Later, I accidentally learned from classmates that the boys would take their backpacks and collect the cards from the tree at night.
They would then sort through the cards and pick out the cheapest and easiest wishes to fulfill.
Indeed, my small wish was just for a candied apple.
No wonder he picked my card out of thousands—just a candied apple could satisfy me, and a cup of cold milk tea could placate me. My sincerity and thoughtfulness were, in his eyes, nothing more than cheap and foolish.
When he graduated, he failed the graduate school admissions test and couldn't find a job. He cried to me about how useless he felt.
I rented a place for him, provided for his food and drink like a mother, and supported him emotionally as he prepared for a second attempt. Predictably, he failed again.
By then, I was in my senior year. He told me graduate schools were too hard to get in, and after two years of trying, he still hadn't succeeded. He suggested I should join him in taking the civil service exam since my senior year had fewer classes. He proposed we apply for the same position so we could commute together and enjoy a nine-to-five life.