A Ghost’s Philosophical Quandary

Noon gradually arrived.

A symphony of bells chimed, and instantly, Chuanbei Middle School’s academic buildings erupted in a cacophony of sound. A rumbling crescendo of footsteps echoed, rising and falling in waves.

Seconds later, a student burst from a building, and in their wake, the campus gates seemed to open. Like a swarm of bees leaving their hive, nearly every student sprinted towards the cafeteria with utmost speed.

Fu Ziqing, who had spent the entire morning idly wandering the campus, now found herself beneath an ancient banyan tree. It stood centrally on the wide plaza before the ‘Tianxiang Tower’ cafeteria.

The plaza boasted three basketball courts and two badminton courts. Despite it being lunchtime, numerous energetic figures still vigorously played, their bodies glistening with sweat.

As she watched them, Fu Ziqing’s mind drifted back to her past life. She remembered playing basketball with her closest friends.

If their last morning class had been physical education, they would have forgone lunch entirely. They would play for nearly another hour, then each grab a drink and a loaf of bread from the tuck shop before heading back to their dorms to eat.

These memories weren’t a deliberate act of nostalgia for Fu Ziqing. Rather, the familiar scene before her had simply triggered their natural resurgence.

Her gaze settled on one of the courts, where a particular short player on a three-person team captured her attention.

He was a dark-skinned, slender young man, overflowing with zeal and fiercely competitive. Yet, his passion far outstripped his skill.

He’d lose the ball after three dribbles, and one in three passes would land in an opponent’s hands. His defense, while tight, was easily broken by a pump fake, leaving him instantly exposed.

The ancient banyan tree had stood for generations, a silent sentinel even during Fu Ziqing’s lifetime. Now, the school had encircled its base with a decorative flowerbed.

Fu Ziqing sat upon the flowerbed’s edge, her hands braced behind her. Her feet swung idly as her pale, lifeless eyes fixed on the basketball court.

Initially, the game proceeded harmoniously. When the short player made a mistake, his two teammates merely clapped and put their hands on their hips, signaling regret without voicing any complaints.

However, with a four-point game format, their team consistently lasted less than three minutes on the court. Having sacrificed precious lunch to indulge their love for the game, being benched before even warming up inevitably bred resentment in the other two players.

Finally, the next time that team was called to play, they introduced a new member.

The short player was replaced by a burly man.

It was apparent that the burly man’s skills were equally unremarkable, yet his towering height offered a natural advantage. He consistently snatched rebounds by crowding beneath the hoop.

With this, his two teammates could play with abandon, wildly charging and shooting. Though their win rate remained low, they at least thoroughly enjoyed their game.

That young man isn’t as fortunate as I once was.

Fu Ziqing murmured, a faint sigh escaping her lips, as she watched the short player, now seemingly abandoned by his teammates.

Fu Ziqing had only noticed the short player because he reminded her so much of her past self.

Though an immense span of time had passed—twenty years in her previous life, seventeen years before her death in this one, and another twenty years since her demise—she could still vividly recall those moments.

She vaguely remembered the friends she played with, and how ‘he’ had been short and unskilled at first. Yet, a few close friends had always been willing to include ‘him’, even if ‘he’ was practically the opposing team’s best ‘foreign aid’ in every game.

In truth, ‘he’ had initially felt embarrassed, believing ‘he’ was a burden to his friends, and had even suggested being benched to watch.

But his friends had steadfastly refused, and his occasional blunders on the court were met only with good-natured teasing. This allowed ‘him’ to slowly shed his inhibitions and play more freely.

Coupled with ‘his’ relentless private practice, ‘his’ skills gradually improved.

Reflecting on these memories, and then observing the short player still cheering for his teammates from the sidelines, Fu Ziqing suddenly realized her earlier lament held little weight.

Fu Ziqing had subjectively assumed the short player was cast aside, but what if he had voluntarily suggested the substitution? The same situation could be handled in myriad ways by different people.

Her close friends had insisted on including her, a gesture of genuine kindness. So, too, might the short player’s teammates have accepted the substitution not out of malicious disdain, but out of benevolent understanding.

Lost in these thoughts, Fu Ziqing propped her elbows on her knees, cradling her chin in her palms. She began to murmur softly.

I really am bored.

I’m just a ghost, why am I bothering with such questions…

Pedestrians bustled past, and the nearby cafeteria echoed with boisterous chatter. Yet, beneath the ancient banyan, Fu Ziqing heard only the gentle rustle of leaves stirred by the breeze.

This was the solitude, the quiet peace, that belonged solely to her as a female ghost.

Such tranquility, however, was abruptly shattered by a voice.

“What sort of troubles could be vexing a senior sister like you?”

Fu Ziqing lifted her head slightly, her gaze meeting the bright, sunny smile of a young man standing in the dappled shade beneath the tree.

“It’s something of a philosophical quandary, I suppose.”

“Oh?”

Ming Zhong settled beside Fu Ziqing, then turned his head, his eyes meeting hers.

“I was pondering whether humanity is inherently driven more by benevolence or by malice.”

Fu Ziqing spoke nonchalantly.

Ming Zhong furrowed his brow slightly.

“That question seems a bit too broad, doesn’t it?”

“Precisely. I believe I’m simply too bored, which is why I’m entertaining such a trivial thought.”

Fu Ziqing finished, lifting her chin from her hands and straightening her posture.

Ming Zhong, however, merely smiled.

“I believe it hinges on a person’s environment,” he began. “If most people surrounding an individual harbor good intentions, then that person will, to some extent, also treat others with kindness…”

He left the thought unfinished, an incomplete answer hanging in the air.

“Hmm, that makes sense.”

Fu Ziqing responded absently.

Given the recent scenario, if she were forced to speculate, she would certainly prefer to lean towards benevolence.

Then, Fu Ziqing fell silent, her pale, lifeless eyes staring blankly into the distance.

Ming Zhong observed her, though he had no idea what thoughts occupied the senior sister’s mind. He quietly stayed by her side, lowering his gaze to silently count the fallen leaves on the ground.

A moment later, Fu Ziqing spoke abruptly.

“I want to go home.”

The words, soft and natural, simply slipped out. She lowered her head, seemingly gazing at the fallen leaves scattered beneath the tree.

Ming Zhong immediately looked up, turning his head to face Fu Ziqing.

He offered a smile.

“If you wish to return, then simply do so.”

The words had already left his lips when a faint pang of regret struck him.

As for the reason behind his regret, he found himself, for a moment, utterly at a loss.

Perhaps he worried that the senior sister, separated from her family by the chasm of life and death, would only find increased sorrow upon visiting them at home.

Silence descended once more beneath the ancient banyan.

Then, Fu Ziqing abruptly turned to face Ming Zhong and asked.

“Hey? Aren’t you going to eat? Or have you already finished?”

“I am, but I usually go a bit later. While the popular dishes might be gone, the upside is there’s hardly any queue. Plus, the cafeteria aunties typically aren’t stingy with their portions around this time; they might even give me extra.”

Ming Zhong explained his reasoning.

Fu Ziqing blinked slowly.

“That’s actually a strategy?”

She then pressed him further.

“You really should hurry. I’m noticing fewer students leaving the cafeteria now. Any later, and you’ll be stuck with just bread or instant noodles.”

“Alright.”

Ming Zhong nodded, rose to his feet, and took a few steps before suddenly turning back.

“Would you like to come along, senior sister?”

He stood bathed in sunlight, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

“My treat.”

Fu Ziqing stared at Ming Zhong with a peculiar expression, blinking slowly. It took her a moment before she finally spoke.

“Is there something wrong with your head?”