Hopeless Romance (GL) - Chapter 31

Chapter 31

What is the ninth grade made of? Mostly practice exams, ink, and scratch paper.

Amidst the rising towers of test papers and workbooks, the days of ninth grade flew by. The relentless cycle of problem-solving and reviewing left every student gasping for air. They filled countless pages with answers and exhausted one pen refill after another, most of them not entirely sure what they were doing or why—they simply followed the mantra: “Your only task right now is to study hard.” At their tender age, they couldn’t look across the chasm of time to the other side of life to understand exactly what their current efforts were for. Whether squandering time or marching blindly forward, the days simply passed, one by one.

Ye Du felt this winter was colder than usual. It was only November, but she had already started rummaging through her closet for her down jacket. She and Ye Sangshu hadn’t spoken for several days because of the decision regarding the “direct admission” (Zhisheng) track. Ye Sangshu’s words replayed constantly in her mind: Why didn’t you choose the Base Class? Why can’t you just make me proud? Why do you have to be like your worthless father! Ye Du had no answer. She felt she had been clear: she didn’t want to participate in competitions or subject herself to that much pressure. That was her reason for not joining the elite Base Class. Why did Ye Sangshu keep asking why? Perhaps her mother didn’t need an answer; she only needed obedience.

But there was no helping it; Ye Du was literate and, unfortunately, a person with her own thoughts. She understood that Ye Sangshu wanted the “best” version of Ye Du. Just as Ye Du only had her mother, Ye Sangshu only had this one daughter. She wanted to use a perfect Ye Du to show Song Yu—the man who had heartlessly abandoned them—that the most broken period of her life was his fault. Ye Sangshu could never understand it; she was a rare university graduate of her era, capable and hardworking. She had married Song Yu at her parents’ behest. Living with a man who lacked ambition was a slow torture for her. She wanted to take giant leaps forward, while he was content to read, drink tea, and simply be warm and fed. Eventually, the friction turned to arguments, then to thrown objects, then to physical altercations, until everything reached its limit.

The marriage ended with Song Yu abandoning his wife and daughter for a gentler woman who understood his lack of ambition. Though he felt guilty toward Ye Du, he felt only guilt and nothing more.

Clutching her soft down jacket, Ye Du wondered sadly if life would have been easier if she had gone with Song Yu. But then she realized that without Ye Sangshu, she might never have gotten into Yunchuan Middle School. Following her mother was the better choice after all.

Before she crumpled the jacket into a ball, Ye Du knocked on Ye Sangshu’s door. There was no answer. After a moment, Ye Du spoke through the wood: “Mom, I’ll sign for the Base Class. But… if I really can’t keep up, can I transfer to the Experimental Class later?”

A moment later, the door opened. Ye Sangshu handed her the signed agreement, her face—not yet old—etched with deep exhaustion. “Ye Du, you’d better not get kicked out of the Base Class. It would be embarrassing.”

In that instant, Ye Du wanted to tear the paper to shreds, run to her room, and smash everything she owned. She was in agony; the emotions she had worked so hard to suppress were overturned by a single sentence. But she couldn’t. What would an outburst achieve? Life would go on. She still had to study, go to a good high school, and get into a good university. Throwing things wouldn’t solve the problem; she would just end up having to clean up the mess herself. A tantrum would be a futile catastrophe.

So, she simply lay on her bed, clutching the paper, and took deep breath after deep breath.

Before the winter break arrived, the ginkgo trees at Yunchuan finally reached their peak. Golden leaves covered the campus in a landscape of desolate beauty. Some enjoyed the crunching sound of stepping on dry leaves; others picked through them to find specimens for bookmarks; some even used them to confess their love. This season of falling leaves brought a sense of romance to everyone’s youth.

Taking advantage of the back row, Jiang Xinwan was usually the first to reach the corridor. Leaning on the railing and looking at the golden carpet, she felt the gloomy weather seemed a bit more alive.

