Hopeless Romance (GL) - Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Everything about Chen Pupu’s first love was wonderful—except for her steadily declining grades. She began to feel that the novels she used to read were all lies. The protagonists in those books always managed to stay devoted to their crushes while maintaining gifted academic performance, as if the power of love alone provided infinite energy without the need for books or practice problems. Looking at her monthly exam results, Chen Pupu couldn’t help but worry about the upcoming finals.

“Pupu, how did you end up with a score like this?” Jiang Xinwan counted from the bottom of the list, finding it much faster to locate Chen Pupu’s name that way. Pupu had plummeted from 20th in the class to 38th. Since Class 10 only had 49 students in total, any further drop would make her performance completely indefensible.

“I don’t know.” Chen Pupu’s eyes welled with tears, but she felt she had no right to cry; she had brought this on herself. Over the past two months with Yu Xiao, her after-school hours had been spent almost entirely with her. Yu Xiao would take her to all sorts of places she had never been—arcades, cinemas, even billiard halls. By the time Pupu got home, tinkered around, and finished dinner, time had slipped away. Her daily homework was completed haphazardly just to get it over with; sometimes she couldn’t even remember what the assignments were and had to call Ye Du to ask. Pupu could clearly sense Ye Du’s dissatisfaction with the situation. Ye Du no longer listened to her talk endlessly like she used to, but Pupu hadn’t realized that now, eight out of ten things she said were about Yu Xiao. The first time Ye Du interrupted her, saying she had too many competition problems to finish, Pupu was stunned. She had almost forgotten that Ye Du had already begun preparing for the Mathematics Competition.

On the day of Ye Du’s selection exam, Chen Pupu had originally agreed to wait for the results with Jiang Xinwan and Wang Zhu. They all assumed Ye Du would have no problem advancing to the second round, so they never considered the possibility of her returning to the classroom midway. But as school let out, Pupu remembered that Yu Xiao had her own intra-group preliminary race that day—the top three would represent the school at the city-level competition. It was Yu Xiao’s first official race since they started dating, and Yu Xiao took it for granted that Pupu would be there to cheer for her. Pupu really wanted to see it, too. In that moment, Pupu realized that love, too, comes with its own set of troubles.

Ultimately, Pupu chose romance over friendship. She reasoned that even if she wasn’t there, Ye Du still had Jiang Xinwan and Wang Zhu. But if she didn’t watch Yu Xiao’s race, Yu Xiao would have no audience at all; there would be no one to share the joy if she ran well, and no one to comfort her if she did poorly. Besides, as her girlfriend, she felt she should be there.

…

The second round of the exam lasted longer than the first. By the time Ye Du finished, Jiang Xinwan and Wang Zhu had already finished a bowl of shaved ice—one of their favorite summer treats from the shop near the school gate. The ice was topped with watermelon, red beans, taro balls, and coconut jelly, all melting into the finely crushed ice to create a perfect harmony of flavors. Every spoonful made one exclaim that summer was truly wonderful.

Just as Jiang Xinwan swallowed her second piece of fried chicken, Ye Du emerged from the classroom. Ye Du wasn’t surprised to see that Pupu wasn’t there. Although she felt a slight sense of loss, she was mostly confused—as someone with no standing to demand Pupu’s presence, why did a flicker of hurt cross her mind? It had been two months; she should have adjusted by now. Even though this faint emotion was a strong release of pain for someone like Ye Du, she still didn’t truly understand herself yet.

After a whole afternoon of testing, Ye Du felt lightheaded, but the warm breeze outside revived her slightly. Jiang Xinwan and Wang Zhu walked ahead of her. Jiang Xinwan was talking about a manga she wanted to read tonight—something called La Corda d’Oro—a music-themed story she was excited about. While many people around her found anime childish or unrealistic, and her mother often argued with her over it (even throwing most of her manga and CDs onto the floor once), Jiang Xinwan remained devoted to it. She remembered once, after a particularly poor exam result—despite her hard work during that period—her mother threatened to burn all her anime-related belongings. Seeing her treasures being tossed out from her shelves and bed, a sense of unprecedented terror hit her. She couldn’t understand what these beautiful things that brought her joy and imagination had done wrong, or how her mother could be so cruel. After all, it was she who had failed the exam, not these silent objects that couldn’t defend themselves.

