Chapter 6

Don't let me down, Li Yuzhong.

Sitting in Li Yuzhong's car, I tried my best to straighten my back to avoid looking too disheveled. I raised my hand to cover my face. I was certain that the half of my face that had been slapped was swollen; it felt numb, like I'd been electrocuted, and when I grimaced—it hurt terribly.

This is a nice car, the kind of car wealthy people use for commuting. I memorized the license plate and model online, to maintain my image of being knowledgeable and not to be speechless when others are talking. I'm vain, and with my limited knowledge, I try to distinguish who's pretending to be rich and who's genuinely wealthy. I never imagined Li Yuzhong was so rich. Why doesn't he say so? If he did, he certainly wouldn't be so reclusive now.

His classmates will love him.

Unlike what the teacher said, good character may not be remembered, and good grades are only mentioned before and after exams, but a pretty face and nice brands are things that people will love you for the day you wear them. I know very well that I am a beneficiary.

What a pity.

Li Yuzhong didn't understand this.

He has good character, a kind heart, outstanding academic achievements, and a wealthy family. But he doesn't show it, doesn't casually flaunt it—"Oh, my family's driver drives this car"—and if he doesn't say it, who would know? He doesn't understand the tricks of being popular; how foolish.

Foolish people offered me a helping hand.

I pursed my lips. Now it wasn't about my pride anymore; it was about something far more fundamental: my self-respect. My self-respect was like a thread stuck in my mouth, trying to thread it through some nonexistent eye of a needle. Even if I carefully moistened it with saliva, it still wouldn't go through. I felt anxious, pale, and miserable.

So annoying.

I'm really annoyed.

I took the towel Li Yuzhong handed me, and calmly wiped the water from my head and face. I must have looked like a hard, unyielding steamed bun in his parents' eyes. She was a kind old woman who told me to call her "Grandma" like Li Yuzhong, and asked me where I lived.

I told her it was just me and my dad at home, and I didn't want to go back. I said "don't want to" instead of "dare not," and she probably noticed, laughing and saying, "Then come play at my house for a while." This old lady still treats me like a child. Play for a while? With whom? With Li Yuzhong?

Your child has no friends at school.

Nobody wants to hang out with him.

Of course, I couldn't bring myself to say such vicious things, because the thought of being helped by someone like him made me even more ashamed. If I didn't know Li Yuzhong's true nature, I would definitely have thought he was trying to get back at me and was deliberately watching to see what kind of embarrassment I would make next!

He simply treated me that viciously!

Why should I care about you?

I felt no gratitude whatsoever towards Li Yuzhong, only disgust, thinking, "He shouldn't have done that." Just like when he had his episode, I stood by like a fool, terrified, and he went to the teacher to say it wasn't my fault. How could I possibly be grateful to him for that? No matter what he does, he can't gain my forgiveness, yet he wants to be my friend? Humph, who does he think he is? For me to associate with him would be beneath me.

So what if he's rich? So what if he drives a luxury car? If he hadn't stumbled upon my secret, I would never have spoken to him and his parents so politely. Why do I hate him so much? Actually, I don't know. I hate people who aren't like me. I'm jealous of him.

Am I jealous of him?

Li Yuzhong.

I envy him because he could easily blend in with the crowd, so why doesn't he? Why does he do things that are out of place with everyone else? Why does he just calmly look down at his book or stare out the window when everyone else is laughing at something funny? Why does he never fawn over me? I'm such a famous person, and people stuff things into my desk every day, but he never comments on it.

Does he think it's easy to be popular?

How much homework I have to do, how much I need to be good at reading people, how many skills I need to learn to reconcile conflicts. The more people in my group, the more I need to take care of everyone's thoughts and prevent the crowd from having opinions about me. The more popular I am, the more easily something can destroy me.

Beneath the perfect reputation lies an extremely fragile persona. I told many lies, each one a betrayal of my true self. As the betrayals multiplied, sincerity dwindled, and when I realized I wanted to offer something, all I found was barren, vibrant beauty.

That girl doesn't need to pretend. She laughs like a popular girl, saying witty and pretty things, treating herself like a work of art—did he think a girl who's the center of attention and loved by everyone could easily give her heart to anyone? When he told me he was only saying those things because he considered me a friend, yes, I was provoked. What a joke! He doesn't even know me, so why would he dare to give me his heart?

