The evening self-study session was for mathematics. Just moments ago, Zhang Wei had announced to the entire class that he had an engagement that evening, expecting the students to be self-disciplined.
However, once they completed the two Tongzhou practice sheets, there would still be ample time remaining, provided they did not become excessively noisy.
Zhang Wei had tasked Liu Tanxiong with maintaining discipline, yet Liu Tanxiong’s nature was one of unhurried procrastination. To put it more bluntly, he was simply too much of a good-natured pushover; entrusting him with discipline would be less effective than placing a corpse at the front of the room.
Truthfully, even if the class did become boisterous, it would hardly matter, as the grade-level director, Gao Qingjian, was also absent that evening.
Zhang Wei’s ‘engagement’ was, of course, anything but a serious affair; he was scheduled to play cards with the grade-level director and a few close old friends that night. Gao Qingjian and he had been university classmates and had worked together at the same high school for half a lifetime, their social circles thus confined to this particular sphere. Yet, Old Gao was wary of his wife, and usually dared not play cards for long with Zhang Wei and the others.
To accommodate Gao Qingjian, the others never gambled money when playing cards, opting instead for a ‘peeling sunflower seeds’ wager. They would first purchase a bulk bag of sunflower seeds, costing a dozen yuan or so, piling them high on the side for the card game’s loser to shell. Today, however, Gao Qingjian’s wife had finally returned to her maternal home. Seizing the opportunity during lunch at the teachers’ cafeteria, Old Gao had winked and nudged Zhang Wei, urging him to come to his house for cards, suggesting they slip away right after afternoon classes to buy some food and drinks at the market.
Zhang Wei was now in a hurry to depart. The bell for the end of the last afternoon class had not even rung when he hastily gave a few instructions in the classroom, then grabbed his thermos and left.
Meanwhile, Qin Zixin, seated below, had only registered the fact that the teacher would be absent during the evening self-study, and was instantly thrilled.
This was an opportunity to slack off! If arriving late incurred no punishment, then tardiness ceased to exist as a concept.
She decided, on a whim, to simply eat out.
She knew a braised chicken restaurant had opened on South Street in Yuhe District. It was a bit far from Nanshi High, and a round trip on foot would likely take almost twenty minutes. Qin Zixin had wanted to visit the restaurant ever since she saw it under renovation during the summer holidays. A few days ago, she had spotted it open from afar, but had never found the time to go.
This time, she decided to simply have Yang Qichao take her. He had a vehicle, and she had recently come into some money; treating Yang Qichao to a chicken meal was a mere trifle for Qin Zixin.
Though in a few years, braised chicken restaurants might become even more ubiquitous than Shaxian Delicacies, for now, this dish was still a novelty. Indeed, braised chicken first emerged in Lu Province in 2011. Its rapid preparation, low price, and consistent flavor made it an exceptionally successful business model, quickly leading to its widespread popularity.
Given that Su Province borders Lu Province, braised chicken had already begun appearing on the streets of Su Province.
The moment class ended, Qin Zixin slyly intercepted Yang Qichao, who was on his way to the cafeteria.
“Chaozi, let’s ditch! The teacher won’t be here tonight!”
The girl’s expression was playful and lively, her tone lingering and soft, like the gentle Suzhou dialect. As she spoke, she leaned closer, a mischievous grin playing on her pretty face.
Yang Qichao, neither assenting nor refusing, was led away by the girl as if he were a dog on a leash.
He could already feel numerous intensely unfriendly gazes upon him, their resentful expressions making him feel as though he had defiled their purity.
“Chaochao, a new braised chicken place just opened in the university town to the south. It’s a bit far, so let’s cycle there! My treat this time!”
The setting sun, still dazzling in the twilight, cast an ambiguous, warm glow upon Qin Zixin in the corridor, bathing her in its orange-red light. Dazzled by the sunset, Qin Zixin squinted. She deliberately emphasized the word ‘we,’ downplaying the fact that a certain girl was merely freeloading a ride.
“That is indeed a bit far.”
He was not adept at sweet talk. After merely offering a lukewarm comment on the distance, silence once again fell.
Had this been the kind of playboy from ‘her’ previous life, encountering a girl he wished to seduce, he would first initiate a topic, then perhaps introduce a risqué joke to try and amuse her—ideally one that was sufficiently suggestive without being vulgar. This would both lighten the mood and induce a blush. Afterward, they might share a drink or two, find a softly lit spot, and when both were slightly tipsy, their affections would naturally deepen.