“What are you looking at so intently?” Wang Zhu saw her from a distance, standing more still than she ever did in class.

“Watching other people’s romance.” She pointed to a heart shape formed out of ginkgo leaves on the ground.

“It’s just a heart. We don’t even know who it’s for.”

“No matter who it’s for, it’s a sincere gesture.” It was rare for Jiang Xinwan to have such a sentimental moment, but after receiving a “classmate memory book” from Qin Zibei today, her mood had turned strange.

Jiang Xinwan didn’t quite know how to define her feelings for Qin Zibei. She had seen how others acted when they liked someone, and it was nothing like her. She rarely thought of him spontaneously, except perhaps when she saw that long-expired carton of milk and wondered what he was doing. If she were to say she liked him, she couldn’t find a clear reason. They had very little interaction outside of his duties as class monitor. Yet, his figure lingered in her mind. She was often confused by this; a crush without a reason made her doubt her own judgment.

If she had ever done anything for this vague emotion, it was the math competition. Luckily, Ye Du had participated, giving her an excuse to stand there under the guise of cheering her friend on. Only God knew that when the results came out, the first name she searched for was Qin Zibei’s, not Ye Du’s. She remembered silently apologizing to Ye Du in her heart.

“Wang Zhu, if you liked someone, would you tell them?” Jiang Xinwan watched the golden heart on the ground, as if it might start glowing at any moment.

“Hmm? Do you have someone you like?” Wang Zhu smelled gossip.

“I asked first,” Jiang Xinwan replied, knowing Wang Zhu would catch on, but unable to keep the question in.

“I probably wouldn’t dare. But if I could, I hope I’d have the courage.” Wang Zhu thought about it. As a girl who had never received a love letter, she hadn’t given much thought to “liking” someone.

“Why?”

“Because liking someone is a beautiful thing. It’s much better than homework or exams.” In Wang Zhu’s limited experience, tests were common, but liking someone was rare.

“Zhu, I didn’t realize you were so philosophical.” Jiang Xinwan felt persuaded—or perhaps, emboldened.

“Don’t worry about that yet. Tell me, who do you like?” When it came to digging for gossip, Wang Zhu was a master of precision.

Jiang Xinwan gestured for her to lean in. Trusting her longtime friend, Wang Zhu offered her ear, only to receive a whisper: “I’m not telling.”

The next second, as Jiang Xinwan ran back into the classroom, she heard Wang Zhu’s shout: “Ye Du! Pupu! Quick! We have a traitor among us!” Even though Ye Du’s seat was just across the aisle.

“What’s wrong, Wang Zhu? Why so serious?” Chen Pupu immediately dropped her sheet music and rushed to the scene.

“She… has someone she likes,” Wang Zhu said. Despite her momentum, she whispered the last part since they were in the classroom.

Ye Du leaned over to listen, but her pen didn’t stop. Besides studying, she had to set schedules for Chen Pupu. Fortunately, the direct admission track was settled, otherwise Ye Du wouldn’t know how to balance everything.

Though Chen Pupu covered her mouth, she couldn’t hide her shock. After a stern look from Jiang Xinwan, she lowered her voice and asked, “Who is it? Someone from our class?”

“She won’t say! That’s why I called you two.” Wang Zhu didn’t think friends had to have zero secrets, but Jiang Xinwan’s question had set her curiosity ablaze.

“Are you just shy?” Chen Pupu thought back to her time with Yu Xiao. If Wang Zhu had asked her then, she would have been embarrassed too. Thinking of this, she didn’t want to pry anymore. “It’s okay. If you’re shy, don’t say it. Tell us when you’re ready. But… good luck!” Chen Pupu gave an encouraging “fighting” gesture with her fist.

“Wang Zhu, look at Pupu’s maturity,” Jiang Xinwan said, quickly siding with her.

