Hopeless Romance (GL) - Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Jiang Zhouchi sometimes thought that people should keep their own secrets; it was not only a matter of personal dignity but also a form of kindness toward others.

She felt this more than ever the moment the woman she called “Mother” rushed out of the classroom.

It was ironic. Jiang Zhouchi had studied at Yunchuan Middle School for two years, and no one had ever attended a parent-teacher meeting for her. Her teacher, Zhang Jianwei, knew her situation and didn’t pry; he simply had private chats with her about her grades after every exam. There was a saying: “Nobility comes from humble houses; talent is forged in adversity.” Jiang Zhouchi certainly fit the description of a humble house and adversity, but becoming a “talent” was far more difficult than the books suggested. In earlier days, she wasn’t even sure of her next meal, so she always felt like laughing during those academic chats—laughing at how easy others had it, and how easily they thought success came. A humble house might produce a “noble child,” but the heavens are indifferent. Jiang Zhouchi hadn’t been touched by gold; she had been handed a life of lonely courage, taking things one day at a time.

She didn’t even know how Jiang Wu had found out she was at Yunchuan, how she had managed to get there alone, or how she had sat so properly in that classroom for so long. When Kong Qi found her, Jiang Zhouchi was watching Pei Lang play basketball. Pei Lang was all long limbs and fluid movement, a high-spirited competitor who was captivating on the court. In Jiang Zhouchi’s mind, Kong Qi appearing meant trouble—the only trouble she had was the mess at home. But she hadn’t expected the mess to “run,” crossing all boundaries to stand right in front of her. After Kong Qi spoke, Jiang Zhouchi looked back at Pei Lang. He was sprinting toward the basket, grabbing a rebound, then charging toward the other end. As Pei Lang ran away from her, Jiang Zhouchi felt she was seeing the literal foreshadowing of their end.

Though they were only a basketball court apart, she knew some things couldn’t stay hidden. Even if she walked a long detour to that “respectable” residential complex every day before looping back to her real home, and even if she tried every trick to remain beautiful and poised, time eventually reveals the truth. Lies cannot hold forever. In every moment she nearly faltered, she wanted to scream to Pei Lang that she had nothing—no love, no normal life, nothing a regular person possessed. But she didn’t dare. She had convinced even herself of the lie, and after working so hard for this fragile result, she refused to be the one to cut it open.

Without a chance to say goodbye to Pei Lang, Jiang Zhouchi turned and ran back to the classroom. Amid the hushed whispers of classmates and the pointing of parents, she grabbed the woman who was caught between terror and mania. She hugged Jiang Wu tight, just as she had done countless times before, skillfully patting her back and whispering into her ear: “Mom, I’m here.”

As she led Jiang Wu downstairs, she bumped into Pei Lang, who had come looking for her. Jiang Zhouchi and Jiang Wu shared a striking resemblance; their relationship was written plainly on their faces. The commotion had been too loud, and news traveled fast. Pei Lang had heard enough. Despite the gaps in the story, he didn’t care about the details. He only had one question: If everything about you is a lie, was the “liking” between us real? Jiang Zhouchi looked at him for a few seconds and said nothing. She simply smiled. She was certain it was a beautiful smile because she had never faced Pei Lang with such raw, effortless honesty before.

Before he could ask his question, she had already brushed past him. On the bus home, Jiang Zhouchi couldn’t stop crying. Now that her mask had been ripped away, she finally had permission to weep—for the years of pain and pretense, for a meticulously planned yet fleeting romance. What hurt most was that she truly liked Pei Lang. If she had a whole family, if she could be a carefree child, she could have shown him her real self with confidence. The backstory was fabricated, but the love was not. Raindrops streaked down the bus window. Jiang Wu couldn’t perceive her daughter’s heartbreak, but her hand instinctively stroked Jiang Zhouchi’s shoulder, slowly smoothing out the grief as the rain subsided.

