Living by inertia
Before the sun completely dispelled the night's chill, and before the alarm clock rang, Cheng Xiaorui had already opened his eyes. It was as if his body had a built-in warning system for danger, always waking him up before the storm arrived.
It was a long-established habit, more precise than any mechanical ringtone. He lay quietly, listening to the faint chirping of birds outside the window and the gentle sounds of footsteps in his mother's room next door. She was trying not to wake him, just as he, too, was using stillness to preserve this fragile moment of tranquility. These few brief moments were a silent understanding between them, a false yet precious calm amidst the storm.
A few minutes later, he lifted the thin blanket and rose, his movements so gentle as if he wouldn't disturb the tiny particles of dust suspended in the air. On his desk, the plain paper bag containing his new stationery sat quietly—a gift his mother had bought him with her overtime pay. His gaze passed over it, softening for a moment, like a burst of warmth from cracking ice, but then quickly returning to normal, freezing again. Too much warmth can soften one's will, and he knew what he was about to face.
In the kitchen, Cheng Zhixu was busy at the stove, her back to him. Millet porridge simmered in the pot, bubbling with tiny bubbles. The air was filled with the faint aroma of rice and the lingering warmth of steam. She hummed a tuneless song, her hair loosely tied up, a few strands cascading down her neck. The morning light filtered through the window, outlining her slender neck and her focused profile, casting a soft glow over her.
"Mom." Cheng Xiaorui called out in a hoarse voice, as if any louder voice would break this fragile picture.
Cheng Zhixu turned around, a smile immediately breaking out on his face. The fine lines around his eyes gently smoothed out, like silk ironed by the sun. "Are you awake? The porridge will be ready soon. I'll make you an egg today?"
"Yeah." He walked over, but instead of hugging her as usual, he quietly leaned against the kitchen doorframe, like a plant leaning against a wall, silently absorbing the warmth of her back. His mother seemed in a good mood, her movements lighter than usual.
"Eat quickly so you can go to school." Cheng Xiaorui sat down and glanced at his mother's eyes which looked a little tired but she was trying to keep her spirits up. There were traces of the heavy pressure of life, but she was still trying hard to hold up a clear sky for him. His heart felt a little bitter, as if it had been soaked in lemon juice.
Breakfast was simple yet heartwarming. A golden fried egg had crispy edges, while the thick, sticky millet porridge was coated with a thin layer of porridge. A small dish of pickled mustard tuber was crisp and delicious. He lowered his head and ate his breakfast in silence. He felt a familiar, heavy, swollen feeling in his stomach, like a cold stone, but he said nothing. Sometimes, sharing one's pain is a luxury, especially when the other person has endured more than you.
The two sat facing each other, silent, yet a tacit understanding flowed between them, a silence that surged. After breakfast, Cheng Zhixu pulled a transparent box from the refrigerator. Inside was a Swiss roll that looked very soft and sprinkled with icing sugar. "Take this with you. Eat it during the morning break if you're hungry."
Cheng Xiaorui recognized the brand; it wasn't the most expensive, but it wasn't something his family could afford on a daily basis. He subconsciously wanted to refuse, the words swirling on his tongue. "No thanks, Mom. I had a full breakfast..." Sometimes, rejecting his mother's kindness was more painful than enduring the malice of others.
"Here, Cheng Cheng." Cheng Zhixu stuffed the box into the side pocket of his schoolbag without hesitation, carefully zipping it up, as if she were stuffing more than just a piece of cake, but a heavy burden of protection. "Look how thin you've become," she said, raising her hand to carefully adjust Cheng Xiaorui's collar, her eyes filled with tenderness and a subtle regret for not being able to give more.
Cheng Xiaorui's throat moved, as if blocked by something, and he finally uttered a low "hmm," suppressing all the surging emotions in his heart. Some love is as heavy as a mountain, yet silent as a mystery. It asks nothing in return, only that you be safe and sound.
