Chapter 27: The Curse

That night, the English teacher slept in the master bedroom.

Since this was an old house with limited space—just two bedrooms and a living room—Li Heng and Zhang Zhiyong shared the secondary bedroom.

Listening to the Daoist priest downstairs mumbling sutras, Zhang Zhiyong tossed and turned, unable to sleep; he jumped up, full of resentment:

“When the hell is this asshole gonna stop? It’s driving me crazy! I really want to go down and kick that coffin over!”

Li Heng had seen far greater storms; this was nothing but a drizzle. He lay on his back with half-closed eyes:

“Just endure it. This is an old district—all around are residents. They won’t go on long. Probably they’ll stop soon.”

Zhang Zhiyong’s veins bulged as he clawed at his hair in frenzy: “But I’m gonna lose my mind—I can’t take it anymore!”

Li Heng said: “Then go kick the coffin. I’ll call 110 and 120 for you, and even reserve a cremation urn for you at the funeral home.”

“But you know I don’t have much cash—if I can’t get you an urn, don’t blame me for being a bad brother. Just endure it. The fish in the Zijiang River eat dead flesh…”

“Stop! Stop! You idiot!” Zhang Zhiyong cursed as he got out of bed and peeked out the window, then returned to lie flat again, mimicking Li Heng’s posture.

After a while, this fool couldn’t hold back again and suddenly asked: “Li Heng, do you think the English teacher’s asleep?”

Li Heng stared at the ceiling: “Why are you asking that?”

Zhang Zhiyong grinned: “The night’s long. You shouldn’t waste it here—you should go next door.”

Li Heng: “...”

Before Li Heng could reply, Zhang Zhiyong kept going: “Seriously! I really feel she’s different with you. How about I go downstairs to guard the coffin and clear the room for you two?”

“Ow!!!”

Before he finished speaking, he suddenly appeared on the floor, clutching his ass and yelping in pain.

He glared and shouted: “Li Heng, you bastard! Why’d you kick me? Even if you two did something dirty tonight, I’m your brother—do you think I’d blab? Don’t you trust me?!”

Li Heng extended his leg and kicked again—this time straight to the face, twisting his mouth crooked.

Seeing the idiot still spouting nonsense, Li Heng sat up slowly: “If you want to become the second Liu Yejiang and end up in the hospital getting stitches, keep talking.”

“Damn! You’re a man, look decent enough, yet you’re clueless! If I were you, I’d have knocked Zhang Zhiyong out cold and already crawled onto the next bed!”

Zhang Zhiyong’s bravado faded, but he still clung to his dignity, creeping back onto the bed cautiously—making Li Heng laugh heartily.

They lay side by side again. After about ten minutes, the noise downstairs finally stopped, and the world grew suddenly quiet.

At that moment, Zhang Zhiyong whispered his final encouragement: “I think Teacher Wang won’t put up much of a fight—why don’t you knock me out? Don’t worry—I’ve got the right mindset. A good brother should get knocked out at a time like this.”

Li Heng said: “I’ll throw you under the bed.”

“Fine! Perfect! But be quiet—don’t wake me up.” Zhang Zhiyong cheered, clapping his hands.

Wherever this idiot was, there was always joy. They chatted aimlessly until very late before falling asleep.

Li Heng slept deeply; when he woke again, it was already past 8 a.m. the next morning.

Zhang Zhiyong had already gotten up and sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly.

Seeing this, Li Heng couldn’t help asking: “What’re you daydreaming about so early? When’d you wake up? Did you wash up?”

“I’ve been awake a long time. Haven’t washed yet. Haven’t even peed—my bladder’s killing me!” Zhang Zhiyong squeezed his legs together, clearly holding it in.

Li Heng got up, dressing as he spoke: “Then why aren’t you going? Waiting to fight me for the bathroom?”

“The English teacher’s in the living room—I’m too scared to go out.” Zhang Zhiyong kept calling himself “old man,” yet he was terrified of being alone in the same space as Wang Run.

Li Heng kicked him: “Look at you, a coward. Pathetic.”

“Damn it, ease up—I’m about to pee myself!” Zhang Zhiyong followed behind, pretending he was fine, hopping and bouncing until he finally made it to the bathroom.

Wang Run asked Li Heng: “What’s wrong with Zhang Zhiyong? He’s limping. Did he twist his ankle last night?”

Li Heng betrayed his brother without a shred of guilt: “He was too scared to come out because you were sitting on the living room sofa. He held his pee so long he’s in pain.”

Wang Run was stunned, glancing toward the bathroom, where faint sounds of rushing water seemed to echo.

Two seconds later, she smiled and stood up: “Hurry up and wash up. I’ll go buy breakfast.”

Two seconds later, she smiled and stood up. “Hurry up and get ready, I’ll go buy breakfast.”

Today was February 10th.

The second day of school.

After breakfast, the three didn’t dare delay—they took the bus back to No. 1 High School.

Upon entering the school gate, Li Heng and Zhang Zhiyong parted ways with the English teacher and headed straight to their classroom on the third floor to report to their homeroom teacher, Wang Qi, and collect their registration forms.

