Hedgehog's Belly - Chapter 11

Years later, having experienced the vicissitudes of life and carrying stories that can only be chewed over alone during sleepless nights, when the greenness of youth has faded, one forgives the uncertain beginnings and the certain endings.

It’s just that one night, when getting up to heat some milk, it suddenly dawns on you: So, that’s what that person meant by those words back then.

Qin Jiahuai was so startled that she covered her mouth with both hands, trying her best not to make a sound. The sudden thud of her arm hitting the desk caused the deep-sleeping Luo Mu to furrow her brows. Luo Mu buried her head in her arms, rubbed against her school uniform sleeve, and spoke with a hint of exhaustion.

“Why the fuss?”

Qin Jiahuai turned her gaze back to the window; the person had already walked away. She apologized with an embarrassed smile: “Maybe it’s the inspection team coming.”

Upon hearing “inspection team,” Luo Mu’s body instantly snapped upright. Before her eyes were even fully awake, she habitually nudged Qin Jiahuai, her lazy voice carrying a trace of a complaint: “Why didn’t you wake me if the inspectors are here…”

“Who knew you’d fall asleep after looking at just a few math problems? Even the year director couldn’t wake you up,” Qin Jiahuai muttered, rubbing Luo Mu’s forehead to try and help the girl sober up.

Dazed and sleepy, Luo Mu tucked her hands back into her school uniform sleeves and replied with a silly, stunned smile: “You’re right.”

Having said that, she slumped back onto the desk, letting her hair fall in disarray.

Qin Jiahuai leaned in close to her ear and asked in a low, worried whisper: “Did you go steal the neighbor’s chicken? Why are you this tired?”

Luo Mu’s consciousness was hazy, but she still answered: “I stewed the chicken into soup.”

In fact, she really did stew chicken soup, but it wasn’t the neighbor’s chicken.

Qin Jiahuai: “Aren’t you afraid the inspectors will catch you?”

Luo Mu, head feeling heavy and swollen, lay powerless on the desk. She waved a hand and said, “Let them take me away. I really don’t want to write math papers anymore.” Yet after a moment, she propped her hands on the desk and slowly, arduously crawled back up.

Qin Jiahuai teased with a smile: “What? Scared of being caught again?”

Luo Mu paused, staring blankly for a while, and then spoke: “I can’t sleep anymore. These math problems really are never-ending.”

Once she was a bit more awake, she asked: “Is someone really patrolling?”

Qin Jiahuai didn’t know if Yan Qingzhu was there to patrol the class; she only remembered her holding a stack of test papers, stopping outside the window, her downcast, innocent yet bright eyes staring at that person. Like the autumn mountain scenery, she exuded a sense of distance that blocked out the outside world—melancholy yet contradictory.

Qin Jiahuai didn’t know what words to use to describe such a person; they were indescribable. What kind of heart did Yan Qingzhu have that it beat so urgently, making even her gaze tremble?

Qin Jiahuai’s eyelashes fluttered, and she finally gave up on explaining: “I don’t know, maybe I saw wrong.”

Qin Jiahuai did not tell Luo Mu who that person was.

Luo Mu narrowed her eyes: “Has the math muddled your brain too?”

Qin Jiahuai boldly admitted: “Maybe. After all, mathematics causes no small amount of harm.”

Luo Mu nodded in agreement: “True.”

Luo Mu’s fatigue had not yet faded. Seeing the problems she hadn’t finished, she leaned toward Qin Jiahuai: “Did you solve question twenty-one?”

Qin Jiahuai aggrievedly showed her the scratch paper covered in mathematical steps. “From the time you lay down until you woke up, I still haven’t solved it.”

Luo Mu looked at the steps. “You’ve truly worked hard.”

She had intended to seriously admire the fruits of a good student’s labor, but she laughed before reading more than a few lines. “You wrote the function formula wrong.”

Qin Jiahuai’s features nearly contorted upon hearing this, every word dripping with grievance: “No way. I calculated for so long, and it’s wrong again?”

This was the sixth time this week Qin Jiahuai had remembered the function formula incorrectly.

