Role reversal

The shopping street was bustling with people on Saturday, and the bright sunshine was almost blinding. Fang Chi was half-dragged, half-pulled out by his friend Tan Si to "relax," with the excuse that he couldn't waste all his youth on homework.

"Hey Fang, can you stop wearing that long face?" Tan Si mumbled, biting his milk tea straw. "Anyone who didn't know better would think I'm kidnapping you."

Fang Chi absentmindedly hummed in agreement, his gaze sweeping across the shop windows along the street, but he didn't actually look into anything. His thoughts were still lingering on the scene in the infirmary yesterday, on Xing Jiayan's pale face and swollen, red ankles.

"Hey! Look over there!" Tan Si suddenly bumped his arm hard, lowering his voice with a hint of excitement, "Isn't that your 'good deskmate'?"

Fang Chi looked in the direction Tan Si pointed, and his heart skipped a beat.

Right in front of the pharmacy on the street corner, Xing Jiayan was awkwardly trying to get down the steps, leaning on a brand-new pair of crutches. His left ankle was wrapped in a thick white bandage, covered by loose gray sweatpants, but the swelling was still visible. He Chen followed beside him, carrying a plastic bag of medicine and muttering to himself.

Xing Jiayan frowned slightly, seemingly very unaccustomed to moving with the cane. He took each step cautiously, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. The sunlight fell on his slightly disheveled hair and pale face, softening his usual sharpness and aloofness, and revealing a rare... vulnerability.

Fang Chi stopped in his tracks, instinctively wanting to turn around and avoid this awkward encounter. He hadn't figured out how to face Xing Jiayan, especially when the other was in such a disheveled state.

However, Tan Si, who always loved a good show, shouted at the top of his lungs, "Xing Jiayan! He Chen! What a coincidence!"

Xing Jiayan and He Chen both looked up at the same time upon hearing the sound.

He Chen's eyes lit up when he saw them, and he immediately waved: "Hey! Fang Chi! Tan Si!"

Xing Jiayan's gaze went straight past He Chen and Tan Si, landing on Fang Chi. His eyes remained calm, but Fang Chi inexplicably detected a hint of embarrassment within them.

There is no way to avoid it.

Fang Chi had no choice but to bite the bullet and walk over with Tan Si.

"What happened, Jia Yan? Is it serious?" Tan Si asked with concern.

"A ligament sprain and some damage to the periosteum. It's not too serious, but you'll need to rest for a while," He Chen answered quickly, shaking the bag of medicine in his hand. "I just had a follow-up examination, and they prescribed a bunch of medications."

Xing Jiayan pursed her lips and didn't speak. She just stood there, leaning on her cane, her gaze lowered as she looked at the ground.

Fang Chi stood a step away, feeling unsure of what to do with his hands and feet. He looked at Xing Jiayan's knuckles, slightly white from exertion, and his foot dangling in the air, his throat dry.

"Um... what did the doctor say?" He heard his own voice sound somewhat dry.

Xing Jiayan finally looked up at him, her eyes filled with complex emotions: "Rest, move less."

The atmosphere became somewhat tense for a moment. He Chen and Tan Si, however, chatted familiarly about basketball and games.

A gust of wind blew by, swirling up fallen leaves. Xing Jiayan, standing on one leg, seemed to be struggling, and his body swayed almost imperceptibly.

Fang Chi almost subconsciously took a small step forward and reached out to offer a hand support, the movement so fast that he didn't even realize it himself.

His hand didn't actually touch Xing Jiayan; it just paused briefly beside his arm.

But Xing Jiayan clearly noticed. He turned his head, his gaze falling on Fang Chi's hand, which he hadn't had time to retract, before slowly moving to Fang Chi's face.

His gaze was deep and probing, which made Fang Chi feel a sudden pang of guilt and panic. He immediately withdrew his hand and put it into his coat pocket.

"Thank you." Xing Jiayan's voice was very low, almost carried away by the wind.

Fang Chi didn't respond, but felt a burning sensation in his ears.

"Hey, Jiayan, how are you getting back? Are you taking a taxi?" He Chen turned around and asked after ending his chat with Tan Si.

"Um."

“Then we…” Tan Si looked at Fang Chi, then at Xing Jiayan, his gaze shifting between the two of them, and suddenly suggested, “Since we’re going the same way anyway, why don’t we walk together for a bit? Fang Chi, can you help me with this?”

