Zhu Yun turned toward her with an expression of mild surprise, as though she had only just noticed someone was there. “What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled.
For once, Liu Xiaoyan’s habitually cool expression gave way to something that looked almost uncomfortable.
“Take it out. Now.”
Only then did Zhu Yun remove the stamen from her mouth. She hadn’t looked at it before, but now that she did, every hair on her body stood on end.
The stamen was crawling with tiny ants. Startled by the light, they were scrambling frantically in every direction.
No wonder her tongue had been going numb the whole time!
Zhu Yun flung the flower away and shuddered violently, spitting repeatedly at the ground.
Liu Xiaoyan couldn’t hold it in — she burst out laughing right there beside her. Zhu Yun froze. She had never seen Liu Xiaoyan laugh like that before. She stood there in a daze, so transfixed that she even forgot about the ants still in her mouth.
Well, she thought finally, what’s done is done. All-natural food, basically.
After that day, they became friends. It was also the first time Zhu Yun learned what Liu Xiaoyan had been writing in that notebook — she had been copying out the Bible. The original text of the Bible was far too difficult for Zhu Yun, who had only just started middle school; she flipped through it again and again and couldn’t make sense of it.
“Do you actually believe in this?” Zhu Yun asked Liu Xiaoyan.
“Not exactly.”
“If you don’t believe in it, why copy it out?”
“It’s not that I don’t believe in it either. It’s just — my relationship with him isn’t that kind.”
Zhu Yun didn’t quite understand, but at the very least she had sorted out one thing: Liu Xiaoyan’s tireless effort to learn English had nothing to do with going abroad, and nothing to do with her grades. It was for the sake of a God she couldn’t quite say whether she believed in or not.
Zhu Yun was consumed with curiosity about Liu Xiaoyan — drawn to her, powerfully drawn to her. She sought Liu Xiaoyan out every day; they ate together, studied together, and sat side by side on the steps eating flowers.
The whole class had a certain misconception about Liu Xiaoyan — that she was arrogant and rude. Zhu Yun didn’t think that was right. Liu Xiaoyan was proud, yes, but she wasn’t rude. And beneath it all, her heart was soft.
On a day when heavy snow fell and the school let out early, everyone else had gone home, leaving only Zhu Yun in the classroom waiting for her mother to finish work. She was sitting there in a daze watching snowflakes drift past the window when Liu Xiaoyan came back.
She had bought her a stick of candied hawthorn.
They sat together in the empty classroom, staring at nothing. The world outside was drained of color in the cold, but at least there was that stick of candied hawthorn — blazing red, startlingly vivid against the grey.
In the midst of the thick, tumbling snowfall, Liu Xiaoyan told Zhu Yun about herself.
Liu Xiaoyan’s parents had divorced, and she had always lived with her grandmother. Just before she started at this school, her grandmother had fallen gravely ill. The sickness had come on suddenly, fierce and devastating — like a mountain crumbling. The doctors spoke with careful tact, but the meaning was clear: the chances were not good. Later, when the hospital could no longer take her grandmother as an inpatient, Liu Xiaoyan brought her home to recuperate. Her grandmother was tormented by pain every night, and Liu Xiaoyan was powerless to help her.
By chance, she prayed to God.
“I had actually asked everyone for help,” Liu Xiaoyan said. “I did everything I could think of. He just left the deepest impression on me — maybe because the very night I finished praying to him, my grandmother took a turn for the better the next morning.”
“So you started believing in him?”
“Not believing,” Liu Xiaoyan emphasized again. “When I was asking him, I made a promise — if he could help my grandmother, I would stay by his side forever. He held up his end of it, so I have to hold up mine.”
“I understand,” Zhu Yun said, a light going on in her mind. “It’s not belief — it’s fulfilling a vow. My own grandmother is Buddhist, and she burns incense and fulfills vows too.”
Liu Xiaoyan thought it over, then nodded. “Something like that, I suppose.”
That evening, Zhu Yun’s mother came to the classroom to pick her up. On the way home, she gave Zhu Yun — for what must have been the two-hundredth time — her warning to keep her distance from Liu Xiaoyan. Zhu Yun was still savoring the sweet taste of the candied hawthorn on her tongue, responding here and there without really listening.
“Acting so antisocial at such a young age, getting mixed up in all that peculiar nonsense…” her mother complained the whole way home. “And that teacher of yours — Zhu Yun, you remember this: outside of actual lessons, don’t listen to any of the strange things she says.”
Zhu Yun paused at that. Ms. Wang did occasionally tell them warm, meaningful little stories in her spare moments, but they were always in passing, just casual conversation. Zhu Yun couldn’t understand why her mother would specifically bring it up.
As time passed, with coursework gradually growing more demanding, the students’ English abilities improved considerably as well. Combined with the fact that Liu Xiaoyan had never made any particular effort to conceal it, it eventually became common knowledge among nearly everyone in the class.
She drifted even further from the group.
Zhu Yun was her only friend.
But thankfully, homeroom teacher Ms. Wang was understanding and lenient, and Zhu Yun knew that Ms. Wang had been speaking up for Liu Xiaoyan in the academic affairs office all along. Although some teachers and parents remained displeased, Liu Xiaoyan’s grades had not slipped — she remained near the top of the class — so the school administration simply looked the other way.
Christmas that year marked the first time Zhu Yun ever skipped class. It was monumental for her — the first time in her life she’d ever done such a thing.
Liu Xiaoyan took her out to wander the streets. Zhu Yun was a bundle of nerves the entire time, yet also found it thrillingly exciting. They sat in the center of a plaza eating roasted sweet potatoes, and Zhu Yun, heart fluttering, presented Liu Xiaoyan with the gift she had prepared.
“Today is important, isn’t it,” Zhu Yun murmured. “I looked it up a bit.”
Liu Xiaoyan said nothing and tore open the gift box.
Zhu Yun’s anxiety spiked again. “…I don’t know if you’ll like it. It wasn’t expensive.” She’d had no good excuse to ask her parents for money, so she had saved up a week’s worth of snack money and bought this.
Liu Xiaoyan turned her back toward her, lifted her hair, and said: “Help me put it on.”
Zhu Yun fastened the necklace for her, fingers trembling — though the weather wasn’t even that cold.
Liu Xiaoyan’s neck was very fair. Very beautiful.
“It’s on…” Zhu Yun said softly.
Liu Xiaoyan turned around and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
Zhu Yun didn’t dare move a muscle. Liu Xiaoyan smiled a little and said, “I really like it. Thank you.”
Zhu Yun’s heart lifted with happiness. They chatted idly, and Zhu Yun said, “Finals are coming up soon.”
“Mm.” Liu Xiaoyan didn’t seem particularly bothered.
“Let’s give it everything we’ve got. Make them shut up for once.”
Liu Xiaoyan turned to look at her. “Make who shut up?”