Hopeless Romance (GL) - Chapter 7

Chapter 7

“Ye Du, wait for me!” The person in front stopped at the sound of her voice. Chen Pupu quickened her pace to catch up and started a conversation, “Do you usually walk home alone after school?”

“Yeah, because Jiang Xinwan and I don’t go the same way.” Ye Du was used to being alone on her way home. Although she wasn’t rushing back for anything in particular, she naturally walked very fast. Today, walking with Chen Pupu, she inevitably struggled to control her pace, so she added, “Sorry, I’ll try to go slower.”

“Why say sorry? Having long legs is a good thing!” As she spoke, Chen Pupu naturally slipped her arm through Ye Du’s, linking them just as she did with Wang Zhu. “There, now we’re in sync.”

It was Ye Du who felt unnatural. To be honest, she had never been this physically intimate with anyone. Ye Sangshu did not allow her to act spoiled. She remembered back in fifth grade when her best friend moved away; she had cried bitterly at home. Ye Sangshu hadn’t been like the mothers described in books—holding her, gently patting her back, saying it would be okay, or offering words of comfort. Instead, Ye Sangshu was merely irritable. She questioned Ye Du loudly: what earth-shattering thing had happened to justify such crying? She, Ye Sangshu, was still alive and well, so what was there to cry about?

Ye Sangshu simply could not accept Ye Du being a weak person who cried for others. Life was hard, she believed; there would be too many moments worth weeping for, and only by being strong and hardened would Ye Du have the ability to face the world. Frightened, Ye Du stopped her tears immediately. Even though she was miserable, she didn’t want to be even more miserable. From then on, she learned never to show weakness in front of her mother. After her parents divorced, she could no longer go to her paternal grandparents’ house, and her maternal grandparents had cut ties with Ye Sangshu over the brief, failed marriage. Consequently, Ye Sangshu became the closest—or rather, the only—person in her life. Over time, Ye Du seemed to lose the ability to be a “soft” person.

Despite living together day and night, Ye Du and Ye Sangshu could never be truly close. Forget walking arm-in-arm like this; Ye Du couldn’t even remember the last time her mother had held her hand. So, when the physical distance between her and Chen Pupu was suddenly shortened, Ye Du felt a fresh, strange sensation. She felt a sudden sense of groundedness. She already considered Chen Pupu a friend—whether because she was drawn to her flute playing at their first meeting or because she found her increasingly adorable as they spent time together—but it was only at this moment that Ye Du confirmed it: she and Chen Pupu were indeed friends, the kind who could walk arm-in-arm.

…

The food on the dining table had grown a bit cold. Two sets of bowls and chopsticks were placed opposite each other. The house was deathly quiet, save for the flickering images on the television. It was only when the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed that Ye Sangshu snapped out of her daze.

“Why so late?” Ye Du’s movements paused as she changed her shoes. She thought she detected a hint of a tremor in that question.

“The math teacher arranged a temporary tutoring session after school today. It took a while, and it might continue for some time.” Ye Du put her bag in her bedroom, washed her hands in the bathroom, and returned to the table. Sometimes, Ye Du would try to walk this route with her eyes closed; she was all too familiar with this house. She was born here, progressing from a crying infant to a girl who learned to hold back tears. More than ten years had passed, yet she still occasionally bumped into the corners of the walls.

Ye Sangshu and Ye Du sat across from each other. Ye Du only picked up her bowl to eat after her mother had reached out with her chopsticks first. The rule of “no talking while eating or sleeping” was strictly enforced in this household. Only the clinking of chopsticks against porcelain and the slight sound of chewing provided a trace of life. Ye Du sometimes wondered what other people’s dinners were like. Did everyone have to hold their bowl perfectly, avoid talking while chewing, never lay chopsticks across the bowl, never stick them into the rice, and never start before their parents? Lost in thought, she would suddenly lose her appetite, but knowing she needed the energy, she wouldn’t stop eating.

After receiving a text via the school-home communication system, Ye Sangshu’s mood softened slightly. “This week, I’ll take you to visit Teacher Wang. If he’s satisfied, he’ll start tutoring you.”

“Okay.” Ye Du cleared the dishes into the kitchen and went to her bedroom to organize yesterday’s mistakes. She didn’t know where her mother found so many exam papers and workbooks, nor how she tracked down one “famous teacher” after another. She was curious, but she didn’t want to ask. It wasn’t an essential question, so she suppressed her curiosity. She simply followed instructions, completed the problems, corrected them, and organized them—acting like a programmed machine performing precise steps.

