She wondered if the way others looked at her was the same sensation as what she’d just felt stepping in that puddle — genuine revulsion, a genuine sense of filth.
All the self-encouragement of these recent days could collapse in a single instant.
When Jiang Du walked out, the blazing white sun stabbed at her eyes. She squinted.
How did it come to this?
Everything was perfectly fine — how did it come to this?
There’s no going back, is there.
She didn’t even have the right to write to Wei Qingyue anymore. She was dirty.
As though even the bright moonlight outside the window would be tainted by her gaze.
She was like a black reef, battered over and over by waves of emotion.
She didn’t know how she walked back to the teaching building. The music had stopped; the students streaming back from outdoor exercise began to flow in from all directions. Jiang Du looked at the crowd — so many people, so many gazes, so many mouths. She was suddenly seized by immeasurable terror. The people before her eyes grew infinite, towering before her like giants.
A giant only needed to lift a foot to crush her.
The giant was coming closer step by step. Jiang Du wanted to run, but her feet had taken root and she couldn’t move — until a familiar figure appeared before her, and Zhu Yulong pressed a black plastic bag into her hands:
“Got them. Aren’t you going back to the classroom?”
Jiang Du looked at her in a daze. Zhu Yulong lowered her voice: “That person — the security guard drove him away.”
Jiang Du’s pupils contracted sharply. She came back to herself, tried to smile at Zhu Yulong in warm gratitude, but couldn’t manage it.
Outside the school gate, Wang Yong came again the next day. With every other word a crude insult, he would loudly proclaim to any student in earshot how promiscuous Jiang Du’s mother had supposedly been in her day — the rest of what he said was too vile to repeat. Students who saw him had to take a detour around him.
The school could only call the police again.
Wei Qingyue saw Wang Yong at the gate. At the time, the man was showing a mouthful of yellow teeth, greasy hair matted with large flakes of dandruff.
The young man’s gaze was very deep. No one could tell what he was looking at.
Zhang Xiaoqiang was buying something at the small shop near the gate and grabbed Wei Qingyue’s arm, speaking anxiously: “Don’t act impulsively. Absolutely do not get physical with someone like this again. I think the school will definitely call the police. Harassing us like this constantly — the police won’t ignore it.”
Wei Qingyue smiled faintly at her: “I know.”
Zhang Xiaoqiang looked at him anxiously and said: “Wei Qingyue, don’t do anything foolish. You’re about to go abroad — why get tangled up with trash like this?”
Wei Qingyue seemed to find her reasoning sound, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly: “Let’s go inside.”
Things quieted for one day in between. Just when the school gate security guards thought the police had frightened the man off, Wang Yong appeared at the main gate once again.
Students’ discussions grew louder and louder, and parents grew more and more dissatisfied. In some classes, parents had already put pressure on the school, suggesting Jiang Du transfer. Some people even left messages on the education bureau’s website.
Wang Yong had only one demand: to take Jiang Du away. He kept insisting that he was Jiang Du’s biological father and had the right to take his daughter with him.
In the blink of an eye, Friday arrived. More parents were waiting at the gate to receive students — mostly coming to pick up girls. This incident at Mei Middle School had caused a stir throughout the entire city.
Her grandfather had naturally heard about the developments at school. The old man, entrusting matters to old friends, was still running about to get things sorted. He would therefore be a little late coming to pick Jiang Du up today. Over the phone, the old man kept entreating the homeroom teacher to make sure Jiang Du stayed properly in the classroom and didn’t come out yet.
In the classroom, under the homeroom teacher’s arrangement, the class monitor and Zhu Yulong stayed with Jiang Du to wait for her grandfather.
Since they were there anyway, they might as well let the students on cleaning duty go, and the three of them would clean the classroom themselves.
Very soon, the teaching building emptied out.
It was Zhu Yulong who first noticed someone outside the window. She said to Jiang Du: “Probably someone here to see you. The class monitor and I will go sit near the flower bed on the first floor and read for a bit. When you’re ready to come down, call for us.” Then she exchanged a look with the class monitor, and the two of them went out.
Jiang Du couldn’t help looking out the window. Through the glass, Wei Qingyue smiled at her.
In that instant, all she felt in her heart was a desire to retreat.
She stiffened slightly and hung her cleaning cloth back on its hook.