Despite this, Jiang Xinwan loved these stories. They taught her to be brave while allowing her to be vulnerable. She felt she had many friends precisely because of the characters she had “met” through these works.

When they first met, Jiang Xinwan had pegged Ye Du as a prime candidate for “guidance,” dedicating herself to making Ye Du fall in love with anime. She lectured her on the history of Japanese manga, recommended classics, and introduced legendary directors and voice actors. To her disappointment, Ye Du remained unmoved. Ye Du would listen without interrupting, but Jiang Xinwan soon realized that Ye Du had a talent for letting information go in one ear and out the other. Even when Jiang Xinwan handed her favorite CDs and books to her, Ye Du would maintain that “I think what you’re saying is great, but I’m truly not interested” expression. Eventually, Jiang Xinwan accepted that “forced melons aren’t sweet” and turned her attention to Wang Zhu, who seemed much more likely to ripen.

Wang Zhu was happy to listen; as a lover of romance, she was open to any medium—novel, manga, movie, or anime—as long as it was a love story. This was a bit of a headache for Jiang Xinwan, who preferred “hot-blooded” shonen series.

The two talked incessantly as they walked, their snack bags swinging to the rhythm of their steps. The sunset arrived late in the stretching summer days, leaving orange shadows in the sky as evidence of its lingering. As the sun hesitated to leave the two chattering girls, Ye Du suddenly felt an urge to cry. Perhaps it was the fragility brought on by high-intensity exhaustion, but she realized that she—the Ye Du who had grown up so laboriously—could have easily taken the exam alone, left school alone, and waited for the bus alone. She might have fallen asleep and missed her stop, only to have to make the clumsy journey back. But Jiang Xinwan and Wang Zhu had given their time to her, making her a person who was “considered.” To be considered by others was truly something to be proud of—and something to weep over.

…

When Chen Pupu was called to the office, she thought her secret relationship had been discovered. When she saw it was the math teacher, Huang Yuqin, she relaxed slightly, thinking teachers other than the head teacher wouldn’t care about “early love.” However, as soon as Huang Yuqin spoke, her heart jumped back into her throat. He had called her in because of the final exam. Chen Pupu had achieved an unimaginable score: 65, the lowest in the entire class for mathematics. After the papers were returned, Huang Yuqin first doubted his own judgment, then the accuracy of the grading, and finally wondered if Pupu had simply forgotten to do Section B. After reviewing the paper carefully, he had to accept the fact. This was a score that would severely pull down the class average; as a math teacher, he couldn’t even immediately calculate how many 150-point scores it would take to make up for a 65.

The first thought to hit Pupu was that Qin Wei would be furious. Her mother never expected her to be first like Ye Du, but she did have expectations—otherwise, she wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to get her into Yunchuan Middle School.

“Chen Pupu, in just a few short months, your math grade has plummeted to a point where I’m speechless. Truly, I’ve never taught a student with a score this low. I used to exaggerate and say you could get a 120 with your eyes closed, but passing should have been a given! Look at you—you’re miles away from even a passing grade!” Huang Yuqin was livid. This 65 was the lowest score in his professional career. Every time he saw it, he thought of the class average and the bonuses he might lose because of it.

Pupu had never been the kind of top student teachers favored, as her grades were never outstanding. She usually existed in the blind spots of their attention. But she had never been scolded so harshly. She couldn’t bear to look at Huang Yuqin’s expression of frustrated disappointment. She didn’t know what to say; she only remembered that when she was doing the paper, she had tried her best on the parts she knew and checked her calculations. But when the graded paper appeared before her, it felt like it wasn’t the ink being marked with red crosses, but herself.

She couldn’t help but think about how she had distanced herself from her friends. She hadn’t reviewed the new cafeteria menu with Jiang Xinwan in ages; Wang Zhu rarely asked her to go get water anymore; she had even turned down Ye Du’s tutoring sessions several times. Thinking of this, she felt she deserved it. After Yu Xiao reached out that hand, Pupu had blurred into a state where she forgot too many things. Although the changes hadn’t announced their arrival at the time, today they came with a vengeance. Regret, helplessness, and everything else could only transform into tears.

…

Ye Du pulled the thick second-year exercise book from her backpack. As she walked, she flipped to the section she had worked on last night. She tried to steady her racing heart and knocked on the half-open door. After hearing a response, she walked to Huang Yuqin’s desk.

