Hedgehog's Belly - Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Yan Qingzhu lay sideways on her desk, draping half of her school jacket over her head. That sense of laziness made her feel drowsy. Her eyes were a bit misty as she murmured: “Foreign Language Festival.”

“You met at the Foreign Language Festival?” Ye Nanqiao asked, half-doubting, as she calculated the time. “Back in the tenth grade?”

Yan Qingzhu glanced at her arm, catching a glimpse of that scribbled “31061017,” and couldn’t help but bury her head and snicker. She hadn’t expected that a student who looked so well-behaved would have such unsightly handwriting. Yet those crooked symbols and letters piqued Yan Qingzhu’s interest; she felt that this person was far more interesting than she had imagined.

Ye Nanqiao watched the foolish look on the obsessed girl across from her and naturally understood the meaning behind it. She took a small DSLR camera from her desk drawer and aimed the lens at Yan Qingzhu and her “enchanted” arm. With a light press of the shutter, she captured this child’s most embarrassing moment.

“Say, if I print this photo and sell it to your little fangirls for fifty a piece, do you think I’d lose money?” Ye Nanqiao carefully examined the photo on the camera screen. It was rare to see this stubborn, unyielding person show a hint of gentleness, as if she suddenly had an Achilles’ heel. What kind of silly kid smirks while looking at messy scribbles on their own arm?

“Remember to give me a cut,” Yan Qingzhu waved her hand dismissively. “If there’s big money to be made, let’s earn it together.”

“You’re killing me. You really have no ‘idol baggage.’ It’s a waste of all those underclassmen who want your contact info.”

Yan Qingzhu gave a faint smile. She had opened a WeChat account specifically to deal with those kids; come to think of it, the most useful thing was that account. As for who she added, she had no interest in knowing; she’d figure out how to deactivate the account later.

“Tell me the details.”

Yan Qingzhu naturally knew the intent behind the question, but she buried her head back under her school jacket.

She was waiting for the next Foreign Language Festival.

At the next festival, they could meet again—in a proper, decent way.

During the first math class after the noon break, the atmosphere of the entire classroom was saturated with drowsiness. Luo Mu, her head feeling heavy, was organizing her notes for the class. She heard her deskmate, Qin Jiahui, grumbling from time to time: “I really want to switch seats with you. Hiding in the corner is perfect for a big sleep.”

“Be careful, or the grade director might have a ‘beautiful encounter’ with you through the window.” Luo Mu popped a mint into her mouth. Just as she was about to hand over her organized notes, she noticed her friend’s state was a bit off.

“What have you been busy with lately? You look exhausted every day.”

“The Foreign Language Festival is in a few weeks. The instructors said the rules changed again. Something about having previous award winners serve as judges to give those who want to participate a chance.” Qin Jiahui pinched the space between her eyebrows. “These past few days, I’ve been running to the Student Union daily to handle materials, and I still haven’t found all the names from the previous lists.”

Qin Jiahui: “And then I ran into a problem.”

Luo Mu: “What?”

Qin Jiahui: “I broke up with that guy. Now it’s so embarrassing to go to his class to find people. That dog of a man keeps insisting I’m trying to ‘eat old grass’ (get back together)…”

“Broken up again?” Hearing this news, Luo Mu wasn’t surprised; after all, it was a common occurrence. With Qin Jiahui’s short fuse, it was expected. She casually said: “Fine, I’ll help you.”

Upon hearing those words, Qin Jiahui’s eyes instantly lit up, and she lunged at Luo Mu, nuzzling her face.

“Mu-Mu-Zi! I knew you would help me!”

Clearly, she had been waiting for Luo Mu to say exactly that.

Qin Jiahui pulled several forms from a file folder and handed them to Luo Mu. “This one with the list is for Ji Rongshu in that dog’s class. Since he’s your brother, if the older sister shows up, all that nonsense won’t be an issue.”

Qin Jiahui looked smug. She didn’t know where she’d heard the rumor, but word was that the person Ji Rongshu feared most was his sister.

