Hopeless Romance (GL) - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Everyone’s self-introductions were brief, yet descriptions of their neighbors seemed slightly longer. After two rows of students had finished, Ye Du only remembered one name: Jiang Zhouchi. This was because she was beautiful—a very standard kind of beauty. Large eyes, double eyelids, an oval face, and lips that curved slightly upward when she spoke. There was a fearlessness in her gaze that gave Jiang Zhouchi a vibrant, bold aura, making it impossible not to remember her, to the point where those around her seemed to fade into the background.

When it was Jiang Xinwan’s turn, Ye Du couldn’t help but think that the gender ratio in the class was a bit skewed; there seemed to be many more girls than boys. To test her theory, she began counting with her eyes. By the time it was Ye Du’s turn to stand up, she had just finished counting the girls. She noted it down on a blank page in her notebook: 28. By the time the whole process concluded, she had finished her counting game, and her hypothesis was proven correct.

Ye Du couldn’t quite remember why she had remembered Chen Pupu, but regardless, Chen Pupu was the third person she committed to memory. Perhaps it was because she was the one left without a partner, or perhaps it was because her hobbies included the flute. After all, everyone seemed to have so many talents—some did taekwondo, some practiced recitation, others were junior hosts, and there was even a girl whose specialty was reciting pi. Ye Du suddenly felt her own hobbies were utterly mundane, and the flute was an instrument she had never heard of before.

Chen Pupu had short hair with straight bangs. Her hair was as black as ink, her skin as fair as snow, and she had deer-like eyes set in a palm-sized face. A small nose and full lips added a touch of innocent charm, while a pair of bold eyebrows tempered any gaudiness. Altogether, her face radiated a spiritual, gentle beauty. It was a completely different kind of beauty from Jiang Zhouchi’s. Her voice was also lovely—bright and tender, yet without feeling sluggish or affected.

To ensure the distribution of textbooks proceeded in an orderly fashion, Zhang Jianwei needed to appoint temporary class monitors. Yunchuan Middle School was ranked third in the city, and Ye Du’s class was an “experimental class.” The children who made it in were either academically brilliant or from wealthy backgrounds. School leadership had even put in a word for some of the more prominent students. The top three students from the independent entrance exam were all in this class: the first was Shang Ruixi, the girl who loved reciting pi; the second was Qin Zibei; and the third was Ye Du. In the eyes of the teachers, “influential figures” were defined by excellent grades. As a rare male high-achiever, Qin Zibei was chosen by Zhang Jianwei to lead five boys to the library to bring the textbooks back.

“Jiang Xinwan, do you know how to play the flute?” Ye Du tapped Jiang Xinwan, who was chatting with the student behind her.

“Flute? No,” Jiang Xinwan repeated in confusion, shaking her head.

Ye Du turned to her left to ask Liu Zhou, who was busy drawing, and received the same answer. She then looked toward her front-left. Although there was only one person in that row, the girl named Chen Pupu was surrounded by several classmates. Ye Du wondered if they were asking her the same question.

After the textbooks were distributed, Ye Du’s desk cubby and backpack became full. She checked the schedule, placed the books needed for tomorrow in her desk, and prepared to carry the rest home to cover them with book sleeves.

“Ye Du, how are you getting home?” Jiang Xinwan had packed quickly and already had her bag on.

“I’m taking the 53 bus, heading toward Zhonggu Garden.”

“Then I won’t wait for you. I’m in a hurry to get home,” Jiang Xinwan said. After all, her “treasures” (updates) were waiting for her at home.

“Okay, see you tomorrow.” Guessing the reason for her haste, Ye Du smiled.

As she reached the back door of the classroom, Ye Du hesitated, then turned back. She walked up to Chen Pupu, who was still packing her bag, reached out her hand, and said, “Hi Chen Pupu, I’m Ye Du.”

When Chen Pupu was startled, her head would tilt back and her mouth would open slightly, but she instinctively took the hand offered to her. Once she recovered, she smiled and said, “Hi, Ye Du.”

The moment they let go of each other’s hands, Ye Du asked, “Chen Pupu, can you play the flute?”

Chen Pupu nodded and said, “I mentioned it in my introduction just now. Were you not listening carefully?”

Ye Du smiled and shrugged as an answer, leaving behind a “see you tomorrow” before the other could respond.

By the time Chen Pupu reached the school gate, her parents had been waiting for a while. Once in the car, she couldn’t help but share her day’s experiences. She mentioned how she was the only one who had to “pair up” with the teacher for introductions, how she had met many new friends, and how many classmates were interested in her flute playing. There was even a student who ran over specifically to ask if she played; that student had a very special name—Ye Du—though Pupu didn’t yet know which specific characters were used to write it. Qin Wei listened intently, giving her daughter feedback. She learned that Chen Pupu had run into Wang Zhu, a classmate from a neighboring class in elementary school, and encouraged her to bring her flute to school to share and perform for her classmates. Worrying that Chen Pupu might be lonely growing up as an only child, Qin Wei had taken her to various hobby classes to try things out. A hobby could be both a skill and a form of solace; she hoped that in moments of loneliness, Chen Pupu would always have her flute to accompany her.