Does he know how difficult it is to be friends? Does he know that when I was in junior high school, I tried to be like him, to open my heart to others, and how those words that came out of my mouth, those most real and delicate feelings of mine, eventually turned into a sharp backlash that pierced me deeply?

He had clearly never been hurt before. Like a fool who had never stepped into a trap, when he encountered something glittering, his first thought wasn't about a hunter secretly pointing a gun at him, but rather to sniff it and try to befriend it.

He also told me, "You can come to my house to play sometime."

Why should I? What's so great about your house? This villa, located in the best part of the wealthy neighborhood, is a warm home surrounded by lush greenery, bathed in sunlight and countless verdant plants—just like the dreamlike, protagonist's home I've seen in novels.

I've been to wealthy people's homes, large apartments, I've seen them all. I can't act like I'm naive, asking this and that. So I silently memorize all the people or things I haven't encountered, and then learn about them online. Next time, I can fabricate a lie about owning or similar possessions. I'll take a taxi for the starting fare to the subway, and then transfer to an industrial area on the outskirts of the city.

My vanity.

My plaything.

I tried my best to make every lie sound true, but some people are born into privilege. This made me even more envious of Li Yuzhong, who invited me to stay for dinner. He really did have a chef! I didn't need to feign composure, since he already knew about my impoverished background. I stood by the kitchen door, watching the portly Michelin-starred chef work without blinking.

"Dinner will be ready in a bit," Grandma called to me, taking out a clean set of clothes for me to change into. With my sharp eyes, I immediately recognized it as a classic piece from a luxury brand. Li Yuzhong hesitated for a moment, asking if it was one of his old clothes, and whether it would be too small.

He overlooked his own height of nearly 1.8 meters, while I am 1.65 meters tall and so thin that two veins bulge between my nose bones. My grandmother said that these were the only clothes in the house that I could wear. I casually asked about the rest of the family. Li Yuzhong's parents had lived abroad for many years; the couple were overseas Chinese, but Li Yuzhong was studying in China. This was because he had suffered some trauma abroad before junior high school; the old lady used the word "trauma."

Was it related to his illness? That illness that made him cough and wheeze so pitifully. Of course, I frowned and wondered how such a thing could have happened, but what I really thought was that because of this, his life wasn't as fulfilling. It seems that fate doesn't give him everything, which is good.

We didn't delve too deeply into the topic; I went to take a shower. Li Yuzhong led the way; their house was huge! Walking in was like entering a maze; you could easily get lost. If I could live in a house like that, I'd be willing to have my father locked up there again—I'd do anything.

His face was flushed and radiant. He deliberately slowed his pace, waiting for me to finish curiously examining the paintings in the stairwell of his house. He opened his mouth, as if to explain, but ultimately remained silent. He assumed I still disliked him. He lacked the generosity of a giver.

He should wear his pride on his handsome face. If he wanted to say something to me, or order me to flatter him in a certain way, I could easily do it—that's the unspoken rule of social interaction among peers. Besides, he's the one who's doing me a favor; why should he hesitate?

I said, "I'm sorry, please pretend I didn't say anything about what happened during evening self-study. I was in a bad mood at the time and didn't think before I spoke."

He was a few steps above me. When he heard me speak, his first reaction wasn't to reply, but to move to my level so I could look him in the eye. My heart skipped a beat. How observant one must be to notice such a detail; he's more sensitive than I am.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t need to apologize for this. I didn’t consider your feelings at the time. I didn’t mean forbid you from giving me nicknames; I just didn’t like it when other people laughed at it.” He paused. “Actually, they… I just… didn’t feel very comfortable.”

As soon as he spoke, I knew he was going to follow my lead. I said lightly, "I understand. After all, we talk a lot and sit together. Some things are fine to laugh about in a small circle. If someone we don't know well hears us and says those things about you, it will definitely be offensive."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Hmm."

Kind.

That's great.

Such a rare and precious quality actually appeared in him. I thought to myself, rather idly, if it were a boy from a poor family, or someone whose face wasn't as clean as his, kindness would just be a worthless form of self-comfort, though it's still better than having nothing at all.

I felt a secret thrill, realizing I had gained real control over others. Someone like Li Yuzhong, who seemed ordinary at first glance but turned out to be quite wonderful, would definitely receive more attention if someone else got his hands on him. At that point, he wouldn't be as eager to interact with me as he is now.

Especially after they discovered my true colors.