If Pei Lang remembered correctly, they didn’t say a single word during their final meeting. His first love and first heartbreak were both public spectacles. Logic wouldn’t allow him to get wasted, he lacked the courage to go to her house to demand an explanation, and he couldn’t jump into a new relationship. All he did was give up his guaranteed high school spot and decide to take the Senior High School Entrance Exam (Zhongkao) instead. This school was a silent witness he could no longer bear to hide in.

When Jiang Zhouchi transferred away, Qin Zibei represented the class to see her off. At the school gate, he handed her a parting gift: a photo album filled with memories of the spring outing, military training, and sports meets. Some were class photos, others were candid snapshots. Qin Zibei flipped to a photo of her as a team leader during the sports meet and said, “Regardless of everything, the classmates think you are a wonderful girl. We hope everything goes well for you, and that your life and studies keep getting better.”

After a polite “thank you,” Jiang Zhouchi didn’t know what else to say. She said goodbye and turned to leave. That “thank you” and “goodbye” were all Qin Zibei would remember of her years later.

..

“Grade 9 is not a life meant for humans!” Jiang Xinwan cursed through a mouthful of hamburger.

“No, Grade 9 at Yunchuan is not meant for humans!” Wang Zhu corrected her. “Credit where credit is due—you can’t blame all of Grade 9 for Yunchuan’s problems!”

Ye Du and Chen Pupu shared a knowing look and laughed. Ye Du whispered: “They’ve studied themselves into madness.” Pupu nodded in agreement. Since starting Grade 9, their classroom had moved to the second floor, supposedly to save time. With the lower floor, teachers no longer bothered to scold students for leaning on the railings. During breaks, more people gathered there. With one exam following another, the rare ten minutes didn’t allow for much travel; students just leaned on the curved railings to catch a breath.

“Ye Du, have you signed yet?” Wang Zhu asked, setting aside her complaints.

“The guaranteed admission? Not yet.” At Yunchuan, students who won competitions got first pick for guaranteed high school spots; the rest went to the top 100 students in the first mock exam. Ye Du needed to sign before the end of this semester.

“You don’t want to stay?” Jiang Xinwan was debating whether to have a second burger. Given the energy she was burning, she really needed to be full.

“No, it requires a parent’s signature, and I haven’t convinced my mom yet.” Ye Sangshu didn’t doubt the school’s quality, but she wanted Ye Du in the elite competition class, whereas Ye Du only wanted the regular “Base Class.” She wasn’t confident in the competition path and didn’t want to sacrifice her core subjects by spreading herself too thin.

“Forget it, let’s worry about ourselves. Pupu, how’s your competition prep?”

“The competition is next month. I have to practice every day now. The pressure is huge,” Chen Pupu sighed.

“You’re lucky, though,” Jiang Xinwan noted. “Ye Du doesn’t have to worry about the entrance exam, so she can tutor you. Otherwise, with all those music scores and practice problems, you’d be swamped.” Jiang Xinwan then had a bright idea. “Ye Du, we’ve been friends for three years now, and I’ve never asked you for anything…”

“Say it quickly, or the bell will ring,” Ye Du said, knowing that tone meant trouble.

“How about you tutor me and Wang Zhu too? When I review by myself, I feel like I have problems everywhere.” Jiang Xinwan also thought Ye Du would make a great teacher someday; this would be good practice.

“Wait until I help Pupu get through this competition first.” Ye Du felt Chen Pupu’s hand tighten around her arm for a split second when Jiang Xinwan made her request.

“Wow, we’re all friends, but you’re so biased!” Jiang Xinwan tried to guilt-trip her.

“Not at all. Mr. Huang assigned us as study partners back in Grade 7. I’m just being a good student and listening to my teacher.”

“Dude, that was Grade 7! It’s Grade 9 now!” Jiang Xinwan rolled her eyes.

“Alright, I’ll buy you a burger,” Ye Du offered. Out of the three, she found Jiang Xinwan the easiest to appease.

“For a whole week,” Pupu added, setting a timeline for the promise.