"No need." This time, Xing Jiayan and Fang Chi said in unison.

The two exchanged a glance, then quickly looked away.

He Chen chuckled: "Alright, alright, I know you two are 'close,' no need to be so polite. I'll take Jia Yan to the front to get a taxi, you two can help yourselves?"

Finally, He Chen helped Xing Jiayan walk slowly towards the intersection. Fang Chi and Tan Si stood there, watching their somewhat unsteady figures.

"Tsk," Tan Si stroked his chin thoughtfully, "Why do I feel like there's a strange atmosphere between you and your mortal enemy?"

Fang Chi's heart tightened, and he vehemently denied it: "You've seen wrong."

"Really?" Tan Si raised an eyebrow, not delving into it further, and pulled him in the opposite direction, "Let's go, let's go, we'll be late for the movie."

Fang Chi was being pulled forward, but couldn't help looking back one last time.

Just then, Xing Jiayan glanced back before getting into the taxi. Their eyes met briefly again across the bustling crowd.

Xing Jiayan nodded very slightly to him, then bent down and got into the car.

The car door closed, the taxi merged into the traffic, and soon disappeared from sight.

Fang Chi turned back, but his heart felt like a lake where a pebble had been thrown, ripples spreading outwards, never to calm down again. The figure leaning on a cane, looking somewhat thin in the sunlight yet still standing straight, was clearly imprinted in his mind.

He suddenly remembered that the competition group's discussion might have to be suspended.

The library's seminar room, where students studied on Sunday evening, was so quiet that the faint hum of the central air conditioning could be heard. Fang Chi arrived ten minutes early, spreading out his competition materials on the table, but his gaze kept glancing towards the door.

He thought no one would come tonight. After all, he had just met Xing Jiayan on crutches in the shopping street yesterday, and the doctor had clearly instructed him to rest.

However, when the clock struck seven, the door to the seminar room was gently pushed open.

Xing Jiayan, carrying a schoolbag on one shoulder and a crutch tucked under his arm, moved in somewhat clumsily. His injured left foot dangled in the air, supported only by his right leg and the crutch, and a fine layer of sweat had already appeared on his forehead. His complexion looked a little better than yesterday, but he still bore the fatigue of post-injury.

Fang Chi jumped up from his chair almost instantly, his movement so fast that he knocked over the pen beside him. "You... how did you get here?"

Xing Jiayan leaned against the door frame, catching her breath. She looked up at him, a slightly helpless smile playing on her lips: "Can I be absent from the competition group?"

He spoke as if it were perfectly natural, as if the thick bandage on his foot didn't exist.

Fang Chi watched him struggle to close the door, then try to put his schoolbag down, his movements hesitant and each step seemingly laborious. The man who was a force to be reckoned with on the basketball court and effortlessly excelled in exams was now stumped by the simplest of movements.

An indescribable emotion welled up in Fang Chi's heart. He walked over in a few steps, silently closed the door for the other person, and then took the seemingly light schoolbag and placed it on the chair next to him.

Xing Jiayan paused for a moment, then said in a low voice, "Thank you."

He leaned on his crutches, slowly moved to the table, and sat down, carefully straightening his injured leg before letting out a long sigh of relief. Under the lamplight, the stray hairs on his forehead were damp with sweat, clinging to his skin, making him look somewhat disheveled.

Fang Chi returned to his seat, his gaze falling on the other man's stiff left leg. He swallowed hard, wanting to say, "You should go back and rest," or "I can take your homework back for you," but the words caught in his throat. He knew Xing Jiayan's pride; such words would be nothing short of pity and charity.

A subtle silence fell over the seminar room. Only Xing Jiayan's slightly heavy breathing and the faint chirping of insects outside the window could be heard.

After a while, Xing Jiayan finally picked up his pen and began to look at the documents on the table. His movements were much slower than usual, and his brows were slightly furrowed, whether from pain or the questions, it was unclear.

He stared at the unfinished formula they had written together on the whiteboard Friday night, his fingers unconsciously clenching until his knuckles turned white. After a long while, as if finally giving up on something, his shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, his gaze shifting to Fang Chi, his voice low and hoarse, carrying a tone of near-defeat that Fang Chi had never heard before:

“It seems that this time…” he paused, a bitter smile appearing on his lips, “I’m going to be the one holding you back.”

