Hedgehog's Belly - Chapter 10

Chapter 10

But my dear Miss Luo, I do not feel any regret regarding my own life.

“I didn’t expect Sister Muzi to enjoy cooking too?” Yan Qingzhu naturally picked up the thread of her conversation. Witnessing the worried expression on the girl before her, she felt a warmth akin to green bamboo.

“I don’t have anything particularly impressive to show for myself. If all else fails,” Luo Mu paused, reflecting for a moment before saying, “when there’s time, I’ll perform the art of stewing chicken soup for you.”

Yan Qingzhu: “Is that so? Then I hope that in this lifetime, I’ll have the chance to drink chicken soup made by Sister Muzi’s own hands.”

Luo Mu teased: “I use very strong ingredients; it’s not sweet at all.”

Yan Qingzhu perked up: “Now I’m even more looking forward to it.”

On the way back to school, Luo Mu reflected on the fact that she had spent the entire noon fooling around with that idiot. A wave of fatigue hit her that she couldn’t suppress, and she let out a soft yawn.

Yan Qingzhu lowered her head to ask: “Sleepy?”

Luo Mu rubbed her eyes, her face full of exhaustion: “Who could stand listening to you discuss the principles of dishwasher structures for a whole noon?”

“You looked like you were listening quite seriously to me,” Yan Qingzhu laughed, looking at her with a feigned innocent expression.

“I was just curious what kind of flowery nonsense a fool like you could make up next.” Luo Mu was dizzy with sleepiness and landed a powerless punch on Yan Qingzhu.

The funny thing was, the person who had originally asked about how to choose dishwasher models and structures was precisely Luo Mu.

Seeing the dazed, silly look of the girl before her, Yan Qingzhu stared down at her as she rubbed her eyes: “Just make sure to catch up on sleep once you get back to the classroom.”

Luo Mu shook her head: “Self-study this afternoon; I still haven’t figured out the math.”

“If you don’t know how to do a math problem, you won’t know how to do it even after looking at it for thirty minutes. A nap also takes thirty minutes. By that calculation, a nap is more cost-effective.” Yan Qingzhu spoke with such ease that it earned her a roll of the eyes from Luo Mu.

“You really are a calculation genius,” Luo Mu tutted and then couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s a real low blow.”

Once, she thought that as long as she put in the heart and the time, any problem could be solved. Only after growing up did she realize that indeed, not every problem necessarily has an answer. Some problems don’t even have a ‘why’—they cannot be grasped, and they cannot be found.

“Anyway, sleep when you’re tired, eat when you’re hungry, and if you want to eat ice cream during your period, it’s actually not impossible. I don’t think one needs to live life as if every step is a calculated move. Just be a bit happier.” Yan Qingzhu was frank, appearing as though she would never be bound by any obstacle.

Luo Mu nudged the mindless person with her elbow: “A fool naturally doesn’t worry about the future.”

Yan Qingzhu beamed, vigorously ruffling Luo Mu’s hair while pronouncing each word clearly: “The person who is overly anxious about the future is the real fool.”

The person who is overly anxious about the future is the real fool.

The person who is overly anxious about things that haven’t happened yet is the real fool.

Live in the moment.

Yan Qingzhu brushed her shoulder-length hair behind her, a faint scent of orange diffusing into the air.

“There’s a quote I saw in a book: ‘Wherever fate takes me, that is where I shall go.'”

How could time understand the logic of being cautious and slick? With every step forward, one naturally moves a bit closer to death.

It is fated.

Luo Mu gazed at the person across from her. Those sharp brows and eyes softened under the direct sunlight, yet they were more radiant than the sun itself. That youthful, ambitious fearlessness was displayed to its fullest extent.

She is worth it, Luo Mu thought.

The corners of Luo Mu’s mouth tipped up, and she feigned a sigh: “Fate doesn’t take idiots along for the ride.”

Yan Qingzhu frowned slightly: “It’s fine, then Sister Muzi can just play with the idiot.”

Luo Mu naturally couldn’t win a battle of wits against her. Her brow relaxed; she wondered how long it had been since she had argued over winning and losing like a kindergarten child. She used to be so competitive and sensitive—not allowed to be emotional, not allowed to miss someone secretly, not allowed to look back. She wondered if this was related to her past experiences.

So much so that later, she always wanted to pay whatever price was necessary to grow and perfect herself, using all her strength to live as a “normal” person.

Luo Mu had constantly forced herself to learn how to be an adult; no one had told her that she could actually be a child who enjoyed bickering.

Listening to the serious-sounding nonsense coming from the person before her, Luo Mu laughed until a tear escaped the corner of her eye: “You are so childish.”