Jiang Xinwan looked at Wang Zhu and held up two fingers. “For both of us.” Before they could agree, she dragged Wang Zhu back to the classroom, afraid Ye Du might actually hit her for being so greedy.

…

To avoid falling behind in her academic subjects, Pupu took her vocal lessons with Yunchuan’s music teacher during the 40-minute break before evening self-study. After the commute back and forth, she only got thirty minutes of instruction. She never had time for dinner, so Ye Du would eat quickly and bring food to her. Since this began, Ye Du’s eating speed had increased dramatically, making Jiang Xinwan and Wang Zhu nervous just watching her.

“Ye Du, why are you eating so fast? Pupu won’t be out for a while,” Jiang Xinwan complained.

“What if she finishes early today?” Ye Du shoveled a few more bites and prepared to clear her tray.

“Then she can just come here and eat it while it’s hot,” Wang Zhu suggested.

Ye Du paused, then looked back. “I get there very fast. It’s usually still hot.”

Truthfully, Ye Du hated waiting. Waiting usually meant a result she couldn’t control. But whenever she sat on the stairs of the Yifu Building waiting for Pupu, she felt incredibly peaceful. Probably because she knew, with absolute certainty, that the person she was waiting for would show up.

Whenever Ye Du arrived, she could hear the piano and singing from the music room. Accompanied by the dancing keys, Pupu’s clear voice sang graceful melodies, softening the lonely evenings. Sometimes, Pupu would complain that the vocal exercises were “ugly,” saying they sounded like songs meant only for state television, or that she was forced to use exaggerated expressions until her jaw ached from smiling. But Ye Du could see the change; Pupu gained confidence from music, a side of her Ye Du never saw when they were doing math. Sometimes, Pupu would demonstrate a new singing technique on the way back to the classroom. Even if Ye Du didn’t quite understand the technicalities, she would listen intently and offer a few compliments.

When Pupu emerged from the classroom, the first thing she saw was Ye Du’s back and the packed dinner beside her. She crept up and gave Ye Du a sudden poke. Ye Du’s reaction was disappointing—aside from her exercise book sliding off her lap, she remained perfectly calm. Seeing Pupu’s annoyed face, Ye Du belatedly let out a dramatic, “Ah!”

“Why are you still doing problems?” Pupu stopped humoring Ye Du’s poor acting. She was starving. She tore into the packaging and bit into a “Chicken Leg Burger” (which ironically contained no actual chicken leg) and asked, muffled, “What’s the point of doing this now?”

“Nothing else to do while waiting.” If she didn’t keep up her pace, Ye Du feared she would lose her edge—and she wanted to be able to help Pupu.

“Is this how top students relax? But doesn’t coming here every day waste your time? Don’t come tomorrow; I’ll just buy some bread and milk at noon.” Pupu remembered Wang Zhu saying Ye Du had been rushing through her own dinner to buy food for her. She loved the company, but she felt guilty.

“Why? Are you unhappy that I come?” Ye Du stopped. She felt a strange sense of responsibility toward Pupu. Anything she could do, she wanted to be the one to do it. Pupu was Ye Du’s friend—perhaps her most important one. In Ye Du’s heart, there was a difference between a “friend” and a “best friend.” A best friend was unique, someone to share secrets with, someone she wanted to stand by unconditionally, even someone who triggered a sense of possessiveness. When Pupu suggested she stop coming, Ye Du felt a sharp pang of hurt.

“Of course I’m happy! I just want you to eat a proper meal,” Pupu said, sensing Ye Du’s rare flash of displeasure.

“Then it’s fine. It doesn’t hinder me. If I’m hungry, I’ll buy something after the first period of self-study.” Ye Du thought about it but didn’t say the words “I am happy too.”

“Ye Du, I’m truly so lucky to have a friend like you,” Pupu concluded.

Ye Du suddenly thought of a lyric: To meet you in this lifetime, I must have used up all my luck.