Cultural Month was a major feature of Tianzhong School. Over four weeks, activities were organized by grade level. The third-year students invariably shared their experiences—every year during this time, outstanding alumni would return to their alma mater to give lectures. Though attendance was voluntary, those still struggling through their studies usually hoped to gain some luck from these seniors who had already graduated. This year, the second-year students were having a general knowledge competition; rumor had it the scope was as vast as the Indian Ocean, covering various fields, success depending entirely on how many miscellaneous books one had read. As for the first-years, Teacher Xu announced the theme during the class meeting: “Book Drift. Everyone, find a book you enjoy reading and give it to the class monitor tomorrow. You can write a message inside—your recommendation, your feelings, or whatever you want to say to whoever receives this book. Try not to write your name though; let’s respect the mystery of this activity.”
A male student raised his hand, “But the monitor will know what we brought. She’ll pick out her favorites first.”
The classroom erupted with desk tapping and heckling.
The boy added fuel to the fire, explaining, “Favorites… what were you thinking?”
Liao Xinyan retorted from afar, “I’ll throw yours in the trash first.”
The whole class laughed heartily.
“Alright,” Teacher Xu called for order, “Then let’s make it a rule—wrap them all in newspaper. The monitor will keep count when collecting.”
Liao Xinyan nodded.
Teacher Xu continued, “The books will be placed in the periodical reading room on the second floor of the library. You can borrow them but remember to return them before the due date. When the activity ends, everyone can go to the reading room to retrieve their books. Also, to give you enough time to read, Thursday and Friday afternoon self-study sessions won’t be mandatory during Cultural Month.”
That last sentence exploded like fireworks in Class Five with a solid “bang!”
“Not having self-study doesn’t mean you can go wild,” Teacher Xu shouted in addition, but it was like throwing eggs at the stone. In the end, even she started laughing.
The classroom finally quieted down. Just as Teacher Xu was about to speak, a chorus of shouts erupted from Class Four next door—they had just received the good news a step behind.
Young people’s sources of joy were remarkably consistent.
“Alright, self-study time,” Teacher Xu shook her head and left the classroom with her hands behind her back.
Qi Qi leaned close to Huan’er, “Want to get beef noodles later?”
“Great minds think alike,” Huan’er giggled.
“Let’s invite those two,” Qi Qi added.
They would probably tag along even without an invitation.
Huan’er turned her head back slightly, glancing at Jing Xiyi, “My Qi invites you guys to have beef noodles tonight.”
She didn’t know why she specifically pointed out it was Qi Qi’s invitation when addressing Jing Xiyi. She just knew it would make him happy, so it seemed like the right thing to do.
“Just an invitation,” Song Cong laughed, “not treating, right?”
Qi Qi blushed and turned back around.
Huan’er whispered to him, “Eating someone’s certain organ makes it shorter.”
Now it was Song Cong’s turn to blush, and Jing Xiyi was also taken aback. But the next second, these two burst into laughter loud enough to draw the whole class’s attention.
Jing Xiyi patted Song Cong’s shoulder, laughing until tears nearly flew out, “Certain organ, shorter.”
“You’re the short one.”
“Wasn’t talking about me.”
“Hidden arrows are harder to dodge than visible spears.”
A couple of nutcases. Chen Huan’er moved her chair forward to escape them. Making such a fuss over a simple phrase about watching what you say?
That evening at home, facing her nearly empty bookshelf, Chen Huan’er finally started to worry in earnest.
Most of her books were still in Sishui. Here she only had textbooks for various subjects, a few extracurricular readings recommended by teachers, and classics like the Four Great Classical Novels that everyone owned. In short, none were suitable for recommending to others.
In desperation, she went to knock on her mother’s door. Though mentally prepared, facing the entire shelf of gynecology reference books made her wish she could be operated on right there.
When her mother heard the reason, she couldn’t contain her amusement, “Why can’t my Chinese Gynecology be shared? It’s proper science, good for young girls to learn about in advance.”
“No way!” Chen Huan’er rejected it immediately.
