Getting home before dinner, the first thing Feng Ning did was happily go check on the little tomatoes she’d planted in the yard. Crouching by the flowerpot, she inspected them carefully for a while and found they were growing splendidly.
Satisfied, she nodded, picked a few, rinsed them in the sink, and popped them in her mouth. The juice burst open inside, sweet and tart, full of summer flavor.
As for why Jiang Wen had inexplicably come to mock her, Feng Ning thought about it for a while, couldn’t make sense of it, and simply tossed it out of her mind — she didn’t have the spare time to look into that kind of nonsense.
Qi Lan had already made a whole table of dishes waiting for her and called out from inside the house, “Go get Zhao Weichen and Yaoyao to come eat together.”
Feng Ning mumbled a protest through her food. “Come on, Shuang Yao just got home today too, shouldn’t she eat with her own parents?”
Qi Lan grew impatient. “I said go get them. If you won’t, I’ll call myself — I made this much food for a reason.”
Ugh — proud as Feng Ning was, the only person in this life who could keep her in check was her mother. She had no way around it, no choice but to obediently go door to door calling people over.
There were plenty of stars out tonight, a bright moon hanging in the sky, and the big yellow dog kept darting back and forth by their feet; Feng Ning tossed it a few bones. A yellow light bulb hung right above the dinner table, and the kids gathered together, eating and laughing warmly. Qi Lan fanned herself with a cattail-leaf fan, asking about how things were going at school.
Zhao Weichen had never been as sharp as Shuang Yao and Feng Ning since childhood, slower to react, more rigid when it came to studying. Thankfully Feng Ning had tutored him and given him extra lessons on the side, so his middle school entrance scores had been passable, and he’d ended up at a high school not far from home. Its teaching quality couldn’t compare to Qide, but it was still considered upper-tier in South City.
Shuang Yao, mouth stuffed with a poached egg, chewed and swallowed, thinking it over. “Nothing much going on lately, except our homeroom teacher said the placement exam is coming up soon, to see roughly where the students stand.”
“Is that so? Then you’d better study hard at school. Reading really is useful. High school isn’t like middle school — the competition is fierce, you can’t let your guard down.”
Feng Ning mumbled a couple of agreeable sounds. “Have I ever made you worry about my studies before? Besides, you wouldn’t understand it anyway. Mom, go on and get to work, we’ll wash the dishes ourselves after we eat.”
The mahjong parlor’s night shift usually started around seven; Qi Lan glanced at the clock on the wall — almost time. She sighed and stood up. “Alright, I’m off to work.”
Feng Ning had recently been studying a few books on Western-style baking and had developed quite an interest in it. Once everyone had eaten their fill, she dragged her two little followers into the kitchen, insisting on making a cake base.
Shuang Yao sighed. “Give it up already, your house doesn’t even have an egg-white beater.”
Feng Ning never gave up once she’d set her mind to something. She mulled it over stubbornly for a while, then finally rolled up her sleeves, threw down an indignant “watch me,” and started pouring the egg whites into a bowl, whisking by hand — click click click — at least a few hundred strokes, going on for nearly an hour, her arm nearly spinning off.
Zhao Weichen sat on a little stool nearby, marveling, “Sister Ning, you really are the strongest arm in Yujiang Lane.”
Feng Ning caught her breath and glared at him. “Hmph, why does that not sound like a compliment to me?”
“Hehe, it is a compliment.” Zhao Weichen scratched his head.
Gritting her teeth against the egg whites, Feng Ning lectured him at the same time. “You need to work on how you phrase things. Stop being so blunt and awkward all the time, it’s so annoying.”
In the end, Feng Ning barely managed to produce a half-finished cake, and it actually tasted pretty good. Each of them had a share, then they ran off to Shuang Yao’s place to watch a movie on the projector. They played until the early hours, then each went home to sleep straight through until the following afternoon.
Feng Ning slipped over to Shuang Yao’s to do her makeup, then checked the time and realized she was cutting it close. She hurriedly changed clothes. “I’ve got to get to work. I told my mom I’m sleeping at your place tonight, don’t blow my cover.”
Because of Qi Lan’s health issues, the family had spent a great deal of their savings on treatment and still owed some money to relatives. Feng Ning, feeling for her mother, had been secretly working outside since middle school, saving up bit by bit. Fortunately she’d run wild since childhood, out and about all day, and with Shuang Yao and the others covering for her, she’d never once been caught by Qi Lan.
The summer she turned fourteen, she’d suddenly shot up to 165 centimeters, and with a bit of makeup and dressing herself older, she really didn’t look like a middle schooler. Since she still had to juggle her studies, Feng Ning had settled for finding work at a bubble tea shop.
She had a sweet mouth and knew how to read people, understood how the world worked — later, the bubble tea shop owner even introduced her to a friend’s bar, working as a server.
