Jing Xichi had been quite gloomy lately.
For several weeks in a row, Song Cong had declined all his weekend entertainment invitations, whether it was soccer or gaming. The reason was always the same—tutoring Chen Huaner.
It felt as if his heart had changed.
In Jing Xichi’s view, Chen Huaner was the third party who had cut in and stolen his love.
That day, with both his parents working night shifts, he went as usual to mooch dinner at the Song family’s apartment in the next unit. Upon entering, he saw Chen Huaner sitting at the dining table and remained sulkily silent for a long while.
Being doctors meant no one could avoid night shifts, especially in dual medical households like the Song family—both parents often had overlapping shifts. At such times, children would temporarily stay at another family’s home in the staff quarters, making freeloading meals and lodging a unique feature of this small community. Last year, Jing’s mother could have avoided this after her promotion, but as the youngest member of the hospital’s leadership team, and with many clinical doctors transferring to private hospitals in recent years, she volunteered to take two-night shifts per week to set an example. Jing’s father worked in firefighting and could disappear at a moment’s notice when the phone rang. Growing up in such an environment, Jing Xichi had adapted and gotten used to it. He spent most of his time at the Song family’s place, or he and Song Cong would be sent to stay with retired elderly doctors from various hospital departments. Many of the grandparents who used to look after them were now gone—some taken in by their children, others gone to heaven—while the boys had grown into young men who could live independently.
How could such an ironclad friendship be broken just because of Chen Huaner?
Thinking of this, Jing Xichi questioned the interloper, “Isn’t it far for you to come here to eat?”
He remembered when Chen’s parents visited last time, Chen’s mother had mentioned that Chen Huaner could cook noodles herself, and anyway, she could always go to the hospital cafeteria.
Instead of learning good things, she’d become an expert at eating at others’ homes.
“The hospital quarters aren’t that big, what’s far about it?” Today’s acting head of household, Mrs. Song, jumped in first, pointing her index finger at his forehead. “What about yourself? No trace of you during daytime study, but right on time for meals.”
“Aunt Hao, I went to play soccer, that was just…”
“Your mom was still complaining to me today, even as a sports recruit your academic subjects…”
“Your hospitality is something else,” Jing Xichi raised both hands in surrender, “I’ll eat, eating is fine, right?”
Chen Huaner muttered contemptuously, “Moocher.”
The volume was so low only Song Cong sitting next to her heard it, and seeing his brother’s attempts at provocation backfire, he couldn’t help but laugh.
Song Cong couldn’t remember how many times she had made him laugh, but he remembered the feeling of laughter. Chen Huaner always caught him off guard, whether with her ideas or her words, and each unexpected moment hit his funny bone perfectly. He could now confirm with certainty that Chen Huaner herself was worlds apart from people’s first impression of her.
He wouldn’t expose this—how lucky, after all, that very few people knew her other side.
Mrs. Song chatted casually with Huaner, “Is that girl who came with you last time coming again this weekend?”
“She said she would.” Huaner hesitated for a moment. “Is that okay, Aunt Hao?”
Mrs. Song didn’t understand the last question at first, but seeing the sincerity in the young girl’s eyes, she quickly responded, “Of course, of course. Last time I noticed that girl liked oranges, I’ll buy more to keep for you all.” Mrs. Song paused for a moment before continuing, “Huaner, treat this place like your own home, come however you feel comfortable. When your mom has night shifts, just come directly here for meals—of course, as long as there are adults at home. Song Cong isn’t even as good as you, barely ever sets foot in the kitchen.”
“Mom, that’s enough.” Song Cong made a stopping gesture.
Huaner certainly understood the meaning behind the kind-eyed aunt’s words, so she smiled, “Your cooking is better than my mom’s.”
“Chen Huaner, you’re getting a bit unscrupulous,” Jing Xichi snorted with laughter, “I’m going to tell Aunt Lina.”
“As if you haven’t done the same thing,” Song Cong backed her up, “Who was it that went overboard flattering my mom, saying her cooking was the best in the whole hospital quarters?”
“How is that the same? My praise was sincere!” Jing Xichi spoke with his mouth full, “Your elbow’s dislocated the way you’re siding with outsiders.”
