Chapter 29: Crushing Pressure Part 1

A partition rose between the front and back seats of the car. Chi Mo wrapped one arm around Li Ran’s waist. He didn’t ask what had happened or why Li Ran had crashed into his arms like a kitten fleeing a monster. Instead, he returned the embrace even tighter, giving as good as he got.

Li Ran had never imagined that a summer homework assignment would nearly suffocate him under his classmates’ “Mount Tai crush.” He grumbled to the adult in the car, full of dissatisfaction.

The homeroom teacher had pulled all the aggro onto him, then calmly dusted himself off and walked away unscathed. Even if he was a math teacher, didn’t he understand the principle of “do not impose on others what you do not desire”? He shared an office with the Chinese teacher every day—hadn’t she taught him that? How had he even become homeroom teacher without grasping such basic principle?

It was too much!

During the summer, when tackling math and physics—those high-logic subjects that defied nature—Li Ran hadn’t dared resist Chi Mo’s inhuman oppression. He’d waged war with the final problems, wishing he could erupt like a volcano crater about to explode, blasting the homework and Chi Mo to smithereens.

Li Ran had insisted on skipping the last question, saying it would look fake if he did it. But the teacher wouldn’t believe it. Chi Mo had guided his hand step-by-step through the formulas, convinced that even then, the teacher wouldn’t suspect it was phony.

The teacher had human eyes, not dog eyes or turtle eyes.

“The homeroom teacher was really over the top. He called out my name and drew all the hate—everyone called me a traitor, said I was secretly grinding them down. But I didn’t!…” Li Ran clung to Chi Mo, mumbling a long string of complaints, venting all his pent-up frustration. Mentioning the class uprising made his eyes sparkle.

“You like playing with your classmates?” Chi Mo smoothed Li Ran’s hair and asked softly.

Li Ran had never truly played with classmates since he was little.

The casual nods and likes they exchanged now suited his habits perfectly. Over time, it made him seem like an outsider in the class—no one dared roughhouse with him. Bai Qingqing often nagged that school was for studying hard, not forming cliques. If he wanted friends, he should aim for first place and get into Tsinghua or Peking University—friends would come naturally.

That logic, equating the two things so unequally, struck Li Ran as domineering, yet he didn’t know how to fight back against such authority. Going solo became his personality, A’Dai his nickname, and “honest but dumb” his label.

“I don’t know…” Li Ran smiled shyly and brilliantly. “Anyway, I don’t hate it.”

Chi Mo said, “Mm, you like it.”

He’d just grumbled a whole pile about it—voice not loud, but real enough. And it wasn’t just the teacher and classmates; Chi Mo was involved too.

Wasn’t it bold to badmouth someone right to their face? Ballsy enough to blow up?

Li Ran suddenly felt embarrassed. He ducked his head and buried his face in Chi Mo’s chest, pretending to faint.

Since he liked it, even though Chi Mo was thoroughly displeased, he ultimately said nothing.

He straightened the wrinkled hem of Li Ran’s short-sleeved shirt, erasing every trace left by the others’ play. He did it personally, marking Li Ran from head to toe with his own handiwork.

That midnight, Li Ran tossed and turned in bed, uncharacteristically sleepless.

His legs clamped the quilt in the middle, mangling it into a strip. Then, in a fit of shame and anger, he smothered his face with the pillow. He couldn’t understand why he’d rushed into the car and hugged Chi Mo; why he’d kept talking without letting go; and why, when embarrassed, he’d buried his face in Chi Mo’s chest.

Around three a.m., Li Ran, who hadn’t outlasted the night, finally felt his eyelids grow heavy and stuck together. He fell asleep.

He didn’t know that the man in the master bedroom next door had spent until two a.m. in the bathroom alone, taking cold showers through the sleepless night.

“Bro, I’m heading to Mom’s for lunch today—I can’t go to the company.” Li Ran had meant to tell Chi Mo yesterday but forgot, so he hurried to say it that morning.

Chi Mo said, “I’ll drive you.”

“Bro, I can go by myself.” Li Ran was used to the subway and liked watching people heading different ways.

Chi Mo told him not to come back too late.

The black cat and his “wife” waited daily on Li Ran’s usual path home, with exactly four yolks. Ever since learning the white cat was male, Li Ran knew that belly was a hopeless sack—incapable of bearing kittens for him.

He should dock two yolks from them.

But Li Ran didn’t.

The over-two-hour subway ride was uncomfortable whether standing or sitting.

