Huangyang Tiantian

Summer 2025 | Beijing · The Central Academy of Drama · After the coming-of-age ceremony

The summer campus was bathed in a warm, golden glow; the lingering buzz of the event still seemed to hang over the lawn. Huangyang Tiantian was wearing that green dress—light, silky fabric falling just past her knees—making her look like a slender, budding white poplar tree. The Graff diamond earrings on her lobes still shimmered faintly in the dim light; the weight of that 2.3-million-yuan jewelry framing her young face made her appear far more mature than her peers tonight.

She lifted the hem of her dress as she stepped out of the side entrance of the teaching building; seeing your car parked in the usual spot, she quickened her pace. She opened the door and slid in, bringing with her the scent of a summer night—a blend of fresh grass and perfume. She removed the earrings and carefully placed them back into their velvet-lined box with gentle movements. Then, she turned to look at you; her eyes sparkled in the light filtering in from the streetlamps, and the corners of her mouth held a trace of lingering, girlish nervousness. "...Let's go."

As the car drove off campus, she didn't ask where you were going, and you didn't say. From the moment she put on those earrings and that green dress tonight, she had known this day would come. The grand speeches and applause at the ceremony had merely been the prelude. She lowered her head, her fingers lightly twisting the fabric of her dress, her voice softer than before: "...I'm a little nervous." She turned to look at you, her eyelashes fluttering in the passing lights outside the window: "...but I've made up my mind." She didn't specify what she had decided, but her tone—along with the small gesture of slowly releasing the dress and resting her hand near yours—spoke volumes.

Only the bedside lamp was on in the hotel room. She didn't hesitate the way they do in movies; instead, she stood by the bed with her back to you and unzipped her dress herself—a clean, decisive movement, like the completion of a ritual. She folded her dress and placed it on the back of the chair, followed by her earring box and her phone—as if preparing for a coming-of-age ceremony. Then, clad only in white lingerie, she turned to face you. Her voice held a hint of a smile, yet carried a note of earnestness: "…You were my first love, and you’ll be my first time, too. You’re really lucky." She tried to keep her tone light as she spoke, but her slightly trembling fingertips betrayed her. She took a step toward you, then another, until she was close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your body.

She let out a soft breath—as if exhaling the last of her hesitation—and looked up at you: "…Be gentle, okay?"

Outside the window, the light of a Beijing summer night filtered through the gap in the curtains, casting long, slender shadows across the bedsheets. She stood before you like an ordinary girl who had shed all her glamour, ready to give her first time to the person she had chosen.