Fang Zhuo sat resting for a while; her ragged breathing soon evened out.
Next up was the staff sports meet and closing ceremony, so she couldn’t go back to the classroom yet. With nothing to do, she took the opportunity to wipe down all the tables and chairs in the resting area with a cloth.
By the time she’d finished washing out the rag and come back, the sky, gloomy for so long, had finally started raining. Fine white threads of it drew a slanted, hazy curtain of mist.
At this point, the field was in the middle of the last segment of the student events—the class relay race.
Fang Zhuo stood waiting under the shade for a moment, finding no sign of the rain letting up. A classmate nearby quietly checked the weather forecast on their phone, saying the rain might continue right through to evening.
The school administration didn’t call for a pause; instead, the broadcast announced for the check-in process for the relay to speed up. They wanted to push through the last bit of light rain while the track wasn’t yet fully soaked, to bring the sports meet to a complete finish.
Young people, perhaps not yet familiar with what cold even meant, felt nothing but a surge of excitement for this final showdown, entirely unbothered. They warmed up in thin gym shirts amid the drizzle.
The homeroom teacher had someone find a few umbrellas to shield the competing athletes for the time being, directing everyone else to move the tables and chairs back to the classroom first, leaving the remaining time for self-study, with further instructions to follow via the broadcast.
Once the relay ended, the judges hurried off to tally the scores, and the sports meet’s closing ceremony was understandably called off.
The students didn’t seem to mind, though, chatting on the way back about how this year’s rain had really shown them respect, holding off for three days before coming down right on cue.
Shen Musi turned back, asking excitedly, “Teacher, aren’t you happy you don’t have to run with the leadership now?”
The homeroom teacher, walking behind the group, forced a smile upon hearing this, not even sure herself whether she felt happy or upset.
Because she’d signed up for the 800 meters, and running it would have earned her two hundred yuan in prize money. She’d been nervous about it for half the day, deeply unwilling to do it. But now that she didn’t have to run, she’d also have to spend the rest of the day mourning the two hundred yuan she’d lost out on for no reason. It really was too much of a loss either way.
This was a textbook case of humans selling their souls for money.
A bout of autumn rain had instantly cooled the weather down.
Worried the students might catch a cold from this chilly wind after having worked up a sweat earlier, the homeroom teacher told them all to put on an extra layer or two. She also handed out a worksheet along the way to help them warm up mentally too.
Fang Zhuo put her uniform jacket back on, then noticed a smear of mud had gotten on the cuff at some point. Her cleanliness instincts immediately kicked in, and she grabbed some soap to go wash it off by the sink.
There was a long, narrow water trough outside the restroom, with hardly anyone around at the moment. Fang Zhuo held her hand under the tap, letting the cool liquid carry away the warmth on her skin, feeling a wave of relief.
Glancing up, she saw, reflected in the mirror, Bai Lufei’s figure approaching hesitantly.
Fang Zhuo gave him only the briefest glance before lowering her eyelids again, as if she hadn’t seen him at all. The boy, however, stopped behind her, standing about half a meter away.
“Fang Zhuo.” He called her name, and seeing no response, continued, “Why won’t you talk to me?”
Fang Zhuo couldn’t help but admire his persistence, while also feeling somewhat bewildered. The greatest difference between people, it seemed, amounted to no more than this. They were both human, both speaking the same language, and yet there was apparently some severe communication barrier between them.
“Did you misunderstand something? I went back and reflected on it, and what I wanted to say was—I was being serious, I wasn’t joking…” He seemed to stumble over his own tongue, forcing the words out with great difficulty. “I really do like you!”
Bai Lufei’s attitude was much more sincere than last time, his manner no longer so obnoxious. Fang Zhuo, looking at his somewhat awkward face through the mirror, reached up and turned off the tap.
She asked, puzzled, “I don’t want to date anyone, and I don’t like you. Which part of those two sentences is hard to understand?”
“Why, though?” Bai Lufei asked, unable to comprehend. “Am I not good to you? I can buy you things, take you out to eat. Even when you yelled at me last time, I didn’t get angry with you either. You haven’t done anything wrong, so why can’t you show me a bit of respect?”