Luo Mu suppressed a laugh but tried her best to comfort her: “Just memorize the formulas properly, Miss Qin.”

Recovering her spirits, Luo Mu plugged the correct formula into Qin Jiahuai’s steps, making the entire solution process appear logical.

As she wrote down the final answer, Luo Mu suddenly realized what that person had meant by saying:

Only those who are overly anxious about the future are fools.

So, that’s what it meant.

Wherever fate takes me, that is where I shall go.

Just take your own step properly. Whether fate is good or bad, let fate decide.

Because when there are no expectations, there is nothing to fear.

From then on, her eyes would only fall upon herself.

So foolish.

Luo Mu mocked herself.

When there are too many distracting thoughts, it is like a giant wave sweeping in, yet one must still confront this world with bare fists.

Too many troubles confuse non-existent things with reality, making it impossible to reach the deepest part of life. Constantly struggling forward in contradiction, constantly learning self-reconciliation through confrontation.

Luo Mu shifted her gaze to the window, staring blankly at the swaying trees in the wind. At that moment, she was certain of the shape of the wind.

That person had broken into her life so muddledly; she couldn’t even say the time or place of their first meeting, and that person naturally wouldn’t tell her.

Yet that person possessed a courage that the shackles of time could hardly bind and the gentle spring breeze could not define.

From then on, Yan Qingzhu no longer begged for freedom; Yan Qingzhu herself was freedom.

Luo Mu smiled inwardly.

So foolish.

There were no heroic words; it was just that she knew very clearly that perhaps life was about to flip to a new chapter.

It was the beginning, the cause.

It was the greatest poem written by the gods.

After dinner, listening to the daily news on the campus radio, Luo Mu stacked her books high and lay on them. Long periods of bending over made her spine ache, forcing her to temporarily halt the torment of fatigue and pain. Burying her head in her arms, her mind felt dizzy and heavy. She rubbed her temples, mocking herself, thinking it was a “math sequel.”

Her eyes closed slightly, listening to the beat of her heart, asking herself like a chuunibyou anime protagonist if she was still alive.

Luo Mu lay quietly on the desk, patted her own head, and comforted the “idiot” that was herself:

Hard work. If not for sheer luck, I might truly not have grown this big.

Just as she was about to take a short nap, she heard a crisp knock on the window.

Exactly as she thought, it was that person.

Yan Qingzhu’s brow knit slightly: “Are you resting?”

Luo Mu stared at her and instinctively shook her head. After a two-second pause, she nodded again.

Yan Qingzhu asked again: “Do you want to see Jiang Yan?”

Luo Mu snapped awake: “See her? Now?”

Yan Qingzhu saw right through her little thoughts: “Yes, now. Do you want to go?”

Luo Mu had thought Yan Qingzhu’s previous offer was just polite small talk; she hadn’t expected this person to actually keep it in mind.

“I do.” Luo Mu did not hesitate this time.

By the time she stepped out of the classroom door, before she could react, her wrist was grabbed by that person’s strong hand, pulling her to run in the same direction.

Luo Mu watched the tips of that person’s hair blowing, smelled the light scent of oranges, and heard the wind whistling past her ears.

The world was quiet.

Yan Qingzhu’s hand held her wrist, and Luo Mu could clearly see the faint blue veins bulging slightly because the person in front did not want to let go.

The person looked back at her and revealed a triumphant smile, as if declaring sovereignty to the world.

When you have me, what use do you have for this world?

At this moment, Luo Mu threw all love and hate to the back of her mind, even fantasizing about surpassing all uncertain factors. Gently, firmly, and with an irresistible consciousness, she ran toward the unknown.

Simply because she believed in that person.

Free and uncontrolled.

Where are we going?

Where we go doesn’t matter.

Wherever fate takes me, that is where I shall be.

One must rescue oneself from the shackles of restraint.

Upon reaching the back door of the Great Auditorium, under the dim light, Yan Qingzhu whispered a soft “shh” to Luo Mu, signaling her not to speak. Her hand still didn’t let go as she whispered in Luo Mu’s ear: “Watch the steps.”

