Hopeless Romance (GL) - Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Dinner was eventually decided to be at KFC. For students of this age, it was considered “junk food” shunned by parents, but a certain level of parental opposition often underwent a qualitative change into a powerful temptation. Moreover, the setting was perfect for a massive, end-of-vacation homework-copying session; a single cup of cola could buy you half a day’s seating—top-tier value for the money.

When it came time to order, Ye Du struggled to choose. She read the name of every item with intense focus to distinguish between them, as if solving a mathematical word problem, attempting to deduce the flavor profile from just a few words of given information. By then, Jiang Xinwan and Wang Zhu had already gone to find a table. Seeing this, Chen Pupu stepped in and offered to make some recommendations.

“Do you want a burger or fried chicken?” Ye Du chose the latter. Remembering that Ye Du liked spicy food, Chen Pupu picked the Spicy Chicken Wings for her, plus an order of fries and a cola.

After ordering, Ye Du remained near the counter waiting for the food. Although she knew the staff would bring it over, Chen Pupu stayed with her. Amidst the hum of the machines and the ebb and flow of the crowd, Ye Du spoke up of her own accord.

“This is my first time at KFC. My mother is very strict with me; she says this food is bad for your health and shouldn’t be eaten. But every time I pass by, I see so many kids eating it, and they seem to be growing up quite healthily.” Ye Du remained calm even while complaining. Chen Pupu couldn’t help but wonder what kind of event would finally make Ye Du lose control of her emotions like an ordinary child.

Chen Pupu’s upbringing wasn’t exactly one of total indulgence, but her requests were generally met. Whether it was fast food, Barbie dolls, or amusement parks, she would tell her parents directly if she wanted them. If they were reluctant, she would simply cling to Qin Wei and act spoiled until her wish was granted. Ye Sangshu’s style of education seemed far too solemn to Chen Pupu; she was even a little afraid of the woman. Yet, she couldn’t speak ill of her, and since never having eaten KFC wasn’t exactly a tragedy, offering comfort felt like an exaggeration. Chen Pupu fell into a rare silence for a moment, then, thinking that life was long and there would be plenty of chances to make up for past regrets, she said to Ye Du, “If you want to eat this again in the future, we’ll come together.”

Since their last meeting, the frequency of Chen Pupu’s phone calls had increased. To keep Ye Sangshu from knowing, Chen Pupu usually chose to call in the afternoon. Most of the time, she talked about things happening in her flute class. She liked a boy there; in her words, he was clean-cut, had good grades, played the flute well, and was very easy to get along with—it was hard not to like him. Chen Pupu mentioned his name several times, but Ye Du could never remember it, only that his surname was Liu.

Chen Pupu and Student Liu always sat together during class, and the teacher loved to pick them for demonstrations. This made Chen Pupu very happy, giving her much more motivation for the flute than before. Sometimes Student Liu would bring snacks from home and give the first piece to Chen Pupu. Taking the snack from him made her heart soar with joy, and she would rush home to call Ye Du and share the news, as if she had eaten the most delicious thing in the world. Sometimes they agreed to do homework together after class. While Student Liu was focused on his work, Chen Pupu was a bit distracted—a state Ye Du dubbed “Pupu’s mind is not on the homework, but on Student Liu.” Chen Pupu had liked this boy for quite a while, but she had never told anyone else, feeling it was something shy and private. She didn’t know why she chose to tell Ye Du, nor did she say things like “This is a secret, don’t tell anyone.” Perhaps it was because she had never heard Ye Du gossip about others; subconsciously, she felt Ye Du was trustworthy.

Ye Du listened as a way to pass the time. Buried daily in exercises and knowledge points, she also needed moments of escape. Consequently, she was an excellent listener, responding thoughtfully to keep the conversation flowing like a dedicated stage partner. Whether driven by joy or intense frustration, Chen Pupu would sometimes talk for a long time in one breath. While listening, Ye Du’s thoughts would often drift. She couldn’t help but wonder why she didn’t have such rich emotions or the desire to share. Chen Pupu was like a stream, tinkling and winding and colorful, while she herself was like a pool of stagnant water; even if someone reached in to scoop the water, it wouldn’t create much of a ripple.

Pessimism and indifference were the underlying tones Ye Du always wanted to shed. She desperately wished to be a true participant in this life, rather than what she was now—a pitiful puppet guided forward by a terrifying kind of love, moving ignorantly toward an unknown destination, only to be left with a gentle reproach. But she didn’t know what to do. Aside from knowing she shouldn’t be this way, Ye Du felt she knew nothing at all.

Most of those moments of spacing out were brushed off with excuses of a bad signal or polite pleasantries. Ye Du could still extract the message Chen Pupu wanted to convey through key words—a tacit understanding built over time. Most of Chen Pupu’s emotions were within Ye Du’s range of comprehension, until the day Chen Pupu invited her to go to a music festival during the May Day holiday. It was a gift from Chen Pupu’s cousin; she had thought carefully about her friends and finally decided to share the experience with Ye Du.