“Pupu, that’s not what I meant! I wanted you to help me get it out of her. Agh, Ye Du, do something about them!” With one ally turned, Wang Zhu could only look to Ye Du.

“Ah, but I think Pupu is right. Let’s focus on studying first.” Ye Du rested her head on her hand, looking so earnest that Wang Zhu wanted to hit her.

“You guys can get your own hot water tomorrow! You’re making me so mad!” Wang Zhu’s timing was perfect; the bell rang for class before Chen Pupu could offer comfort.

“Let’s go to the plaza to see the ginkgo trees later,” Chen Pupu wrote on a note to Ye Du. Naturally, Ye Du agreed.

Although she passed the plaza every day, the hurried Ye Du had never truly looked at the scenery. The ginkgo trees were planted densely around the plaza, creating a protective layer that felt like a mini forest. Chen Pupu knelt on the ground, picking through leaves with great interest. Too brittle? No. Irregular shape? No. Not a perfect fan? No. They had to be clean. She found several satisfied ones—some to give away, some for herself. Ye Du mimicked her, kneeling down and searching absentmindedly. To her, the leaves looked mostly the same. She wondered if, with a large enough sample size, there really might be two identical leaves. As her mind wandered into this strange tangent, she caught the faint sound of rustling.

Ye Du looked up and saw Chen Pupu holding a handful of leaves and throwing them forcefully into the sky. The leaves fell again, brushing past Chen Pupu’s smiling eyes, her fair cheeks, and through her fingers. In that moment of descent, Chen Pupu placed a carefully selected ginkgo leaf into Ye Du’s palm. The moment Chen Pupu’s soft hand grasped the back of her own, Ye Du’s heart fell just as surely as the leaves. Before the leaves even hit the ground, a possibility flashed through Ye Du’s mind: I like Chen Pupu.

Though overwhelmed, Ye Du managed to control her expression. She realized her gaze on Chen Pupu was too direct, and she felt a surge of guilt at the thought. She gently closed her hand over the leaf and checked her watch, saying as calmly as possible, “Pupu, class is starting soon. We should go back.”

Chen Pupu naturally looped her arm through Ye Du’s, as she always did. For the first time, Ye Du felt the distance between them was too small—so small that she didn’t know how to face her secret feelings. On the way back to class, Ye Du was even quieter than usual.

That evening, unlike her routine, Ye Du got off the bus a stop early. She remembered this route passed an internet cafe. She searched along the street until she found one, but was stopped by the attendant as soon as she entered: “Little girl, no minors allowed in here.”

This was Ye Du’s first time in an internet cafe, and she was nervous.

“Hello, I’m just here to look up study materials. I don’t have a computer at home, so I came here. I’ll leave soon.” Seeing the price—2 yuan per hour—she pulled out two 1-yuan coins and handed them to him.

The attendant hesitated. “Really just for studying?”

Ye Du nodded.

“Fine. First time I’ve seen someone come to a cafe to study.” He figured if she was wasting time, it wasn’t his problem, and he wasn’t going to turn down money. He led her to a computer.

“Know how to use it?” he asked.

Ye Du suppressed her annoyance and smiled politely. “Yes, thank you. They taught us in information technology class.”

Once he was gone, Ye Du opened the browser. She looked around to make sure no one was watching before typing her question: How to tell if you like a friend or if it’s just friendship? To be safe, she opened another tab and searched for “Complete list of trigonometric formulas,” even though she already knew them by heart.

She skimmed through the answers to the first question but found nothing useful—just vague advice about how feelings are hard to define and to observe daily details. But how was she supposed to observe? There was no reference chart to consult.

Ye Du felt her two yuan and her acting skills had been wasted.

In truth, she already had the answer. Her futile search was just an attempt to rationalize her feelings. But what did it matter? Even if she confirmed that she liked Chen Pupu, she would never do anything to overstep the boundaries of their friendship. This friendship was too precious to her; she didn’t have the courage to try to turn it into something else.