Chapter 3

You open the notebook. The handwriting is very neat, almost like printed text. It's snow-white and clean, without any trace of pencil, nail polish, or chili oil.

However, you still carefully erased the notebook with an eraser, placed it at the bottom of the stack of books, and flattened the pages. The affiliated secondary school was the best in the area, with strict management, and off-campus magazines and inappropriate reading materials were strictly prohibited.

However, this notebook, which reads "[Nanfei, Class 1, Grade 7 - Reading Notes]", is different. It is simple and inconspicuous, like a chameleon that is good at disguising itself. It circulates silently under the teacher's nose and has never been exposed.

You sometimes feel like you're the big boss behind the scenes.

However, it's also possible that the standards for being a bad kid here are too low. Paying to do homework, not being united, having cash on hand (10-20 yuan, after all, the most expensive four-wheel drive car in the store is only 48 yuan), that's legendary, and it's being made legendary.

Once, after you finished using the toilet, you were washing your hands at the sink by the door when you heard two students talking to each other in the squat toilet.

Do you know about the Southbound Flight?

"I know, he's the leader of Class One, the most troublesome person in the entire first grade. I heard that he charges protection money to anyone who messes with him."

"Awesome."

"The leader of Class Three is very dissatisfied and wants to call people to beat him up. After all, two tigers cannot share one mountain. It seems that they will have a fight sooner or later."

As you wash your hands, you think that the reason for these rumors is related to the school.

Compared to the rural primary school I used to attend, the students here are very well-behaved, and this very well-behavedness makes you seem very bad.

You felt you hadn't done anything wrong, you were just a loner, but back then, being obsessed with loners and bad kids was a trend.

Moreover, Nanfei from Class 1 of Grade 7 has good grades and a good appearance.

Back in class, after a Chinese lesson, you were writing on your desk when your deskmate, who hadn't gone out to play, stared at you with a questioning and scrutinizing look. After a while, he said, "Nanfei, did you take my ten yuan?"

It wasn't phrased as an inquiry, but rather as a hindsight statement that I could forgive you.

The question was phrased very sharply, using "whether or not" instead of "is it or isn't it," suggesting that the questioner had thought about it for a while, ruled out other suspects, and finally focused on you.

You capped your pen and glanced at him out of the corner of your eye: "No."

Your deskmate glares at you with an "I can't believe it" look, he's convinced you did it, and says in a bad tone: "Give it back to me now, and I won't tell the teacher."

"I didn't take it."

"If it's not you, then who is? You're the most greedy person in the whole class."

The accusation is so absurd and unimaginative that it leaves you feeling bewildered and angry.

Your face was not calm; you never hid your sharp side: "Do you think I'd take your ten dollars because I'm rich, or are you trying to extort me because I'm rich?"

"What?"

Your deskmate didn't understand, but he had his own testimony, so he ignored your convoluted words: "I've already asked. Yesterday was your turn to clean, and you were the last one to leave. You were in the classroom the whole time, so you must have taken it. It couldn't have been anyone else."

My deskmate's thought process and steering wheel operate on an internal loop; it makes no sense to outsiders, but is logically consistent internally.

In that instant, you were so shocked that you were speechless, causing you to miss the best time to react.

Your deskmate, as if they'd caught you red-handed, stood up from their seat, exuding an air of menace: "You're the one who stole it!"

You stood up too: "I told you, it wasn't me, don't you understand?"

The students around them, thinking you were about to fight, all turned to look at you. Your deskmate's face turned red: "Nanfei, let me tell you, don't think you're so great just because you know a few gangsters. I know them too, and we're not afraid of each other!"

Before you could respond, the class bell rang.

You could only sit down, fuming, pretending to be calm. Your deskmate piled all the books to the left, pulled out his chair with a loud thud, exuding an aura of righteous indignation as if he wanted to distance himself from people like you.

You barely managed to suppress your anger and listened attentively to the lesson. Halfway through, a note suddenly appeared on your desk.

Normally, you wouldn't do anything unrelated during class, but today anger took over your mind, and you opened the note to find it was your deskmate's handwriting.

[Nanfei, I advise you to give me your ten yuan. Don't think no one in school will dare to hit you. Let me tell you, my brother is from outside the school, and he knows Lai Bahu. If you're so tough, don't leave this afternoon. Come to the small playground outside the school, I'll be waiting for you there.]

You wrote a few words and pushed the note back.

My deskmate, with a cold face, glanced at the teacher's writing on the blackboard, quietly opened it, his lips twitched, and he lowered his voice incredulously: "So what if there are typos?"

You have no obligation to proofread his dictionaries: "Look it up yourself."

My deskmate: "Aren't you annoying! What kind of time is this?!"

You think he's being unreasonable. This is clearly a very important matter. His expression is even more serious than before: "You changed it. It makes me uncomfortable. Copy it again after you've finished changing it, or I won't accept it."