“Whether he helps with your Student Union business or not is up to him. I’m just a messenger.” Luo Mu knew all too well how much her brother hated trouble, yet he had somehow been dragged into the Student Union and assigned to the Entertainment Department along with Song Chenxi.

To put it bluntly, he was being used as manual labor.

“So much data… is it all for him alone?” Luo Mu flipped through the flowcharts. Last year’s award-winning contestants were recorded on a systematic table, clearly divided by group and individual.

“No, there are a few more pages for someone else in their class.” Qin Jiahui pointed to several names in the English group, looking overjoyed. “Do you remember the ‘big boss’ of the English group last year? It’s Yan Qingzhu from their class. She’s beautiful and her family is incredibly rich.”

Yan Qingzhu.

Luo Mu’s pupils dilated slightly as she looked at Qin Jiahui in confusion.

Luo Mu: “Did Yan Qingzhu participate last year?”

Qin Jiahui: “Weren’t you there at the time? She was first place in the English group.”

Luo Mu: “In Ji Rongshu’s class?”

Qin Jiahui: “Where else?”

Luo Mu’s memory felt like a missing chapter. She couldn’t recall anything at all besides her own performance. It was like a long-accumulated giant wave that had roared through a gale and crashed against the rocks, yet made no sound—everything just stopped. That hollow sense of powerlessness left no trace to follow.

“You couldn’t possibly…” Qin Jiahui elongated the last word, making it sound particularly eerie. How could someone be there in person but have zero impression of the other performances? Luo Mu was naturally afraid of ghosts and gods from myths, and Qin Jiahui loved telling those strange and terrifying legends. Luo Mu suddenly broke into a cold sweat and covered Qin Jiahui’s mouth with her hand.

“If you tell me more of those scary stories, you can sleep to death in math class for the next few days. I won’t wake you up.”

“No, no, I wasn’t… going to say that.” After a struggle, Qin Jiahui pried Luo Mu’s hand away. “Am I that kind of person?”

“Yes.” Luo Mu shook her hand naturally, not realizing that Qin Jiahui’s strength was as great as her temper.

If she told any more of those bogus stories, Luo Mu really would let her have a “perfect encounter” with the grade director.

“I’m saying—did you happen to… fall… a… sleep… at the event?” Qin Jiahui spoke one word at a time, fearing the girl might miss a single syllable.

Stunned.

Truly stunned.

Luo Mu froze, muttering under her breath about how she hadn’t thought of such a simple answer.

“No way, it was so lively. How could you fall asleep?” Qin Jiahui couldn’t fathom the mindset of this idiot. Under countless lights and cheers, everyone’s passion and excitement ignited the atmosphere, yet this idiot was actually sleeping.

“I had a lot to do back then, and I was one of the earlier performers,” Luo Mu explained awkwardly.

Ultimately, it was just that she didn’t understand anything except Japanese, and there was no big screen with translations. The reason so many people liked the Foreign Language Festival was that they could use different languages on stage to subtly speak to a certain “someone” in the audience. It was a unique and meaningful way to express one’s heart.

But Luo Mu didn’t understand, and that was that. No matter how soul-stirring the language or voice might be, that explosive stage atmosphere really didn’t suit her.

If it were someone she liked, how could she bear to use obscure languages to hide her affection?

It was too loud; it gave her a headache.

Qin Jiahui understood her to some extent; those messy reasons were just excuses after all.

Qin Jiahui: “Then do you know Yan Qingzhu? These few pages of info need to be given to her. A whole crowd of girls from the English group will be coming for her later.”

Luo Mu: “I know… she’s my friend’s… friend.”

A friend’s… friend.

She was just someone she met recently. Calling her a friend’s friend didn’t seem incorrect.

A strong sense of distance made Luo Mu snap to alertness. Was she a friend? But they had only met a few times. Was she a regular classmate? But she treated Luo Mu so intimately.

In Luo Mu’s mental landscape, the word “friend” seemed to flicker in and out of view. She only blamed her own unmovable indifference and unpersuadable stubbornness for the disintegration of her past friendships. The word “friend” was like a sharp ice blade—it stung the heart, and once melted, it left only a gruesome, aching wound.

Luo Mu didn’t want to dwell on it anymore: “I’ll give the materials to them. Don’t worry.”

