On their way home after evening self-study, Jing Qichi’s bicycle chain suddenly broke. Two boys took turns trying to fix it, getting their hands covered in oil but failing to repair it. After half an hour of struggling, Qi Qi’s mother called to hurry them home. Everyone agreed to leave the bike at school and deal with it tomorrow.
Jing Qichi took Huan’er with him, listening to Qi Qi talk about what was happening in the liberal arts class. A certain history teacher was quite active on the school’s internal network, often stealing students’ crops in online games late at night. When discovered, he stubbornly denied it, claiming he didn’t even use Renren.
Qi Qi laughed cheerfully, “If he doesn’t use it, how did he know the website changed its name? We just felt too embarrassed to expose him.”
She mentioned that a super academic genius had transferred to their class from another city, and Director Fu had already arranged for this person to give a speech at next Monday’s flag-raising ceremony; she said their building was now close to the cafeteria, so they could take their time walking over and still get freshly prepared food – just let her know what they wanted and she’d get it ready in advance; she also said that with fewer people, the place seemed much bigger, and last time when arranging seats, the window and wall spots were all changed to single-person desks, leaving the back of the classroom so spacious they could even play basketball.
This made Song Cong, who had never been there, envious. “How many people are in your class?”
“Thirty-four.”
“Thirty-five.”
Huan’er and Jing Qichi answered simultaneously with different numbers.
Jing Qichi glanced back at his passenger, “Didn’t they say someone new transferred in? Elementary school math.”
Huan’er hit his back, “You’re only good at two-digit addition and subtraction.”
“Enough, you two.” Qi Qi smiled and looked at Song Cong, “Next time come find me, the experimental building is my territory.”
Song Cong smiled back, “Sure.”
This casual response made the girl beam with joy. At the intersection, Qi Qi waved to her friends, “See you tomorrow.”
After his girlfriend left, Huan’er suddenly felt melancholic. New class, new friends, new environment – she probably wouldn’t have the chance to see the true face of this history teacher her friend had mentioned.
One block before the staff housing complex was a demolition site. Although it was planned to be developed into a new high-rise residential area with a large shopping center, it had remained a mess since Huan’er moved here, without a single day of construction. Even the street lights along the entire street seemed dejected – either not working at all or so dim they looked ready to give up. Just as they were talking and passing the construction site entrance, three men suddenly emerged from behind an advertising hoarding. Jing Qichi didn’t notice and had to brake suddenly, causing Huan’er in the back seat to bump her head against his back.
Song Cong wasn’t doing much better – he had been riding fast because he was anxious to get home, and the sudden stop almost threw him off his bike.
When Huan’er’s feet touched the ground and she saw what was in the men’s hands, her heart jumped to her throat.
It was a fruit knife about ten centimeters long. The sharp blade was pointing directly at Jing Qichi, who stood in front of her.
One of them spoke, “Hand over anything valuable.”
To their right was the advertising board, while one of the other two men stood in front of Song Cong’s bike holding a bottle, and the third, red-faced and empty-handed, blocked their rear.
Surrounded, there was no way to escape.
In other words, on this urban night in the 21st century, they were being robbed.
The situation wasn’t funny at all, because Huan’er suddenly realized that Jing Qichi had just gotten a new phone this semester, and Song Cong had nearly two thousand yuan of class fees he’d collected for buying study guides.
Cold sweat broke out all over her body.
Her first reaction was to look at her companions. Jing Qichi was almost pressed against her side, expressionless; a step away, Song Cong’s face had changed color, one hand tightly gripping the backpack on his back – all the money was inside.
“What are you looking at!” The man opposite waved the knife menacingly.
Chen Huan’er was startled and instinctively leaned back, her mind going blank.
“Money!” the man holding the bottle growled, “Hand over the money!”
The smell of alcohol hit her nostrils, and this strange, strong odor instantly cleared Huan’er’s mind. No one was around, there was no hope of calling for help, so either they meekly submitted, or…
The knife-wielder wasn’t tall and had an average build; the unarmed man blocking their rear was about the same height as Song Cong and Jing Qichi, but not muscular; as for the one with the bottle, his eyes were bloodshot and he could barely stand steady. Clearly, all three had been drinking, and this incident wasn’t carefully planned – the three of them just had terrible luck, running into this situation.
