The Fading Fire and a Peculiar President

I’ve been utterly crushed. Today, my Pokémon battles have sent me plummeting from rank 4000 to 7000. Perhaps I really should start playing a Perish Song team. My childhood self would likely have been kept awake by today’s abysmal record. That rare competitive spirit and sense of frustration I possessed as a child have now completely vanished. When did that single-minded devotion, which I only ever found within games, slip away from me?

I used to pore over game guides, meticulously searching for hidden content. I’d swell with pride after defeating a difficult boss, feel immense satisfaction when my protagonist achieved a happy ending, and be kept awake by the sting of failure from a simple misstep. My emotions ran so rich when I played games back then. Why is it now that the rewards I gain from gaming feel increasingly hollow? Where has that sense of accomplishment and exhilaration I once knew gone?

It’s truly a pity. My sole interest, once a vibrant passion, has now become merely a nostalgic echo, a chasing of shadows. No matter how deeply I immerse myself, I can’t recapture the feeling of my youth, yet out of habit and experience, I still choose it to pass the time.

Though the love is gone, I’ve still played all the well-known titles to date. If I put my mind to it, I could probably join the conversations of the various gaming enthusiasts in class, but I lack the confidence to believe we’d have a pleasant chat. Some are fans of specific game series, others are fans of the developers, and some merely play to keep up with trends. I’m convinced that discussing games with them would only lead to an unpleasant disagreement.

I’m not withdrawn, nor am I solitary, nor do I dislike speaking. It’s simply that I haven’t had the opportunity to speak, nor do I feel there’s anything worth saying. Every day, I watch my classmates chase each other, joke around, and revel in their joy. I’ve even imagined becoming like them, experiencing school life through their eyes, but the outcome always felt equally dull. Every one of their sudden outbursts, I believe, is merely the cry of inner loneliness.

If loneliness permeates both silence and clamor, then isn’t silence simply the more effortless choice? That, at least, is my conviction. What game I played yesterday, what rank I climbed to, what TV series I watched—these are all undeniably trivial things, yet people speak of them to others out of loneliness, eagerly anticipating a response. I cannot comprehend such behavior. I cannot bring myself to voice such things as they do.

****

A new day dawned, yet the school remained the same, the classroom unchanged, and the faces still those familiar ones. My seat was in the last row of the second column. The last row only had three spots: one for me, one for Gao Qinghong from the basketball team, and the other for Mu Siten, our class’s life committee member. To be honest, I still don’t know what a life committee member actually does.

The first class of the morning was history—utterly tedious. Dates, figures, events, their impact on later generations—all mind-numbingly boring. Every subject had its own particular brand of tedium; I saw no point in ranking them, as they were all equally uninteresting. I often heard classmates discuss which subjects they liked, which I found incredibly baffling. What was there to like about any of it?

Despite my thoughts, I dutifully took notes, marking the people, places, and dates mentioned by the teacher in red ink, knowing they would all be on the exam. I didn’t love studying, but there wasn’t much else for me to do. My greatest effort involved trying to absorb what the teacher said in class, diligently completing my homework, and maintaining my test scores around the average.

As I wrote my notes, I noticed my handwriting becoming illegible. I quietly called out to the life committee member at the next desk.

“My red pen is out of ink. Do you have a spare refill?”

True to his role, the class committee member didn’t hesitate, lending me a red pen refill without a word before returning his attention to the lecture and his notes. After tracing over the words I’d previously written unclearly, I resumed following the teacher’s pace, circling and dotting all the newly taught content in the textbook. Thus, the class concluded.

This routine repeated throughout the day, four times in the morning and four times in the afternoon, and another day of school life passed. When dismissal time arrived, I was once again summoned to the staff office by the homeroom teacher. The subject of discussion, naturally, was about yesterday’s matter…

“Student Yi,” Brother Hai began, pulling a document from his drawer, “I was actually a little surprised after you chose your club yesterday. This club is quite unique; they hardly ever recruit new members. I applied for you on a whim, just to see, and I never expected the president to agree so quickly.”

I took the document he handed me. It contained the club’s activity records and an introduction. After a quick glance, I redirected my attention to my homeroom teacher, who was still speaking.

“Since you’ve chosen a club and they’ve welcomed you, then get along well with everyone. Although this club has few members, they are all excellent students. You’re quite an honest person, so there shouldn’t be any problems. It’s a rare chance to join a club, so make some new friends. That way, your school life can be more vibrant, don’t you think? Don’t spend all day either slumped at your desk or cooped up at home. Go out and socialize with your classmates more. Ha, I won’t nag any further. The activity room is in the building directly opposite ours. Go say hello to them. You can find the exact location in the document you’re holding. That’s all. Off you go.”

After listening to Brother Hai’s lengthy and heartfelt advice, I nodded in agreement and pushed open the door to leave the office. I folded the document twice and slipped it into my pocket, heading towards the opposite teaching building. As I reached the skywalk, I heard the shouts of various sports clubs; some were chanting “one-two-one” as they warmed up with runs, while others began training immediately after school. I looked over and recognized some faces from my own class. I had occasionally overheard their reasons for working so hard: simply put, there would be competitions against other schools, and students from both schools would come to watch, so they wanted to achieve good results and gain popularity among their peers.

