Chapter 17

◎Angel, I won't. ◎

Li Juntong, actually when you kissed me back then...

I am awake.

I was terrified. I had just woken up, and your face was right in front of me, so close. I didn't know what to do, so I pretended to be asleep. My heart was pounding. What were you going to do? I wanted to open my eyes and ask you, but it seemed like I had already expected it.

Your lips pressed against mine.

Actually, it was terrifying. My first thought was that it was horrifying. My heart was pounding in my chest. Why? Why did you do that to me? It's not something friends can easily do. So, I really felt like you crossed the line.

Do you like me?

How could I think like that? You're my friend. It wasn't easy for you to agree to study and live with me. You're truly the first friend I've ever made. You've also taught me a lot about how to conduct myself in society. How could I think like that? And you could never possibly like me.

I'm still somewhat self-aware; I know I'm not good enough for them.

So why did you kiss me? I think it was probably a spur-of-the-moment thing, a prank, something to amuse you. That's better than having feelings for me that go beyond friendship. I closed my eyes tightly, pretending I knew nothing, pretending I had just been woken up by you.

You said, "I'm awake, let's go back."

Okay, I said, I'll follow behind you. When you can't even see me out of the corner of your eye, I secretly touch the spot on my lips where you touched me, still feeling flustered. I wonder if I looked good while I was sleeping, if my face got wrinkled, and if my hair was messy.

You're so beautiful, everyone in the world praises your looks. So, I can't help but worry about how I look when I'm with you, whether I'm good enough for you to be my friend, and why you stole a kiss from me.

I still don't know.

So I had insomnia for the first time.

I rarely have insomnia except during thunderstorms. This is the first time I've had insomnia without any external factors, simply because my mind is in turmoil. You and I are fast asleep, separated only by a wall. Several times I couldn't resist asking you a question, but then I felt I was being too sentimental. Novels always depict people our age doing far more outrageous things; you only gave me a kiss, nothing dramatic about it.

Yes,

I am not embarrassed by this.

But from that day on,

Everything started to look strange.

I find I can no longer see you as a friend. I keep pondering the meaning of that kiss, just like pondering the relationship we've maintained for two or three years. Li Juntong, you're good to me, sometimes you're mean to me, but it's for my own good. Sometimes you tease me, and I know it's because you and I are good friends. I enjoy being teased by you; not every boy has that opportunity.

Why do I deliberately differentiate myself from other boys?

I've noticed I've been overly sensitive about this lately. Before, I wouldn't have minded if you talked a lot with other guys because you were always popular and the center of attention. But if one day, suddenly no guy even glances at you, that would be strange.

But now I hope so.

You have no idea how my heart has changed. Really, you would never believe that I would become someone I despise—I actually hope that you don't talk to any boys, remain silent to them, roll your eyes at them, refuse them, don't smile at them, don't give them any kind of face, because once they know what a wonderful person you are.

They might just fall for you.

I don't want any boy to fall for you for three reasons: First, we are at a crucial time for the college entrance examination, and any extra feelings will affect your studies and exam performance. Of course, your future is more important than romantic feelings; Second, most teenage boys are impetuous and usually only judge people by appearances. They only pay attention to your appearance, but they don't understand your inner self as well as I do.

Third, I don't want that.

Anyway, I just don't want it. You know, one morning, you took the test paper from the class monitor, and suddenly I felt extremely uncomfortable. I don't know how to describe it. My eyes seemed unable to look away from the fingertips you and he had touched. And one afternoon, when we were doing a big clean-up, you were wiping the windows outside the classroom, and a few boys who had just finished playing basketball were talking to you. I immediately wanted to spray them with the disinfectant I had in my hand. They were covered in sweat and their clothes smelled terrible.

They're not good people.

But you were chatting so happily with them that you forgot to wipe the glass, so I had to go over and take your rag to wipe it for you. Actually, I just wanted to hear what you were talking about with those boys, why they were smiling at you so attentively, and who had confessed to you.

Yes, and there are confessions, those love letters piled up in your desk drawer, and endless gifts. Sometimes, I watch as a few boys sneak in, pushing and shoving each other, like thieves, and slip them into your desk. I watch from the sidelines, coldly observing, thinking they're so childish. Several times I couldn't help but say that you don't like receiving love letters, that you haven't even read a single one, and those boys just laugh and say it's okay.