They could choose the second option.
Chen Huan’er decided to take a gamble.
“My wallet’s in my backpack,” she said while removing her backpack from her shoulders and deliberately stepping back to knock over the bicycle. With a loud clang, Jing Qichi, who had been straddling the bicycle, instinctively stepped forward. Almost simultaneously, Huan’er took advantage of the chaos to shout “one-on-one,” and fearing her companions hadn’t heard clearly, she said it again louder, “ONE-ON-ONE!”
The backpack suddenly smashed into the knife-wielder’s face, her right foot immediately striking his groin, her fists alternating to target his nose bridge. Before he could react, she grabbed his arm with all her might, executed a backthrow, and finally stomped hard on his groin.
“Ah, ah!” The man screamed in agony.
Huan’er turned to the two people struggling nearby and shouted “Get away!” When Jing Qichi couldn’t shake off his opponent, she desperately kicked him from the side, sending both of them to the ground. The bottle rolled away, and with the drunk man’s consciousness unclear and movements slow, Jing Qichi took advantage to step on him and quickly get up, rushing to help Song Cong. Two against one, and seeing the situation turn unfavorable, the tall skinny man facing Song Cong turned and ran. Both boys turned back almost simultaneously shouting, “Watch out!”
Huan’er still got cut by the knife – she was restraining the drunk man from behind when another attacked from the side. The basic principle of dodging is to avoid the serious and take a minor hit.
This dodge also made the knife-wielder miss completely, stumbling over the bicycle handlebar and dropping the knife. Song Cong and Jing Qichi were quick to rush over and pin him down from both sides. Huan’er locked the drunk man in an arm hold and used her foot to deliver a powerful kick to the knife-wielder’s chest. As he fell, she shouted, “Run!”
As Jing Qichi and Song Cong started running with their bikes, she turned behind the drunk man and kneed him down, and when he screamed and fell to his knees, she let go and started running, catching up in two steps to jump onto the back seat. Jing Qichi pedaled with all his might while Song Cong stayed behind them, looking back and shouting, “Quick, quick!”
Quick, quick, using every ounce of strength in their lives, toward the bright places ahead, quick, quick.
Faster than the roaring wind, than burning fire, than shooting stars – the youngsters were engaged in a race trying to surpass all speeds in the world.
They won.
The familiar supermarket sign appeared in their view, and the two boys gradually slowed down until their feet touched the ground to stop.
Huan’er jumped off the bike, and simultaneously both bicycles fell to the ground. Like drowning people finding driftwood, the three sat down by the roadside without a word, breathing heavily.
Before them were bright street lights, occasional cars flashing past on the main road, and two supermarket employees in red vests chatting at the checkout counter.
This was how a night should be – peaceful, quiet, mundane. The heart-pounding events that had just passed seemed like a dream.
Song Cong recovered first and immediately pulled Huan’er’s arm, “Are you hurt?”
Everything had happened so quickly and tensely that no one had noticed exactly where the knife had cut.
“Ah,” Huan’er couldn’t help crying out, finally feeling the tearing pain.
The right sleeve of her school uniform was cut open, with visible traces of blood.
“This is bad.” Seeing this, Jing Qichi went to unzip her school uniform, took it off, and carefully rolled up her sweatshirt sleeve. There was a cut about four centimeters long on her upper arm – not deep, but still bleeding.
“Lucky I wore something thick.” Huan’er felt fortunate to have survived. It had been cool when she left home in the morning, so she had specifically chosen a fleece-lined sweatshirt, which had coincidentally helped a lot.
“Let’s get home quick.” Song Cong helped her up, frowning deeply.
“Not yet.” Huan’er nodded toward the still-lit pharmacy nearby, grimacing, “Let’s buy some medicine and treat it first. If my mom sees this, we’re dead.”
“No way.” Song Cong insisted, “This is a knife wound. If it’s not treated properly, it’ll not only leave a scar but could also get infected and suppurate.”
“It’s not that serious,” Huan’er pointed at the wound for him to see. “It’s just a scratch and not near any joints. Besides, this depth is less than half a centimeter – won’t even need stitches.”