Qin Jiahui laughed: “I’m relieved. If I hand it to you, I never have to worry.”

During the final class on Saturday afternoon that hadn’t quite ended yet, Luo Mu could already hear the rustling sounds of people packing their bags to go home. Very few people were actually listening to the final history class. A week of busy, high-intensity study, followed by a measly one-day holiday, was like the unique brilliant colors of high school life. The boys’ unbridled release could only be highlighted by the sunset after school every Saturday when there were no evening self-study sessions.

That kind of unconstrained liberation of youth was something Luo Mu still missed even after entering university.

“Mu-Mu-Zi, where has that old man reached? Hey, I’m gonna pack my bag first. If he asks a question later, give me a nudge.” Qin Jiahui muttered quietly with her head down. She had quite a bit to do, stuffing all her textbooks and test papers into her backpack. “You have to remember those materials!”

Luo Mu was copying the history PPT from the multimedia computer. She pushed up her glasses: “I’ll go right after school.”

Her gaze drifted to Qin Jiahui, and Luo Mu suddenly froze.

Luo Mu: “Are you… really going to read all those books if you take them back? We have to come back tomorrow afternoon for self-study anyway.”

Qin Jiahui: “Isn’t it just for self-comfort? I probably won’t look at them anyway.”

Luo Mu smiled faintly. This kind of conversation was par for the course.

Three.

Two.

One.

When the bell for the final class rang, Luo Mu heard the thunderous sound of students running out of the teaching building into the corridors. A dark mass of figures streaked past her eyes—the image of youthful teenagers racing toward freedom.

Luo Mu’s eyes couldn’t help but grow moist. It was only many years later that she realized: that feeling was called envy.

Envy of being young.

Qin Jiahui: “Mu-Mu-Zi, I’m off! Remember the stuff!”

Before Luo Mu could snap out of it, she saw that familiar figure slip out the back door.

Truly typical of Qin Jiahui.

As the classroom emptied out, Luo Mu picked up the materials and was about to leave when there was a tapping sound at the window.

Ji Rongshu.

“I’m meeting friends to play ball tonight. Head back yourself,” Ji Rongshu said casually, leaning in through the window.

Luo Mu didn’t complain; she just handed the materials to him.

Ji Rongshu had a bad premonition. Seeing the Student Union report list, his expression turned sour.

Ji Rongshu was surprised: “No way, I still have to deal with this crap.”

Luo Mu simply relayed the other person’s message: “Qin Jiahui said she can give you a few days’ extension.”

“Fine. I’m off. Text me when you get home.”

After the simple greeting, Luo Mu finished packing her things and went to find that person.

As she stepped out into the corridor, she came face to face with her.

“Luo Mu?”

A very familiar voice.

The autumn weather was refreshing; the dusk looked like a drunken deity. The sunset spilled over all living beings—the seven emotions and six desires of the gods.

Yan Qingzhu had her school jacket draped over her left shoulder. The “ghost talismans” drawn at noon were still clearly visible on her arm under the setting sun. Her half-tied ponytail fluttered lightly in the direction of the wind, and her untied hair draped over both shoulders, making her look less like a “bad kid.”

Her sharp features appeared with a hazy beauty under the reddish afterglow—like a dulled dagger, stripped of its former aggression. It turned out that the pure white of youth wasn’t just the monotone color of school uniforms, but that person, at seventeen.

That was a different color.

That was a private memory.

At this moment, for the first time, Luo Mu had the thought of truly getting to know the person in front of her.

“Let’s go home together.”

They said it in unison.

Let’s go home together.

As they walked down the stairs, Luo Mu followed slowly behind. Yan Qingzhu was in front of her, a few steps lower, and Luo Mu watched her quietly.

Through the sunset outside the window, a beam of light fell perfectly onto Yan Qingzhu’s shoulder, merging with her. Luo Mu suddenly thought of a story she wrote for a competition in elementary school about a “girl cloaked in light,” which was a symbol of luck.

She let out a snicker.

“What’s wrong?” Yan Qingzhu turned around.