Fang Zhuo found his idea of “liking” rather laughable. It wasn’t that being young meant you couldn’t understand anything—he clearly didn’t know or understand Fang Zhuo at all, only knew she had a passable face, was financially strapped, and had no friends around her, and on that basis claimed to like her, clinging to her relentlessly. He didn’t care at all about what Fang Zhuo herself thought, yet still hoped she’d show him some respect.
Fang Zhuo had no desire to respect him, because he hadn’t respected her either.
His words were too naive—naive to the point that Fang Zhuo found them offensive.
She turned around, looking directly at Bai Lufei, considering things for a moment before speaking. “I’ll say this seriously one more time—I’m busy, I have a lot of things to do, and I have no interest in being part of your life.”
Fang Zhuo stated this calmly, with no sarcasm, no anger. “My life isn’t so short that I need to spend my senior year dating someone. Nor do I have the spare energy to keep answering the same question from you over and over again. Don’t come find me again after this.”
Whatever it was that had set him off, Bai Lufei’s lips twitched, a knot of anger building in his chest, asking unsteadily, “You like Yan Lie, don’t you?”
This was already the third person to say something like this to her; Fang Zhuo, finding it rather irritating, didn’t answer right away. But that moment’s hesitation, in Bai Lufei’s eyes, transformed into a guilty admission.
The corner of his mouth slanted downward, his smile turning cold, as he said cruelly, “And you think Yan Lie would ever like you? His shoes alone are probably worth more than your living expenses for a whole year! If he’s nice to you, it might just be some casual, throwaway concern. And you think that means he’d like you? Not a chance. So many people at school like him, and he just brushes them all off. What do you even have? You can’t even pour your own soup at meals—someone has to give it to you out of charity!”
Fang Zhuo blanked for a moment, a ringing sound in her ears, her face suddenly turning ghostly pale. But her expression had always been calm; even now, she managed to mask it well, neither distress nor anger showing through.
To be fair, ever since she’d started avoiding socializing and keeping to herself, it had been a long time since she’d felt anything like this.
It wasn’t that she was insecure, but she hated it when others mocked her family, her poverty, her ignorance.
For people like her—not favored by their parents, not blessed by fate, even when it came to luck, always one step worse off than everyone else—the one thing left that couldn’t be taken from them was their dignity.
Perhaps in Bai Lufei’s eyes, the efforts of people like them weren’t even worth mentioning. In the sincere world he lived in, the synonym for “help” was apparently “charity.”
Fang Zhuo really was upset now.
The first thing that came to her mind was Yan Lie.
Even at the same age, the same school, under the same teachers—with sometimes only a wall’s distance between them—some people had already grown mature and steady, while others remained willful and self-centered.
She raised her head, about to speak, only to find her throat had tightened painfully.
She could, right now, curl her lips and lift her chin, sneer and toss back some mockery of her own. But watching Bai Lufei avert his gaze into the silence, his face showing a hint of regret, she felt that any humiliating words on him would be wasted.
Bai Lufei was a lucky child raised in a honey jar, unable to see the storms outside that warm shelter, nor the people struggling within them. So he had no idea what it felt like to strike at someone’s pain, even as he managed to stab in precisely, with a single cutting blow.
But as society developed, this kind of person only seemed to grow more common.
They’d never seen poverty; everyone around them was well-off. So-called hardship to them was nothing more than not being able to get a beloved toy, or not receiving some hoped-for award. So they would ask Fang Zhuo, why do you always need other people’s help? Why can’t you manage on your own?
Bai Lufei wasn’t the first, and probably wouldn’t be the last either.
Fang Zhuo had no way to answer. She didn’t want to tell these people about her own hardships, didn’t want to explain her circumstances to them. All she wanted was to climb up as quickly as she could, to keep walking forward, to reach a point where they could no longer look down on her, where she could meet their eyes on equal footing before speaking with them.
Perhaps it was also a good thing—Fang Zhuo hoped that, in the future, no one else would have to face the same problem she had.