The light at the back door of the auditorium was dim; one could trip at any moment if not careful. Yet it was like the night swallowing reason, bringing back memories of not wanting to repeat past mistakes. Luo Mu had no choice but to firmly grasp the person’s arm with both hands; naturally, she couldn’t say the words “I can’t see, I’m afraid.”

She simply pressed her body close to the person opposite her. That person felt her trembling and used the other hand to steady her down the steps. The deep woody fragrance, however, flustered the person in front, like soft white feathers fluttering against the softest part of the heart.

Luo Mu’s heart beat so urgently, even her gaze trembled. “Yan Qingzhu—”

Yan Qingzhu rubbed her head: “It’s okay.”

It’s okay.

Yan Qingzhu clearly felt the panic of the person in her arms and finally settled her in a seat in the back row. Fortunately, although the stage lights weren’t fully on, there was at least a light source—enough to be reassuring.

She squatted beside the seat, looking up at the face where the panic had not yet faded. She pinched the person’s face and said, “What? Scared silly just by this? You’re not up to much.” She paused mid-sentence and tilted her head down slightly with a secret smile.

Yan Qingzhu was prepared to hear some annoyed words to dispel the fear, waiting for Luo Mu to give her a good scolding.

But as the color slowly returned to Luo Mu’s face, she felt no anger upon hearing those words; she only nodded slowly. After a while, she uttered a few words.

“I really am afraid.”

Really afraid.

Yan Qingzhu was stunned, wishing she could slap herself.

D*mn it.

The stage lights brightened, and a girl in a navy blue formal dress appeared from behind the curtain. Though the distance was far, Luo Mu could still see the girl’s swan-like neck, slender waist, and fair skin complemented by the warm light.

Like the daughter of a god, with a bluebird carrying a branch for her, bestowing all endless life upon the mountain corners and the beautiful world. That was the first time Luo Mu marveled at the beauty of a woman.

“Senior Yan Qingzhu, you’re here!” The girl waved excitedly.

Yan Qingzhu responded: “Yeah, starting straight away?”

Jiang Yan: “Of course.”

Yan Qingzhu naturally sat down beside Luo Mu, noticing that Luo Mu was gazing at the girl on stage, her eyes never wavering. When the music started and Jiang Yan stood back under the spotlight, the moment she opened her mouth to sing, a tear fell from Luo Mu’s eye.

Like a heart softened by wind and rain, a powerful beating heart full of life in the dark night. Jiang Yan’s ethereal singing rose and fell, yet it shook the soul. It was filled with struggle and resistance—a cry from the abyss.

After a short while, Yan Qingzhu murmured: “You also think such a girl is beautiful, right?”

“Yes. Like a princess, yet so indestructible.” Under the intense lights, Luo Mu watched Jiang Yan in her formal dress being bathed in the spotlight. Some people are perhaps destined to always be in the light.

Like an unprecedented, lingering dream.

Unmoved by favor or humiliation, indifferent to staying or leaving.

Luo Mu lamented; she was truly a beauty to the bone.

Because it was Jiang Yan, she was envious.

The corner of Yan Qingzhu’s mouth curled slightly. “Every girl is a princess.”

She hesitated for a few seconds, propped up her chin, and whispered to herself again, “Actually, last year when you were singing on stage in that white dress, I really couldn’t look away then either.”

Luo Mu looked at her in confusion, but the depths of Yan Qingzhu’s eyes were filled with peace—clear and bright, not heat, not restraint.

What was that?

Yan Qingzhu’s un-tied hair draped over her shoulders; close up, one could smell the light, non-pungent scent of oranges. The piercing mark on her right ear cartilage remained, without any ornament.

Clearly a girl, yet that thin bridge of the nose meeting the brow bone, and those downcast, innocent but clear eyes, were incredibly beautiful. Yet the orange scent and the woody fragrance actually conflicted a bit, to the point where Luo Mu didn’t dare lean too close.

“Is that so? I don’t remember.” Luo Mu’s gaze did not flee; she spoke casually. Instead, it was the person opposite who should have fled from the sense of shame.

Don’t remember. Don’t remember any of it.

