Chapter 9: Unable to Continue, Familiar Yet Strange

Feng Yan and Chen Hao walked through the gate, and only then did he realize this was a cave; they walked inside, the sound of water droplets drip‑drip, and nothing else remained but their footsteps.

They walked slowly, the surroundings eerily silent, only the dripping water and their footsteps echoing around; as they went forward, they noticed their bodies turning translucent, and they knew they should return to that reality.

Feng Yan opened his eyes, as usual busy, Feng Yan walked out of the dormitory, Yang Xin was outside, Feng Yan pretended not to see and walked straight past, Yang Xin watched Feng Yan slowly walk past, gazing at his silhouette, he smiled. Feng Yan returned to the classroom, as usual took out his textbook, opened the part that needed memorization, Chen Hao called him, saying: "Did you see that, Yang Xin! The one you hit yesterday— you really are ruthless, wouldn't it be… ha, turns out there's this side too." Feng Yan said nothing, slowly turned his head; he really didn't want anyone to bring this up, so he still turned to Chen Hao and said: "Can we just not mention this from now on?" Chen Hao saw him like that, nodded, and said: "Okay, won't happen." Feng Yan hearing that finally felt relieved. Feng Yan didn't want to be like that; that version of him was too terrifying, his hand was extremely vicious, blinded by some things, gone mad, to achieve his goal he'd use any means— "Such a me, it'd be better if he didn't appear," Feng Yan thought.

"Perhaps there won't be another chance," Feng Yan felt dejected, yet he still slowly opened his textbook, staring at the English sentences he couldn't understand, until the English teacher walked into the classroom; Feng Yan still read along with everyone's voices, even though he understood almost nothing— "Or should I just pretend?" Feng Yan felt helpless; he knew that if he stopped, he'd definitely appear in the middle of the dictation list, he didn't want to be called on, nor to do the dictation, so he echoed along with everyone's voices; the morning‑reading classroom was noisy, so maybe he wouldn't be noticed. Feng Yan held onto a lucky hope, not wanting to be caught in dictation, after all he truly couldn't write a single word. "Stop," the teacher finally said, "Now we start our favorite game, word dictation." The teacher looked at Feng Yan; Feng Yan held his book, thinking inwardly: "Done, it's me again, I can't escape." "Feng Yan," Feng Yan took out a stool, Chen Hao was snickering to himself, "Chen Hao, you come too." As a result, Chen Hao was bewildered: "What! Me," Chen Hao pointed at himself, the teacher nodded, and he also carried his stool out.

Outside, a crowd leaned against the windows; Chen Hao placed the stool beside Feng Yan, who said: "Snickering— is it nice? Does it make you feel pumped inside?" Chen Hao looked at Feng Yan: "Can you write it? Look at you, all pleased." "I don't know if I can write it, but as long as someone shares the punishment I'll feel happy," Feng Yan said. "Hey, by the way, what fun stuff is in there?" Feng Yan said. "You'll find out tonight," Chen Hao said. Then the English class rep appeared; Feng Yan knew he couldn't do it, so he simply said: "I can't." He handed in a blank sheet and returned to the classroom; Chen Hao watched him, picked up his pen, and began to write.

Feng Yan returned to the classroom, sat back down, opened that book he couldn't read or understand, just stared at it; he felt awful, yet also oppressed, as if burdened with much pain. Finally the teacher arrived, she gave Feng Yan the dictation answers, saying: "Each word five times." Having received the answers, Feng Yan's heart gradually steadied; he opened his own English notebook and began to copy the words slowly; his frantic heart finally calmed, and this continued until the class ended, when that matter arrived.

The bell rang, everyone scattered out of class, Chen Hao also returned to the class; he patted Feng Yan's shoulder and said: "You're great— you didn't write anything, just handed in a blank sheet, aren't you afraid the homeroom teacher will come after you?" "I really can't, so why pretend? It's pointless; not being able to write is not being able to write, does copying prove you know it?" Feng Yan said, standing up and walking to the balcony outside the classroom door; the sun had just risen, Feng Yan gazed at it, wondering what to think— "Looks like it's still like this, Feng Yan," Feng Yan turned his head, saw a familiar face— it was Yang Xin— "Get lost, we're not friends anymore," Feng Yan said angrily, turned and headed back to the classroom; Yang Xin said: "I don't want to come either, but there's still something I have to do." He slipped a note to Feng Yan, who took it, opened it, and read: "I'm fine with her, please don't disturb us." The more Feng Yan looked, the angrier he got; he crumpled the note into a ball, tossed it into the trash, and went back to the classroom. Looking at the notebook he had pressed under the last one, he thought: "I still need you, huh," Feng Yan didn't know what emotion this was— whether sorrow or anger— he opened the notebook, looked at its contents, and a sour ache welled up in his heart: "Maybe everything ends here," Feng Yan thought.

He stared at the notebook, his heart wavering, unsure whether he should give it, and if so, how. Feng Yan agonized; he opened the notebook, looked at its contents, and the more he read, the sadder it became. It read: "I don't know how long this has lasted— am I still me? Or am I still that old‑fashioned, honest person? Having discovered the devil in my heart, I met her; in my view, this might be a fortunate thing. I don't know the taste of love, yet before reaching the age when one is clueless about love, I encountered something beautiful— is this fantasy? Or is it my own dream? If it is a dream, I hope never to wake; let me keep doing this forever." After reading, Feng Yan also didn't know what to do; he eventually put the notebook back where it was, but then took it out again. Finally, Feng Yan turned his head and said to Chen Hao: "Can you do me a favor?"

"What favor?" Chen Hao asked. Feng Yan handed him the notebook: "Give this to her." Chen Hao took it, looked at the notebook, seemed to grasp something, yet still asked: "You still haven't given up?" "I simply can't forget," Feng Yan said, his gaze firm; Chen Hao looked into his eyes, then at the notebook, and felt a twinge of sadness— knowing it would come to nothing, why bother? He thought, then asked Feng Yan: "How should I get it to her?" Feng Yan replied: "Easy— just write her name on the cover." "But do you know her handwriting?" Chen Hao continued. "Of course! Otherwise I wouldn't have sent you," he whispered, pulled out his phone, opened a photo, and there was her name: Wang Tingwan. Chen Hao looked at the characters on the phone, imitated them in another notebook, and finally wrote the name on this one. Chen Hao said: "What if someone else takes it?" Feng Yan said: "Then we'll just pretend it never happened." "Which class?" "Fifteen."

After noon school let out, everyone had eaten lunch and slowly headed back to the classroom; Chen Hao brought Feng Yan's notebook to the door of Class Fifteen, went straight up onto the podium, tossed the notebook onto it, then slowly walked out, completely ignoring anyone's glances. A passing classmate saw the name on the notebook and handed it to Wang Mu, who was doing her afternoon homework; seeing her own name on top, she found it strange, opened it, saw the contents, and for a moment didn't know how to decide. Chen Hao returned to the classroom and said to Feng Yan: "It's done, but I don't know if she'll get it— that's later—but you know how nervous I was standing on the podium? I won't help with this next time!" Feng Yan looked at Chen Hao speaking, fell silent for a moment, then said: "Having you help is unavoidable, after all that guy was also nearby; as for what comes after, who knows?"

"Hey, Chen Hao, do you think there's still hope?" "I don't know; let's see how things develop."

Wang Tingwan looked at the contents; she already knew who it was, and finally she made a decision, thinking: "What is this supposed to be?"