As she approached, Huang Yuqin’s scolding reached her ears first, followed by the sight of Pupu’s back. Ye Du guessed what was happening but spoke up naturally as if she hadn’t sensed the atmosphere. “Mr. Huang, I have a question I’m not clear on. Could you explain this solution to me?”

Huang Yuqin sighed and told Chen Pupu to leave. As Pupu turned, she lowered her head to avoid Ye Du’s eyes. Ye Du’s hand, hanging at her side, brushed against Pupu’s clothes as she passed. She instinctively curled her fingers, but it was a futile gesture, leaving only a moment that drifted away with the wind.

…

The middle school teaching building was U-shaped. At the end of the hall past Class 10, a turn led to the laboratories and computer rooms. Further along was a wall covered in Boston ivy against red bricks, showing a different beauty in every season: vibrant green in spring and summer, and withered leaves in autumn and winter. Across the connecting bridge, one floor up was a secluded area that didn’t lead anywhere else—just a short passage and a window. Pupu and Ye Du had discovered it while going to the multimedia classroom and agreed it was a great spot for the view.

Today, however, Pupu discovered it was also a good place to cry. Since there were no regular classrooms on this floor and school was out, few people came here. The rooms on either side had iron doors, which seemed to provide good soundproofing. The exam paper, Huang Yuqin’s disappointed tone, and the yet-to-be-seen anger from Qin Wei played on a loop in her head. She suddenly remembered Ye Du passing her just now, then the Ye Du who used to tutor her, and finally the Ye Du to whom she had broken her promises. All these versions of Ye Du merged, leaving Pupu with a massive sense of vulnerability. She felt that by failing so badly, she had failed Ye Du most of all.

One moment she thought about studying hard from today onwards to get back to her old level; the next, she imagined the “mixed doubles” beating she’d get from her parents. Then she thought she was a terrible friend and that Ye Du and the others must be so angry they wouldn’t want to be friends with her anymore. At this thought, the tears became unstoppable. Pupu began to wail. Sadness is often called negative energy, but under these conditions—a narrow space and a curled-up body—it was converted into sound.

Ye Du had intended to let Pupu cry for a while before approaching. But seeing the girl in the corner suddenly lift her head from her knees and hearing the raw, forceful release of emotion, Ye Du realized Pupu was grieving in earnest, like a child, without any restraint. Ye Du approached, knelt down, and took out a tissue to gently wipe the tear tracks. Although she felt it was unkind to think so, she sincerely felt it was a blessing that this blow had come now rather than later; there was still room to fix everything.

Interrupted, Pupu was forced to stop. A flicker of tension and defensiveness flashed in her wide eyes; crying alone is more indulgent, but also more embarrassing. The moment she realized it was Ye Du, Pupu’s tensed lips drooped again. Her tears seemed to receive a new command, racing to escape her eyes. Ye Du was still the same Ye Du—the one who seemed to understand everything, who always made her feel safe and relaxed. But at this moment, it only made her want to cry more. Her eyes ached from the salt; she couldn’t stop blinking. Ye Du said nothing, just looked into her eyes. When a tissue became soaked, she replaced it with a new one. After a long silence, Pupu took a sharp breath and said, “Ye Du, I want to cry a bit longer.”

Ye Du put away the tissues, knelt a small step closer, and reached out to stroke Pupu’s head, letting the girl lean against her knee. In this crying spell that grew intense before finally subsiding, Ye Du also shed a single tear. Her hands were busy holding Pupu and couldn’t wipe it away, so she simply let the wind carry it off.

…

As they walked onto the bridge, Pupu suddenly asked, “Ye Du, was that math problem really that hard?” It was the first time she had seen Ye Du go to the office to ask a teacher for help. She was curious if it was truly a difficult problem, or if Ye Du’s actions had nothing to do with math at all.

Ye Du felt this question was actually the harder one. The problem she had taken to Huang Yuqin had taken her some time. Out of three solutions, one was a method she had never tried before; she had to trace the logic several times to understand the finer details, but it was still within her capabilities.

“Hard,” Ye Du said, coming to a stop. “I’ve never done a problem that difficult before.” She felt a bit like a stranger to herself in that moment, yet also more familiar. Recalling that single tear from earlier, she suddenly understood exactly where her inexplicable hostility toward Yu Xiao had come from.