Hopeless Romance (GL) - Chapter 47

Chapter 47

In the summer between her second and third years of high school, Ye Du went to the mailbox to collect her competition award notification. The key to the mailbox had been lost by Ye Sangshu years ago; she had no habit of writing letters or reading newspapers and had never paid it any attention. To retrieve the notification, Ye Du pried open the metal box. Inside were many advertising envelopes, slightly yellowed with age. The notification, having been dropped in recently, appeared prominently at the very top.

Opening the mailbox felt surreal to Ye Du; she felt a subtle connection to moments that would never return. She flipped through the envelopes one by one, silently reading the names of various advertisements, until her hand came across a pink envelope printed with a candy house pattern. The handwriting on it was so familiar—it was the very style she had once so earnestly tried to imitate. Ye Du ignored the remaining mail, gathered everything up messily, and ran upstairs. Sitting at her desk, she took a deep breath and opened the letter.

Dear Ye Du,How have you been? We haven’t been in touch for over a month—this must be the longest we’ve gone since we met. Actually, I miss you terribly. A lot has happened in my life recently, and I have so much to tell you, but I was afraid to contact you because I feared you’d be disappointed. So, I can only write this letter, hoping you will understand me.I actually really want to be with you—to go to high school together, to university, and then to work and live together. But it seems I won’t be able to get into Yun-Chuan. I clearly promised to let you wait for me there, so we could spend another three years together, yet I am the one breaking the promise again. I am truly sorry.To me, you, Ye Du, are the greatest gain of my entire time in middle school. Over these years, you’ve shared my pain and weathered the storms—though maybe they weren’t storms, just setbacks. You analyzed so many problems for me and solved so many difficulties. For all of this, I am truly grateful.I believe you must be the most sincere friend I will have in this lifetime. Actually, I keep everything you’ve done close to my heart. We shared so many secrets and did so many meaningful things together. I hope so much that even if we can’t be together, we never lose touch.You are the only person who knows my dream. Thank you for your support—you were the only one who supported me. Thank you for singing “Wide Sea and High Sky” for me; it made me want to cry. But I can’t even get into Yun-Chuan, let alone have the ability to achieve that dream. Still, I will keep trying. I won’t give up.You’ve already been promoted to Yun-Chuan. You must work hard and do your best to achieve your dream. You are my most excellent friend. I believe you will definitely become your own pride, and you will become mine, too.Also, my Ye Du is the strongest. Don’t be like me and cry at the drop of a hat. My Ye Du shouldn’t cry; face everything with a smile.However, when you do feel sad, I will never disappear. When you need me, I will always hold you so you can feel my warmth, just like how you have always silently stayed by my side.Ye Du, I love you, too.Pupu July 10, 2008

There were water stains on the white stationery, blurring several words where the ink had run. Ye Du couldn’t help but imagine Chen Pupu leaning over her desk, crying as she wrote. This letter was too precious to Ye Du; it was the first letter she had received in her life, carrying the deep affection of a fifteen-year-old girl for another. The passing of time had only added weight and value to it, arriving late as a gentle gift.

The rift caused by Tong Yuyao was dissolved by this letter. The moment she held it, Ye Du felt a weight lift; she finally had an excuse to appear before Chen Pupu again. On the bus, Ye Du began to grumble about Yun-Chuan’s traffic, wondering why it was so congested even during the holidays. She had been in such a hurry to leave that she had forgotten to call and confirm if Chen Pupu was home. When Chen Pupu opened the door and saw a panting Ye Du, she instantly regretted not washing her face and wearing such a loose, baggy pair of pajamas.

It was a weekday, and Chen Pupu was home alone. Having not spent time alone like this for so long, they felt a bit awkward. After a few pleasantries, the atmosphere softened. Ye Du decided to take out the letter and asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you sent a letter back then? Otherwise, it wouldn’t have taken this long to receive it.”