He led me to his usual bathroom, which was filled with his toiletries. After closing the door, I calmly took off my clothes and stood under the showerhead, where hot water came out with a simple pull. The shampoo, typical of boys my age, had a fresh and delicate scent of mint and jasmine.

It lingered in my hair.

I didn't deliberately try to remember that scent, but every time I think of him, it's accompanied by that fragrance that's somewhat like something a woman would give off. After I finished showering, he came over from the study next door when he heard me. "I brought the first-aid kit up. Here, put some medicine on."

"Okay," I said. Actually, I cherish my face very much; it's the most presentable thing I have. So, I stood in front of the mirror for a long time, looking at myself from left to right, worrying about the swollen skin at the corner of my mouth. Next time my dad slaps my face, I'll fight him to the death.

I'm really going to risk my life.

Li Yuzhong led me back to the study. On the spotless, reflective rosewood desk, a few items—iodine, cotton swabs, and anti-inflammatory ointment—were neatly arranged, like something out of a childhood game of make-believe. I almost laughed. I walked over and sat down in the chair.

"Weren't you going to apply medicine?" I showed him my injured half of my face, feeling quite smug. Thinking about how he had carefully arranged everything while I was showering, worrying about my wound, who could possibly dislike me, or more precisely, my face?

He asked, "...Is that alright?"

He was very mindful of boundaries with women, and he respected me greatly. The upbringing of wealthy people is truly impressive. My politeness towards women was feigned and suggestive, while his was purely out of courtesy. Sometimes when we were writing papers, I would touch his hand, and he would apologize.

"Are we friends?" I asked.

I looked at him, letting the light fall perfectly on my profile, and gently lifted the corner of my mouth. If he was momentarily distracted, I wouldn't be surprised at all; he wasn't the first. Poor thing, he must rarely interact with girls, let alone have any girls befriend him.

Of course, he would only say "yes," so I quickly said, "If we want to be friends, don't be so formal. Don't keep saying 'I'm sorry' or 'Can I?' There's nothing that can't be done between friends. If it can't be done, I'll tell you directly."

He said he understood, picked up a cotton swab soaked in iodine, and applied the medicine to my wound. His movements were very gentle, like a child treating an injured animal. I didn't expect to find salvation in a man. My father might have cared for chicks, ducks, and puppies when he was young, but now he beats women and drives them away. He didn't hit me because I was somewhat presentable, and I had that face to back me up; otherwise, he would have beaten me to death long ago.

He asked me, "Has your dad ever hit you before?"

I said, "I've never fought one."

"Then why did I attack you this time?"

"I don't know, I'm not familiar with them."

"Why aren't we familiar with each other?" he asked again.

I wavered between telling him and not telling him. If I told him, he would be the only one who knew; if I didn't, he would still be the only one who knew I had lied to him. I had suicidal thoughts: if he told anyone else, I would make him have a stroke and die!

I said, "My dad has some mental issues. He got drunk a few years ago and got into a fight with his coworkers at a construction site. The other guy died, but he survived and was imprisoned for ten years. My mom was afraid he would beat her again after he got out of prison, so she remarried when I was in junior high school. She only gives me tuition and living expenses."

His brows furrowed.

“He was released from prison at the beginning of this year and is still living in the house my mom rents in the suburbs. I don’t know him well. He’s either drinking everywhere or sleeping in his room. We each buy our own meals and never see each other. If he comes to my parent-teacher conference, I definitely can’t let him. He’s so slovenly, dressed like that, and speaks in such a vulgar way. He’s even killed someone before.”

Have you thought about going back to your mother?

“I have nowhere to go. She's remarried, what can I go back to? I can't do that. She still gives me money, if I go back to her, wouldn't that be ungrateful?”

“But she has an obligation to take care of you,” Li Yuzhong said earnestly. Ha, fool, it's not that simple. You spend all day in this fairytale-like castle, what do you know? Even the subtlest hint of being disliked is palpable.

I love my mom, I really do. Otherwise, someone as selfish as me, who would lie and be two-faced for my own benefit, would find it much easier to tolerate the resentment and insults behind my back. Why didn't I do that? I still have a little bit of useless self-respect for everyone I love and cherish. For that little bit of self-respect, so that I can look a little better in their eyes.

I will do anything.

So, I won Li Yuzhong's pity. He stared at me for a long time, silent, until Grandma came up to call us for dinner. I told him not to tell anyone. Of course he wouldn't, but if he had, I would have led everyone in the class to ostracize him.

Don't let me down, Li Yuzhong.

You won't.