Chapter 9
After a moment of silence, the other team members erupted in surprised exclamations: “A twist! A twist!”
The atmosphere heated up, and someone shouted: “Teacher Jian actually had a Waterloo in the last round!”
“Hahahahaha, amazing! There’s actually someone whose name Teacher Jian didn’t remember. Professor Song, how unmemorable are you!”
Ling Meng’s jaw dropped: “Seriously, Jian Wu? This is Professor Song! You forgot even his name? We just met yesterday!”
The loud female voice abruptly pulled Jian Wu back to reality. He quickly lowered his raised hand, rubbing his ears and asking Ling Meng, “What did you just say?”
“I said this is Professor Song! We even spent the whole day together today!”
“Oh…”
Jian Wu felt Song Shuci’s gaze on him. After a moment, he cleared his throat and apologized sincerely, “Sorry, Professor Song, I forgot for a moment.”
“Maybe it’s because he’s too close,” someone reasoned seriously, “Professor Song was sitting right next to Jian Wu. Except for just now, I didn’t see Jian Wu look his way at all. It’s normal to overlook him.”
Someone also joked with Song Shuci: “Let’s have an interview. As the only person whose name Teacher Jian forgot, Professor Song, how do you feel?”
Song Shuci smiled faintly: “Maybe my name is hard to remember. If I changed it to ‘Song Chatterbox,’ Teacher Jian might remember it.”
Song Shuci said this while looking at Jian Wu. Jian Wu’s eyes flickered, and he turned his head away, pretending not to hear.
But even if his ears didn’t hear, his heart did.
Fragments of the past flashed like an old videotape, intermittent yet unstoppable.
Sixteen, seventeen years old, blue skies, dry wind.
Jian Wu covering his ears on the way home from school, and Song Shuci chattering non-stop beside him.
“Jian Xiaowu!”
“Let’s date!”
“No response means yes, I’m taking that seriously!”
“It’s okay if you don’t like me, feelings can be cultivated slowly!”
“If you want to tell my parents, go ahead, they like you anyway.”
“Jian Wu, I’m serious.”
…
Seventeen-year-old Song Shuci was the aloof academic god and handsome heartthrob of Class 1, Grade 11 at B City No. 6 Middle School.
Few could imagine that in front of Jian Wu, his classmate from Class 1, Grade 10, he was an annoying scoundrel and a noisy chatterbox who talked so much that earplugs were necessary.
The rambling voices mixed together, becoming indistinguishable, until finally, Jian Wu heard his own exasperated voice:
“Ge, will you die if you don’t talk? What were your parents thinking when they named you? You shouldn’t be called ‘Song Shuci,’ you should change your name to ‘Song Chatterbox’!”
However, his outburst didn’t silence Song Shuci.
The boy put one hand in his pocket, stepped past him, and blocked his path, walking backwards while asking: “No problem, if I change it to ‘Song Chatterbox,’ will you go out with me then?”
Then came Jian Wu’s hurriedly outstretched hand and still sharp words: “If you keep walking like this and get hit by a car, I won’t take you to the hospital.”
So Song Shuci stopped, looked down at his sleeve being held, then looked up at him and smiled.
The wind ruffled his red school uniform collar, also blowing away that summer.
In another daze, the red gradually faded. Jian Wu glanced at Song Shuci’s pristine white collar and looked away.
“Then I want to interview Teacher Jian in reverse!” The friend of the previous interviewer raised her hand like a microphone in front of Jian Wu, interrupting his memories.
“Teacher Jian,” she asked, “As the king of the game, you actually lost to Professor Song, whose name you didn’t even remember. How do you feel?”
Song Shuci’s gaming skills were as bad as his research skills were impressive.
But someone retorted: “It’s not like he didn’t remember any names, he remembered Teacher Jian’s name.”
Jian Wu solemnly took the “microphone,” not looking at Song Shuci, and said, looking at the ground, in a not-so-threatening tone: “Let’s play again.”
“Let’s go, let’s go!”
“Woo–”
“Again, again!”
The participants were all young people of similar age. Now, free from the fatigue of work and the constraints of the workplace, they all let loose, clapping and cheering enthusiastically.
The team leader seized the opportunity and suggested: “How about we play ‘Who is the Spy’ next?”
Everyone was familiar with this game and unanimously agreed.
Zheng Yu volunteered: “Then I’ll be the one to write the clues!”
In this game, there were two roles: usually one spy and multiple villagers. Everyone received a clue, and only the spy’s clue was different from the others. Everyone needed to describe their clue and, based on everyone’s descriptions, find the spy hidden among them.
Zheng Yu looked around and quickly wrote down everyone’s clues on slips of paper.
As the slips of paper were distributed, Jian Wu saw the clearly written words “Song Shuci” on his slip with a speechless expression.
He subconsciously glanced at Zheng Yu, who was also looking in their direction. Jian Wu froze, feeling that Zheng Yu’s gaze was somewhat meaningful.
The game started with a girl on Zheng Yu’s left. Everyone took turns describing the content on their slip of paper:
“It’s a person.”
“Male.”
“It’s a name.”