Seeing the envelope, it took Chen Pupu a moment to remember she had done something so sentimental after middle school graduation. Thank goodness they were alone, or she would have been mortified. “I wrote the letter precisely because I didn’t dare tell you I failed the exam. Seeing as you never mentioned it, I assumed you hadn’t received it. I didn’t want to bring up something so embarrassing myself. Besides, isn’t this a test from the heavens? If we had really drifted apart because of graduation, receiving this letter now would be meaningless. Isn’t it more wonderful to get it now? We are still just as close, maybe even closer than before.”

As Chen Pupu spoke, she didn’t dare look at Ye Du. Remembering what she had written, she felt a pang of guilt given her current feelings. She desperately wanted to ask if Ye Du only saw her as a friend. Qin Wei had once told her that a person has many friends in life, but only one lover in the end. Chen Pupu didn’t want to be just a fraction of Ye Du’s life; she wanted to be the unique one. But she realized this at the wrong time; even if Ye Du liked her, she couldn’t make such a decision at such a critical academic juncture.

“Yeah, things will only get better,” Ye Du said, naturally unaware of Chen Pupu’s inner turmoil. She was simply happy to be so cherished by the girl she liked—it was true then, and it was true now.

“By the way, how was your competition?”

“I won an award, but it only got me an entry ticket to the early admission exam.” For Ye Du, the timing couldn’t be better; the things she cared about most were yielding the best results.

“Hey, don’t you find it boring? You’re going to miss the two most important exams of your life,” Chen Pupu asked, biting into a peach-flavored Wang Wang ice pop.

“Shall I be honest?” Ye Du saw Chen Pupu nod and suppressed a smile, saying, “Of course not.” Her attempt to look modest while clearly being thrilled made her look even more arrogant to Chen Pupu, who couldn’t help but remark, “Ye Du, you will definitely become a very great person.”

Strangely enough, Ye Du rarely heard words of praise. From Ye Sangshu, there was none to speak of; Ye Du had to study and live desperately just to meet her expectations, let alone receive affirmation. When she did well on exams, teachers would praise her, but that was usually to ensure she performed well next time. Only at this moment, when Chen Pupu said those words, did Ye Du believe it deeply: she really would become a great person, and she would become Chen Pupu’s pride.

“Okay, I promise you.” Chen Pupu didn’t understand the context and gave a confused “Hmm?”

Ye Du repeated herself earnestly: “I said, I promise you, I will work hard to become a very great person.”

…

When school resumed, both Chen Pupu and Cao Yijing headed out of town for intensive training. Cui Tong, having applied for the Directing and Screenwriting track, had already started her training during the summer. As a result, only a small portion of Class 12 remained. Even though the National College Entrance Exam (Gaokao) hadn’t arrived yet, the feeling of parting arrived first. The countdown calendar hung by the blackboard; every day’s notes, mock exams, and hardships became a flimsy piece of paper—once torn off, it meant all of that had passed. Before June arrived, everything had to be repeated over and over again.

Despite the immense academic pressure, Ye Du kept in touch with Chen Pupu. When Chen Pupu told her the training would last three months, Ye Du felt quite unadjusted. She had grown used to them being close; since middle school, they could see each other whenever they wanted. Chen Pupu couldn’t describe the exact location of the training, only that it was far away and very grueling, requiring hours of practice every day. Sure enough, once training started, Ye Du received text messages from Chen Pupu—topics ranging from what she learned today to complaints about how exhausting it was, and gossip from their respective classes. For stressed-out seniors, it was a way to blow off steam.

On weekends, when Chen Pupu had time, she would call. They would talk for nearly two hours. Though Chen Pupu did most of the talking—from how the cafeteria food wasn’t as good as Yun-Chuan’s to her dream schools and visions of university life—Ye Du listened intently. However, Chen Pupu always exceeded the agreed-upon one hour. Ye Du’s subsequent study plans would have to be pushed back, meaning she had to stay up later every weekend. Fortunately, it only affected her sleep, not her grades.