"She wasn't looking at mine, nor at anyone else's!"

Although I think it's quite childish, in a way, I admire these boys' courage—a foolish courage—they're not outstanding, they know they're not good enough for you, some are even so ugly that no one would give them a second glance, yet they still have the courage to fantasize about you. I really want to keep these guys out of your life. I tell myself that it's because I'm your friend, not because of that kiss, and I have absolutely no ulterior motives. I won't have any improper thoughts just because you stole a kiss from me. I know my own worth.

I know I'm not good enough for you.

But no other guy is good enough for her.

You are someone no one deserves. You are the most capable, bravest, most outstanding, and most idealistic person I have ever met. You are the kind of person I want to write about in my essays. You are also my friend. I dare say that if you were in trouble, even someone as timid as me would stand up for you.

But why did you kiss me secretly?

Sigh, I really don't want to care!

With the college entrance exam just around the corner, I'm constantly troubled by this. But you, who led me into this predicament, seem completely unconcerned. Was it really just a spur-of-the-moment decision? I'm starting to feel a bit reluctant. Do you intend to kiss others the way you secretly kissed me?

Li Juntong,

Please don't do that.

I don't want it to be like that either. Besides, you're with me all day long. During class, I just watch you from the side, and after class, you go home with me. You never have a chance to kiss other boys. It makes me feel like there are only the two of us in the world. I understand you, and you understand me. But if a stranger suddenly appears, I don't dare to tell you, but I'll definitely feel upset.

I get angry too.

I remember it was about thirty days before the college entrance exam when a boy suddenly appeared at our classroom door, called you out, and handed you flowers and chocolates. You accepted them and came back. I really hoped you wouldn't have accepted them; I don't know, that's what I thought anyway.

I asked, "Why should you accept it? Don't you like them?"

You raised an eyebrow nonchalantly. To be honest, I really like that expression of yours; it makes your eyes even more deep and cunning. You asked why I didn't accept it, since they were willing to give it to me. I said, "But you don't like it. Wouldn't it seem strange to accept it?"

Your expression changed, as if you were angry, and you stopped talking to me. When we walked home after school, I quickly apologized, saying I was sorry and had said the wrong thing. You turned to face me seriously and asked, "Li Yuzhong, do you think I was frivolous?"

No, I don't think so.

"I..." I struggled to find the right words to tell you that I absolutely did not think that way, but when I realized the true nature of the matter, I couldn't bring myself to say it. My unease wasn't because you accepted someone else's affections, but because I was jealous.

I'm jealous of your interactions with other boys, but ultimately, it's because I'm not good enough. Think about it: there are so many boys in our grade who have been rumored to be dating you. They're all tall, handsome, from good families, and have good grades… basically, they're the kind of guys you could be compared to. Yet, even though you spend all your time with me, joking around and playing around, no one spreads rumors about us. Everyone says you just like to bully me, and I just happen to not fight back and let you bully me—it's a case of one willing to hit and the other willing to be hit.

Ah, I feel a little uncomfortable.

It's strange, I've never felt this resentful before. I lay in bed, tossing and turning, and when I'm anxious, I often bite my fingernails. You used to laugh at me for it, but I stopped. I'm just a little unhappy, and I'm a little confused about how to treat you.

What should I do?

No one told me how to deal with being kissed by my closest friend without my knowledge, and none of the books I read offered any advice. What if I ignore it, and then you go and kiss someone else? I don't want you to kiss someone else. So, I had a sudden inspiration and shared this question online.

Netizen 1: Dude, aren't you going to make a move? Hurry up and seize the opportunity! The girl you like kissed you, that's the best thing ever, hurry up and kiss her back!

Original Poster: But she and I are just friends.

Netizen 2: Stop messing around, buddy. If you don't like her, why are you so conflicted? Just reject her and tell her not to do that again.

Netizen 1 replied to Netizen 2: The original poster seems to really cherish this friendship. What kind of terrible idea is this? What if you can't even be friends in the end? If you ask me, the original poster should just pretend that she didn't find out and continue to treat each other as friends.

Netizen 3 replied to the original poster: Are you sure you don't have feelings for her? I feel like you just haven't realized you like her yet.

Netizen 1 replied to Netizen 3: What do you mean by that?

