A Troubled Monday

Upon returning home, He Chuanrong did not immediately switch on the lights. Instead, he sank onto the sofa, curling himself into a tight ball. The room’s furnishings were entirely in the style of the eighties and nineties, and the sofa was no exception. Its stretched leather had cracked, the crevices harboring the indelible marks of time.

An unusual silence permeated the room, allowing He Chuanrong to distinctly hear the sound of his own breathing.

This house had been left to him by his maternal grandmother. Along with it, she had bequeathed twenty thousand yuan, saved meticulously over half a a lifetime of frugality.

He remembered his grandmother, on her deathbed, urging him to study hard. She had promised to watch over him from the heavens, telling him not to be afraid.

Moonlight streamed through the window, brightly illuminating the cement floor. The wind caused the door to creak incessantly. After a long moment, He Chuanrong rose from the sofa, slid the bolt on the iron door, and then closed the wooden door.

Returning to his bedroom in the dark, he pulled out a stack of envelope paper from under his old, peeling desk. He switched on the desk lamp and began writing his self-reflection report.

Only when the sky began to lighten did he finally lift his head from the cluttered desk. After tidying his workspace, and seeing that he still had a little time, he quickly lay down on the bed for a short nap.

From junior high to his first year of high school, he had pulled countless all-nighters. When drowsiness overcame him, he would simply doze off at the cashier’s counter until the internet café owner arrived for their shift, then rush off to school.

In a daze, He Chuanrong once again dreamt of his mother. She stood at the station entrance, dragging a suitcase, her lips moving as if calling him to follow, or perhaps urging him to go home.

He desperately pounded against an invisible wall before him, a heart-wrenching pain engulfing every cell of his being. He wanted to plead with his mother to stay, yet no sound would escape his throat. It felt as though an unseen hand was strangling him, only broken sobs managing to slip out.

He Chuanrong was like a drowning man, the water already past his chest. He bobbed and sank in the water, a rootless duckweed, desperate to grasp onto something. Yet, the surroundings were utterly vast and empty; he had long since lost all support.

Startled awake from the dream, he wiped away the lingering tears from the corners of his eyes. After a quick wash, he hurried out to catch the bus.

****

The first class was Chinese Language, and everyone was in high spirits, focused intently, their eyes shining. After class, Old Wen told them to step out for some fresh air, to prepare for the next lesson, and to review thoroughly, as the monthly exam was fast approaching.

This news struck like a bolt from the blue, and the entire class immediately erupted into a buzz.

Ji Ye was sprawled on his desk, yawning incessantly. Zhang Qian leaned back, his chair propped against the edge of the desk behind him, and tapped his fingers.

“Staying up late to write a self-reflection?” he asked with a grin. “Don’t you still have time? Why the rush?”

“My deskmate took care of the self-reflection for me,” Ji Ye said with a smug air. His voice was quiet, yet his joy was palpable. He glanced at He Chuanrong, noticing the distinct pause in the other’s pen.

“What?!”

As if struck by thunder, Zhang Qian spun around abruptly, his eyes wide with shock, unable to utter a single word for a long moment.

“What’s wrong with him?” Tian Jingwen, who had come to fetch a broom, asked, pointing at the dumbfounded Zhang Qian in confusion. She then looked at Ji Ye, seeking an explanation.

“He can’t finish his self-reflection, so he’s about to ask for my help,” Ji Ye said with a smile. He refrained from mentioning He Chuanrong had helped him write his own, mainly because there were too many people in the classroom, and he wasn’t sure if revealing it would cause the other any trouble.

“What self-reflection?” Tian Jingwen asked.

“Just about the fight on Monday.”

“Oh.” She nodded knowingly. After hastily reporting the incident to Old Wen’s office that day, Old Wen had told her to return to class, saying he would handle it. Consequently, she hadn’t known the aftermath, and with too much homework, she had been too busy to ask.

