Jiang Qihuai had actually just written down Tao Zhi’s name casually.

He had no interest in things like running for class monitor, nor did he plan to spend the remaining two years of high school getting closer to his classmates. A week into the semester, the number of people in Class One he had spoken to could be counted on one hand, and Jiang Qihuai didn’t care what any of them were called.

The only name he remembered was Tao Zhi’s—and that was only because she was so good at stirring up trouble.

Wang Zhezi didn’t notice the small movements between the two of them. Standing at the podium, he gave another long and earnest round of motivational speech before finally turning around.

“Come on then, new class monitor, say a few words?”

He even made a point of stepping aside so that everyone could see them clearly from all angles.

Very considerate.

The classroom instantly fell silent. No one spoke. Jiang Qihuai stood beside her with a blank expression, showing no intention of opening his mouth.

Tao Zhi hadn’t expected him to speak anyway. Standing on the podium, she looked down at the rows of heads before her and suddenly felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

It had really been a long time.

The last time she’d faced a crowd like this was last semester, when she’d gotten into a fight and had to stand on the flag-raising platform on Monday to read out her self-criticism.

Two months had gone by in a flash, and that scene still seemed vivid in her mind.

Tao Zhi couldn’t help feeling a bit sentimental.

She stepped forward two paces, resting both hands on the lectern, first sweeping her gaze around the room before slowly speaking.

“Classmates.”

Tao Zhi paused.

Everyone was listening intently, waiting for her to continue. Li Shuangjiang even held his breath.

“Time waits for no one,” Tao Zhi said, waving her hand in the dead silence. “It’s time. Don’t just sit there stupidly—class is over, go home.”

Class One, collectively: “……”

Wang Zhezi: “……”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

That evening, when Tao Zhi got home, the first thing she did was share this good news with her caretaker.

Tao Xiuping had taken a few days off work to stay with her at home, but today he had to travel for business. He’d just gotten off a flight when her call came through.

As soon as the line connected, Tao Zhi got straight to the point. “Boss Tao, I became a class monitor.”

There was five seconds of silence on the other end. “…You became what now?”

“Class monitor,” Tao Zhi said, tossing her schoolbag onto the floor. “I got elected as class monitor.”

She heard Tao Xiuping suck in a sharp breath over the phone.

“You got elected as your class’s monitor?” he asked for confirmation.

Tao Zhi didn’t reply, which was as good as admitting it.

“Daughter,” Tao Xiuping said, “I definitely didn’t pay anyone off for this. Do they hand out class monitor positions as part of the admission package now?”

Holding the phone in one hand, Tao Zhi shrugged off her uniform jacket and threw it aside in annoyance. “What’s that supposed to mean? I was chosen on the strength of my own ability.”

“What kind of ability?” Tao Xiuping hesitated, then asked uncertainly, “You didn’t threaten your teacher, did you?”

The tone in his voice sounded as if he had absolutely no doubt that Tao Zhi was capable of doing something like that.

Tao Zhi was displeased. “Comrade Tao Xiuping, the way you’re talking right now is seriously hurting our father-daughter relationship. I was elected class monitor by the votes of my classmates, one by one.”

Tao Xiuping: “You went and threatened your whole class, didn’t you?”

“……”

Tao Zhi decided to go on strike and give him the cold shoulder.

When she didn’t speak, Tao Xiuping chuckled on the other end and stopped teasing her. “Alright, Dad was just joking. Come on, tell me in detail—how many votes did you get? Let me see just how popular our princess really is.”

Tao Zhi: “One vote.”

Tao Xiuping: “……”

Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, Tao Zhi was about to tell him all about Wang Zhezi’s bizarre stunt today. Her mouth had just opened, but before she could make a sound, Tao Xiuping suddenly said, “Zhizhi, Dad’s got another call coming in. It’s work. I’ll call you back later.”

Tao Zhi blinked. “Then you—”

Before she could finish, the line had already gone dead.