That might not be the full picture, but it was roughly the gist of it. I sometimes envied them, finding such a simple reason to strive. Their sweat flowed for a clear objective, giving their toil meaning. But what about the people shedding that sweat? Had they found their own meaning?

After a brief pause, I continued onward. Once inside, I pulled the document from my pocket and scanned it for half a minute before finding the line indicating the location. Along the way, I saw many students who hadn’t gone straight home after school, busy with things beyond academics: club activities, tasks assigned by teachers, group reports? I wasn’t sure. I also saw someone from my own class, clutching a stack of papers, jogging down the corridor. She noticed me, brushed past me, and offered no superfluous greeting.

This reminded me of one of the few things from high school that had stuck in my memory. It was during the first few days of school when a girl waved at me. At the time, I hadn’t noticed, assuming she was waving at someone else, as I didn’t know her, so I ignored it. Her friends were with her then, and soon I heard them gossiping about it in class. Still, I didn’t think this was why I was isolated in class; even without that incident, I doubt I would have been able to get along well with others. Students ignoring each other remained the norm. Because, ultimately, we were just classmates—still one person and another. Shaking off my thoughts, I continued forward.

“Student Yi.”

I heard someone call that from behind me. How rare; I didn’t realize there was another person named Yi in this school besides me.

“Student Yi?”

Another call. Was it my imagination? The voice seemed closer.

“Student Yi Chang.”

Suddenly hearing my full name, I stopped, confirming the source of the voice. Turning around, I saw a female student looking at me. She wasn’t from my class, but she was likely the one who called out to me.

“Hello, can I help you?” I asked her.

For some reason, the girl before me flashed a sweet smile. “What’s with that tone? What, have you forgotten me already after just one day?”

This person did look somewhat familiar, especially her bright, clear eyes meeting mine, which made me feel utterly uneasy. Ah… I remembered.

“You’re the one from yesterday…”

‘What was her name again? I couldn’t quite recall.’

“Yesterday, I was a bit emotional, and what I said was rather abrupt. I didn’t properly express my gratitude,” she said, then performed a thirty-degree bow. Her excessive politeness left me feeling awkward. “Allow me to formally reintroduce myself: I am Yu Tianman of Class 1-A. Thank you for your enthusiastic assistance yesterday in helping me find my important pendant.”

Honestly, it was the first time I’d seen someone perform such a solemn bow and speak so formally in real life, especially from a student. It felt a bit inexplicable, but I didn’t dwell on it.

“You’re welcome.” With that, I continued on my way to my club.

“Where are you headed next?” she asked, surprisingly following me. “Are you off to a club activity? I happen to be going to mine as well; we can walk together.”

She acted as if she knew exactly where I was going. I simply hummed in response, assuming we’d part ways soon enough. Along the path, I occasionally pulled out the document to confirm the location, making sure I hadn’t taken a wrong turn.

“Speaking of which, Student Yi Chang,” the girl named Tianman suddenly spoke as I navigated the way, “where did you find my pendant yesterday? I searched the ground several times, yet you found it instantly.”

“Because it was hanging in a tree.”

“In a tree?” she asked, her expression puzzled. “How did it get there? It should have been…”

“Someone picked it up,” I explained, pausing briefly. “They didn’t know who it belonged to, and were afraid it would be swept away by the cleaning staff if left on the ground, so they hung it in a conspicuous spot for the owner to retrieve. I guessed that was the case, and I was right.”

“Heh…” The girl regarded me with interest. “I never even thought of that. I was foolishly searching for so long; I should have asked you from the start.”

“You were the one who insisted on being polite.”

“Haha,” she chuckled, “I accidentally refused you out of habit. Habits are truly terrifying.”

She sounded like someone who often rejected others, but it had nothing to do with me. Following the instructions on the document, I eventually arrived at the main hall, a junction of several corridors. The document said to take the path with the blue trash can, but I saw no such trash can. Had the school cleaners removed it?

As I looked left and right, I caught a glimpse of Yu Tianman behind me in my peripheral vision. I noticed she had moved closer, watching me with a faint smile… It was a little unsettling.

“Go left,” the person behind me suddenly said.

I looked at her, and she met my gaze, smiling without a word. I didn’t ask her anything, simply followed her instruction and turned left. After all, I didn’t know which way to go anyway; if I made a mistake, I could always just turn back.

And it turned out she was right. After turning left and passing two classrooms, I walked around the corner of the tiered lecture hall and arrived at the club’s activity room. I quickly adjusted my mindset and knocked on the door.

There was no answer, and when I tried the doorknob, I found the door was locked. Was there no activity today, or had I arrived too early? Never mind, I’d just sit in the tiered lecture hall for a while. If no one showed up by then, I’d just go straight home.

As I turned around, I found Yu Tianman still standing behind me, her smile now even brighter.

“Don’t you have a club activity? Why are you still here?”

She remained silent, still smiling. She took off her backpack, pulled a key from its side pocket, and dangled it in front of me twice before walking past me to the door and unlocking the activity room.

“Welcome to the Casual Chat Club, Student Yi Chang,” she said. “Allow me to formally reintroduce myself: I am Yu Tianman of Class 1-A, and I am the president of the Casual Chat Club.”