Qin Zixin, having been imbued with a fair share of undesirable memories, felt nothing for a blockhead like Yang Qichao. Yet, even if a silver-tongued playboy were to meticulously follow the aforementioned steps, it likely wouldn’t sway Qin Zixin; his risqué jokes, for one, wouldn’t even breach her defenses.
In matters of ‘dirtiness,’ she was several versions ahead of her peers.
Observing Yang Qichao’s continued lack of humor, Qin Zixin couldn’t be bothered to engage further. She resumed fiddling with her phone, knowing that with Yang Qichao guiding her, she wouldn’t have to worry about tripping or stumbling while walking and using her device.
Uninteresting yet dependable, and willing to indulge her—these were the reasons Yang Qichao could still, just barely, capture Qin Zixin’s attention.
As was their custom, Yang Qichao pushed his bicycle out of the school gate before Qin Zixin mounted it. Seated on the back, she scrolled through a ‘Minecraft’ tutorial on Tieba, specifically a trending post detailing the construction process for an automatic iron farm.
She was engrossed in the tutorial, planning to try replicating it that evening, completely oblivious to the thick cotton cushion Yang Qichao had added to the bicycle’s rear seat.
This was something Yang Qichao had specially added for her, yet she remained absorbed in her own entertainment.
Yang Qichao rode steadily and swiftly, arriving at the restaurant before Qin Zixin had even finished reading the post.
“Wang Ji Braised Chicken Rice with Abalone Sauce”
The large yellow sign, declaring its name, subtly hinted at the owner’s lack of refined taste.
In those days, many students’ budgets for a single meal were not particularly high, usually hovering around 6 yuan. In 2013, it was genuinely rare for high school students to have over a thousand yuan in pocket money, making Qin Zixin quite the little ‘rich lady.’ Those from well-off families typically had six to eight hundred yuan a month. For those with strict parents, it might only be two or three hundred.
At this braised chicken rice restaurant on South Street, even a small portion of braised chicken sold for 8 yuan. Accompaniments included ‘tech’ meatballs, potato slices, a few greens, and a scattering of diced shiitake mushrooms, making the overall portion quite generous.
While the price was reasonable for high school students, its distance from Nanshi High meant that the clientele consisted more of nearby university students and office workers.
Yang Qichao went to park the bicycle while Qin Zixin pushed open the door, bouncing into the restaurant. The cool air from the air conditioner immediately enveloped her, and the ‘plump rabbits’ on her chest bounced with particular exuberance.
The restaurant was already quite busy. Upon seeing the ‘rabbits’ bounce, many eyes widened in undisguised interest.
The seating in the establishment was arranged in three rows: a row of standard four-person tables on the right, and two rows of two-person tables on the left. Approaching the counter to order, she gazed at the hanging menu. She requested a small portion of braised chicken, with an extra serving of fish tofu and seaweed, specifying no chili. Then, she asked for a large portion with extra chicken, adding pork ribs, beef balls, shrimp paste, vermicelli, and potatoes, requesting the highest level of spiciness.
However, after a moment’s thought, she changed her order.
“No, wait, change that to medium spicy, not extra spicy! Ah, no no no, extra spicy after all! Boss! One large, extra spicy! The small one, no chili! Don’t mix them up!”
Qin Zixin’s characteristic tendency to bully the weak and fear the strong was evident in that moment; she dared not push her luck too far.
The fish tofu was one yuan, seaweed fifty cents, the large portion fourteen yuan, with an extra four yuan for ribs, and one yuan fifty cents each for beef balls and shrimp paste. The extra chicken added another four yuan, bringing the total to twenty-five yuan and fifty cents. Qin Zixin also ordered a bottle of Assam milk tea. Including her own meal, dinner amounted to over forty yuan, a sum that would be considered a luxury for most high school students.
Qin Zixin promptly paid. As the owner was making change, Yang Qichao, having secured the bicycle, entered the restaurant. By then, there were few empty seats left inside, and Qin Zixin scanned the room, considering the remaining available spots.
High school students finished class late, and the two of them lived far away, so they had arrived right at the peak serving time.