Song Cong frowned, “But still…”
“Let’s do this first.” Seeing the wound still bleeding and remembering how Chen’s mother had gotten angry over just a bruise last time, Jing Qichi made a decision, “Come on, quick.”
Huan’er was settled on a bench outside the pharmacy, and Jing Qichi went in and quickly came out with a pack of medical gauze. He tore open the package and quickly pressed it against the wound to stop the bleeding, his eyes lacking their usual mischief, “Does it hurt?”
“A bit, but it’s okay,” Huan’er answered honestly.
“Then tonight…”
Halfway through his sentence, Song Cong came out after paying, saw Jing Qichi pressing the wound, first sighed, then said, “I still think you need a tetanus shot. We can’t risk complications just to keep it from Aunt Li Na. Why don’t I have my mom take you…”
“Is there a difference between your mom knowing and my mom knowing?” Huan’er forced a bitter smile. “If they see it’s a knife wound, all three of us, every single one, won’t see tomorrow’s sun. Don’t worry, I know how serious this is.”
Seeing both still silent, she nudged Jing Qichi, “What were you saying about tonight?”
He had wanted to suggest she sleep at his place to avoid being scolded by her mom, but thinking again, he felt that would be making too big a deal of it, so he changed the subject instead. “Chen Huan’er, when did you learn all these fighting skills? You’re amazing – you can fight!”
“Completely, completely unexpected!” When the topic came up, Song Cong’s worried expression changed to one of joy and amazement. “Huan’er, I had no idea – your skills are professional level!”
Punching, kicking, choking – not only were her movements clean, precise, and fierce, but the techniques she displayed far exceeded mere strength. Someone without long-term training could never achieve such proficiency.
Without this incident, even though they were close, Chen Huan’er had never mentioned or demonstrated this, making this night too shocking for Song Cong and Jing Qichi.
Huan’er felt embarrassed by the praise and said lightly, “I guess I learned some. When I was little, I was healthy, and my parents thought it would be a waste not to learn kung fu.”
Jing Qichi suddenly looked up at her but didn’t speak.
She was lying.
He didn’t know why Chen Huan’er was lying, but he knew now wasn’t the time to dig deeper.
“Is it about done?” Song Cong lifted Jing Qichi’s pressing hand, turned on his phone light, and carefully examined it up close. The bleeding was minimal, and while the wound was long, it truly wasn’t deep. Finally letting out a quiet sigh of relief, he took out the iodine he’d bought, “Brace yourself.”
When the cotton swab soaked in brown liquid touched the wound, Huan’er hissed.
“It’s done, it’s done.” Song Cong comforted her, then wrapped the wound with gauze, completing the simple medical treatment.
Huan’er raised her arm slightly and waved it a couple of times – it was just a superficial wound, the bone completely fine.
She was thoroughly relieved and suddenly started laughing.
Jing Qichi was confused by this unusual behavior, “What?”
“I just realized,” Huan’er pointed at the iodine in Song Cong’s hand, “this is the first time in my life I’ve ever bought this stuff.”
“Me too.”
“Me too.”
All three burst out laughing, laughing until tears appeared in their eyes, laughing uncontrollably.
It was worth having a good laugh.
Being unlucky was worth it, bravely fighting off thugs was worth it, escaping death was worth it, and buying iodine for the first time when it was always well-stocked at home was even more worth it.
This was an autumn night filled with countless worthwhile moments.
After the laughter subsided, Song Cong continued their previous topic, “What style did you learn?”
Huan’er was confused, “Hm?”
He clenched his fist and threw a punch at Jing Qichi’s face in half-speed, while the other played along with the mini-drama, slowly turning his face away as if being beaten up.
Huan’er laughed again, “Just Sanda, nothing much – throwing some punches and kicks, that sort of thing, not very useful.”
“Not useful? You saved both our lives today.” Song Cong made a “cut” gesture to Jing Qichi who was still in acting mode, “Right?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Jing Qichi returned to normal and started joking again, “Now I know why you said back then that you were afraid of hurting people.”
Song Cong was confused, looking at him and then at Huan’er, “Hurting people?”
Jing Qichi waved his hand, “Just something you don’t need to know about.”