Life in the third year of high school was monotonous. The only variable for Ye Du was her discovery of something unusual between Xu Jian and Meng Qing. Although Ye Du didn’t have a particularly close relationship with any teacher and held no class office, Meng Qing looked out for her because her Chinese grades were consistently top-tier, often recommending Ye Du for essay or speech competitions.

Therefore, when Ye Du saw the watch on Meng Qing’s wrist in the office a few days ago, her feelings became complicated. She remembered the brand of that watch vividly; at the start of the school year, Xu Jian had used a paper bag from that same brand to give her two volumes of poetry by a poet she liked as a New Year’s gift. Even if the timing was coincidental, if it ended there, Ye Du wouldn’t have thought much of it. But having spent every day with Xu Jian, the latter’s changes were far too obvious.

Ye Du suddenly realized that Xu Jian no longer visited Meng Qing’s office as frequently as before, but she began to study Chinese much more seriously, and her state during class was completely different. Several times during lunch breaks and evening self-study, Xu Jian would mysteriously vanish. Ye Du didn’t know how to resolve her doubts; she had no evidence, only her intuition.

“I heard from someone in Class 4 that a student and a teacher are dating,” Luo Ran, sitting next to Ye Du, suddenly blurted out. Ye Du was so startled she nearly dropped her pen.

Lin Meixin immediately seized the gossip opportunity and asked in a low voice, “How credible is that? That’s a pretty explosive rumor.”

Luo Ran looked at Lin Meixin, thought seriously, and said, “No names, no grade, no subject. I’d give it a three out of ten. Just something to kill time.” Lin Meixin had already prepared pen and paper to record the story for Cui Tong’s creative material, but getting such a reply, he could only return to “swimming” in the electromagnetic fields of his physics work.

Ye Du looked at Xu Jian’s empty seat and couldn’t help but speculate along the lines of the rumor. But she had no time for deep thought; the date for the early admission exam had been set. This was an opportunity more important than the competition, and she had to give it her all. Ye Du knew she was nowhere near as smart as Xu Jian. Results she had to work incredibly hard for always seemed to come easier to Xu Jian. Xu Jian would naturally participate in the early admission exam, which meant one of the only two spots was essentially reserved for her. Ye Du would have to fight with the remaining three students for the final possibility.

Again, it was the same routine: doing problems, correcting them, and summarizing. Even though three of the six subjects were things she wasn’t particularly good at, Ye Du had to push through, using the “problem sea” tactic to deepen her memory and improve her reaction speed and accuracy. To this end, she stopped the weekly phone calls with Chen Pupu; Ye Du knew very well what needed to be prioritized.

In the exam to determine the two early admission spots, Ye Du failed. She only took third place, trailing the second-place Luo Ran by 3 points—the difference of a single multiple-choice question. This was a cruel blow to Ye Du. Only she knew how long she had prepared and how much she had sacrificed. She didn’t know how to face Ye Sangshu’s questioning. Xu Jian and Gu Nancheng both came to comfort her, but Ye Du truly didn’t want to deal with it, forcing a smile and saying she was fine. She didn’t want to repeatedly display her sadness and vulnerability to others. She had no time to be sad; she still had to prepare for the Gaokao. It was her only chance.

Cui Tong learned of Ye Du’s failure through Lin Meixin and immediately told Chen Pupu, who was still in training. Upon hearing the news, Chen Pupu took a leave of absence on the pretext of a family emergency and rushed back from the base that very night, heading straight to Ye Du’s house. When Chen Pupu arrived, Ye Du had just finished an argument with Ye Sangshu. Chen Pupu timidly said hello to the auntie before being pulled into the room by Ye Du, who didn’t want Chen Pupu to see Ye Sangshu in such a state.

“Why are you here? Didn’t you say you don’t get holidays?” Seeing Chen Pupu standing before her, the sob in Ye Du’s voice became more apparent.

