Jiang Zhihuo sighed deeply.
Why did he have to suffer like this?!
It’s all because of the person in front of him!!
He shouldn’t have forgiven this person so quickly! He shouldn’t have agreed to talk about the matter later.
He should’ve just caused a scene and made a fuss until the exam was over!
Yan Mu could block out everything while studying. He ignored Jiang Zhihuo’s furious gaze, put on his Bluetooth earphones, and sat up straight with his head lowered. His spine and shoulder-neck line were visibly defined, resembling an unstretched bow.
The midterms were just two days away.
There were three choices in front of Jiang Zhihuo.
First, admit it.
Second, keep pretending to be dumb.
Third, torture each other.
Yan Mu might have already figured it out. Choosing the first or second was clearly not the smartest choice.
Jiang Zhihuo made a swift decision and chose the third choice.
Jiang Zhihuo lay on the desk, deliberately dragging out the ending. “I can’t remember—”
Yan Mu took off his earphones and turned toward him.
Jiang Zhihuo buried his face in the crook of his arm and lifted his eyes. “I’ve heard that hearing can enhance memory. The brain stores information through sound in the shallow layers, and in many cases, it’s more memorable than just memorizing by heart, so…”
Jiang Zhihuo slowly moved the notes forward. “Yan-ge, how about we give it a try?”
Yan Mu stared at Jiang Zhihuo’s eyes. They had lived together for two months, and he had been tutoring him for all this time. When he brought up something like memorizing through hearing out of the blue, it was clear he had only one intention.
“So, we are torturing each other now?”
Jiang Zhihuo clapped his hands hard and chuckled. “Yes!”
Yan Mu didn’t hesitate. Without looking at the notes, he effortlessly recited The Joyful Wanderer, flawlessly. Then, he turned to Jiang Zhihuo and said, “Done. Did you remember it?”
Jiang Zhihuo laughed. “I can’t remember it. Recite it one more time.”
Yan Mu nodded, his eyes briefly glancing at the time.
Being around Yan Mu, Jiang Zhihuo didn’t need to worry about the time. After all, once the heat symptoms appeared, a quick touch would make them disappear. This time, he felt more relaxed. Noticing that Yan Mu didn’t say anything, he added, “Just reciting it once definitely won’t help me remember. You need to go over it three, four, five, or six times, right? This type of thing relied on gradual influence, no rush.”
Yan Mu listened patiently.
“And I think,” Jiang Zhihuo continued, “Your emotions aren’t strong enough. It should have more variation in tone, or maybe slow it down a bit. You need to express the yearning to break free from common societal norms and the transcendent freedom. You’re reciting it, but there is no trace of that air of immortality.”
“Come on, one more time.” Jiang Zhihuo grinned shamelessly, ready to keep pestering, but just as he opened his mouth, a sudden wave of heat rushed through his body. The heat symptoms were back!
He threw himself at Yan Mu without thinking and wrapped his arms around his neck. However, just as their lips were about to touch, Yan Mu turned his head to the side.
“What are you doing?”
“Answer me, can you memorize it?”
“…Yes, yes, yes!!” Jiang Zhihuo replied with zero sincerity. Then, with a sudden push, he sent Yan Mu from the chair to the bed.
The soft quilt sank in, forming the outline of the two bodies.
After the kiss, Jiang Zhihuo covered his lower abdomen with a pillow.
“This isn’t going to work!” Jiang Zhihuo complained, “Math and English are fine, but Chinese and Science each take two and a half hours.”
At No. 1 High School, they didn’t allow early submissions of the exam papers. Even if you fall asleep through the exam, you still have to stay for the full exam duration.
Under these circumstances, there was only one solution. “Sneak out halfway through the Chinese or Science exam? Pretend to go to the restroom, maybe around an hour and a half in?”
Yan Mu didn’t respond, so Jiang Zhihuo stretched his legs and nudged him. “Hey, friend, are you alright?”
Yan Mu tossed the review materials over to him, determined to torment him. “Once you’ve memorized these, you’ll be fine.”
Jiang Zhihuo: “…”
This damn thing, is it not going to end?
No matter how irritated he was, he couldn’t escape it. He gritted his teeth and began to struggle through the recitation.
During this period, Yan Mu kept his gaze fixed on him with seriousness. It was hard to tell what exactly he was thinking, but the stare made Jiang Zhihuo’s scalp tingle with discomfort.
Even after he finished memorizing, he still wouldn’t look away.
Jiang Zhihuo nearly wanted to ask him directly: Doesn’t it seem real? Am I not convincing enough? This is how a study slacker memorizes, right?
Yan Mu just kept staring at him until the end, without uttering a word.
Jiang Zhihuo lay on the bed, completely drained.
So tried, really, so tired.
It would be better to just say it out loud and expose himself; then neither of them would have to pretend!