To hold others back.

This word was once Xing Jiayan's weapon to "motivate" him, but it was also the most sensitive and thorn in his heart. Now, however, it came out of Xing Jiayan's own mouth with such a clear sense of powerlessness.

Fang Chi looked at his downcast eyes, at his glaring bandage, at his hands holding the pen but not yet putting it down... his heart felt like it had been clenched by something.

He recalled yesterday on the commercial street, Xing Jiayan standing in the sunlight with his cane, his stubbornness tinged with restraint.

He recalled earlier, on a forum, Yan's affirmation and guidance regarding his "detours" in thinking.

He also remembered that just a few days ago, he had been furious because the other party said, "I'm afraid you'll hold me back."

Now, the roles are reversed.

Fang Chi silently picked up his pen, stood up, walked to the whiteboard, and circled the unfinished formula. Then, he turned to face Xing Jiayan, his tone calm, yet carrying an undeniable firmness:

“Regarding the gauge field theory approach you mentioned last time, I looked up some information over the weekend.” He picked up a marker and began working out calculations on the whiteboard. “However, I think your assumptions about the symmetry breaking conditions could be revised…”

He didn't respond to the "dragging down" comment, as if he hadn't heard it at all.

He simply picked up where the previous discussion had left off, and with a professional and focused attitude, brought their thoughts back on the same wavelength.

Xing Jiayan looked up in surprise at Fang Chi, who was focused and organized in front of the whiteboard. The light outlined Fang Chi's serious profile, and there was no sympathy or pity in his eyes, only a pure inquiry into the problem and a kind of... clumsy support.

As Fang Chi wrote and explained, he would occasionally stop and turn to Xing Jiayan to ask, "Which model did you base your previous derivation on?" or, "If we introduce the transformation you mentioned in your notes, would it simplify this step?"

He didn't take on everything, nor did he exclude Xing Jiayan. He was simply using his own way to tell her—you are still an indispensable participant, and your ideas and experience are still key to solving the problem.

Looking at Fang Chi like this, and noticing the subtle tenderness beneath his deliberately maintained calm, Xing Jiayan felt the lingering resentment from his injury in his chest subtly dissipate. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the dull pain in his ankle, picked up his pen again, and began to follow Fang Chi's train of thought on the draft paper.

“Here,” Xing Jiayan pointed out a key point, “your transformation will introduce additional degrees of freedom, requiring the addition of constraint equations.”

“Yes,” Fang Chi’s eyes lit up, and he immediately added on the whiteboard, “just like you taught me last week…”

As the discussion deepened, the atmosphere shifted from its usual focused and intense tone to one of unspoken understanding. One person primarily handled the blackboard presentation and guidance, while the other provided crucial pointers and corrections.

When the last problem was successfully solved, the two of them breathed a sigh of relief.

Fang Chi put down his marker and turned to look at Xing Jiayan. The other man was also looking at him, the gloom in his eyes gone, replaced by a familiar light, but there seemed to be something else hidden deep within that light.

“It seems,” Xing Jiayan said slowly, his voice still low, but the bitterness had dissipated, “that we can’t delay any longer.”

Fang Chi looked at him, without smiling, and said very seriously, "You have never been a burden."

He said those words softly, yet they struck Xing Jiayan's heart with tremendous force.

The bell rang, signaling the end of evening self-study. Fang Chi silently helped Xing Jiayan pack his bag and handed him his cane. The two walked out of the seminar room one after the other, Fang Chi deliberately slowing his pace.

The corridor lights cast long shadows on them.

"Tomorrow..." Fang Chi hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“I can come by myself tomorrow.” Xing Jiayan interrupted him, her tone regaining some of its usual indifference, but no longer distant.

Fang Chi hummed in agreement and didn't insist any further.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Xing Jiayan needed to be extra careful. Fang Chi stood a step behind him, his arm slightly raised, as if ready to support him at any moment, but he didn't actually touch him.

Xing Jiayan sensed it. Holding onto the cold metal railing, he slowly moved down step by step. When he reached level ground, he paused for a moment, without turning back, his voice blending into the night:

"Thanks, deskmate."

Fang Chi watched his retreating figure, the darkness concealing the slight burning of his ears.

"You're welcome."

This time, the response went much more smoothly.