She always suppressed herself this way, as if some unknown force were compelling her to speak words full of insincerity.

“Is that so…” As soon as Yan Qingzhu finished speaking, just as she was about to say something, Jiang Yan’s song ended, and she took her bow.

Standing on stage, Jiang Yan asked excitedly again: “Senior Yan Qingzhu, how was it? How did it feel?”

Yan Qingzhu stood up and replied: “Very good! A great performance!”

“Senior Yan Qingzhu, there might be some problems with the speaker’s sound quality. I’ve been studying it for a long time; can you come and take a look?” Jiang Yan pointed to the audio equipment backstage. For a complete novice with no experience, it was indeed a muddle.

Yan Qingzhu glanced over, signaled to Luo Mu, and they walked down from the seating area together. Yan Qingzhu climbed onto the backstage and waved to Jiang Yan. “It’s fine, go rest. I’ll handle it.”

Jiang Yan nodded with a smile and headed offstage, holding up her skirt. Luo Mu watched her; the girl’s posture was like that of a noble swan, every step light yet firm. The sense of boundaries she possessed came from her formidable strength, immense wealth, and incomparable family.

Envious? The corner of Luo Mu’s mouth trembled.

Jealous?

It was filled with the helplessness of fighting a lonely battle.

How ridiculous.

To actually think of comparing herself to the person in front of her.

When Jiang Yan walked in front of Luo Mu trailing her skirt, Luo Mu stood up, trying her best to keep her reason clear.

“Hello Jiang Yan, I am…” Luo Mu was just about to introduce herself when she was suddenly interrupted by Jiang Yan.

“Sister Muzi,” Jiang Yan greeted with a smile, her eyes and brows overflowing with a free and romantic spirit.

Sister Muzi, not Luo Mu.

“You know me?” Luo Mu asked in confusion.

“Senior Yan Qingzhu always mentions you to me. She gave me a lot of experience for this event, much of which was about you.” Jiang Yan’s smile was generous, never hiding her own beauty. “In my impression, Sister Muzi should be more mature and steady than Senior Yan Qingzhu; I didn’t expect her to be a bit cute too.”

Seventeen-year-old Luo Mu’s baby fat had still not receded; her sorrowful eyes always evoked pity.

“But now I’m curious, which one—Sister Muzi or Senior Yan Qingzhu—is the crybaby?” Jiang Yan chuckled inwardly.

Luo Mu was puzzled: “Why do you say that?”

Jiang Yan leaned in close to Luo Mu, the sweet scent of raspberries lingering: “Because Senior Yan Qingzhu always says Sister Muzi is a little kid.”

“Then what do you think?” Luo Mu asked back in a low voice, like a spy discussing a top-secret mission.

“Of course Senior Yan Qingzhu is the big boss of the kindergarten,” Jiang Yan blurted out instinctively, causing Luo Mu to burst into laughter.

“Hey, hey, hey, are you talking bad about me behind my back?” Yan Qingzhu walked over from the backstage passage, clapped the dust off her hands, and explained to Jiang Yan: “The audio cable plug backstage is a bit loose. I’ll have the technician come look at it later; don’t touch it.”

Jiang Yan nodded, exchanged a look with Luo Mu, and laughed out loud.

“Laughing so happily. What are you talking about?” Yan Qingzhu rested her arm on Luo Mu’s shoulder. The clear orange scent was refreshing. Luo Mu gazed at her thin, fair wrist and the slyness in her eyes, then grabbed her arm and murmured nonchalantly: “Listening to Jiang Yan tell me about the bad things you said about me.”

Yan Qingzhu was puzzled and cast a suspicious glance at Jiang Yan: “From when?”

Luo Mu smiled faintly: “From last year’s Foreign Language Festival.”

Yan Qingzhu feigned deep thought and then said dismissively: “You said yourself that even you don’t remember; how could I possibly remember?”

Luo Mu: “Are you trying to trap me into admitting something?”

Jiang Yan watched the behavior of these two. No words were needed; her face was simply flushed as she laughed to herself.

Years later, some things changed everything—they changed how we look, what we see, what we feel, and what we hear.

So, what is it that makes us remember this moment?