“Then you’d better hurry. Monday will be here again soon.” She offered a sympathetic look, not forgetting to console him before leaving with the broom. Zhang Qian’s procrastination was well-known; he never started anything until the very last minute.

Zhang Qian covered his ears and head with both hands, his face filled with disbelief. He mumbled, “I don’t believe it. Didn’t Monday just pass? How is it already here again?”

Seeing his reaction, the people around them all laughed.

“It’s all Chen Pizi’s fault,” he said indignantly.

“Who’s Chen Pizi?” his deskmate, Zhou Yao, asked him.

Zhang Qian immediately returned to normal, turning around with a soft, smiling explanation: “Chen Gong, from Class 5. He’s the dark-skinned one. He got that nickname because his skin is thick and he can take a beating.”

Ji Ye, from the desk behind, witnessed Zhang Qian’s drastic change in demeanor and surprisingly gentle tone. His eyes widened, and he nudged He Chuanrong with his elbow. “Is he possessed? Two faces, one for others and one for himself!”

He gestured as he spoke.

He Chuanrong saw the pure innocence in Ji Ye’s eyes and couldn’t resist teasing him, so he simply nodded.

Upon hearing this, Ji Ye rubbed his cheeks, his large eyes filled with astonishment.

****

The weekend flew by. Early Monday morning, He Yuan specifically targeted late students at the school gate. Seeing their sleepy faces, his voice unconsciously rose as he pointed at his watch. “Only five minutes until morning self-study begins! What are you dawdling for? Why aren’t you running!”

The students locked in his gaze flinched, their drowsy minds instantly clearing. They all adopted a sprint-like posture and rushed towards their classrooms.

During the large recess flag-raising ceremony, after the duty leader finished speaking, they called the students who needed to read their self-reflection reports onto the stage one by one. The students below instantly perked up, craning their necks and shifting their gazes towards the flag-raising platform.

Ji Ye was the last one. He walked onto the stage, took the microphone from the previous student, and began.

“Respected school leaders, teachers, dear classmates, good morning.”

The direct opening felt a bit dry, so he improvised this line.

Below, He Chuanrong’s hands hung at his sides, the corners of his mouth moving almost imperceptibly. He had never added such greetings when writing self-reflection reports, and his previous wording had been far more incisive than this current one.

“Last Monday, students from Class 5, having lost to our class in a previous basketball game, came looking for trouble. At the time, we were not calm enough and failed to consider their fragile self-esteem. Our method of mediation was inappropriate; we did not offer them sufficient comfort. After enduring their beating and scolding, we were consumed by anger, temporarily lost our rationality, and sought momentary gratification, participating in the fight during the mediation process. For this, I deeply recognize my error and guarantee that should such a situation arise again, I will adhere to the principle of mutual assistance, calmly analyzing the reasons for their failure. Simultaneously, I will also recommend more books to them, broadening their horizons and magnanimity. Self-reflection by: Ji Ye.”

After he finished reading, a commotion erupted below, especially among the students from Class 5, whose faces turned dark.

‘This kid,’ Zhang Qian thought to himself, ‘he really knows how to infuriate people.’

Ji Ye walked down, heading towards Class 8’s formation, drawing the gazes of his classmates.

“How was it? I performed pretty well, didn’t I?” he asked He Chuanrong, turning his head once he was back in his spot, his eyes gleaming with the triumph of victory.

“Yes, very well,” He Chuanrong replied with a faint smile, nodding approvingly and offering generous praise.

Upon hearing this, Ji Ye’s smile broadened even further, his eyes curving like a gentle spring breeze. This stirred He Chuanrong’s heart, causing the latter to quickly avert his gaze.

After the flag-raising ceremony, the class bell rang. Chen Gong spotted the few students chatting and laughing from afar, so he deliberately led his group over, blocking the staircase entrance. They ascended the stairs slowly in front of them, completely ignoring the exasperated Zhang Qian behind.

