The next morning, Ban Xia lingered in bed longer, listening to the pattering rain outside, clutching her sheets and curled up like a shrimp, her face pale and forehead sweaty.
Because she had menstrual cramps.
“It hurts…”
Ban Xia’s period came during the last week of each month. She didn’t usually get cramps, but today the pain kept her bedridden. Perhaps it was because she’d been drenched in the downpour yesterday while visiting Nan Tu, then fell into the manhole, soaking in cold, murky water all day. Her teacher had warned her not to get cold or wet during her period, and now it proved true.
Waves of cramping pain radiated from her lower abdomen as if a sharp awl was twisting inside. Ban Xia lay helplessly in bed, her body drenched in sweat. This girl had lived alone for many years, carrying guns and bows, braving wind and rain, entering wolves’ dens and tigers’ lairs as if they were empty spaces, but now she was fragile as glass, with only enough strength left to curl her toes.
Ban Xia felt like she was dying. Her body had no warmth, no strength, just a vessel filled with ice water – cold, heavy, limp, beyond her brain’s control.
Why was I born a girl?
Why must girls have periods?
It hurts… it’s killing me, someone please cut off my lower body, I don’t want it anymore, I don’t want it.
Ban Xia wrestled with the decision of whether to take painkillers.
In this era, any medication was an extremely precious, non-renewable resource. Antibiotics, amoxicillin, ribavirin, and other broad-spectrum antibacterial and antiviral drugs, as well as ibuprofen and aspirin painkillers, were more valuable than gold.
Regardless of whether they were expired or meant for human use—her teacher had the foresight to stockpile large amounts of pet and poultry anti-inflammatory drugs and antibiotics. While everyone else was ransacking empty pharmacies, her teacher had gone into pet stores, coming back with bags of penicillin, tetracycline, and cat food. Back then, her teacher had to carry an automatic rifle to protect her supplies, but fortunately, she was so formidable that no one dared target her.
Pet medications weren’t very different from human ones in composition, and in an era of extreme drug scarcity, they still worked faster than traditionally brewed herbal medicines.
The girl slowly got up, deciding to take medicine.
No matter how precious the drugs were, they weren’t more important than her body.
Ban Xia dragged her feet, inching into the living room, fishing out a box of acetaminophen tablets from the TV cabinet drawer.
These medicines had expired over ten years ago, but they still had some effect.
She pressed out two acetaminophen tablets, placed them on the wooden coffee table, and then turned to pour hot water from the kettle.
Only a little hot water remained, barely half a cup, releasing wisps of steam.
Ban Xia cupped the gradually warming glass in both hands, pressing it against her face. It seemed to help somewhat, though perhaps it was just psychological.
After swallowing the painkillers with water, Ban Xia closed her eyes, and curled up on the worn sofa, waiting for the medicine to take effect.
Hope they still work.
Ban Xia was scared. She didn’t fear the man-eating world outside, didn’t fear beasts weighing hundreds of kilograms. As long as she stayed in her shelter, protected by solid buildings and high-voltage electric fences, she wouldn’t be harmed by the outside world. But illness could easily destroy her – nothing was more desperate than dying alone in a room from sickness.
At that point, she wouldn’t even have the strength to pull a trigger and end it herself.
She vowed never to go out in heavy rain again, hoping her body would recover quickly.
Please… please get better soon.
Ban Xia prayed silently.
Perhaps as the medicine gradually took effect, the pain diminished and her body temperature rose. The girl felt feverish and dizzy, falling asleep on the sofa.
After the first morning class, Bai Yang rushed to catch up on sleep, yawning and burying his head in his arms.
He wasn’t the only one making up for lost sleep. The whole class was silent, everyone napping as far as the eye could see, except for the class representative collecting homework. The break between the first and second periods was the so-called early sleep time, used to supplement sleep.
The break between the second and third periods was early-noon sleep time, used to supplement sleep not gotten during early sleep time.
Naturally, the break between the third and fourth periods was pre-noon sleep time, laying the groundwork for the noon nap.
After the fourth period came the legitimate noon nap.
Class teacher Liu asked the class: “Your study load isn’t even heavy, why are you all so tired?”
One student raised his hand to answer—this student was He Leqin, who recited a poem on the spot: “Teacher, as the ancient saying goes: Spring’s not for studying’s sake, summer’s heat for napping makes, autumn passes, winter nears, happily we greet New Year’s.”
What could teachers do with a student like Young Master He, whose average scores in Chinese, Math, and English barely reached sixty?
They couldn’t scold him or punish him—they might face complaints from parents.
They couldn’t pull him up—while others studied by drinking ink, He Leqin studied by eating anchor weights, mastering the supreme art of being dead weight so well that six master teachers couldn’t lift him.
They could only let him happily greet the New Year.
The city education bureau repeatedly emphasized quality education and happy learning, though under this guidance all the city’s high schools were thoroughly defeated by county schools from northern Jiangsu. Nanjing University Affiliated High School students couldn’t get into Nanjing University, Nanjing Aeronautics University Affiliated High School students couldn’t get into Nanjing Aeronautics University. Young Master He was a typical product of this thinking – he had quality, daring to help fallen elderly single-handedly—though mainly because he was rich—and he was happy, greeting each New Year with joy—of course, mainly because he was rich.
Bai Yang said, “If you didn’t have eight houses…”
He Leqin corrected him, saying only six.
Comrade He Leqin, who owned six houses, didn’t need to get into Nanjing University or Nanjing Aeronautics University, but Bai Yang was different. His mother had high hopes for him, aiming for Nanjing University, or at worst, Nanjing University of Science and Technology.
Privately, Bai Yang complained that if he could get into Nanjing University, he wouldn’t be at Nanjing Aeronautics University Affiliated High School—those who could get into Nanjing University were all at Jinling High School or Nanjing Normal University Affiliated High School.
A “Practice Makes Perfect” textbook smacked the back of his head, waking Bai Yang up. He looked up to see He Leqin’s big face peering down at him.
Before he could speak, Bai Yang knew what he would say.
After hanging out together for so many years, he could tell what this fool was thinking just by looking at him.
“What’s for lunch?”
They said in unison.
After morning reading, He Leqin would start thinking about lunch, a question he could ponder all morning.
“Let’s get beef soup, I saw a new place on Meituan,” He Leqin said. “My treat.”
“Is it far?”
“We can take a taxi there and back,” He Leqin said. “It’s just near Xinbai, not too far.”
“What about Yan-ge? Is she coming?”
“Yan-ge’s not coming, she said she’s not feeling well, stomach pain.”
“Not feeling well? Should we bring her some medicine when we come back?”
And just like that, Bai Yang settled on lunch plans. For the next three boring classes, he at least had something happy to look forward to and aim for—now he could understand why He Leqin started thinking about lunch right after morning reading, because in an unbearable environment, thinking about happy things always made time pass especially quickly.