Song Cong laughed and pushed his water glass toward him, seeing his friend’s whirlwind eating style.
With only half a glass of water left, Jing Xichi drank it all but still felt stuck, casually grabbing another glass in front of him and putting it to his lips.
“That’s mine!” Huaner tried to stop him but it was too late—he had already taken two big gulps.
The satisfied diner put down his chopsticks and lazily stretched, tossing out three words lightly, “I know.”
“You knew and still drank it!” Huaner was furious.
He had realized it the moment he picked up the glass—usually when eating with the guys from the hospital quarters, the boys would gather like a litter of piglets racing to finish, none with any concept of table manners. Chen Huaner was the first female to join them long-term, and at that moment his physiological needs far outpaced his mental processing speed. Jing Xichi couldn’t stop in time, so he figured he might as well go all the way and annoy her.
“Who says knowing means you can’t drink?” He got up with his used dishes and headed to the sink, passing by Chen Huaner and reaching out to roughly rub the top of her head, “Princess.”
“Your hands are all greasy!” Huaner was fuming, piling all her used bowls, chopsticks, and cups on top of his dishes, “Wash them clean for me!”
“Whoever uses them washes them,” Jing Xichi refused, pushing them back forcefully, “You come here and break the rules.”
“Are you going to wash them or not!” Huaner grabbed his arm in one hand.
“No!”
“Wash them or not!” Huaner applied force, her other hand directly grabbing his ear.
“Ouch!” Jing Xichi tilted his head and cried out, eyes wide as he stared at the girl, then looked to Mrs. Song who was cleaning the kitchen as if seeking help, and finally turned to Song Cong with a pitiful expression, “She’s really strong, I’m not lying, it hurts.”
The last three words were enunciated one by one, his expression begging for sympathy.
Song Cong gave a dry laugh without speaking, while Mrs. Song teased while wiping the stove with her back turned, “That’s what you get for picking fights.” Turning around, she asked, “Want more rice? You exercise so much every day, you should eat more.”
“No thanks, I’m stuffed.” Jing Xichi elbowed Huaner, face full of resentment, “Fine, I’ll wash them, okay?”
“Atoning for your crimes, I’ll let you off this time.” Huaner got her way, encouragingly patting his face.
Jing Xichi turned on the water tap, muttering to himself, “Owing you and still having to wash your dishes.”
After quickly washing the dishes, he thrust the dripping cup in front of Chen Huaner forcefully, “Seriously, how are you so strong? Song Cong, she hits people and you still play with her.”
“Stop pretending.” Song Cong glanced at him with amusement, then looked toward Huaner, “Let’s go, continue.”
“I’m coming too.” Jing Xichi said, taking a step forward, turning back to call to Mrs. Song in the kitchen, “Auntie, I’m going to study with them for a bit.” Before the words had finished, he walked toward Song Cong’s room with his head held high amid the astonished looks of the three others.
“Huh, the sun must be rising from the west.” Mrs. Song shook her head repeatedly.
Of course, Jing Xichi hadn’t come to study.
Closing the door tight, he stood in front of the two with his arms crossed, “Qi Qi came last week too?”
“Yeah.” Song Cong nodded, “Came with Huaner.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask.” Song Cong had always been quick-witted, and as soon as the words left his mouth, a thought suddenly flashed through his mind, making him laugh, “Oh, so you…”
The person in question quickly covered his mouth, “I’m coming next week too, make room for me.”
Chen Huaner was flipping through her workbook, finding their conversation bewildering, only focusing on Jing Xichi’s move to join the tutoring group, and frowned as she questioned him, “What are you coming for?”
“To study.” Jing Xichi put on a righteous face, tapping the test papers on the table, “You’ve improved, why can’t I break free from being last place?”
Huaner snorted derisively, “Why have such an aspiration?”
“Let him come.” Song Cong, understanding the situation, played peacemaker, “Studying is good.”
So when the next weekend came, the Song household was bustling with activity.
Mrs. Song prepared lunch early and hurriedly left with her husband after saying goodbye to the children. Qi thought the adults were deliberately avoiding them to make them feel more comfortable, and rather embarrassedly said to Song Cong, “We’re troubling your uncle and aunt.”