Across from him sat two strikingly different pretty girls holding hands and chatting happily. Li Ran sneaked a glance, recalled the “normal” orientations Qi Zhi had described, and sneaked another peek.

He noticed many girls did this with friends—pinching arms, touching hands, complimenting outfits, nails, makeup. But that didn’t mean they were… lesbians.

That was the term, right? Li Ran encouraged himself.

The subway doors opened and closed, people came and went. In those fleeting two-plus hours, Li Ran spotted 28 pairs of girls holding hands. He couldn’t tell if they were just friends or lovers.

He also saw 3 pairs of boys holding hands, touching briefly before separating.

No need to guess—definitely gay!

Comparing the two, Li Ran felt nothing toward lesbians. But gay guys? A slight aversion.

Lesbians looked sweet and fragrant.

Gay guys… stinky.

After getting off the subway, Li Ran shopped at the supermarket near Bai Qingqing Neighborhood.

Bai Qingqing had messaged him last week to come for dinner this weekend. She asked how he was at the Chi house, if he was well-behaved and obedient, if he helped with chores, if he’d troubled Chi Mo, Grandma Cheng, or Grandpa Ye… and so on.

These questions had become her standard repertoire.

When Li Ran mentioned the summer homework and the homeroom teacher’s praise yesterday, Bai Qingqing laughed until she doubled over. “Hey, don’t say—Chi Mo makes a great teacher for you. What?! He’s just graduated? Only 20 and already this successful? He really looks so steady. Was he this well-behaved as a kid? How did his parents raise him? Sigh, comparisons are odious.” She poked Li Ran. “Odious enough to kill his mom.”

Last time her nail had scratched Chi Mo, she’d realized she couldn’t carry such physical weapons in public. Before, split nails from various reasons went unbitten because scissors were a hassle—she just gnawed them crudely with her teeth. She didn’t have a constant nail-biting habit; once reasonably short, she’d leave them jagged and sharp.

That incident taught her a lesson. Now Bai Qingqing manicured properly—clippers, then a file. She could open a nail salon.

“Li Ran, look at him—now look at you!” Bai Qingqing sighed in frustration.

“I’m… I’m pretty good,” Li Ran protested softly.

He hadn’t meant for his mom to hear, lest she lecture him more. His two sisters, loving the drama at that parroting age, clapped and mimicked Mom: “Pretty good, pretty good! Potpot says… I’m pretty good!”

Bai Qingqing shot Li Ran a glare.

Li Ran: “…”

“You’re satisfied with yourself just like that? Li Ran, oh Li Ran, you really are…”

Once Bai Qingqing finished nagging and went to the kitchen to help Uncle Zhao, the living room held only Li Ran and his two indistinguishable sisters. With Mom out of sight, he pinched their mouths.

Unsure which had mimicked best, he pinched both, inwardly nicknaming them “Bad Egg No. 1 and Bad Egg No. 2.”

At dinner, Bai Qingqing ate as always—like a whirlwind sweeping clouds.

As a kid, Li Ran hadn’t dared urge her slower, fearing a scolding. Even as an outsider bringing gifts, he hadn’t spoken up, lest Uncle Zhao think him nosy.

Now he still brought gifts, and Uncle Zhao remained friendly but coolly distant.

If a sister accidentally hit him during play, Uncle Zhao would say kids were young—Bai Qingqing shouldn’t overreact. If Li Ran couldn’t watch both bad eggs and one tripped (even if she didn’t cry, just got up, dusted nonexistent dirt from her knee, and said “No problem, doesn’t hurt”), Uncle Zhao would purse his lips, face stern and unhappy.

Without a word, Li Ran’s sensitivity read the message. Bai Qingqing, scatterbrained powerhouse at work, missed the silence in her husband’s attitude toward her son with the ex, unaware if the boy felt hurt.

Things hadn’t changed outwardly, but Li Ran dared speak now. He didn’t analyze why—subconsciously, it was Chi Mo’s shadow.

Confidence brimmed.

“Mom, try eating slower in the future… You eat too fast; it might not be great for your health.”

Uncle Zhao agreed emphatically: “I’ve told her countless times—she always argues back, won’t listen. What’s the rush?”

“It’s just four people here—no one’s stealing your food.”

The bad eggs echoed Dad: “Countless times… argues… why rush to Bugao!”

“Hey, you brats… Is this how you set the mood? My parents ate like this; I’ve done it since childhood. Habits aren’t easy to change. Watching you dawdle makes me want to hit someone—waiting to ascend to immortality? Shut up and eat properly.” Bai Qingqing glared fiercely at the big one and three small ones.