Hopeless Romance (GL) - Chapter 13

Chapter 13

In March, Yunchuan was filled with the vibrant energy of spring—green grass, soaring birds, and endless clear skies. The weather was so impossibly beautiful that, rather than let the time go to waste, Jiang Xinwan dragged Wang Zhu out of PE class to hide away on the rooftop of the gymnasium. Even for a PE class, Jiang Xinwan could never convince the highly disciplined Ye Du to skip; and even if Chen Pupu wanted to, Ye Du wouldn’t allow it. But acting alone always felt riskier, so Jiang Xinwan insisted on bringing Wang Zhu along. In reality, their “truancy” was quite harmless: they’d buy snacks and fried skewers from the cafeteria and find a secluded spot to hang out. Usually, Jiang Xinwan would read manga while Wang Zhu, in her uniquely refined way, would use the time to rework her math mistakes.

“Wang Zhu, I really should have brought my phone to take a picture of you. With this level of dedication, if Zhang Jianwei doesn’t name you ‘Star Student’ this semester, I’ll be the first to protest on your behalf,” Jiang Xinwan remarked, glancing at the image of Wang Zhu frowning over her math problems, then back at her own latest copy of Natsume’s Book of Friends. She couldn’t help but think manga was superior; though it was a traditional Chinese edition and she didn’t recognize some of the characters, her joy and satisfaction remained untouched.

“It’s called ‘the slow bird flies early.’ If I had a brain like Ye Du’s, I wouldn’t be here writing until my hand cramps,” Wang Zhu sighed deeply, lamenting the vast gap between people’s natural abilities.

“Don’t be so sure. Do you think Ye Du studies less in private? I see her with more homework than anyone else all day long, and she spends every holiday in tutoring. Her life is honestly tragic,” Jiang Xinwan said with a look of mock distress, mourning how such a young girl had lost herself in a sea of assignments.

“Jiang Xinwan, if you don’t have anything nice to say, can you just shut up? Saying that makes me feel like I can’t even beat Ye Du at working hard!” Wang Zhu’s sigh grew even longer.

After a moment of reflection, Jiang Xinwan suppressed the urge to laugh and returned to her manga.

When the sound of footsteps approached, Wang Zhu was the first to snap out of the “sea of math.” As she packed up, she reflexively smacked the drowsy Jiang Xinwan on the head with her workbook to wake her up. Before Jiang could ask what was happening, Wang Zhu had already pulled her behind a building to hide. It was a small shed connecting the electrical room—not large, but more than enough to conceal the two of them.

“What are we hiding for?” Jiang Xinwan whispered as softly as possible.

“What if it’s a teacher on patrol?” The hushed exchange heightened the tension. Wang Zhu actually had a lot more she wanted to say—mostly insults directed at Jiang Xinwan for asking such a stupid question when disaster was imminent, as if skipping class was something to be proud of. She regretted bringing her; she should have left her there to be caught by a teacher while she was fast asleep.

“Whatever it is, say it quickly.” The footsteps stopped, and a girl’s voice rang out, tinged with impatience.

“Um, thank you for agreeing to meet me.” This time, it was a boy speaking.

“I said, out with it.” The girl’s tone grew more displeased.

“Alright… Jiang Zhouchi, I like you. Will you be my girlfriend?” At these words, the most shocked people weren’t Jiang Zhouchi, but Jiang Xinwan and Wang Zhu hiding nearby. They had accidentally stumbled onto the front lines of a major scandal and were getting the scoop firsthand.

Jiang Xinwan and Wang Zhu’s eyes widened in perfect synchronization, their mouths twitching and eyebrows furrowing.

“Thanks, but no. Are we done? If we’re done, I’m leaving.” Jiang Zhouchi turned to leave but was grabbed by the boy.

“Why are you rejecting me?” The boy was silent for a moment. “Or is it true that you actually like Pei Lang?”

Jiang Zhouchi gave a cold snort and a contemptuous laugh. “Kong Qi, this isn’t the first time I’ve rejected you. What does Pei Lang have to do with it?”

“That photo… I saw it,” the boy named Kong Qi said, his voice full of helplessness.

“We’re grown up now, not kids anymore. Can you please stop showing up at my house for no reason?” Jiang Zhouchi remembered she had tucked that photo under the plastic tablecloth on her desk. Kong Qi must have gone to her house again to have seen it.

“I didn’t mean to. That day, your mom had an episode, and they couldn’t reach you, so…” Jiang Zhouchi didn’t want to hear about her mother’s illness and cut him off. In the vastness of Yunchuan Middle School, this was the secret she fought hardest to keep.

“Fine. I like Pei Lang. What of it? Is that not allowed?” Jiang Zhouchi shifted the topic back to him.