As it happened, the bar owner turned out to be a distant relative of Zhao Weichen’s. Last year, after a successful marketing push during the culture festival, the bar’s popularity had stayed high ever since, becoming an internet-famous spot that lots of young people liked to visit.
In a lively, crowded bar like that, pushing alcohol sales brought good profit margins, which could be counted toward commission. Feng Ning was clever and likable, and would liven up the atmosphere from time to time, going up to sing a couple of songs — eventually she became a kind of signature fixture at Jiantang (the bar’s name), jokingly nicknamed its “soul.”
Over the weekend at home, Xi Gaoyuan and the others called Jiang Wen several times, asking what he was doing, wanting him to come hang out. He wasn’t in the mood and turned them all down.
That evening they had guests over for dinner — an old comrade-in-arms of Grandfather Jiang’s. At the table, the old man said a few words to Jiang Wen, who answered absentmindedly.
“Little Wen, mind your manners.”
After his sister shot him a couple of looks, Jiang Wen forced himself to focus and added a proper greeting.
The guest laughed heartily. “This kid seems much quieter now than before. I remember he used to be quite the troublemaker as a child.”
The Jiang family had made their fortune in Chongxi, part of the Jiangzuo merchant clan lineage. Jiang Zhouguo had thrown himself into business, and in under ten years had firmly planted “Maohang” in South City, becoming something like the local “earth emperor.” Though he was especially strict with his younger son, he had many factories and workers under his management, so he had little time to personally oversee him closely.
His elder sister, Jiang Yuyun, was more than a decade older than Jiang Wen. She’d stopped studying after finishing high school and helped their father manage the family’s shops. Jiang Yuyun had always doted on her brother, and so the wild, untamed young master Jiang had gathered a crowd of childhood friends around him since young, running rampant across South City, throwing his weight around.
Back when he’d just finished elementary school, Xi Gaoyuan had gotten to know some rough kid from outside — the two of them still young and reckless, wild enough that they’d nearly caused real trouble following that crowd. It had infuriated Grandfather Jiang so much that he insisted on sending Jiang Wen off to a private military training camp, a decision made in an instant, leaving no room for argument.
After that incident, Jiang Wen’s temperament had reined itself in considerably.
After dinner, they went upstairs.
Jiang Wen went off alone to play video games, and got so absorbed that he lost track of things, until a blood-red GAME OVER appeared on the screen. He snapped back to himself, tossed the controller aside, and cursed.
Damn it.
The two-day break passed in a blink.
Monday morning, Feng Ning dropped a copy of When Nietzsche Wept onto Zhao Binlin’s desk.
He was startled, picking it up to look it over from both sides. “What’s this?”
Feng Ning sat down at her seat, leaning on the desk a little drowsily. “Your birthday present.”
“Huh?? This is your big gift??!”
“Yep, and I’m giving you a task too. Read this, then think about the value of existence.” Feng Ning, acting like some kind of mystic, put on an extremely serious expression to fool him. “I’ll give you the conclusion first — the value of existence is suffering. Go figure out the rest yourself.”
Zhao Binlin’s family ran a coal-mining business, with his elder brothers holding up the family enterprise; his parents asked very little of him and didn’t manage him much.
In his whole life, he’d never seriously read a book. He figured he might be a bit word-blind — at most he’d flip through magazines, or game strategy guides. Simply put, his world was filled with the class beauty, the neighboring class’s beauty, cars, basketball, video games, brothers.
For the first time in his life, Zhao Binlin had actually come into contact with a work of philosophy, and beyond his shock, there was a touch of disbelief too.
So Zhao Binlin earnestly treated it as bedtime reading for a few days, and actually managed to work out some thoughts of his own, feeling like quite the cultured man. Whenever he had a spare moment, he’d turn around, full of enthusiasm, and pull Feng Ning into discussing Nietzsche.
Ever since Jiang Wen had confronted Feng Ning last time, she’d stopped deliberately teasing him, following what he’d said — don’t try to attract his attention, keep an appropriate distance from him.
Compared to Jiang Wen’s deliberate coldness, Feng Ning seemed far more casual about it. It wasn’t playing hard to get either; she simply had plenty of other things to occupy her.
So Feng Ning also stopped initiating conversation.
It was as if all her past enthusiasm toward him had merely been Jiang Wen’s own illusion.
Someone as thick-skinned as Zhao Binlin never noticed at all that Jiang Wen had been in a bad mood the whole time. After finishing a game of basketball that day, walking out of the gym, Zhao Binlin was telling a few buddies that a girl had told him “the value of existence is suffering.” As he talked, the others found it interesting too. “What, do you like her? When are you going to introduce us?”
“Don’t drag things down to something so vulgar.” Zhao Binlin clicked his tongue, gossiping eagerly. “She seemed to have a thing for the top idol before.”
The group all went to stir up Jiang Wen about it; he seemed not to hear, his expression staying just as indifferent.