She turned around, turning the tap back on, rinsing the suds from her clothes.
Bai Lufei, at a loss, said quietly behind her, “Sorry.”
Fang Zhuo, bending slightly at the waist, scrubbed at her sleeve, watching the brownish-black mud stain gradually fade, until it returned to a clean white.
She focused entirely on her own task, as if there were no one behind her at all.
Yet to Bai Lufei, every second felt impossibly drawn out; the splashing sound of the water seemed to transform into a saw grinding away at his nerves, and Fang Zhuo’s silence only deepened his sense of regret. He grew a bit panicked, and said again, “I’m sorry!”
Fang Zhuo wrung out the water, shook the garment flat in the air, folded it slightly, and draped it over her arm. Her gaze was cool and detached; without sparing a glance in his direction, she simply walked past him.
By the time her figure had disappeared, Bai Lufei still stood there in a daze.
The door to the men’s restroom swung open, and from the previously silent stalls came the sound of several heavy footsteps.
Yan Lie, Zhao Jiayou, and the others, it turned out, had just then come out of the restroom carrying their wet clothes—who knew how long they’d been holding back in there.
Yan Lie glanced toward the direction Fang Zhuo had left in, then shot a cold, severe look toward Bai Lufei, his expression turning unfamiliarly grim.
“Asshole.” He kept his tone restrained, still managing to sound somewhat even. “Don’t go saying I bullied you—go get your whole class together. Wasn’t there always supposed to be a competition? If you lose, I’ll back off; if you win, you back off. Don’t go pulling this disgusting shit behind people’s backs.”
Fang Zhuo hung her wet clothes by her seat, took out the newly distributed exam paper, and started working through the problems. After finishing the multiple-choice and fill-in-the-blank sections, she glanced over to find Yan Lie still hadn’t come back.
The sports meet’s closing ceremony was eventually carried out through the broadcast, the static-laced sound far too noisy, forcing its way into everyone’s ears, leaving the whole class unable to settle down. Only Fang Zhuo seemed to have her mind completely blank, fully absorbed in her work.
Once the leadership’s speeches had finally finished, the homeroom teacher excitedly took over the topic, announcing from the podium, “I’ve got some good news for everyone—the sports meet’s total scores are in. This time, our class came in third!”
“Wow!” Everyone cheered and applauded.
Fang Zhuo also put down her pen.
The homeroom teacher, utterly gratified, looked at this bunch of little troublemakers below her and felt a wave of benevolent affection rising in her. This was the best ranking she’d achieved since taking over Class 1—an achievement worth commemorating! Even though her 800-meter subsidy was gone, the sports meet’s prize money had come through!
“Everyone’s performance this year has really been great! Our broadcast scripts had the highest approval rate, which earned us a lot of points!” The old teacher didn’t hold back her praise, then began calling out names for special recognition. “And we also have to thank Fang Zhuo for this. The 1500-meter race is worth double the points, and Fang Zhuo is the only person in our class who’s won gold in this event!”
Under the gazes coming at her from all directions, Fang Zhuo lowered her head, waiting for the topic to move on. She always carried herself with that unflappable, transcendent air, so even amid the excitement, no one noticed anything off.
“And our relay race too! Our class’s men’s relay team took first place as well! This year…” As the old teacher spoke, she finally noticed something amiss, glancing around in several directions and asking, “Where are those who ran the relay? Why aren’t they back yet?” No one answered.
“Class monitor? Where are they?”
The class monitor played dumb. “No idea.”
The old teacher, exasperated into laughter, said, “And you didn’t think to mention that when you were calling names just now?!”
She felt that with this kind of mood swing, she’d never make it through menopause in this lifetime.
“Musi, give Yan Lie a call, ask him where he is.”
Shen Musi, suspecting this might be a trap to catch him out, also played dumb. “I don’t have a phone.”
The old teacher said angrily, “Tch, that’s enough! Stop wasting time, hurry up!”
Shen Musi, looking rather wronged, pulled out his phone and dug up Yan Lie’s number, feeling that Yan Lie owed him one this time.