“I know.” Although Chen Pupu didn’t say it explicitly, Ye Du understood what she knew. Ye Du’s eyes were still slightly red; the argument had drained her. Just as her tears were about to break through, she suddenly remembered the line from Chen Pupu’s letter: “My Ye Du cannot cry.” She took a deep breath and used every ounce of strength to force the impulse to cry back down.

Ye Du didn’t speak; she just sat on the edge of the bed with her head down, her hands constantly rubbing each other, trying to use physical movement to distract herself from her grief.

Chen Pupu sat down beside Ye Du, leaned over to hug her, and rested Ye Du’s head on her shoulder. Her right hand gently stroked Ye Du’s back, over and over. The trembling felt through her palm grew stronger; Ye Du’s distinct bones felt as if they were about to collapse under the weight of the emotions hidden within them, and she began to shudder uncontrollably.

“Pupu, I’m so sad. I’m not ‘fine’ at all. I feel like a string stretched so tight it finally snapped.” Ye Du reached out to hug Chen Pupu, burying her head deeper. Fragmented words, accompanied by sobs and gasps, escaped from their embrace.

This was the first time in the six years they had known each other that Chen Pupu had seen Ye Du cry. Ye Du’s cries filled her ears, tears soaked her shoulder, and the trembling vibrated through her palms. This crying fit occupied all of Chen Pupu’s senses, forcing her to shed tears as well. She knew of Ye Du’s hardships. Every time she asked Ye Du what she was doing on the phone, the answer was always “doing problems.” Once, they even stayed on the phone until Ye Du fell asleep. She knew Ye Du must have suffered a lot and stayed up many nights. This setback was not just a failed exam for Ye Du; it shattered her expectations for her future life.

But picking up shattered courage requires immense mental effort. Ye Du didn’t know if she could start over, or if she still had the drive to persist. But perhaps this was for the best; Ye Du finally had an opportunity to be vulnerable once, to cry without restraint in front of the person she trusted most.

Strangely, in order to gain Ye Sangshu’s recognition and understanding, Ye Du had always forced herself to charge forward and fight for the best, yet she had always failed to get what she wanted. Now that she had repeatedly become a “loser” in Ye Sangshu’s eyes—even a demoralized, weak child—she actually began to feel the gentleness of Ye Sangshu as a mother. For example, Ye Du welcomed the first holiday of her life without tutoring; even the school’s own extra classes were excused for health reasons. Although she was home to adjust her state, Ye Du did not lower her study intensity. Xu Jian and Gu Nancheng would take turns bringing daily assignments and materials to her.

Gu Nancheng usually left as soon as he delivered the items, asking no questions. The reason he liked Ye Du was because of her confidence and boldness; it seemed that in her eyes, there was nothing to fear in this world. She looked so brave that he couldn’t accept her remaining dejected. But he couldn’t force her by saying “don’t be like this.” He could only act like a comrade-in-arms providing supplies, sending these materials so that on the day Ye Du prepared to stand up again, she wouldn’t be unarmed.

Xu Jian wasn’t as serious. Sometimes she would bring snacks from the school gate. According to Xu Jian’s logic, without these snacks for company, doing schoolwork would feel like something was missing. Although Xu Jian ended up eating most of them herself, Ye Du was still happy. This was undoubtedly one of the most relaxed periods of her life.

Every Sunday afternoon, Chen Pupu would stay at Ye Du’s house until evening. Most of the time, they studied together. When they got tired, Ye Du would read the books she had been reading lately—sometimes novels, sometimes poetry. Ye Du’s voice was very pleasant—at least Chen Pupu thought so—low and gentle, as reassuring and comfortable as her personality. Perhaps because of this, Chen Pupu often fell asleep listening. When she woke up, she would find a thin blanket over her. Lying on the bed and looking toward the window, she would see Ye Du still huddled on the sofa studying, bathed in the sunlight pouring in. She suddenly realized that Ye Du was actually so beautiful. This Ye Du looked softer than usual; the stray hairs falling by her ears gracefully outlined her profile. In the intersection of light and shadow, she had turned herself into a profound oil painting.