A music festival was a completely foreign concept to Ye Du. When she heard the term, she couldn’t construct a corresponding scene or image in her mind. While Chen Pupu excitedly described the stages and the bands, Ye Du only felt a sense of defeat. She already sensed that she wouldn’t be able to have her first music festival experience at fourteen. Not only was it unfamiliar to her, but to Ye Sangshu, it would be something distant and nonsensical. Yet, in that complex mix of longing and wishful thinking, Ye Du suddenly wanted to try.

Ye Du truly was not a lucky person. She used the most concise phrasing possible to express her request, but Ye Sangshu opposed it on all fronts. In her mother’s words: as someone about to enter her second year of middle school, why go to a music festival? Could this help her studies in the slightest? Secondly, the festival was during the May Day holiday—that was time Ye Du should naturally spend in tutoring. Was there anything more important than that? Thirdly, there was the safety issue; if two children went out alone and something happened, who would be responsible?

Ye Du did not attempt to refute this logically sound and evidence-based argument; besides, Ye Sangshu didn’t require a response anyway. But Ye Du suddenly wanted to ask Qin Wei: why did she agree to let Chen Pupu go? Wasn’t Chen Pupu also just a first-year middle schooler? Ye Du even wondered if she could ask Qin Wei to persuade Ye Sangshu—perhaps then she could go with her friend. But Ye Du couldn’t take that step. How would she say it? Where would she even begin? Should she start with her parents’ tragic marriage or her mother’s madness? This wasn’t the first time Ye Du had felt angry, but this time she felt a more distinct, deep sadness—not for herself, but for Ye Sangshu.

It would be a long time before Ye Du could clearly understand that there are all kinds of people in this world, shaped by the choices they make. These choices are like pebbles dropped into the ocean, creating ripples that clash against one another, ensuring the sea never finds rest. And Ye Du herself was merely one fleeting circle among those ripples.

Chen Pupu was disappointed. They say things don’t happen more than three times, and this was already the second time Ye Du had turned her down. Although it wasn’t intentional, her unhappiness couldn’t be hidden. For several days, Ye Du didn’t hear the telephone ring in the living room.

On New Year’s Eve, the outside world was filled with the sound of firecrackers and the constant bloom of fireworks, but Ye Du’s home remained quiet and cold. There were no relatives coming for a festive reunion, nor a hometown to rush back to. To Ye Du and Ye Sangshu, the Eve was barely different from any other day; after all, a holiday atmosphere sustained by only two people is inevitably thin. Nevertheless, Ye Sangshu bought new clothes for both of them. They had been in the house for over half a month, but since they were for the New Year, they had to wait until the Eve. One had to wash oneself clean before changing into them, symbolizing washing away the bad luck of the old year to welcome the new. After noon, Ye Du pasted the couplets according to the instructions. The little pigs on the couplets looked jubilant, clutching gold ingots and grinning, which was a pleasant sight. She also pasted the “Fu” (blessing) character upside down in the center of the door. After finishing, she stepped back to examine it, made a slight adjustment, and cleaned up the packaging. Whether it was new clothes, New Year posters, or the New Year itself, these were all just excuses humans made for themselves. But it was precisely through these excuses that everything could begin anew.

When Ye Sangshu returned from buying groceries, the phone happened to ring. Before Ye Du could greet her mother, her hand reacted instinctively, picking up the receiver. No one spoke on the other end at first; Ye Du only heard vague voices in the background, seemingly discussing cooking arrangements mixed with casual family chatter.

“Pupu, Happy New Year.” The fact that Chen Pupu called meant her anger had dissipated. The olive branch had been extended, and Ye Du naturally wouldn’t be ungrateful. However, she couldn’t bring herself to say “I’m sorry.” She hated those words because they signified that harm had already been done; saying them was little more than a hollow gesture. Moreover, she didn’t want to have the chance to hurt Chen Pupu—her best friend.

“I received your blessing! Ye Du, Happy New Year! I hope that in the new year, you can be even happier!” Currently, it sounded like Chen Pupu was the happier one.

“I am happy, because you’re the first to wish me.” Ye Du thought she would likely be the only one, too.

“Of course! I haven’t called the others yet.” The “others” Chen Pupu referred to were, naturally, Jiang Xinwan and Wang Zhu.

“Speaking of which, I don’t even have their contact information.” In truth, Ye Du had only memorized Chen Pupu’s number through caller ID, but she obviously couldn’t tell her that.

“Then I’ll send blessings on your behalf too, hahaha! I’m telling you, there are so many people at my house today, and lots of little kids, so there’s tons of delicious food. You must eat a lot today too!” To Chen Pupu, the New Year meant a lot of people gathering to eat a lot of good food. She thought Jiang Xinwan must love the New Year.

Chen Pupu didn’t mention the music festival again, but she still talked a lot—about fireworks, about red envelope money, and how they must set off fireworks together next year. To all of this, Ye Du responded in agreement and took it to heart. As Chen Pupu said, if one couldn’t have a bustling, noisy Spring Festival, having one filled with delicious food was also a good choice.

The moment she hung up, the music of the Spring Festival Gala began. Ye Du went to the kitchen to help Ye Sangshu. She put the trimmed greens into the washbasin and, bowing her head to wash them carefully one by one, said “Happy New Year” amid the bubbling sound of the running water.