“Ugh, that Chen Pizi is just too petty,” Zhang Qian grumbled, leaning back in his seat after returning, seeing that the teacher hadn’t arrived yet. He complained to Ji Ye, “He’s clearly not as skilled, yet he still has to shout.”

“He’s just stubborn and obsessed with saving face. Pay him less mind, lest you have to pull another all-nighter writing a self-reflection. It’s highly likely it won’t be just three thousand characters next time.”

Ji Ye said, rummaging through his desk compartment.

At the mention of the self-reflection, Zhang Qian shook his head, lamenting in his heart why He Chuanrong wasn’t his deskmate. But then he abruptly shook his head again, looking at Zhou Yao, and the gloom in his heart instantly vanished.

His own deskmate was much better than that block of ice. Not only did she help him solve problems, but she was also gentle and patient, explaining the same type of problem tirelessly.

With this comparison, Zhang Qian’s heart finally found balance, and he happily opened his textbook.

****

With the monthly exam imminent, everyone threw themselves wholeheartedly into their studies. Even Ji Ye, who detested physics the most, began to force himself to listen in class. During this period, to help everyone relax, Wen Xuanyi used the class meeting to select class cadres.

Sixty percent of Class 8’s students had come up from the same class, so for the first month, Wen Xuanyi had allowed the previous class committee members to temporarily take charge. During the voting process, the positions of the various class cadres largely remained unchanged. Only He Chuanrong, who had temporarily served as vice-monitor, officially took over the vice-monitor position. In addition, Wen Xuanyi also added two psychological counselors, one male and one female, so that students would have a place to offer suggestions for the class, or to express any unhappiness or frustrations they couldn’t voice elsewhere.

The weather gradually turned cooler, and the monthly exam arrived as scheduled.

The monthly exam adopted a cross-examination system, with each examination room containing both first-year and second-year high school students. Seating was arranged according to the results of the previous semester’s subject-division exam. However, He Chuanrong had only transferred a week after school started, so he was assigned to the last examination room.

When the exam bell rang, He Chuanrong picked up his pen and began answering the questions. The only sound in the room was the soft scratching of pens on paper. Because of the exam, the canteen, usually only open to boarding students, had issued an early notice that it had increased its cutlery and cleaned out the old canteen’s dining area, making it available for all teachers and students.

After the exam, just as He Chuanrong was about to head home, he received a WeChat message from Ji Ye.

[Don’t go home, deskmate. It’s too much hassle back and forth. We’re waiting for you on the far left of the third floor of the new canteen.]

He Chuanrong, who was just leaving the school gate, paused. As he hesitated, Ji Ye sent another message—a photo of the canteen food.

[I’ve already gotten food for you. Just come and eat. You’ll even get a few extra minutes for your午休 in the classroom later.]

He Chuanrong gazed at the message. The other’s profile picture was a smiling Border Collie sitting on grass, but at that moment, it seemed as if Ji Ye himself was smiling at him. He retracted his foot from beyond the school gate, asking who else was with them as he walked towards the convenience store.

After the four of them finished lunch, they returned to the classroom to rest. There were quite a few people in the classroom, but it was very quiet. It was the first time He Chuanrong had slept so peacefully in a classroom.

In the afternoon, they had their English exam. Everyone arrived early, but as the listening comprehension began to play over the broadcast, He Chuanrong suddenly felt unwell, with a faint ache in his abdomen.

‘Could it be the drink from lunch acting up?’

He clutched his abdomen with one hand, his forehead quickly covered in fine sweat. His body gradually grew weak, and he couldn’t even hold his pen steadily.

The listening comprehension continued to play over the broadcast. To avoid disrupting the exam, he first marked the answers he heard on the test paper, planning to fill in the answer sheet during the last ten minutes.

After the listening comprehension finished playing, He Chuanrong shot up from his seat, rushing out of the classroom with a hand over his mouth and heading towards the restroom, under the astonished gaze of the invigilator.