Netizen 3: Look, the original poster said he and his friend have a great relationship, and he's upset because his friend kissed him without his consent, and he doesn't know how to deal with it. But from beginning to end, he never said he didn't want to be kissed by his friend. And look closely, it's already 3:30 AM. Who would be upset about being kissed by a friend at 3:30 AM? This is ridiculous.

Netizen 2 replied to Netizen 3: There's another possibility: the poster is a scumbag who simply doesn't want to take responsibility for the relationship.

The original poster replied to the second netizen: I'm not a scumbag!

The original poster replied to user 3: I'm just not sure if she likes me or not.

Netizen 3: Then just go ask her. But first you need to be clear about whether you like her or not, so you don't misunderstand what she means.

I closed the webpage.

My feelings are...so complicated.

Do I like Li Juntong?

I hadn't even thought about this question.

I like you, as a friend, of course I do. But more than just liking you, I admire you so much. When we first met, I only heard that you were very popular, liked by both classmates and teachers. I... wanted to ask you for tips on how to be popular.

I still remember that afternoon when we first met.

Summer, cicadas chirping, blazing sun, noise.

I sat on the grass, propping my chin up. Actually, the sun was making me a little dizzy. The military training instructors were specifically instructed by my homeroom teacher to let me rest because they knew I wasn't feeling well. But I still stared at the students training not far away. I could tell from their eyes that this wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want to repeat the miserable experience of middle and elementary school abroad. I couldn't afford to be an outsider anymore.

Get moving, Li Yuzhong.

Stop being annoying.

Not far away, several slender girls in military training uniforms walked over, accompanied by bursts of cheerful laughter. I've never been popular with girls, I know that very well. Just as I was about to go somewhere else to cool off, my attention was drawn to a clean and beautiful face.

Yes,

She can be described as beautiful.

You're too thin. That was my first thought. Your face wasn't adorned with an ounce of excess fat, and your forehead was remarkably full, allowing sunlight to filter through your broad skull and penetrate deep into your skin. Your eyes, brimming with the gentle warmth of a summer breeze, swept away my weariness.

I never thought that admiring beautiful people would bring me a good mood, but you are truly stunning, a girl with East Asian features. Having just returned from abroad, I'm still at the stage where I can't clearly recognize my classmates' faces, but beautiful people always stand out.

You look at others with a bright and cheerful smile, and when you listen to them speak, the corners of your mouth slightly lift. You exude an aura of confidence without being overly arrogant. Just standing there makes people feel extremely comfortable, and it also makes everyone your age feel at ease.

You are exactly the person I want to be.

Suddenly, your aimless gaze fell on my face. I immediately felt awkward, my face burning, as if I were being watched by an angel, and I was just an ordinary person. In that instant, my heart started pounding erratically.

But soon, your gaze shifted elsewhere, and you playfully whispered something to the people around you. The girls all looked at me, their laughter growing louder. Ah, but I knew that wasn't a sign of welcome. What were you saying? Were you laughing at me?

A few days later I realized they really were mocking me. They thought the way I sat on the bench in the grass, hiding from the sun, resembled the statue of The Thinker, and in no time, the whole grade knew. I felt a little sad; even angels give people nicknames.

However, you are truly very popular. Everyone knows you, has either spoken to you, or can only admire you from afar. Your name is Li Juntong, such a grand name. I heard you entered university ranking in the top 100 in the province and have won many awards. I have no complaints about being given a nickname by someone like you. I still often observe you, hoping to learn the secrets to being popular from you.

When it came time to choose between arts and sciences classes, I was lucky enough to be in the same class as you. The homeroom teacher knew about my situation, and my grandma would bring me gifts every time she visited. After the class assignments, she called me to the office and asked me who I wanted to sit next to. I immediately knew this was a favor to me. Ah, actually, I wanted to say that I didn't want this; I just wanted to integrate into the class normally, without any special treatment. But then I thought of you.

Yes, I thought of you again. My selfish desire made me want to get closer to you. Maybe it's because you're so popular, or maybe I've learned to spot the most outstanding person in a crowd. Also, you looked so beautiful when you looked at me that afternoon, and I wanted you to see me.

I want to be watched by you.

So I said, "Li Juntong, I guess."

"Great," I thought to myself, "being close to you will surely help me master the secrets to being popular." I had no idea you didn't like me—and I'm not talking about romantic attraction, but rather the kind of attraction between classmates. When the seating chart came out and I found out I was going to sit next to you, there wasn't a hint of joy on your face. You stood in the crowd, slightly frowning, looking at me with a very inscrutable expression.