The classroom was nearly empty; only the short Wang Qi stood by the door, holding a cigarette, waiting for students to report in.

Saying Wang Qi was short was no exaggeration—he was barely 158 cm tall.

But he naturally radiated authority; just standing there, he commanded presence. Students, especially girls, feared him most.

Seeing the two sprinting toward the hallway entrance, Wang Qi flicked ash with his pinky and pointed to the class roster: “Come sign your names.”

As Li Heng signed, Wang Qi praised him warmly: “You’ve improved—your handwriting’s getting more refined.”

But when it was Zhang Zhiyong’s turn, the teacher’s face darkened instantly: “What is this scribble? Even ghost drawings are better. If you write like this on the Gaokao, you’ll lose all your neatness points.”

Normally loud and reckless, the idiot now dared not protest or speak up—he obediently scribbled over his writing and bent down to rewrite each stroke carefully.

At that moment, two more people appeared at the hallway entrance—old acquaintances: Sun Man and Liu Li.

From afar or up close, Sun Man’s defining trait was cleanliness—she gave off an impression purer than mountain spring water, deeply soothing.

The girl was tall—barefoot, she stood at least 170 cm. Normally, someone her height couldn’t sit in the front row, since there were dozens of shorter boys and girls in class.

But her father was the principal of No. 1 High School.

And even more so, their homeroom teacher Wang Qi was a grade-obsessed fanatic.

According to Teacher Wang’s rule, Class 204 changed seats twice per semester: after the midterms and after the finals (or at the start of each term). The top ten students chose seats first, in order of ranking.

According to Teacher Wang Qi’s rules, Class 204 changes seats twice each semester—after the midterms and after the final exams (or alternatively, before each semester begins); the top ten students choose their seats first, in order of their rankings.

For example, the top two—Mai Sui and Song Yu—took turns being number one. With 64 seats total, they could pick any seat they wanted; if they chose one, everyone else had to move.

Just like the top two spots, constantly swapped between Mai Sui and Song Yu, the two of them could sit anywhere they wanted among the class’s sixty-four seats; if they set their eyes on a spot, everyone else had to vacate it immediately.

Sun Man excelled in Chinese and English but struggled in math, so she always chose to sit next to Li Heng—the school’s top math student—to ask him questions.

Because of this, gossipers in class whispered that she secretly liked Li Heng.

Liu Li was the opposite of Sun Man: good at Chinese, math, and humanities—but his English was catastrophically bad.

How bad? He considered passing a miracle, a stroke of ancestral luck. Every subject teacher was desperate for him.

As the history teacher put it: “A potential Tsinghua or Peking University student ruined by English.”

Liu Li stood around 172 cm, with prominent cheekbones, neither fat nor thin, always looking listless.

What everyone talked about most was: he didn’t adore the beautiful Song Yu, wasn’t obsessed with the radiant Xiao Han, didn’t worship the talented Mai Sui—he was utterly devoted to Chen Lijun.

What everyone talked about most about Bi Jun was this: he didn’t care for the most beautiful Song Yu, wasn’t captivated by the radiant Xiao Han, wasn’t obsessed with the talented Mai Sui—he was quietly, single-mindedly in love with Chen Lijun.

More precisely, since Liu Yejiang exposed his crush in class during senior year, his secret love had become open—and it was painful.

After all four signed, Wang Qi tore off the registration forms and handed them out, saying: “Hurry up and pay tuition, pick up your books. Be back in the classroom by 7 p.m.—we’re rearranging seats tonight.”

For students today, as long as they stayed within school grounds, their homeroom teacher’s words were practically imperial edicts. The four nodded and rushed off to the finance office to pay.

On the way, Li Heng casually asked Sun Man: “You live on campus, right? Why didn’t you pay yesterday? Why wait till now?”

Sun Man replied: “I told you I was waiting for you. Do you believe me?”

At this, Liu Li and Zhang Zhiyong, who had been shoving each other, froze and turned to stare at her, eyes sparkling with gossip.

Though rumors swirled that this girl liked him, in his past life she’d never confessed or even hinted.

Though many rumors spread that this girl secretly liked him, in his past life she had never made any move to confess—or even hinted at it.

Li Heng replied calmly: “No. I’d believe you if ghosts existed.”

To his surprise, Sun Man pointed to the third floor across the way: “I really did see you and Zhang Zhiyong arrive at school from my balcony. That’s why I came down.”

Liu Li chimed in, tilting his head: “I thought you were waiting for me by the snack shop. Guess I misread the signs.”

Liu Li and she had met at the snack shop and come up together.

Sun Man said: “If you were half as handsome as Li Heng, I wouldn’t mind stealing you away from Chen Lijun.”

“Ugh! Joke around, fine—but why bring her up? Now I won’t even enjoy my meal.” Chen Lijun was Liu Li’s obsession. Every time her name came up, he’d instinctively scratch his head—shy, fearful, yet secretly hoping.

To him, Chen Lijun was a queen, ruling his every emotion with a single glance.

No one understood his devotion, but everyone respected and admired him.

There were three payment windows; perhaps because yesterday had been packed, today there were few people.

The end of the line was visible—about ten people total. The four chatted and laughed as they queued, and soon it was their turn.

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