…

As usual, Ye Du drank a glass of milk, ate two eggs, took the bus to the school gate, and walked five minutes to the classroom, sitting down just before the morning self-study bell rang. Strangely, the seat in front of her was empty. Chen Pupu, who was always earlier than her, was going to be late today.

After the first two periods, Chen Pupu still hadn’t arrived, so the lunch date at the cafeteria became a trio. The “one-on-one help” program had been going on for nearly two weeks, and Wang Zhu and Jiang Xinwan had become much more familiar. Perhaps Jiang Xinwan’s mathematical skills had won Wang Zhu over; they seemed more harmonious than before. In the end, it was Ye Du who ended up being responsible for saving seats—honestly, she wasn’t quite used to it.

“By the way, why didn’t Pupu come today?” Jiang Xinwan asked Wang Zhu.

“She called me last night and said she seemed to have a cold. She’s probably on sick leave today.” Wang Zhu had actually happened to call Chen Pupu because she felt Jiang Xinwan’s explanation of a problem wasn’t clear enough and wanted to ask Ye Du how she did it. Since she didn’t have Ye Du’s contact info, she had to settle for asking Chen Pupu.

“Then Ye Du, you get to go home early today,” Jiang Xinwan said with no small amount of envy.

“You—are you wishing I’d get sick too?” Wang Zhu felt Jiang Xinwan’s words were loaded with ulterior motives.

“Yeah,” Ye Du answered absent-mindedly.

“Ye Du, what did you say?” Wang Zhu looked incredulous, forgetting all about her annoyance with Jiang Xinwan.

“I was answering Jiang Xinwan’s earlier sentence. Don’t misunderstand.” Ye Du pointed at the culprit and smiled.

Today, Ye Du didn’t go to the school shop with them but returned to the classroom first. After staring blankly at her desk for a while, she went to the office. Luckily, Zhang Jianwei hadn’t gone to rest yet.

“Teacher Zhang, I heard Chen Pupu is out sick. I want to visit her after school. Could you give me her specific address?” Ye Du didn’t try to hide her intention and stated her purpose directly.

As a homeroom teacher, Zhang Jianwei was happy to see deep friendships among students. Moreover, as a top student, Ye Du would be more likely to be targeted if she were socially isolated—jealousy being a human instinct that doesn’t change with age. So, without asking much, she readily gave Ye Du the name of the residential complex and Chen Pupu’s home phone number. She also asked Ye Du to represent the whole class in sending well-wishes. In that moment, Ye Du felt like a character in one of those “bringing warmth” segments on CCTV.

Ye Du lingered at the small shop by the school gate. She remembered that every time Ye Sangshu took her to see a teacher, she would bring fruit, milk, or other gifts. She worried that showing up empty-handed would be impolite, but she didn’t know what to bring. She worried Chen Pupu might not like the food she bought, and sick people usually don’t have an appetite anyway. Finally, she chose a ragdoll. It wore a crown and a red-and-white striped dress and had a chubby body. She didn’t know why she chose it—mostly because it was cute.

Fortunately, she remembered Chen Pupu telling her which bus stop she used, otherwise, she wouldn’t have known how to get there. After getting off, she asked a couple of shopkeepers and wandered a bit before finding the complex. Unlike Ye Du’s home, this place looked very stylish—one of those modern elevator-apartment styles with a hint of Western architecture. There were many shops and supermarkets nearby; it looked quite prosperous. After registering at the guardhouse, she followed the old guard’s directions. Chen Pupu lived on the 7th floor—a height that wouldn’t be too exhausting even if the elevator broke.

Ye Du felt a bit nervous as she knocked. This was her first time visiting a friend’s house alone. She had been to friends’ houses before, but always with the friend, never arriving out of the blue. However, she quickly calmed down. Her ability to control her emotions was a vital tool for maintaining her peaceful life over the years.

A voice from inside asked who it was, and Ye Du explained her visit. A beautiful woman opened the door, greeted her with a smile, and welcomed her in. It was clearly Chen Pupu’s mother; they looked very much alike, though Qin Wei’s aura was more mature and poised. Their features—especially the eyes and the curve of their smile—were identical.

Qin Wei led Ye Du to the living room, brought tea and snacks, and asked her to wait on the sofa while she went to tell Chen Pupu. Several photos hung on the white walls. The largest frame held a family portrait of the three of them; Chen Pupu looked younger and more childish there. Beside it was a large group photo with grandparents; Chen Pupu and another child were being held by the elders, her tiny baby teeth not yet fully grown. Ye Du suddenly thought of the idiom “cherishing the joy at the elders’ knees.” A solo photo of Chen Pupu caught her eye—it was from a performance. She was wearing a white princess dress, holding her silver flute diagonally, looking downward. As Ye Du watched, Chen Pupu emerged with Qin Wei.