Before the call even connected, the people in question had already come back.
Yan Lie and the others walked in through the back door of the classroom, looking utterly bedraggled, their clothes and hair completely soaked through, still dripping water, yet their swagger as they walked was outrageously cocky, like local warlords just back from conquering new territory.
Yan Lie, having the self-awareness to stand against the wall, still raised his voice with an unjustifiably righteous tone, calling out, “Reporting in!”
The old teacher asked coldly, “What were you off doing?”
“Played some basketball,” Yan Lie said, gesturing back behind him with a troubled look. “The guys from the next class insisted on dragging us into it, there was nothing we could do. For the honor of the class, we had to go.”
Zhao Jiayou, the tip of his nose flushed red, wincing every time his nostrils twitched in pain, tried to play it off as just being from the cold, taking a breath—only for a stream of nosebleed to drip straight down. He hadn’t even noticed it himself, raising his hand proudly to declare, “Reporting, teacher! We won!”
The homeroom teacher, pointing at him in exasperated fury, said, “You shut your mouth! Go straight to the medical office!”
Zhao Jiayou looked baffled. “Huh?”
Yan Lie praised him, “You look kind of cool right now.”
Zhao Jiayou turned bashful. “Really?”
He raised a hand to wipe his face, and only then noticed the blood on it. In his startled, shaky confusion, Fang Zhuo had already handed him a napkin.
“Ah, thanks,” Zhao Jiayou said, pulling a couple sheets to wipe the water off his face as well, explaining, “This is just normal contact from playing ball, no big deal. Not like that other group, who like taking the ball to the face.”
Fang Zhuo looked up at him, her unwavering gaze giving Zhao Jiayou an inflated sense of confidence, leading him to some unwarranted assumptions. Just as he was about to say a bit more to cement this image of himself, the homeroom teacher had already crossed the classroom to his side, grabbing his ear directly and dragging him toward the door.
“Ow, wait!” Zhao Jiayou bent over awkwardly in pain, crying out, “Teacher! My dear Sister Liu! I was wrong, I was wrong! I’m going right now!”
Zhao Jiayou was booted off toward the medical office, while the rest raised their hands high to insist they were absolutely uninjured. The homeroom teacher simply announced the end of class, telling them to hurry off to shower and change.
The old teacher didn’t pursue the matter of who’d been playing basketball or fighting then and there, being tolerant toward the conflicts typical of young people’s tempers, and trusting in the good character of Yan Lie and the others. Still, she shot Yan Lie a warning glare, and once the crowd dispersed, went to find the students from Class 2 to ask what had happened.
Class 2’s homeroom teacher was nearly losing her mind as well. As Fang Zhuo passed by the hallway carrying her wet clothes, she caught a glimpse of the people in the classroom next door out of the corner of her eye, and only then realized just what kind of spectacle “taking the ball to the face” had turned into.
Bai Lufei’s face was bruised and swollen, his head lowered, his expression utterly dejected. The others’ conditions were considerably better, though their spirits, too, looked rather wilted.
Sensing the gaze from outside, he glanced toward the window, but Fang Zhuo had already walked off.
This was the last evening study session before the National Day holiday.
Yan Lie and the others, having tidied themselves up a bit, looked presentable once more, getting rowdy the moment they returned to the classroom. Only, having gotten soaked in the rain, they really weren’t quite as energetic as before.
By the time Fang Zhuo arrived, Yan Lie was sprawled over his desk, his gaze empty, listlessly zoning out.
Fang Zhuo sat down, and he showed no particular reaction, which made Fang Zhuo start to wonder whether their sudden confrontation with Bai Lufei today had been because of her.
Reading too much into things like that was rather embarrassing—and wasn’t there that saying about the three great illusions of life*? Fang Zhuo didn’t dwell on it for long before erasing the thought from her mind.
*[Translator’s note: a common internet joke about three common self-deluding beliefs people hold about themselves, often relating to one’s phone vibrating, being liked by someone, or having talent.]