What exactly had Wei Qingyue seen in her? Shared suffering? No — she didn’t want his sympathy. Or was this a contest over who had it worse? Jiang Du lowered her head and walked back to her own seat and sat down.
Wei Qingyue was already standing before her, a note of teasing in his voice: “Why did you sit down without wiping the stool?” He remembered from the letters that a certain person loved cleanliness.
Seeing she wasn’t speaking, the young man simply bent forward, both arms resting on her desk, and smiled: “What — pretending not to know me again?”
Jiang Du had been suppressing everything with all her might. Finally, she raised her eyes and looked at him. Wei Qingyue was real and vivid in her line of sight — that face, so clear. Her eyes slowly reddened.
“I thought your grandfather had picked you up. Why are you still here?” He seemed blind to her rabbit-red eyes; his tone was like before.
Jiang Du shook her head, still saying nothing.
“Did your grandfather have something come up? I’ll walk you home.” Wei Qingyue tapped his knuckles twice on her desk, straightened up, and took out his phone. “You can call your grandfather and let him know.”
But you can’t always walk me home. No one can always be there. In the end I have to rely on myself.
Summer had such long days — even dusk was bright. In the light and shadow, tiny motes of dust floated. Jiang Du felt like one of those dust particles, the world shrinking around her. When would she grow up?
“It’s all right — I’ll wait for my grandfather. He told me to wait for him, and I will.” Jiang Du said, her eyes not quite daring to meet his. “Thank you, and for last time too — thank you for standing up for me.” And somehow, the words that followed came out with a hint of reckless self-abandonment: “I suppose I should be grateful you’re still willing to be friends with me, but I’m afraid that’s not good for you. In the future…”
At the word “future,” it seemed as though the story had reached its end. A sharp ache struck suddenly. Jiang Du held back her tears. “I’m better off on my own. I don’t want to bring trouble to other people.”
The air was silent for a moment.
Wei Qingyue had been looking at her steadily, his gaze lowered. Jiang Du didn’t stir.
“If you think I would change how I see you because of these things, then you’ve misjudged me. If you feel you owe me a favor, then do me one thing in return—” He waited for her to raise her face. Sure enough, Jiang Du looked up at him. “There was something I asked you to do before — tell her that I’ve always hoped she might still write to me. She can write down whatever she’s too shy to say out loud. She can write anything at all. I’ll write back. Even when I’m abroad, I’ll write back. If she’s willing, I’ll always keep in touch with her. I won’t reply to anyone else’s letters — only hers. She can set her heart at ease.”
Wei Qingyue’s eyes were so bright, and so deep. He gazed at Jiang Du, then suddenly pulled out a folded slip of paper from his trouser pocket and pushed it toward her:
“This is another account of mine on a messaging platform — I haven’t added anyone on it. And my email address. I’m leaving soon, but I’ll keep using these for now. If the contact information changes, I’ll say so. If she ever doesn’t want to write letters anymore, she can use these instead. Please pass them on to her for me—” The young man paused briefly. “I don’t want to lose contact with her. I hope she’ll know that.”
Without waiting for Jiang Du to respond, Wei Qingyue said: “Since you’re waiting for your grandfather, I’ll head home first.”
He was, as always, a person of decisive action. Having said this, he truly walked out of the classroom.
Leaving Jiang Du alone. She picked up the slip of paper, didn’t open it — just quietly tore it to pieces, then lay face-down on the desk for a long while. In the end, all that remained on the desk was a small pool of moisture, reflecting the evening glow outside.
Wei Qingyue — she would not write to him again.
Jiang Du looked at the beautiful sky outside, hugged the bag containing her books, and locked the classroom.
Back home, Wei Qingyue received a phone call from across the ocean. After he hung up, he sat quietly on the sofa for a very long time. Then he got up and began unpacking the parcels the housekeeper had collected from the post office — several issues of Shucheng magazine from after its relaunch.
Out on the balcony, the wind was hot. Wei Qingyue took out a fountain pen, clamped the cap between his teeth, and sitting in the rattan chair, smoothed out the writing paper. The wind tousled his brows and lashes into a dense sweep of black. On the far horizon, only long trailing streaks of purple-grey clouds remained; the contours of the earth slowly disappeared.
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