Knowing Ye Du was there, Chen Pupu was exceptionally happy. The sudden cold had made Qin Wei nervous and protective; because she had been too busy with work to provide enough breast milk when Pupu was a baby, she believed Pupu had a weak constitution and always worried. Pupu herself didn’t think it was a big deal, but Qin Wei insisted she rest, telling her not to leave the bed except for meals or the bathroom. This made Pupu question if she were actually seriously ill. This boring day was broken by Ye Du’s arrival. Chen Pupu hadn’t expected anyone to notice her absence, let alone come to her house. Looking at Ye Du on the sofa, she thought seriously: of all her friends in the world, Ye Du was the best to her.

Contrary to the sickly image Ye Du had imagined, Chen Pupu seemed cheerful and perfectly mobile.

She quickly sat beside Ye Du and asked, “Why are you here?”

“To see you,” Ye Du answered honestly, then pulled the gift from her bag. “Here, this is for you.”

Looking at the chubby doll, Chen Pupu was a bit confused. “Huh? But it’s not my birthday yet.”

“No, it’s a ‘get well soon’ gift. Teacher Zhang also asked me to check on you on behalf of the class.” Ye Du didn’t forget her “mission of warmth.”

“I see.” Regardless, having someone visit and bring a gift was enough to make her happy. Getting more excited, Chen Pupu suddenly stood up and said solemnly, “Thank you!” Ye Du almost thought she was going to bow and stood up immediately to stop her. Seeing Ye Du’s reaction, Chen Pupu burst out laughing. Ye Du frowned in confusion but was gradually infected by the laughter.

Chen Pupu asked what the teachers had covered and what the homework was. She only meant to get a general idea, but Ye Du pulled out her own textbooks, notebooks, and even the set of homework meant for the person in the front seat, placing them before her.

“I was just going to keep them for you, but since you asked, I’ll give them to you now.” Ye Du sometimes thought she was too good at shifting her “burdens.”

Chen Pupu was speechless. Under Qin Wei’s loving gaze, she could only accept the “gift” with gratitude, thinking to herself that this was indeed a special day. She knew her mother would be praising Ye Du’s maturity in her head.

“Ye Du, why don’t you stay for dinner?” Qin Wei had heard her daughter talk about this classmate—how she was smart, easy to get along with, and looked after her friends, even tutoring them in math. She had wanted to show her gratitude to Ye Du and hadn’t expected her to visit first.

Ye Du checked the time and saw it was the hour her tutoring usually ended. She couldn’t stay any longer, so she politely declined, adding a courtesy that she would definitely come for a meal another time.

Qin Wei walked Ye Du to the complex entrance, hailed a taxi for her, paid the fare, and told her to call as soon as she got home. She noted the license plate and stood by the road watching Ye Du leave until the girl disappeared from the rearview mirror. Seeing Qin Wei, Ye Du understood why Chen Pupu was always so happy. She suddenly thought of the naughty kids who had bullied her in elementary school; a sense of envy and self-deprecation, which she should have felt back then, blossomed in her heart for the first time years later.

…

When Chen Pupu returned to the classroom, she brought a colorful paper bag containing a small blue glass cup. It was a deep blue, like the ocean—calm and inclusive. Along with it came her precious friendship. Chen Pupu had many good friends and had spent time at their houses, dressing up dolls or sneaking cartoons when parents were away, tasting other mothers’ cooking. But this was the first time a friend had specifically come to her home because she was sick. Even though it was just a minor cold, the feeling of being treated so seriously was something she deeply cherished. So, she gave Ye Du a cup with two little bears on it, hoping for the legend to come true: that their friendship would last a lifetime.

Ye Du didn’t have high expectations for such a beautiful sentiment. It wasn’t that she didn’t hope for a long-lasting friendship, but in her limited experience, the breaking of bonds was all too common. Her parents’ marriage had ended poorly. Looking at the wedding photo that Ye Sangshu had never thrown away, she could vaguely sense that in the beginning, the two people who ended up apart hadn’t planned it that way. Back then, they must have been full of infinite hope. Only when things reached an unacceptable point did the participants begin to wonder and trace back exactly where things went wrong. To Ye Du, affection was already a precious thing; a lifelong bond was even rarer.