“Acupuncture?” Her mother pulled out a book, beaming like a TV shopping host.
“No!”
“This one works,” her mother scanned the shelf, “Compendium of Materia Medica, a classic masterpiece.”
“Share this to teach people how to poison others?” The more her mother laughed, the more stubborn Chen Huan’er became. How could a top medical school graduate not have a single proper book?
Her mother refused to give up, pointing at books one by one, but indeed none were quite suitable. Suddenly inspired, she turned to the bedside table, opened the drawer, and confidently took out a book, “This will work, I suggest you read it too.”
The book was called “Neuropsychology.”
“It’s not a reference book, it has knowledge and case studies, quite interesting.” Her mother forcefully tucked it into her arms, “I just bought it, there’s also ‘Abnormal Psychology’ in the same series.”
“Mom!”
Her mother chuckled, “Come on, trust your mom’s taste.”
With no other options, Huan’er took the book back to her room. Out of responsibility to future readers, she decided to check what it was about. Once she started, she couldn’t stop, reading until her eyes were too strained to open at four in the morning.
Brain, cognition, motivation—this time she wasn’t deceived; she felt like she was embracing another universe.
In the morning, meeting Song Cong and Jing Xiyi at the staff residence gate, she eagerly shared her insights, “My book is earth-shattering! Do you know how to hypnotize people? You just focus on a point in the room, then pay attention to your breathing, then you need to relax all your muscle groups, relax…”
Jing Xiyi knocked her head, “What’s the point of hypnotizing us now? Save your energy for Old Xu if anything.”
Song Cong asked with interest, “What book is it?”
“You should know what’s in her room,” Jing Xiyi sneered, “Hypnosis? Your secret Buddhist scriptures?”
“Get lost.” The girl kicked his bicycle wheel hard.
“Stop it.” Jing Xiyi nodded knowingly to Song Cong, “I bet it’s stolen from Aunt Lina.”
Huan’er held back her words at the last moment, “Oh well, can’t tell.” She turned to ask them, “What did you guys bring?”
“Weren’t you just saying you couldn’t tell?” Jing Xiyi seized the opportunity to argue, “Let fate decide, devotee.”
Song Cong smiled and answered honestly, “I brought ‘The Catcher in the Rye.'”
“Oh!” Huan’er exclaimed delightedly, “I want to read that!”
“Then you can take it first.” Song Cong said, turning his shoulder bag to his chest about to unzip it. The morning traffic was heavy, and Huan’er stopped him, “No, then what will you submit?”
“I’ll just submit something else.”
“Better not. Watch the car!” Huan’er slowed down, reached out to turn his backpack behind him, and carefully zipped it up, “Maybe others want to read it too. You can lend it to me after the drift is over, it’s not like you’re in a hurry for me to return it, right?”
“Sure.” Song Cong grinned, “Anytime.”
Chen Huan’er spent that morning’s self-study period copying homework—the book was good, but there were truly many questions. Qi Qi laughed, “Take it easy, it’ll be trouble if they’re all correct.”
Huan’er paused her pen, quickly changing some multiple choice answers randomly—she had forgotten she was copying from the top student in their grade.
Being a good student is also a burden, she silently sighed.
Just as she was copying at full speed, Liao Xinyan stood on the podium and called out, “Everyone please turn in your books, come register with me after submitting.”
The classroom began to stir. Qi Qi turned back to ask Jing Xiyi, “Do you have a newspaper?”
Jing Xiyi took out a Sports Weekly from his backpack, flipped through it, secretly pulled out a page with a large photo of Torres, and passed it over.
Song Cong reached out, “Give me one.”
The supplier lazily tossed the whole newspaper beside him, and Song Cong casually took a sheet to wrap his book.
After frantically finishing copying the homework, Huan’er carefully brought the book to her desk, afraid of others seeing it, she quickly opened the cover and pressed it down, picking up her pen to leave a message for the unknown reader.
The monitor was rushing them, and she couldn’t think of any elegant sentences in such a short time, so she wrote:
This book helped me understand myself better, I hope you’ll find joy in it just like I did.