Yan Qingzhu was unfazed: “Then let’s be childish together.”

Then let’s be childish together.

Don’t grow up. Just come to my place and be a child forever.

Hearing this, Luo Mu had no intention of bickering with her anymore.

She simply nodded, revealing a single dimple, and said calmly: “Okay.”

Okay.

She knew that the person was humoring her; it had always been that way.

But she actually didn’t know why.

The first period of self-study on the afternoon of returning to school is always used for catching up on homework. Ye Nanqiao secretly turned around to give Yan Qingzhu a meaningful look, mouthing the words: “Did you write the English?”

Yan Qingzhu naturally knew what this idiot was up to and replied with her own mouthing: “Not giving it to you.”

Witnessing the idiot before her put on an expression like a wronged Husky, with eyebrows twisted into all sorts of odd shapes.

Ye Nanqiao directly turned around and collapsed onto the corner of Yan Qingzhu’s desk, letting out a pitiful whimper: “Sister—”

Yan Qingzhu: “You’re older than me. Calling me that will shorten my life.”

Ye Nanqiao: “Hey, you’re that afraid of death?”

“I’d welcome it,” Yan Qingzhu smiled faintly.

Ye Nanqiao rolled her eyes and shifted her gaze to Luo Daier next to Yan Qingzhu. “Sister Luo, save the child—”

Luo Daier was looking down, writing notes, yet she quite smoothly handed over her English test paper: “I’m not sure about Section D. Deliberately copy a few wrong, or space them out.”

“As expected, only my Sister Luo truly cares for me,” Ye Nanqiao said tearfully. “Good people deserve to find a partner soon.”

Yan Qingzhu burst out laughing upon hearing this and nudged Luo Daier with her elbow: “Ignore her, she’s just like that.”

She then looked up and signaled to Ye Nanqiao with her eyes: “Your reward is getting water for our Sister Luo today.”

Luo Daier rolled her eyes at these two idiots and said calmly: “I know, obviously.”

“Did you hear that? What do you mean ‘our’ Sister Luo? She’s mine.” Ye Nanqiao looked at the reading comprehension on the English paper: “Truly my Sister Daier, she even drew out the basis for the answers.” Not only were the answers marked in the text, but Chinese annotations were also added.

Luo Daier, however, continued rushing through her notes without looking at her properly.

“If you don’t start copying, it’ll be time to hand it in soon.”

Seeing the clock, Ye Nanqiao cursed in fright and quickly turned back around to start copying the English paper.

Yan Qingzhu witnessed all of this and secretly felt delighted. She leaned in toward Luo Daier’s ear and asked in a low voice: “How come I remember you don’t like marking up articles?”

Something’s fishy.

Luo Daier understood the unspoken implication, but her ears turned a crimson color that she couldn’t hide: “It’s not like I wrote those for myself to see.”

She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, occasionally rubbing her burning earlobe.

Yan Qingzhu nodded thoughtfully: “Truly my Sister Luo, the old drinker’s heart is not in the wine.”

“Aren’t you the same?” Luo Daier gazed at the person beside her. Everyone was a coward when it came to love; they were just much of a muchness.

Yan Qingzhu was curious about what she was thinking. Her left eyebrow quirked up with a look of playful rebellion: “Oh? What do you mean?”

“What kind of person for no reason would run to the furthest building every day just to get water?” Luo Daier propped her chin on her hand with a serious face. Yan Qingzhu knew nothing could be hidden from her eyes.

Yan Qingzhu’s mouth quirked up: “How did you know?”

Luo Daier glanced at her, then looked down to continue her notes, murmuring: “Because the water in Chongming Building is the worst-tasting.”

Yan Qingzhu froze for a few seconds as her brain lagged. After some reflection, she calmed down and laughed at herself: “Yeah, the worst-tasting.”

“It’s someone in the Japanese class, right?” Luo Daier said to herself. Yan Qingzhu could hear that this wasn’t a question, but a confirmation, an affirmation.

Yan Qingzhu naturally knew what this person was trying to do.

The only rooms in the Chongming Building that could be used, aside from the labs, were a few specialized foreign language classrooms.

In truth, Luo Daier didn’t need Yan Qingzhu to give her an answer. She simply wanted to see this normally aloof person looking flustered and embarrassed because of love.

“Don’t guess anymore, Sister Luo. I’m feeling guilty.” Yan Qingzhu laughed, putting on a wronged expression and feigning a plea for Luo Daier not to go any further.

Sure enough, Luo Daier had naturally guessed it.

“Sister, say no more. I’ll help you collect the English homework—the kind you put in the office—so you can rest well.”

Luo Daier gave a brief glance: “Offering service for no reason.”