I realized that I might have done something wrong.

You moved next to me.

Books, pencil case, so many things, took up my space. I don't know what happened, that was my spot. I mustered up the courage to pick up the love letter you dropped on the floor, intending to use it as a starting point, but you asked if it was for you. Ah, no, no, how could I?

I explained clearly, and said this was my seat, but you seemed not to hear me. Ugh! I raised my voice and repeated myself, and you finally heard me and asked if I could change seats. I was considering my health issues, but I couldn't refuse an angel.

I said, "...That's fine too."

You said thank you, you know? When you said that monosyllabic word, the corners of your mouth lifted, and shallow dimples appeared on both sides. But when you actually smiled, they disappeared. It's amazing, your face has a magical power to make people happy, and I'm willing to submit to you.

I was willing to obey you, so when you said "run," even though I was having trouble breathing, I still listened to you, hoping it would make a better impression. But I didn't expect to cause you trouble. I wasn't afraid of my illness acting up; I just felt ashamed that you saw my most embarrassing side. If I had a healthy body, a strong heart, if I could speak confidently and gracefully in the face of your questions, perhaps you would have been more willing to talk to me?

This must be my teenage secret.

Ah, actually, you're angry.

I can sense it.

I've caused you trouble. Because of my illness, you've stopped letting me participate in any extracurricular sports activities, and you keep bringing it up in front of others. I know you mean well, but I want to fit in with the class, I want a truly wonderful high school life, instead of being locked in a glass case, like a fragile butterfly, fluttering its wings, unable to reach the outside world.

Sunlight.

Sweat.

laughter.

I need these.

Just as I need to be popular like you, or like the boys you talk to, they also have considerable courage to boldly lift their shirts to wipe their sweat in front of you. They are so strong that sometimes I feel ashamed of my own thinness.

It's because I'm insecure, and you're so radiant, the person I admire most. That's why I can't stand you joking about me—or rather, I can joke about anyone else, but not you. I didn't have time to ponder the meaning of this particular situation; I just couldn't wait to tell you. So, during evening self-study, I stopped you to try and explain things, but you refused to be my friend. Actually…

I know.

I'm not good enough for you.

But everyone needs dreams, right? At least a goal. I wanted to be your friend, even if it was just for a day, an hour, just to make you smile and talk to me, to ask me things, even for a second. So when I saw you in trouble at the alley entrance, I panicked. You'd been slapped by a grown man again. From your conversation, I realized he was your father. You'd hired a stranger to impersonate your parent because your real father's identity wasn't something to be proud of. In that instant, I—

I was actually relieved.

You know what? It's shameful, but I genuinely felt a sense of relief. Because you're so perfect, almost unreal, without a single flaw, making you seem so superficial to me. So, that tiny imperfection of yours is incredibly endearing to me.

So without hesitation, I went up to you and handed you the umbrella. I might have startled you; it was a moment of impulse, I hadn't thought it through. Anyone would feel uncomfortable seeing you in such a disheveled state. But I was also thankful that it was me who saw you.

You slapped my umbrella away so fiercely, asking me why I was pretending to be a good person. I was both sad and persistent. Although I'm usually slow to react, I always feel my sixth sense is very accurate. In crucial moments, I know how to make choices and whether I should let go, just like now, absolutely not.

So, you got into my car.

You took a shower at my house and changed into my underwear. I was really shocked, really. My hoodie was so big, but it fit you so well. And then there was your blow-dried, fluffy hair, your angelic face, and the way you looked at me with those eyes.

Wow, my heart is beating so fast.

Honestly, I reckon it will be a long time before I become immune to your beauty. You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen, and the most beautiful friend I have ever made. I was so nervous when I applied the medicine to your face, afraid that I might accidentally hurt your face, and then I would be unforgivable.

Then, with that breathtakingly fragile face, yet with those wild and stubborn eyes, you told me your story. Because it was your private matter, I listened intently, not daring to miss a single detail. After you finished listening, I realized you were looking at me with those unparalleled eyes, filled with a sacred scrutiny and a questioning that felt like falling off a cliff. You asked in a soft, low voice.

You won't tell anyone, will you?

ah.

I swear I'd rather die than tell anyone.

Angel, I won't.