His deskmate sat there for a while, his teeth grinding together. He angrily grabbed the dictionary and started flipping through it, muttering something under his breath.

Before class ended, you received a rewritten letter about the fight. As soon as the bell rang, your deskmate immediately stood up, hands inside his school uniform, and turned away from his seat with a chilling air. He had already assumed that you were his enemy.

You watched him leave from your seat, unfolded the note, looked at it, and crumpled it in your palm.

...

The school bell rings loudly —

Your deskmate and a few other boys in the class were laughing and joking as they walked up the stairs together. You were standing at the classroom door, with the homeroom teacher standing beside you, arms crossed.

"He Wei." The homeroom teacher pinpointed his deskmate and pushed up his reflective glasses: "You and Nan Fei are coming to the office with me now."

He Wei's smile gradually faded, and he looked at you with a puzzled expression. You returned an affirmative smile.

My deskmate was punished by being made to stand for an entire class period, and his parents were almost called in. After school, he was dejected, wiping away tears and throwing his books down, saying, "How could you tell the teacher about our own business!"

You carried your schoolbag and bent down to rub the dust off your shoes.

My deskmate cried and threatened, "Nanfei, you wait, I'm going to get someone to beat you up!"

...

Because of that sentence, you were very careful for several days in a row.

Outside the school is a main road, and across the road is a small playground where discarded stones are piled up and wild rose vines climb everywhere. Delinquent teenagers often park their motorcycles there and gather in the playground.

Your way home requires crossing the small playground, and to avoid inconveniencing innocent bystanders, you avoid walking home at the same time as your older brother and second brother.

It was Friday, and after school you went home with your schoolbag as usual.

Many motorcycles were parked on the small playground. Long-haired delinquents, sharing a cigarette and a boxed lunch, waited for someone at the entrance. You held your breath, looked serious, carried your schoolbag, and walked through them with your head down, not wanting to cause any trouble.

"Hello."

Someone grabbed your backpack strap.

You paused, your head buzzed, and an alarm went off.

Before your brain can react, your body is already prepared, swinging a backpack and stunning the person grabbing you.

Holy crap!

The man covered his face and squatted down, startling the thug next to him so much that he dropped his cigarette.

Your first instinct is to run to school, but the person who grabbed your backpack is knocked to the ground, and a bunch of people suddenly stand up behind you. Your mind goes blank, your legs tremble, and following your instincts, you run towards the place where there are fewer thugs.

"Fuck your mother! Who do you think you are!"

"Damn it, grab him right now!"

"You little brat, stop right there!"

Outside the small playground was a large field of wild broad beans. You darted into it like a rabbit, followed by a group of hooligans who were cursing you. Your expression was ferocious as you rushed to the front, running wildly towards home.

The books in the schoolbag flew out with a clatter and scattered all over the ground.

Boom boom—

Your heart skipped a beat.

The sound of motorcycles grew louder as they approached. Those thugs on their motorcycles quickly overtook you. Four or five motorcycles sped into the broad bean field, their exhaust fumes billowing out, and they stopped in front of you at different times, like a menacing wall.

You were panting heavily, knowing you couldn't outrun them, so you immediately squatted down in the broad bean field and grabbed several hard lumps of mud, clutching them in your hands.

The leader jumped off the motorcycle. His nose was red, and there were several drops of blood on his white hoodie. He walked over and glared at you, looking very unwell.

He's about your height, but his face is clouded with anger.

Why did you hit me?

You stare intently at him, then look around. The gang that had been following him, looking like they were about to beat you up, surrounds you completely.

You gripped your backpack strap: "You pulled my backpack strap first."

The woman in the white hoodie said incredulously, "So you hit me with your backpack? I just wanted to say hello to you."

Clutching your schoolbag, you said confidently and warily, "I don't know you."

The man in the white hoodie kept a straight face and wiped his red nose.

He seemed unsure of what to say, his expression was grim, but he sounded like he was using a fierce tone to mask his shyness: "My name is Qiu Li. We were elementary school classmates. You helped me with my winter break homework, and I still owe you ten yuan. Don't you remember?"

Your rationality is crumbling due to lack of oxygen to your brain. Upon hearing this explanation, you subconsciously extend a hand: "Then give it to me now."

You'll regret it as soon as you reach out; you'll freeze in place, realizing you're in for a beating.

The man in the white hoodie choked on his breath, took out his wallet, and pulled out ten yuan: "You remember now, which class am I in?"

The surrounding delinquents rolled up their sleeves and started trash-talking, but the scene caught them completely off guard.

You said, "Aren't we in the same class?"

The man in the white hoodie paused, angrily stuffing the ten yuan back into his pocket: "I'm from the next class! I knew you didn't remember at all. You even threw stones at me when we first met!"

You suddenly don't like ten yuan anymore.

Author's Note: