After leaving the school, the two went to the orthopedics department at the hospital for a proper examination and bandaging. The silver lining was that, while they needed bandages, they didn’t need casts. Otherwise, Ji Xun would have had to experience the misery of being unable to care for himself in a foreign place with no relatives.
After leaving the hospital, Ji Xun kept hissing and whining in pain.
“Didn’t you say saving someone gives you a great sense of satisfaction?” Zhou Zhaonan finally spoke, with a hint of disdain for Ji Xun’s less-than-heroic demeanor. “Why do you keep crying out?”
“Saving someone is satisfying, yes, but the pain is also very real,” Ji Xun sighed. “Aren’t you in pain?”
“…”
“If it hurts, say so,” Ji Xun said. “I won’t laugh at you. If you don’t say it hurts, how will anyone know you’re in pain—of course, I know it all too well.” He winked at Zhou Zhaonan again and pointed to his own arm. “I feel your pain.”
Zhou Zhaonan turned his head away slightly, his chin lifted, showing a proud look of someone unwilling to admit it but also not refuting it.
They walked for a while, and Ji Xun escorted Zhou Zhaonan to his neighborhood. One of his arms was fine, so he carried Zhou Zhaonan’s schoolbag on that arm. After delivering both the person and the bag to their destination, it was time for them to part ways.
“I have one last question.”
Ji Xun used a question instead of a farewell. In his view, farewells were superficial, while questions were meaningful—if the answer to a parting question was unsatisfactory, he would keep thinking about it until they met again.
This way, every minute and second they were apart would be steeped in longing and anticipation, making even life itself more hopeful.
“Why did Class A and Class E go on the autumn trip together?” Ji Xun asked, using the question to organize his own thoughts. “Did many of your classes go on the trip together?”
“No, we went in batches,” Zhou Zhaonan said.
This answer was a bit unexpected for Ji Xun. He turned his face. “Does your school randomly group classes? So Class A just happened to draw the lot for Class E?”
“Not that either. Class A wasn’t supposed to go on the autumn trip,” Zhou Zhaonan said, explaining further. “Class A is the top class. They have the right to not participate in many school activities—or rather, it’s the default that they don’t. Their most important task is to get good grades.”
“So the school didn’t originally intend for Class A to go on the autumn trip. The fact that they ended up going with your class was an exception. Such an exception would have to be specially approved by the homeroom teacher, or they simply acted first and reported later,” Ji Xun said thoughtfully. “They weren’t supposed to go but ended up going, and someone died. The homeroom teacher’s responsibility is huge…”
The issue with the homeroom teacher saw new developments the next day.
Ji Xun received the news at noon, the source naturally being Zhou Zhaonan.
They were sitting in a small shop outside the school. Both of Zhou Zhaonan’s hands hurt, so Ji Xun nimbly fed him with his right hand, although Zhou Zhaonan seemed a bit resistant… Then, Zhou Zhaonan told him what had happened at school that morning: “Duan Huiwen has been suspended.”
“Why the sudden decision?” Ji Xun was surprised. “Yesterday, the grade level director’s attitude of paying to keep things quiet suggested he still wanted to suppress the matter.”
“It’s because people from the Education Bureau came today,” Zhou Zhaonan said. “Someone wrote a letter to the Education Bureau reporting Chi Wenlan’s student-teacher relationship and that Duan Huiwen used her family connections to get him the job. It was supposed to be a routine investigation, but after what happened last night, the rumored student-teacher relationship became proven fact.”
“…Hmm, because of the terrible impact, what might not have been favoritism before now looks like it.”
“You look like you have more to say,” Zhou Zhaonan glanced at Ji Xun.
“The Education Bureau responded really quickly. They just happened to arrive today. Anonymous tips usually have to go through a process; the informant must have sent the letter several days in advance. Xu Shijin reported to the Education Bureau once before, so she knows the process,” Ji Xun said slowly. “So, Zhen Huan’s death report yesterday was actually coordinated with the anonymous letter. The person Xu Shijin really wants revenge on isn’t Chi Wenlan, but more likely, Duan Huiwen!”
“Why would Xu Shijin want revenge on Duan Huiwen?” Zhou Zhaonan questioned.
“The police accidentally revealed yesterday that they’ve been to the school four or five times. Today is one, Xu Shijin’s suicide attempt is another, Zhen Huan’s death investigation is a third. What about the others? What did they come for? I was wondering before, why did Zhen Huan’s parents suddenly want to get an autopsy? Where did they hear these rumors? Either Zhen Huan’s classmates told them, or the police did. According to normal procedure, after Zhen Huan was ruled a suicide, the police generally wouldn’t get involved again—”
Zhou Zhaonan followed his line of thought and added, “You think the rumors among the students about Xu Shijin watching Zhen Huan die without helping brought this matter to the police’s attention again?”
Ji Xun shook his head. “The police don’t just act on rumors. With your school’s grade level director’s style of trying to suppress things, they would be even less likely to want such gossip to reach the police. A student suicide versus a student watching another commit suicide indifferently—the latter clearly has a worse impact.”
Zhou Zhaonan understood. “Student rumors aren’t credible, but a teacher’s testimony can’t be ignored. Are you trying to say that the reason Xu Shijin is retaliating against Duan Huiwen is because Duan Huiwen gave testimony to the police that was unfavorable to her?”
“This is just my speculation to make my deduction work. My speculations are always wild and unrestrained, but the truth isn’t a deduction; it requires evidence. Uh, this is a bad habit of mine. I can’t change it, so don’t you learn it,” Ji Xun said in a low voice, feeling a pang of guilt for setting a bad example for the younger student.
“Why can’t you change it?”
“It sounds like I’m blowing my own horn… but no exaggeration, I’m always right.”
“…” Zhou Zhaonan was silent for a long time, probably annoyed by his flexing.
The next step after a hypothesis is, of course, to find evidence.
For now, Yu Xiaoyu, who was in close contact with Xu Shijin, was a potential breakthrough. Yu Xiaoyu didn’t go home for lunch and should still be at school. However, she was always low-key in class and had little presence; no one knew where she went after class—or if they knew, they didn’t want to tell the “unlikable” Zhou Zhaonan.
The two could only guess where Yu Xiaoyu might be.
In this regard, Ji Xun, being unfamiliar with the school, could not help and had to leave the heavy lifting to Zhou Zhaonan.
Zhou Zhaonan was silent for a moment.
“…The grassy slope.”
“Hmm?”
“She’s on the grassy slope,” Zhou Zhaonan said with certainty. “Unpopular people don’t care for crowds. They prefer to be alone, to embrace solitude. Yu Xiaoyu and I are both ostracized and bullied… I think I know the place Yu Xiaoyu would choose.”
Ji Xun, of course, chose to trust the younger student.
He had Zhou Zhaonan lead the way, and they wound through the school until they reached a grassy slope behind the sports field.
It was a good place, with lush green grass and dense trees. Looking up from the sports field, one could only see the thick shadows of the trees, making it impossible to see anyone hiding within. But from inside, one could see the entire sports field and everyone’s movements.
Most importantly, very few people came here. Students always preferred the mushroom pavilion at the back gate or the school’s stone paths.
They entered the slope. The intense afternoon sun was blocked by the jade-green leaves, leaving only the gentlest ray to pierce through the gaps, casting a hazy, gentle golden halo on the crown of Yu Xiaoyu’s head, like the merciful caress of a holy mother.
Yu Xiaoyu was reading. Her knees were bent, and she held the book upright, so Ji Xun could see the cover: “Collected Works of Hsi Muren.” He then looked at Yu Xiaoyu’s face. Their previous encounter was too brief; only now did Ji Xun get a good look at her.
At first impression, the girl wasn’t particularly pretty. Her cheeks were hollow and her cheekbones too high, giving her a sharp and miserable appearance from afar. But upon closer inspection, one would find that her eyes, behind round glasses, had the gentleness of a crescent moon. Her nose was round, a perfect match for her soft, petal-like lips.
It was a face that grew on you. If the girl were a bit fuller, she would surely be a very cute girl.
But if that were the case, it wouldn’t quite match the aura she currently possessed. Her hollow cheeks, while disrupting the overall contour, held a thin shadow, a cloud-like melancholy that lingered.
Their approach quickly startled Yu Xiaoyu. Her gaze moved from the pages of her book to them. When she saw them clearly, Ji Xun noticed a change in her eyes. The lingering melancholy turned into a cold, gloomy darkness.
She doesn’t welcome us. Ji Xun thought.
“Yu Xiaoyu, can we take a moment of your time?” Ji Xun said. “We’d like to ask you about a few things.”
Yu Xiaoyu did not respond. She began to look anxious, her hands tightly gripping the closed book. Her eyes darted left and right, as if searching for a friend who could help her out of her predicament.
But of course… she had no friends. Her only friend, Xu Shijin, hadn’t been to school for over a week.
No one would come to help her.
She sat frozen in place, not daring to run. “What… what do you want?”
Although they hadn’t really done anything… Yu Xiaoyu’s appearance made Ji Xun feel as if he and Zhou Zhaonan, one and a half grown men, were bullying a little girl.
He felt a little guilty and was pondering whether to use a gentler tone that wouldn’t make Yu Xiaoyu uncomfortable when Zhou Zhaonan spoke first.
“The back gate of the school, the mushroom pavilion,” Zhou Zhaonan said. “I saw you last night.”
Zhou Zhaonan hadn’t actually seen anyone. He was bluffing Yu Xiaoyu. Ji Xun thought. He looked at Yu Xiaoyu again and saw her rosy lips lose their color, turning as pale as frost. Her eyes were also flickering…
Yu Xiaoyu was nervous and had a guilty conscience. The bluff had worked. The dark figure from last night really was Yu Xiaoyu.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Yu Xiaoyu mustered her courage.
“I took a picture,” Zhou Zhaonan said, too lazy to argue, continuing his bluff.
After that, Yu Xiaoyu fell silent, just lowering her head.
“Why did you tell Xu Shijin about Chen Ya?” Zhou Zhaonan asked. “Chen Ya almost jumped.”
“…I didn’t want to,” Yu Xiaoyu said after a long pause, her voice trembling. “I didn’t expect Chen Ya to jump either. I just wanted to tell Shijin the truth. She’s my best friend. There’s nothing wrong with me telling her the truth about what caused her so much misery, right…?”
Gradually, the trembling in her voice spread to her body. She shivered like a flower bud battered by wind and frost.
Zhou Zhaonan wanted to question her further, but Ji Xun stopped him. He shook his head at Zhou Zhaonan, signaling that it was enough.
Zhou Zhaonan was silent for a moment and then closed his mouth.
“Alright, we know,” Ji Xun softened his voice. “Thank you, Yu Xiaoyu.”
He led Zhou Zhaonan away. Before leaving, he took one last look at Yu Xiaoyu. She was still sitting in the same spot, her head bowed, the melancholy clouds on her face gathering ever heavier, casting a deep, dark shadow. The trembling in her body finally subsided as they left… She was like the most pitiful prey imaginable, not even daring to resist when faced with something that looked like a hunter’s weapon.
A stark contrast to her friend, the action-oriented and dangerous Xu Shijin.
They walked away. Zhou Zhaonan was silent the whole way.
Ji Xun said, “Are you angry that I pulled you away?”
“No. I know you didn’t want to put more pressure on her. And we’ve asked enough. We can figure out the rest on our own,” Zhou Zhaonan said. “I was thinking about the poem she was reading.”
He had glanced at it when they were talking to Yu Xiaoyu. Hsi Muren’s “Supposed Melancholy.”
I often imagine when dusk has fallen
You, walking past the street corner
Will you suddenly stop?
And suddenly think of me?
…
“The poem looks familiar. But I don’t usually read poetry, so I don’t know where I’ve seen it,” he said, then returned to their previous topic. “From Yu Xiaoyu’s attitude, she won’t tell us where Xu Shijin is. We might as well follow Yu Xiaoyu to confirm Xu Shijin’s location.”
“Your thinking, my friend…” Ji Xun glanced sideways. “Is a little bit illegal.”
“Be flexible,” Zhou Zhaonan said.
“Even so, with the two of us having three disabled arms, this Paralympic sport is a bit too conspicuous…” Ji Xun thought it over. Compared to Yu Xiaoyu’s weakness, Xu Shijin seemed to be her polar opposite in terms of outcome: proactive and dangerous. “Let’s stick to the normal procedure!”
When in doubt, find the police. Nothing could be more normal.
However, the attitude of the police officer who received him was beyond Ji Xun’s expectations.