Yan Qingzhu: “I’m a good youth of the new era.”

Luo Daier rolled her eyes again but reluctantly nodded.

“You agreed just like that?” Yan Qingzhu confirmed repeatedly, fearing the person before her would regret it the next second.

Luo Daier pursed her lips and continued writing her notes. Then, after hesitating a moment, she let out a few words.

“Collect it after she finishes writing.”

Yan Qingzhu glanced at the idiot scribbling away in front of her, shook her head, and remarked: “This fellow truly has good fortune. Only our Sister Luo would care for her like this.”

Yan Qingzhu admitted that although Ye Nanqiao often spoke without thinking, her thoughts were indeed clean and never convoluted.

All the quarreling, debating, and ceaseless chatter would never manifest in Ye Nanqiao. As long as Ye Nanqiao was there, she would never leave the other person filled with doubt about their own views; there was no need to use countless empty words to provide a hollow justification for oneself.

One could find a sliver of solace here, temporarily escaping the torments of life.

Yan Qingzhu wasn’t surprised at all that someone would harbor a deep affection for Ye Nanqiao.

Moreover, Ye Nanqiao was also a beauty. Although she had well-defined features and deep-set eyes, unlike Yan Qingzhu, she didn’t have a “strangers keep out” sharpness; she was more like a pure daisy. She contained the original innocence of life—neither humble nor arrogant, clear and bright.

Even if no one knows her, she still has her own light.

Once during a composition class, Yan Qingzhu had asked Luo Daier what word would be appropriate to describe a girl.

At that time, Luo Daier’s gaze shifted slightly and quickly settled back on the paper as she wrote down four words:

Like a spring breeze.

Like a spring breeze.

Yan Qingzhu made a bold guess: even when Ye Nanqiao was seventy or eighty and could no longer walk or jump, there would still be people moved by her gentleness.

“You know where Old Lin’s spot is, right? If you put it in the wrong place, I won’t be able to explain it.” Luo Daier confirmed repeatedly.

Yan Qingzhu flipped through a stack of test papers and murmured: “I know. The spot at the very back by the window with the potted plant.”

Luo Daier hinted: “The old drinker’s heart is not in the wine.”

Yan Qingzhu didn’t mind: “It’s not in the scenery; it’s in the beautiful lady.”

Yan Qingzhu had calculated the class time, deliberately going to the office during the self-study period when the corridors wouldn’t be too noisy.

When she reached the back door of that person’s classroom, she slowed her pace. The classroom curtains weren’t drawn, so she could see the situation of everyone inside. Yan Qingzhu quietly pretended to pass by, using her peripheral vision to scan the room, focusing her gaze on that person. Luo Mu wasn’t scribbling away as usual; she was leaning over her desk, her upper body curled into a ball, occasionally rubbing her head against the sleeve of her school uniform—looking exactly like a hedgehog.

She was just a hedgehog.

Covered in quills, she was a truly indestructible fortress, full of heroism. Only in this way could she keep the fear of helplessness from chasing and approaching her.

But Yan Qingzhu’s intuition told her that internally, that person was every bit as delicate as a hedgehog. A small animal disguised as a lazy creature, liking to sequester itself in a place where no one else was, yet possessing a unique yearning. Blocking out the surrounding noise and deception, leaving a clear shield for itself.

But there would be those contortions, inferiority, fear, and abnormal pride—as if a torn heart held an abnormal longing for love.

Is that it, Luo Mu? Can you tell me?

Yan Qingzhu could see that the girl was truly exhausted, so she stopped by the window, trying her best not to make a sound.

The girl had a small mole near the cheekbone of her right face, which made her features look more three-dimensional. Her slightly curly stray hairs were blown into a mess by the fan. The little hedgehog sleeping lazily on the desk—those quills probably wouldn’t sting anymore, right?

Qin Jiahui, who was feeling drowsy, let out a yawn. Seeing that Luo Mu was already asleep, she wanted to lean down for a bit too. As she turned her head, she came face to face with the figure outside the window.

Yan Qingzhu?!

Through the classroom window marked with water stains, the other’s tall figure stood outside. Her features were clear, her eyes and brows softening like spring ice beginning to melt—expecting a divine temple that would never arrive.

It looked like attachment, like a refusal to let go; even if the temple collapses, a god is still a god.

Qin Jiahui was just about to shout when Yan Qingzhu placed her index finger against her lips, her brow furrowing slightly as she mouthed a single word: Quiet.

Qin Jiahui was so frustrated she grimaced and contorted her face, not understanding her meaning.

In truth, the most anxious person was the one outside the window—outwardly calm, but with undercurrents surging within.

Auntie, please don’t make a sound, okay?