visited in ages.

　　Navigating to the "Xinyuan" video collection, he searched frantically, relying on his memory. He remembered a video from early on, one that showed a set of steps with a few potted plants, half-hidden by a poster. The theme of the video was "Afternoon," accompanied by a symphony of faint voices, footsteps, and the occasional distant ringing of bicycle bells...

　　Clicking through the old video, he finally spotted it—the mischievous Earth with the distinctive “Qi Ai Community” signature in the bottom right corner. A rush of excitement surged through him, the kind that comes with finally connecting the dots. But almost immediately, a cold shiver ran down his spine...

　　Gu Pan forced himself to stay calm, trying to piece together how the painting and "Xinyuan" could be linked in a rational way.

　　That’s it! "Xinyuan" must have stumbled upon the environmental poster while it was still on display and casually filmed it for their white noise video. That had to be the closest explanation to the truth!

　　With a renewed sense of purpose, Gu Pan pedaled towards his apartment. At every intersection, he instinctively rang his bike bell, mimicking the whimsical tones from the video. The “Afternoon” was captured by "Xinyuan," but the artist of the oil painting only had a few afternoons left... With each powerful pedal stroke, he tried to drown out the eerie connection, hoping the physical exertion would help him forget.

　　When he got home, he couldn't resist opening that video on his computer again. He examined every detail—the visuals, the sounds, even trying to recall the scent of that moment. Like anyone truly grieving, he sat silently, hoping for solitude.

　　During that half-hour of quiet reflection, Gu Pan, for the first time in a long while, felt unsettled about the absent "Xinyuan." Their relationship used to be simple, free from emotional complications. Yet, after a conversation earlier with "Jiayuan" and memories triggered by a signature, he found himself unusually preoccupied. He felt a twinge of resentment. He loathed his own persistence.

　　Still, an unexplainable, unspoken worry started to take root.

　　PP Jun's message popped up: "Long time no see, how have you been? I've always suspected—you're an alum of the School of Management, right? I stumbled upon that environmental advocacy painting once by chance. It's so dynamic and clever—I loved it. I'm guessing you did too, which is why you couldn't help but capture it, eventually incorporating it into your work, right? I'd love to chat about school with you, about our past and present at the School of Management."

　　After sending the private message, Gu Pan suddenly realized how annoyingly chatty and intrusive his words must have seemed. He knew "Xinyuan's" style—calm and to the point. He didn't dare imagine her expression upon reading the message or how quickly she might dismiss it.

　　"Damn fool!" Gu Pan muttered to himself, squeezing his fist with the same determination he used during months of lifting dumbbells. The impact was too much; his head began to throb. Frowning, he chuckled bitterly, thinking, "That's the price of acting on impulse! You'd better wise up, idiot!"