After taking a shower, Yan Mu climbed onto the bed.
Instead of lying down to sleep right away, he propped up the soft pillow, leaned against the headboard, and read on his Kindle for a while.
Occasionally, he would spend some time recharging himself.
The bed was soft, and lying down felt very comfortable. Jiang Zhihuo asked, “What are you reading?”
Yan Mu: “A book.”
“Bullsh*t, what else can you read on a Kindle?” Jiang Zhihuo turned over, lying on his side, resting his cheek on his propped-up elbow.
Jiang Zhihuo: “Honestly, I think you’d be perfect as a podcaster. Your voice is wasted not being in front of a microphone.”
Yan Mu turned the page. “Thank you.”
Jiang Zhihuo: “Read me a few lines from the book you’re reading.”
Jiang Zhihuo had originally said it casually, with no other intention. He was simply used to teasing Yan Mu before bed, and hearing his impatient tone made him pleased.
But he didn’t expect that this time, Yan Mu actually started reading.
“Faces poke through the haze, linger, and fade away.”
“They peer down, ask me questions. They all ask questions. Do I know who I am? Do I hurt anywhere?”
Jiang Zhihuo felt that this passage sounded familiar, thought for a moment, and asked, “The Kite Runner?”
Yan Mu: “Mhm.”
“Oh.” Jiang Zhihuo changed his position, turning his back to Yan Mu, and propped one hand under his temple.
He was silent for a moment, unsure of what he was thinking, then asked, “Can you continue?”
Yan Mu didn’t refuse him and continued reading, “I know who I am, and I hurt everywhere. I want to tell them this, but talking hurts.”
“I know this because some time ago, maybe a year ago, maybe two, maybe ten.”
When he reached this line, he paused for a brief moment, almost indiscernible.
Then, his tone softened. “I tried to talk to a child with rouge on his cheeks and eyes smeared black. The child. Yes, I see him now.”
Yan Mu’s voice was very pleasant to hear. He spoke concisely, each word coming out in quick intervals. When conversing with him, one could only feel the depth, but once he became quiet, a subtle tenderness emerged, something that was never present in him.
Jiang Zhihuo slowly closed his eyes.
It appeared like he was getting a bit sleepy; the sound of reading continued, growing farther and farther away.
In a trance, it seemed to overlap with a certain childish voice from his memory.
“I want to say something to this child—it seems very important that I do.”
The young Jiang Zhihuo curled up in the warm blanket, holding a laptop in his arms.
At that time, he hadn’t changed his name to Jiang Zhihuo yet. His surname was Yun, and his name was Yun Zhou.
The boy, about the same age as him, was sitting on the edge of the bed, reading.
“What’s the name of this book?” Yun Zhou asked.
“The Kite Runner.” The boy said.
“Oh.” Yun Zhou tightened his arms. After waking up, his laptop suddenly couldn’t be charged. “Can it really charge overnight if I hold it?”
“Yes. It’s too cold in winter; we’re all afraid of the cold.”
The boy’s voice was always soft, sounding more mature than other children around his age.
Yun Zhou said again, “I can’t sleep.”
“Not used to the bed?” The boy was a bit nervous. After all, this wasn’t Yun Zhou’s home. Today, his parents were away, leaving Xiao Zhou in his care.
He had replaced all the sheets and blankets with new ones.
“It’s not that; I’m just not sleepy.”
“Close your eyes, and you’ll fall asleep in seven minutes.”
Seven minutes later, he opened his eyes again.
“Qin-ge.” Yun Zhou said, “I counted four hundred and twenty seconds in my head and still couldn’t fall asleep. You lied to me.”
The boy frowned slightly, as if trying to figure out an explanation.
Before he could speak, Yun Zhou moved in a little closer, pulled the pillow away, and stuffed it in the middle.
He said, “Let’s sleep together. I sleep really well—since there’s a pillow between us. I won’t touch you.”
The usually serious boy thought for a while and nodded. “Okay.”
He put down the book and went to the bathroom to get changed.
When the door was pulled open, a draft came through, and the book flipped to a new page.
The page it flipped to had a name written on it—children that age always liked to write their names on things.
The handwriting was neat and elegant.
—Qin Mu.
Next to it were a few letters, the handwriting noticeably different from the two words.
It was written by Yun Zhou. It was the name he had given to Qin-ge—a secret known only to him. So, on the back of every book where he had written his name, he would quietly add four letters.
—Shin.
The author has something to say:
Ps. “Faces poke through the haze, linger, and fade away. They peer down, ask me questions. They all ask questions. Do I know who I am? Do I hurt anywhere? I know this because some time ago, maybe a year ago, maybe two, maybe ten. I tried to talk to a child with rouge on his cheeks and eyes smeared black. The child. Yes, I see him now. I want to say something to this child—it seems very important that I do.”
—Extract from Chapter 23 of The Kite Runner.