All in all, Chen Pupu was very happy today. However, that happiness only lasted until she reached her front door. Upon opening her bag at home, she realized that in her excitement to share with her parents, she had forgotten to buy book covers.

Ye Du had been delayed for a while at the stationery store near the school gate. The time on the bus wasn’t enough for her to make a decision; it only allowed her to narrow down her choices. Various book covers were rolled into thin cylinders, leaning askew in woven bamboo baskets. Most of the people picking them out were girls, and the baskets were surrounded. Those who came in groups consulted each other, but Ye Du, standing alone, watched as the covers were snatched away one by one. With no one to ask and no clear preference, she compromised by buying two rolls of brown kraft paper and two rolls of patterned covers. She didn’t want her textbooks to wear “see-through clothes”—it always gave her the sensation that the books were “streaking.”

When she got home, Ye Sangshu hadn’t finished work yet. Ye Du put her backpack in her room and headed back downstairs toward the entrance of the neighborhood. The apartment was assigned by Ye Sangshu’s workplace; they only had the right to live there, not to own it. The neighborhood was old, but fortunately, the local amenities were complete—a wet market, a hospital, schools, and a stadium were all nearby. Many old restaurants were tucked away in the deep alleys and courtyards nearby, attracting plenty of foodies. On her way to the market, Ye Du calculated what to have for dinner. She wasn’t picky about ingredients or flavors, but Ye Sangshu only ate fish and beef when it came to meat, and she particularly loved carrots, often showing little interest in other ingredients. Ye Du hadn’t learned this from her mother’s words, but had observed these patterns over the years.

Ye Du remembered the first time she made Fish-Fragrant Shredded Pork (Yuxiang Rousi). When Ye Sangshu sat at the table, she took one look and put down her chopsticks. She went to the kitchen to get a spoon and finished her small bowl of rice using only the leftover soup from the night before. She didn’t get angry, she didn’t complain, and she didn’t question Ye Du, but her coldness was laid bare in Ye Du’s eyes. Mixing the sauce, shredding the meat, lettuce, and wood ear mushrooms, and then stir-frying was hard and complicated work for a ten-year-old. Even as an adult, Ye Du couldn’t understand: even if the dish wasn’t liked, didn’t her effort and heart deserve a warmer response?

On her way back with the groceries, Ye Du ran into Ye Sangshu at the neighborhood gate. Ye Du called out “Mom.” Ye Sangshu seemed to be in a good mood; she responded and took the groceries from Ye Du, peering into the plastic bags one by one without saying much.

“How was your day?” Ye Sangshu’s voice rang out alongside the friction of the key entering the lock.

“Pretty good.” This kind of perfunctory answer was what Ye Du considered the safest; it effectively avoided further conversation while still providing an answer.

Ye Sangshu wanted to ask more—specifically, what was good about it? Was it the teachers or the classmates? But after changing her shoes, Ye Du went straight to her room. Before her mother could find the right words, the bedroom door had already closed.

Ye Du planned to use the brown paper for her three main subjects—Chinese, Math, and English—while the patterned covers would be used for subjects that didn’t determine her final grades. Doing handicrafts was something that made her feel steady because it required her to focus on the object itself, leaving no room for stray thoughts about messy problems. She chose a black watercolor pen and neatly wrote the subject names in the center of the covers. Thanks to Ye Sangshu’s long-standing strict requirements, Ye Du had beautiful handwriting. However, whenever she received compliments on her writing, she couldn’t help but remember the boredom of practicing calligraphy as a child, and the fear of Ye Sangshu placing a kitchen knife nearby to supervise her. In truth, those days of being watched over while studying were long gone, but Ye Du thought of them from time to time; if she were to forget them, it seemed she would have even fewer memories shared with Ye Sangshu.

As was her habit, Ye Du began clearing the table after eating, but was stopped by Ye Sangshu. Now that Ye Du was in middle school, Ye Sangshu didn’t plan on letting her do housework anymore. Competition at Yunchuan Middle School was fierce, and these three years were crucial for getting into a good high school. Since it was just the two of them, the chores weren’t that much anyway. Ye Du froze for a moment before putting the dishes down. Her sense of loss wasn’t because she had a particular love for washing dishes, but because, for her, it was actually a form of entertainment.

Thinking about the upcoming middle school life, although Ye Du appeared calm on the outside, she felt an irrepressible excitement in her heart. New teachers, new classmates, and new friends—she would be one step closer to growing up. To her, this was full of allure; she was very curious to know what she would be like when she finally grew up.