Spotting a four-person table occupied by a middle-aged man dressed like an office worker, with three empty seats remaining, Qin Zixin walked straight over and sat down, placing her milk tea on the table. Her actions elicited expressions of disappointment from several university students within the establishment.
The moment a beautiful girl like Qin Zixin, whom they rarely encountered, walked in, they had immediately taken notice.
In their hearts, they had hoped she would choose to sit opposite one of them, imagining that close proximity might spark some connection, perhaps even lead to exchanging QQ numbers, and then proceeding through every cliché, from the trite to the truly vulgar.
Illusions, especially unrealistic ones, often shared a common thread.
The humble fantasized about sudden success, the unattractive about exquisite beauty, the foolish about academic glory. The sudden possession of what one most lacked—this illusory sensation was truly exquisite.
Possess, acquire, and then the fantasy would end there.
Alas, these were all greedy fantasies, like soap bubbles easily burst by the winds of reality. The truth was that the objective development of things did not alter based on subjective human desires.
Would a beauty know that her graceful allure made her the object of many fantasies? She certainly would, but even upon knowing, the most she would likely do is utter, ‘How disgusting.’
More likely, she would treat them as if they were air, or something akin to rats, considering even a rebuke too much attention to grant them.
But then what? Then that otaku would continue to immerse themselves in the fleeting pleasures of cyber escapism and the resentment of unfulfilled ambition, carrying on with their unremarkable life. They would intermittently lament their unrecognized talents, periodically curse societal injustice, and then continue to shower gifts upon suggestive streamers who swayed their hips and jiggled their chests.
This was not *just* 2013; this *was* 2013.
After a considerable wait, the proprietress brought over her braised chicken. The broth in the small earthenware pot was boiling, brimming with chicken pieces, a generous portion indeed. Rolling steam ascended, threatening to overflow, only to gradually subside with time.
Qin Zixin deftly instructed Yang Qichao to twist open the cap of the Assam milk tea. Before eating the chicken, she always took a sip of milk tea. It was her habit to first drink something to moisten her throat before a meal; if no beverage was available, soup would suffice.
It was the same familiar taste she enjoyed. The bitterness of the black tea powder perfectly balanced the cloying sweetness of the sugar and milk, imparting a faint, bitter aroma to the drink, while industrial thickeners gave it a smoother mouthfeel.
Qin Zixin picked up a piece of chicken with her chopsticks, waited for it to cool, then took a bite.
It was a little bland, the flavor clearly from factory-standard sauce, leaning sweet, and lacking sufficient star anise and Sichuan peppercorns. The chicken was frozen meat, overcooked to tenderness, and carried a faint freezer smell. It could only be described as very standard fast food, far from delicious, entirely unremarkable, and certainly not worth her making a special detour to eat.
Yang Qichao’s portion of braised chicken was so substantial that the kitchen was still preparing it. He could only idly watch Qin Zixin across from him. Her eyes shone with a captivating brilliance, her jade-like face radiant; words unspoken, her aura was as fragrant as an orchid—truly, she was a feast for the eyes.
The girl’s graceful chopstick movements were utterly natural, a joy for him to behold. However, this pleasure was strictly limited to observation; the moment that mischievous girl opened her mouth, she would undoubtedly utter something infuriating.
Yang Qichao’s gaze lingered on Qin Zixin’s neck. Her chewing and swallowing caused subtle movements in her slender throat, stirring a certain longing within him.
Before long, an earthenware pot, distinct in color and noticeably more than twice the size, was placed before Yang Qichao. It was piled high, ingredients nearly overflowing, and a steaming aroma mingled with the pungent scent of chili. Yang Qichao didn’t think much of it, simply spooning a few pieces of meat onto his rice; one bite for him was easily equivalent to three for Qin Zixin.
Then, Yang Qichao’s face visibly reddened, and he began to cough, choking.
There was too much chili. He didn’t need to be told who was behind this prank.
Yang Qichao coughed until tears streamed and his nose ran. It took him a while to recover, after which he glared intently at the ‘little devil’ opposite him.
Qin Zixin felt a flicker of guilt under his intense stare. She found his tear-streaked, snotty, and ferocious expression too frightening. Her gaze darted away, and with a sheepish smile, she reluctantly offered the milk tea she had only just sipped to Yang Qichao.
“Don’t eat so fast, you might get rice up your nose.”