“Don’t think too much of it.” Song Cong replied mildly, “They’ve gone to play mahjong.”
Jing Xichi pointed at Huaner, “Add my mom and her mom, exactly four people for a table.”
Qi Qi’s eyes widened, “All your parents know each other?”
“Which parents in this compound don’t know each other?” Jing Xichi affected an unconcerned attitude, “How could they possibly run away from home because of you?”
Song Cong, who knew what was what, glanced at him and shook his head privately—this guy meant to comfort her but had to take a roundabout way to deliver what should have been kind words with a sting.
“Song Cong, I don’t quite understand this part.” Huaner’s mind was on the physics problem she’d struggled with for half a day yesterday without figuring it out. She laid out her workbook with pen in hand, “Can you explain it to me?”
Qi leaned over, then sat down on Song Cong’s other side, “I’m also unclear about this part.”
“Complex problems usually combine multiple concepts, it’s best to first organize the information from the question.” Song Cong took the pen from Huaner’s hand, looked up to see Jing Xichi staring idly out the window, and casually pointed, “You, come over and listen too.”
His finger stopped at the position beside Qi Qi.
“Fine.” Jing Xichi was secretly delighted but put on an air of reluctant compliance, shuffling over behind Qi Qi and bending down until his face nearly touched her ponytail. “Hair is so annoying,” he muttered quietly.
“Here, and this part…” Song Cong began his explanation.
Huaner’s parents had rarely given academic guidance. First, because in her fourth year at Shui Middle School, her rankings were as stable as Mount Tai, her schoolwork naturally requiring no worry; second, because they placed grades after many other things, like health, and happiness. Among the few study-related topics, there was one thing her father said that she always remembered: knowledge is only truly learned when you can make others understand it.
By this standard, Song Cong was impressive.
He had a system of thinking, breaking down all knowledge points into cause and effect—because of this, leading to that; he also had a system for solving problems, treating the question stem like an exploding cosmic particle, each sentence radiating related principles and formulas, with the problem-solving approach being simply a process of selection from these. These were what Chen Huaner had summarized from his repeated explanations, after all, “method” was an obscure word, like clouds in the sky—they exist but can take different shapes with different eyes.
Once Huaner asked him if he often taught others to be so clear. Song Cong denied it, “Almost everyone in our class takes outside tutoring, they don’t need anyone else.”
Fast Class 1 had only twenty students, their classroom on the top floor even higher than the principal’s office and academic affairs office, right next to the virtually unused art room. There were rumors that during self-study time they could freely move between the two classrooms, the school giving this elite group maximum freedom.
Of course, when Qi Qi sought verification, she got a negative answer.
“The rumors get more and more bizarre.” Song Cong was full of helpless resignation about this, “Self-study is definitely in the classroom, otherwise wouldn’t we have to keep moving desks back and forth? Sometimes if someone gets sleepy they might go out to study for a while, and maybe they happened to go in when the art room was open.”
Qi Qi was puzzled, “But except for you, I’ve never heard anyone else deny it.”
“Besides me, who else do you know from our class?”
None—even Qi Qi, who was born and raised there, knew no one else.
Song Cong smiled, “That’s normal. Because everyone doesn’t want to waste time on other things, they come early and leave very late, so it’s quite hard to run into them.”
The legendary Fast Class 1, Fast Class 1 wearing the halo of glory, Fast Class 1 as elusive as divine dragons showing their heads but not their tails—it was just a group of more hardworking people gathered there.
But the most ordinary Song Cong was first in his class among these people. Huaner asked him, “Why are you different from them?”
Attending tutoring classes, having private teachers, arriving earlier, and leaving later.
He answered, “I don’t think I need to.”
Everything about Song Cong was crystal clear—his notes, his explanations, his thinking, even his understanding of himself and others.
At that time, Chen Huaner vaguely sensed this point, but in her teenage years, she didn’t know what this clarity meant.
She just followed his footsteps to shatter one incomprehension after another. Improving a few ranks in the monthly exam, then a few more in the final exam, and then a few more in the monthly exam again. Just like the big bubble gum she loved to eat as a child—take a breath and blow, and the bubble would expand another round. She kept building up strength, looking forward to the final explosion of that giant bubble.
Its name was Tianzhong.