The busy tone beeped twice in her ear. Tao Zhi blinked again and finished her half sentence softly: “—go ahead, get busy.”

No response.

The phone screen was already black.

Tao Zhi knew that no matter how long she waited, that “later” call would never come tonight.

She tossed her phone aside, got up, and went downstairs to grab something to eat.

Dinner had already been prepared. Afraid it would get cold, Aunt Zhang only reheated it when she came down—four dishes and a soup, all her favorites.

Tao Zhi pulled out a chair and sat down, poking at her rice with her chopsticks out of habit. “Aunt Zhang.”

Aunt Zhang was ladling soup for her. Inside the porcelain-white bowl floated smooth, round meatballs, thin slices of tomato, and a rich, fragrant broth. Hearing her voice, she looked up.

“Did Boss Tao say when he’ll be back?”

“He didn’t,” Aunt Zhang paused, placing the soup bowl beside her. “Mr. Tao’s work keeps him busy, but he really does love you, Zhizhi. He didn’t want to leave today, but the job was pressing—he had no choice.”

“I know.” Tao Zhi speared a meatball with her chopsticks and took a bite, chewing lazily with one leg propped up. “He actually stayed home for five whole days this time. Five whole days.” Tao Zhi emphasized, “That’s a new record. Probably won’t see him for a few months.”

After thinking for a second, she added, “Though, saying a few months might be unfair to him. Let’s bet on sometime before New Year.”

Aunt Zhang: “……”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

After dinner, Tao Zhi went upstairs and watched a movie.

Downey Jr.’s version of Sherlock Holmes—two films in total. By the time she finished, it was already past midnight. The more she watched, the more awake she became. She wasn’t sleepy at all; in fact, she was even starting to feel a bit hungry.

She lay on her bed staring at the ceiling for half an hour, eyes wide open. Finally giving up, she fished her phone out from under the pillow and sent a WeChat message to Song Jiang.

No reply.

After waiting a while, she just called him directly.

It rang a few times before the other side picked up. In the middle of the night, his voice came through shouting at the top of his lungs, accompanied by the frantic clatter of a keyboard.

“Can you open? Can you open? Can you open? I’ve got an ult—I’ve got an ult—hey! Ancestor! What’s up—ahhh I’m dead! I’m deadddd!”

E-sports boys never surrender.

Tao Zhi: “……”

Tao Zhi raised her hand and slapped the lamp off, climbing out of bed. “Timely Rain, come out for late-night snacks.”

Song Jiang: “It’s the middle of the damn night and you’re still eating—AD AD AD, hit the AD first! Get to the backline, idiot!”

The shouting made Tao Zhi’s ears ache. “You’re still playing League of Legends at this hour? Even pro players don’t train as hard as you. Move it.”

“Fine, fine,” Song Jiang said. His team had just been wiped, and it didn’t look like they could win anyway. He surrendered. “I’ll change and head out.”

Song Jiang lived nearby. By the time Tao Zhi was dressed and came downstairs, he was already waiting by the gate. Hearing her footsteps, he looked up. “Did I owe you something in my past life? You call me out for late-night snacks whether there’s a reason or not. You might not get fat, but if I do, no one’s gonna chase me anymore.”

“People should know themselves,” Tao Zhi reminded him. “No one’s chasing you now either.”

Song Jiang thought about it and nodded. “Fair point. So what are we eating?”

“Luzhu,” Tao Zhi said as they walked. “The one on Wangu Street. Haven’t been there in ages.”

Wangu Street was a famous food street—late-night paradise for open-air diners, and there wasn’t a single stall with bad food. It opened in the afternoon and stayed busy until after midnight. The whole street glowed red under its neon lights, the thick night split vividly in two by the noise and color.

They took a cab there. Cars weren’t allowed into the food street, so the taxi stopped by the roadside. It was about a five-minute walk in.