“But he’s not from the same world as us.” In Kong Qi’s eyes, Pei Lang was a “favored son of heaven.” A carefree life and an easy future were laid out for him to choose. But Jiang Zhouchi was different; she was dragged down by a mentally unstable mother. Even though she was beautiful and proud, she was merely an empty shell. Her beauty had no foundation. She would coldly accept the gifts from her many pursuers, take them home, sort through them, sell anything impractical, and quickly turn the love letters into scrap paper. Even though they were just students, some boys from wealthy families were quite generous. Jiang Zhouchi never rejected them, but she never said yes either; she was like a pendulum, swinging back and forth, testing both sides but never stopping.

“Then remember this: I am not from the same world as you, either.” This time, Kong Qi didn’t stop her. He knew he couldn’t; he had tried his best. Lately, he often thought of the Jiang Zhouchi from their childhood. She had always been pretty and sensible. Whenever their families met, she would sweetly greet his parents and him. Later, they became neighbors, and as they spent more time together, Kong Qi truly began to think of her as a sister.

In truth, Jiang Zhouchi’s mother had been ill for a long time, but it wasn’t serious at first; she could still work, and her father was still alive. Then, her father died instantly in a car accident on his way back from a business trip. Upon hearing the news, her mother rushed to the funeral home—her first time in such a cold, lifeless place, and it was for the person she loved most. When the white sheet was pulled back, she collapsed. she refused to let them take the body, screaming that the hospital and police were irresponsible, that he could still be saved, and that she would take him home to treat him herself. Throughout it all, she didn’t wail or cry hysterically; she simply clung to the cooling corpse and tried to drag it away. It was a biting December in Yunchuan, but she couldn’t tell if the weather was colder or if her heart was. The staff were stuck, afraid of hurting her but also needing to protect the body. When Jiang Zhouchi was brought there by the police, her mother was in a standoff with security and officers. Seeing her mother disheveled and tear-stained, the young girl began to cry out of fear. Through a heavy, stuffed-up nose, she called out “Mama” over and over. Those cries shattered her mother’s brittle obsession. Unfortunately, her mother only had two hands; if she held her daughter, she couldn’t hold her dead husband.

From 그날 on, her mother’s condition worsened. Doctors suggested a nursing home—a place away from the environment that triggered her trauma—otherwise, she would remain trapped in her pain, and the illness would decline further. However, her mother was lucid most of the time and remembered she had a daughter to care for. Whenever there was talk of sending her away, she fought it desperately. Eventually, with help from the neighborhood committee, Jiang Zhouchi’s maternal grandmother moved to Yunchuan to care for them. But her mother could no longer work; her instability was too high a cost for any company. The accident settlement would eventually run dry, and government subsidies were a mere drop in the bucket. Thus, Jiang Zhouchi had to save every penny to keep them from destitution. She knew she was beautiful, but she also knew her beauty was impoverished. Even so, she drew people in. She used her beauty to nourish her beauty because she needed to escape this life—the sooner, the better.

By the time Kong Qi left, Wang Zhu and Jiang Xinwan still hadn’t recovered from the shock. This gossip was far too complex. Setting aside the “he likes her, she likes someone else” drama, the information about Jiang Zhouchi alone was overwhelming. Her mother had a serious illness? This Kong Qi guy knew her so well, yet no one had ever heard of him. And what was the deal with the photo? Jiang Xinwan had accidentally crumpled her manga. She suddenly felt that the excitement in her comics paled in comparison to real life. Truly, art imitates life, though it doesn’t necessarily surpass it.

After a moment to compose themselves, the two ran to meet Ye Du and Chen Pupu before the final bell rang. As they passed Jiang Zhouchi, they instinctively glanced at each other, looking as guilty as if they were the ones who had done something wrong.

“Did you two get caught skipping?” Seeing their complicated expressions, Ye Du made what she thought was a logical guess.

“Should I tell them it was your idea then?” Jiang Xinwan snapped back, though she didn’t believe it herself. She secretly thought that if she ever did get caught, it would definitely be because Ye Du told on her.

“We found out something… very significant,” Wang Zhu said, looking around before whispering like a secret agent making a handoff.

“I’m ready. Tell me everything,” Chen Pupu said, standing by for the gossip.

Jiang Xinwan scanned their surroundings. Students were heading back to the teaching building in groups of threes and fives. There were people everywhere—not a good place to talk. “Too many eyes and ears here. It’s not appropriate.”

“Jiang Xinwan, you’re the worst! You’re going to leave us hanging? I hate it when people say they have news and then don’t share. It’s such a tease!” Chen Pupu was practically bursting with impatience.

Ye Du patted Chen Pupu on the shoulder. “It’s okay. Lunch is after the next period. We can hear all about it then. Let’s get back to class for now, or we’ll actually be late.”