“Thinking of a fairy tale I wrote as a kid,” Luo Mu smiled foolishly. “A girl reflected in the sunset can be granted the right to be loved.”

“Then do you believe in fairy tales?” Yan Qingzhu asked back.

“I don’t.” Luo Mu lowered her head slightly, thought for a moment, then spoke again: “But I think you deserve to have that right.”

When Luo Mu snapped back to her senses, she realized her words were somewhat inappropriate and was about to explain. But the person had turned her head and stood motionless. Her gaze was like an undercurrent—not exactly turbulent, but certainly not calm. She stared at her, a thousand words held back at her lips.

The wind in her ears stopped instantly.

“I’m joking,” Luo Mu laughed and waved her hand, fearing the other person might overthink it.

The person replied with a smile: “I know.”

Joking.

It was only later that she understood: “I’m joking” is rarely a joke. It’s not just an excuse to relieve awkwardness; it’s a way to tell that person: “No, I’m serious. I’m not joking. I’m very serious.”

Luo Mu pulled the Foreign Language Festival materials from her bag and pressed the stack against Yan Qingzhu’s back; the other woman naturally reached back to take them.

“The Foreign Language Festival?” Yan Qingzhu frowned, looking at the large characters on the cover.

“There’s a new process this year. The Student Union is picking representatives from several groups who won awards in the tenth grade to be judges.”

“Are there any benefits?” Yan Qingzhu flipped through the materials. The dense flowchart really made her head spin.

“Maybe a few extra tickets to the festival night?” Luo Mu said carelessly.

Luo Mu didn’t really care about tickets for any event. It was only because the people around her kept pushing her to socialize that she wasn’t currently wandering alone.

That liveliness—the passionate applause and screams—to Luo Mu, it all became cheap.

Untouchable.

Yan Qingzhu laughed: “Then I definitely have to go.”

Luo Mu looked at her smiling face, not knowing the meaning behind her words.

Unfathomable.

Yan Qingzhu flipped through the name list, clearly excited.

She had made a bet with Ye Nanqiao earlier: if she could get tickets for the festival gala, that idiot would have to pay for a whole week’s breakfast.

Nice one, Ye Nanqiao. Your day has finally come.

Prepare to die, Ye Nanqiao.

While secretly rejoicing, Yan Qingzhu noticed the expression of the person behind her change slightly. In her peripheral vision, she saw her brow furrowing.

The person’s eyes showed a hint of being lost. Unlike the bitterness of drinking herbal medicine as a child, this was the tragic beauty of a fine handicraft shattering with a crisp sound.

Luo Mu seemed to understand—perhaps it was her tolerance for things, or her intentional fiddling with the “ghost talismans” on her arm—but this child’s reaction was entirely different compared to Luo Mu’s.

Luo Mu should have known long ago; perhaps they were not people on the same path.

“So, are you going?” Yan Qingzhu noticed her reaction.

“I don’t understand the languages, and there’s no translation,” Luo Mu laughed, not expecting to use such a perfunctory answer as an excuse.

Yan Qingzhu laughed: “Then I’ll translate for you.”

I’ll translate for you.

Don’t be afraid of not understanding. I will use the most poetic language to tell you the beginnings, developments, turns, and conclusions of those romantic stories. I will recount the deep meanings of foreign tongues and analyze the incomparable indulgence of words for you.

I will tell you that you are not alone.

Sure enough, this sentence tickled Luo Mu: “What if it’s Spanish?”

Yan Qingzhu froze for a moment, the corners of her mouth curling up: “…Then I’ll use the translation on my phone to explain it to you.”

The sunset stretched the girls’ shadows long, like the shimmering tracks of youth, yet carrying the scent of the autumn equinox. The dry leaves on the street made a crisp sound under their feet. The autumn wind blew against their young faces. The cheers of school letting out grew longer and further away, dissolving into the autumn air.

Yan Qingzhu pondered for a long time before finally asking: “Is someone really going to perform in Spanish?”

Luo Mu answered naturally: “They’re not just singing; they’re going to perform a bullfight.”

Yan Qingzhu was even more surprised: “Really?”

Luo Mu glanced at her: “Fake.”