The house was pitch black. Only then did Huaner remember her mother was working the night shift.
There was a three-delicacy egg custard on the table, still warm to the touch. She took one bite but found it tasteless. So she poured the whole bowl into a lunch box and put it in the refrigerator—that would take care of tomorrow’s lunch.
Troubled and restless, unable to focus on reading or homework, Huaner paced several circles in the empty house before changing into workout clothes and heading out for a run.
A habit from childhood: when tense, sleepless, or troubled, five kilometers would solve everything.
Being a city person was truly frustrating. If she were still in Shui, she’d probably be asleep by now. The next day she would wake up refreshed, organize everyone for morning self-study, attentively listen and actively answer questions in class, joke around with her deskmate during breaks, go to the cafeteria with four or five friends for a bowl of noodles with sauce—every day passing happily and joyfully.
People are only dissatisfied with the present when they miss the past, and only long for the future when they’re dissatisfied with the past.
At this moment she only had nostalgia, no longing.
The only difference was, that if she were still in that small county, she wouldn’t be thinking about Tianzhong.
Wouldn’t even think about it.
Gaining this, losing that—she seemed to have grasped a tiny bit of life’s meaning.
The phone rang at this moment. Chen Huaner stopped, saw it was a familiar contact, and casually answered.
Hearing the rapid breathing on the other end, Jing Xichi first made an “eh” sound, then asked, “Are you self-torturing?”
“Running.” She wasn’t in the mood to banter, “What’s up?”
“Oh, well,” Jing Xichi hemmed and hawed, “Came back and heard from my mom that auntie’s on night shift, aren’t you home alone…”
Chen Huaner understood—this was a well-intentioned concern call. She gave a light laugh, “Yeah, I’m under the hospital building, looking at the roof—good height, nice and spacious.”
Jing Xichi also laughed, “Wait a bit before jumping, let me tell my dad first, have them prepare for rescue.”
Huaner had run outside the compound. In her view was a neat array of dark red buildings, at this prime evening hour almost every window emanating a warm glow. She suddenly felt melancholy and said softly, “Thanks.”
It wasn’t too bad after all, at least she still had friends who cared about her.
Thinking of this, she asked, “By the way, why did you go back to school just now?”
“Damn!” Jing Xichi exclaimed, “Qi Qi took your physics workbook, and told me to return it to you. The homework, it’s being covered tomorrow.”
Hearing this, Huaner turned and ran back, “I’m heading home now, see you in a bit.”
Even the biggest issues meant nothing in the face of physics homework. Because their physics teacher was a demon who would stare unblinkingly at students for three hours without eating or drinking until the homework was completed.
Jing Xichi waited at the building entrance. Seeing Huaner appear, he stepped forward to meet her, “If you can’t finish, just copy for now—get some sleep early.”
He had brought his homework along too.
Huaner thanked him, took the workbook, and told him, “I’m fine.”
“I was impulsive today too.” The boy rubbed his neck, “Lost control when I got angry, made a big deal out of something small.”
In the few minutes walking from home, he had suddenly realized the consequences. It wasn’t about himself being pointed at or lectured by the director—what people say is frightening, but after this incident Chen Huaner would inevitably become a target, with all the previous behind-the-back gossip placed squarely in front of her. He was afraid she couldn’t bear it.
He only blamed himself for letting anger get the better of him—there were plenty of ways to handle it by holding back for a moment, yet he had chosen the worst option of confrontation.
“You weren’t wrong.” Huaner’s lips twitched in a smile, “If someone talked about you like that behind your back, I would stand up for you too. And I’d be even more impressive—I’d make them search for their teeth on the ground and kneel calling me grandma.”
“Alright, grandmother,” Jing Xichi laughed, “You’re number one in the universe at boasting.”
“A bit exaggerated, but…” Huaner looked at him, “You weren’t wrong. I’m mentally prepared for what comes after, I don’t care.”
“Okay, you’re the strongest.” Jing Xichi patted her head, taking on the air of seeing things through to the end, “Still running?”
“Hm?”
“I’ll go with you for a bit.” He quickly added, “Safer with two people, anyway I need to train too.”
Huaner waved her hand, “I can’t keep up with you.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Jing Xichi gave a half-smile, “Big brother will wait for you.”
“Get lost.” Huaner raised the workbook above her head, turning back to the building, “No more running, going home to copy homework.”
Jing Xichi called after her, “Call me for night runs in the future, you hear?”
Huaner smiled, making an “OK” gesture at the back of her head.
How strange that he seemed to be paying for the trouble caused because of Song Cong.
At least this long and difficult day was finally over.
The school’s closed, concentrated, and monotonous environment was a breeding ground for the rapid spread of topics, and teenagers in puberty didn’t yet understand the meaning of exaggeration. One person’s subjective guess became factual “I heard” in the next person’s ears, and each person arbitrarily added small descriptive words accumulated like sand into a tower. They worked together playing righteous Fa Hai, with Chen Huaner, the person involved, suppressed at the bottom of the tower, powerless to fight back.
Finally, even Qi Qi couldn’t help but ask, “Did you write a love letter to Song Cong?”
That was during morning self-study two weeks later, surrounding classmates covering their ears to recite, the classroom buzzing chaos.
The countdown was written in yellow chalk on the right side of the blackboard, a vertical line of small characters, today’s number not yet reduced, like a kind of self-deception everyone understood.
Chen Huaner raised her head, instinctively looking first at the number on the blackboard before her gaze fell on Qi Qi’s face, “I’d need that ability first.”
In front of her lay the Chinese practice test, the essay only getting half points. The teacher’s red-ink comments read: Seriously off-topic, words fail to express meaning.
She didn’t blame Qi Qi at all. Versions of the story were flying everywhere, it should have been asked long ago—she didn’t know why the other had held back until now.
Qi half-turned her body, one arm draped over, using a book to block surrounding views as she whispered, “People who don’t know might think you’re pursuing Song Cong.”
She stared at her friend without blinking, feeling similar to waiting for test results.