Pei Shurou’s brow furrowed slightly, then she smiled gently. “What kind of interest, exactly?”
So Zhao Binlin told the whole toad-and-swan story once more.
The only one in the group not the least bit excited was Jiang Wen. As the others kept teasing, he walked off alone.
Qide’s placement exam after the semester began was scheduled swiftly, taking only two or three days to finish. Tie Niangzi had taken this exam very seriously, emphasizing it several times beforehand, telling them all to give it their best, to set a good start for their high school years, treating it as an auspicious beginning.
Feng Ning, as always, moved on the moment the exam ended, not even bothering to check answers. She sat at her desk chatting with Meng Taoyu when a girl’s voice came from behind, “Meng Taoyu, come out for a second.”
Feng Ning looked up.
The girl, impatient, kicked Feng Ning’s chair with her foot. “Didn’t you hear me? Move aside.”
Feng Ning glanced at her sideways, then looked away, continuing to drink her water. She recognized her — this was the pear-blossom-bob girl from the opening ceremony.
Meng Taoyu stood up anxiously, saying quietly that she’d go outside. Feng Ning acted as if she hadn’t heard, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back down. “Sit.”
The pear-blossom-bob girl grew impatient, her eyes narrowing, her lips taking on a sharp shape, and raised her voice. “Hey, I told you to move. Are you deaf?”
Feng Ning remained unmoved, sitting steadily in her seat, the corner of her mouth curling up slightly.
Seemingly sensing her disdain, the girl’s eyes went round, provoked by that smile, looking utterly outraged, and came over to grab at her. “What the hell—”
Her words cut off abruptly halfway through.
— Feng Ning flung her hand out and splashed an entire cup of water into her face.
The whole classroom fell dead silent. Jiang Wen, hearing the commotion, turned his head.
The pear-blossom-bob girl was stunned for a few seconds, as if a time bomb had gone off in her brain. When she came back to herself, she was shaking with fury, biting her lower lip, her hand raised high.
At the moment it came down, Jiang Wen caught her by the wrist. Meanwhile Feng Ning had already reversed her grip, grabbing a fistful of the girl’s hair, and laughed. “Well, aren’t you feisty — where do you rank when the big shots have their meetings?”
Author’s note:
Regarding yesterday’s controversy in the comments section, my response:
- I sincerely apologize to Author P and the fans of Guomen for my “bad habit” — I mistakenly treated Author P’s original line, taken from that work, as an internet meme and used it in my promotional copy. Once I learned of this, I immediately revised the copy, posted an apology notice, and privately messaged Author P on Weibo to apologize.
- I genuinely did see that line on Douyin, and at the time had no idea it came from that work — I thought it was just an ordinary meme. As for the class reunion scene, my original intent in writing that promotional copy was to depict a setting where the female lead could be made to drink during a game of truth or dare; I casually wrote in a high school reunion without any intention of deliberately copying anything.
Since Douyin doesn’t keep browsing history, and its comments can’t be searched by keyword, I’m no longer able to trace back to where I originally saw that line. I’m truly sorry.
I’d like to think my judgment is still within normal range — given how well-known Author P is, if I really had seen that line from that specific work, especially with my prior history of “borrowing striking lines,” I wouldn’t be so careless, so foolish, so unrepentant as to openly use it in promotional copy.
- Honestly, from the very start of this book, I’d braced myself for the possibility of being criticized or having my past mistakes dug up. Before this, I avoided it for a long time — going back and forth between Weibo and Jinjiang without searching anything related to myself, without looking at any reviews about me.
I became known through Her Little Dimple, and there were a lot of problems in how I wrote that book — abandoned updates, an unfinished ending, borrowing other people’s lyrics, movie lines, well-known internet phrases without crediting sources.
Borrowing one line is borrowing; borrowing a hundred lines is still borrowing. I have no way to refute that. Whatever I did wrong, whatever infringed on others’ rights, I own all of it.
When writing, I truly lacked awareness around copyright — I borrowed striking lines from forums and message boards, real esports announcements (including letters written by fans), without clearly citing the sources, and that was a mistake on my part. I sincerely apologize for my bad habit of “borrowing without attribution.”
- I’ve borrowed striking lines from forums before, fan-community phrases from Weibo, without citing sources — these are mistakes I’ve made. But I truly have never plagiarized any author, never plagiarized any work, and never blended in or drained ideas or creativity from someone else’s work.
I never had that mindset before, and I never will.
Whatever I did wrong, I admit to all of it. I won’t whitewash it, I won’t make excuses. I’ll keep the apology notice to Author P posted in my promotional copy.
I don’t ask others to forgive the mistakes I’ve made, but I also won’t accept being blamed for mistakes that aren’t mine — that’s all.
Finally, once again, my apologies to Author P and the fans of Guomen. My deepest bow.