The class monitor wandered over, stopping behind Yan Lie, talking to someone else. Partway through the conversation, he suddenly paused, his nostrils flaring, asking warily, “What’s that smell?”
He sniffed around toward Yan Lie’s side, then leaned in further, unable to find the source, and shoved at Shen Musi’s back accusingly, demanding, “Cake—is it you? What’s that smell?”
Shen Musi protested, “Why are you blaming me! I’m not the only one here!”
Fang Zhuo, for a brief moment, looked visibly tense, her grip on her pen too forceful, scratching a line across the paper. But she adjusted quickly, only drawing a soft, quiet breath.
Yan Lie opened his half-closed eyes, glancing from her fingertips up to her face, then sat up to sniff as well, laughing. “Mm, smells nice—what laundry detergent do you use?”
Fang Zhuo answered, somewhat slow on the uptake, “Carving*?”
*[Translator’s note: a mishearing/wordplay joke—方灼 mishears or mispronounces “雕牌” (Diao brand, a soap brand) as something resembling “carving” due to the shared character 雕.]
“Carving?” Yan Lie said. “Does carving even have laundry detergent?”
The girl in the row ahead turned around, rolling her eyes at him. “She means Diao brand, it’s a soap. You boys trying to chat someone up, can’t you find a better opening line than that? What’s next, talking about how to dry clothes properly?”
Yan Lie, set up without even saying a word, retorted with a laugh, “Why are you trying to teach me how to do things?”
Ignoring Shen Musi’s vehement protests, the class monitor successfully dug a bag of spicy strips out of the storage bin under his desk, scolding, “And you said it wasn’t you! How long has this snack even been sitting here?!”
“Huh?” Shen Musi himself sounded puzzled, saying, “Probably hid it away so Lielie wouldn’t snatch it from me.”
Yan Lie smacked him on the head. “Who wants to eat your spicy strips!”
Shen Musi, quite unwillingly, tossed the thing away, and under the class monitor’s supervision, had his whole seating area thoroughly searched.
Fang Zhuo watched him scrambling about, muttering nonstop, her own attention starting to drift as well.
Bai Lufei’s words had brought back some rather unpleasant memories, to the point that her reaction had been overblown, even somewhat out of character. She felt this wasn’t right—these were all inconsequential matters, no need to keep dwelling on the past.
A pair of hands knocked twice on her desk.
Fang Zhuo slowly turned her gaze, hearing Yan Lie ask with a smile, “How’s our little baldy doing?”
Fang Zhuo: “Who?”
“My chicken mascot!” Yan Lie said excitedly. “It hasn’t died, has it?”
Fang Zhuo paused for two seconds, then said, “It’s doing fine.”
“Good, that’s good.” Yan Lie let out a breath of relief, asking gently, “Can you send me a photo of it once you’re back?”
Fang Zhuo said decisively, “No.”
Picture messages were too expensive. For a chicken? No way.
Yan Lie hadn’t expected such a clean-cut refusal, his expression turning a bit disappointed, his finger tapping at the desk a couple times before he still asked, “Why not?”
Fang Zhuo countered, “Aren’t you alone at home for National Day too?”
Yan Lie nodded. “Yeah.”
She really wasn’t being very rational today, to the point that even as the words left her mouth, she hadn’t fully grasped the logical implications of what she was saying, issuing what sounded very much like a thinly veiled invitation: “Then why don’t you come over and see for yourself?”
Yan Lie didn’t answer right away, not quite processing it.
Fang Zhuo kept her eyes open wide, hesitating and struggling over whether she should add some further explanation. Before she could work out an answer, Yan Lie spoke first: “Sure!”
As if afraid she might take it back, he added one more question. “What time tomorrow?”
There were no classes scheduled for tomorrow. Tonight, once the teacher finished assigning homework, the students would be free to arrange their own time for leaving school.
Fang Zhuo said, “A bit earlier, maybe. Let’s go to the cafeteria for breakfast at 8.”
Yan Lie eagerly took out his phone to set an alarm, then, remembering he had no way to notify Fang Zhuo, said, “Whoever gets there first can wait downstairs at the dorm, alright?”