As they strolled slowly toward the stalls, Tao Zhi casually asked about the fight Song Jiang had gotten into with that “non-mainstream” guy.

“Same old thing. Wrote a self-criticism, promised to turn over a new leaf,” Song Jiang said. “But that deskmate of yours—she’s something else. Old Wang from your class called her in, and she started bawling right on the spot. Tears streaming like a faucet, couldn’t stop at all. There were three homeroom teachers there, and she cried while saying that non-mainstream guy kept harassing her—right in front of his parents.”

Song Jiang said gleefully, “You should’ve seen that guy’s parents’ faces. If there’d been a crack in the ground, I swear they’d have jumped in and sealed it up with 502 glue.”

He was still talking when he realized no one was beside him.

Turning around, he saw Tao Zhi standing a short distance back, head slightly tilted, not moving.

He followed her line of sight.

It was a 24-hour convenience store. Cold white light spilled through the huge glass windows, and the cashier inside was scanning items—handsome in profile.

Song Jiang whistled, about to tease her for being lovestruck at first sight. But when he looked closer, the guy seemed a little familiar.

Just then, the cashier looked up.

Song Jiang rubbed his chin for a moment, frowning in thought. “Why does he look kinda like that guy you mentioned before? The one transferred from the affiliated school?”

He had seen Jiang Qihuai once before, when he went to Class One to find Tao Zhi. Since that guy had pissed her off enough to make her lose her temper on the first day of school, he’d taken an extra look.

Turning back to confirm, Song Jiang asked, “That’s him, right? What’s he doing working here?”

“How would I know?” Tao Zhi withdrew her gaze and turned away. “Come on. Luzhu, luzhu¹Luzhu (卤煮): A traditional Beijing-style braised stew, typically made from pork offal such as intestines, lungs, and tofu simmered in a rich soy-based broth seasoned with star anise, cinnamon, ginger, and other spices..”

Song Jiang didn’t know the two of them had already called a truce. “Didn’t you hate him? You even told me before to take care of him for you.”

Tao Zhi rolled her eyes. “When did I ever tell you to take care of him? And besides, we already signed a peace—”

Before she could finish, Song Jiang was already striding toward the store entrance.

The glass door chimed as it slid open with a soft dingdong. Song Jiang swaggered right in. Tao Zhi didn’t even have time to stop him. She froze in the doorway, choking down a curse.

What the fuck!!!

Tao Zhi’s expression froze. Several times she wanted to go in; her leg stepped forward, then pulled back.

After much indecision, she finally chose to hide in a corner and observe secretly.

She didn’t know why; suddenly she felt a bit guilty for no reason.

A kind of embarrassment, as if she’d been caught peeking at someone else’s secret.

Inside the convenience store.

Song Jiang stood at the cashier counter, unabashedly eyeballing the person he was about to take down: “Jiang Qihuai?”

He didn’t look like a good person to begin with; now malice was radiating off him, as if he were about to write the words “I’m here to pick a fight” across his face with a marker.

Jiang Qihuai lifted his eyelids and glanced at him.

Song Jiang took two steps forward, leaning on the counter with both hands: “I heard you’re pretty cocky, transferring from the affiliated school must’ve made you feel invincible. Not knowing your own limits and daring to pick on anyone?”

Jiang Qihuai ignored him, bored, lowering his eyes again; under his crow-wing-like black lashes a shadow fell.

Song Jiang’s one-man show was not lonely; he kept performing his role, dutifully delivering his bully lines.

He sneered, “Come on, tell me—what kind of way do you want to die?”

“Buy your things yourself and go in to get them,” Jiang Qihuai said without much feeling, his voice low and flat, with a touch of detached indifference, “If you want to fight, I get off work in four hours.”

Footnotes

• 1
  Luzhu (卤煮): A traditional Beijing-style braised stew, typically made from pork offal such as intestines, lungs, and tofu simmered in a rich soy-based broth seasoned with star anise, cinnamon, ginger, and other spices.