…
At first, everyone’s descriptions were rather conservative. When it was the impatient He Yong’s turn, he said: “Can you guys give us some more information?”
Jian Wu glanced at him, expecting He Yong to give some surprisingly good description, but he calmly said with confidence: “Reserved, low-key, unaware of his own handsomeness.”
Jian Wu couldn’t help but snort. He Yong scratched his head and turned to ask: “Is there a problem?”
Besides He Yong, everyone else also cast suspicious glances at him. Sensing everyone’s gazes, Jian Wu froze.
No way, was he the spy?
It didn’t seem likely, since everyone else’s previous descriptions matched the person on his slip, except for the “reserved, low-key, unaware of his own handsomeness” part.
After all, Song Shuci was very “aware” of his own handsomeness.
In Jian Wu’s memory, he had never met a more narcissistic boy than Song Shuci.
When everyone else in high school was scruffy and sweaty, this guy would look in the mirror all day long. Even when forced to wear the same uniform, he could make it look different.
The uniform zipper had to be open, the pants slightly rolled up. He showered every night before bed and washed his hair again after waking up. If it weren’t for morning exercises, Jian Wu suspected he would even style his hair.
The most annoying thing was that he acted aloof in front of others, but he would always come up to him and ask: “Jian Xiaowu, do I look handsome? Does my shampoo smell good? Does my haircut look good?”
When Jian Wu wanted to complain to someone, they would only say: “Impossible, that’s Song Shuci!”
Jian Wu once firmly believed that if Song Shuci hadn’t gone down the path of medicine, destined to only wear lab coats, he would definitely have become a fashion blogger.
And now, finally temporarily free from the lab and the excrement of mice and monkeys, Song Shuci, after taking off his lab coat, had clearly resumed his young master demeanor.
His clothes were obviously freshly ironed, his jacket draped just right, his outfit showing he had devoured fashion trends, his shoes so white they could illuminate his face in the dark.
Jian Wu decided he couldn’t go against his conscience, so he said, under the pressure of everyone’s gazes: “I don’t think he’s… unaware of his own handsomeness.”
After he finished speaking, Song Shuci suddenly chuckled softly. He cleared his throat and added after Jian Wu: “But I think this person really doesn’t realize how good-looking he is.”
“Wow, you two are nesting dolls!” He Yong exclaimed.
Jian Wu curled his lip and muttered: “I’m just telling the truth.”
“No, no,” He Yong shook his head and stopped him. “You two can’t copy my answer, you have to think of a new one.”
Jian Wu wasn’t good at this game to begin with, and this interruption made him even more clueless. He Yong pressed him: “If you can’t say anything, I’m going to vote for you, Jian Ge.”
Jian Wu had no choice but to say something slightly more informative: “He’s a university teacher.”
There were more than ten people in their circle. Based on Zheng Yu’s clue-giving style, if he had Song Shuci’s name, the other person likely also had someone from their group.
Their team had teachers from all levels. Jian Wu could only take a gamble, praying he wasn’t the spy, or that the other person’s clue was also a university teacher. Otherwise, his words would definitely expose him.
Fortunately, after he spoke and observed everyone, they all seemed calm. Jian Wu breathed a sigh of relief, convinced he wasn’t the spy, but he didn’t notice the fleeting strange look in Song Shuci’s eyes.
After a moment, Song Shuci added: “Related to pineapple and meat skewers.”
His answer made everyone think of the previous activity. Those who didn’t know were quickly filled in by those around them. Combined with his expression, which seemed to suggest he knew everyone was describing him, he basically cleared himself of suspicion and didn’t cause much of a stir.
Finally, after everyone finished speaking, an unlucky person with a too-vague description was voted out, and the game continued.
They went through two or three more rounds. The information became clearer and clearer as the game progressed, and the scope narrowed. The spy hadn’t been found yet, and everyone became a little anxious, their descriptions becoming more direct and detailed.
Someone half-jokingly said “ideal boyfriend,” immediately enlivening the atmosphere. Everyone winked and looked in Song Shuci’s direction, teasing him.
Jian Wu nodded, silently summarizing in his heart: Mm, ideal boyfriend, meaning a boyfriend whose mind is only on his ideals.
The first bold statement also ignited the enthusiasm of many others. Then someone said: “Good figure.”
Jian Wu silently complained in his heart: He does have a good figure, but even a good figure can’t make up for having sex only once a month.
“Abstinent type!”
Jian Wu rolled his eyes. What abstinent type would trick their boyfriend into bed right after he turned eighteen?
“Ice prince!”
Jian Wu: “Come on, if he’s an ice prince, then the ‘ice’ is probably right at his doorstep.”
As soon as he finished speaking, everyone looked at him. Jian Wu suddenly realized his desire to complain was too strong, and he had actually spoken out loud.
“Uh…”
Jian Wu looked at his companions, whose eyes were filled with shock and curiosity, and waved his hands stiffly, as if his limbs had just been attached, “I was just kidding.”
However, it was clearly too late.
In the end, in this round of voting, Jian Wu, with an overwhelming disadvantage, was unsurprisingly voted out.