"I'm leaving." Cheng Xiaorui picked up his schoolbag and felt the extra, sweet weight on his shoulders.
"Drive slowly." Cheng Zhixu's voice reached the door.
Cheng Xiaorui nodded, not daring to meet her eyes, and hurried downstairs. He left, closing the door behind him, briefly isolating himself from the warmth and concern that filled the room. The morning air was slightly chilly. Cheng Xiaorui took a deep breath, gripped the strap of his schoolbag tighter, and headed towards school. The discomfort in his stomach hadn't completely subsided, lingering like a lingering shadow, foreshadowing something.
The slight warmth on his face quickly faded, replaced by a calmness that was almost numb. He habitually chose the longer but more crowded road, lowering his eyes and paying attention to the ground, as if that would avoid all unnecessary trouble.
The teaching building was like a silent beast, devouring the influx of students. The sounds of noise, laughter, scolding, and running footsteps surged in like a tide. He went against the flow, like a silent stone. Reaching the door of Class 2 (3), he paused, took a deep breath, and then pushed the door open.
The lively atmosphere in the classroom paused for a moment. Several gazes swept over him like searchlights, carrying undisguised scrutiny and malice, then turned away, as if he were just a trivial stain. He walked towards his seat without looking away.
Until something slipped out of his mouth, and a few chuckles echoed around him. Cheng Xiaorui seemed not to hear, and he took out his first-period textbook and spread it out. His knuckles were slightly white from the pressure, but his face was expressionless.
This kind of low-level provocation was almost a daily routine. He knew it was just a test, and worse things were yet to come. His silence would sometimes bore them and make them give up temporarily, but other times it would infuriate them and make them escalate.
His gaze casually flicked towards the front row. Lu Ziyi had already arrived. He was wearing a neatly ironed school uniform, whispering something to his deskmate with his head tilted to the side. A perfectly placed smile played on his lips, and the sunlight fell on his delicate profile, making it look flawless. He seemed completely oblivious to the small commotion in the back row, or perhaps, he simply didn't care to notice.
But Cheng Xiaorui knew that every action of Zhou Mingxuan and Zhao Dakun was like a puppet, the other end of the string casually held in the hands of someone who seemed to be out of the loop. It was a cold, condescending control.
The bell rang, temporarily saving him. The math teacher began to work out complex formulas on the blackboard. Cheng Xiaorui forced himself to concentrate, his pen scribbling rapidly in his notebook. Knowledge was his only armor and weapon, the floating wood he could cling to, preventing him from sinking completely.
However, the calm did not last long.
Just then, a crookedly folded paper airplane swayed past his sight and slammed into his open textbook with a thud. On its wing, a filthy design was drawn in thick black ink, with two crooked words written next to it: "Bitch."
He could hear Zhou Mingxuan and Zhao Dakun's suppressed, smug laughter behind him. He could even imagine their ugly expressions as they winked and made faces.
His stomach began to ache, a common reaction to stress. He took a deep breath, trying to suppress the nausea that was surging.
The flames of anger that had been suppressed for a long time suddenly jumped up, burning his ears. He suddenly clenched the paper and crumpled it into a ball.
On the podium, the teacher seemed to notice something and glanced over: "What's going on back there?"
Zhou Mingxuan immediately shouted, "Teacher, Cheng Xiaorui is not listening carefully and is playing with paper airplanes!"
He is so skilled at turning the tables.
Cheng Xiaorui raised his head, met the teacher's puzzled gaze, and glanced at Lu Ziyi next to him. Lu Ziyi still maintained that perfect listening posture, as if everything around him had nothing to do with him.
The flame that had just started was instantly extinguished by the cold reality, leaving only a feeling of powerlessness like ash. He loosened his grip, and the paper ball fell into the shadow of the hole in the table.
"No, teacher." He heard his voice dry and calm, "I accidentally dropped it." When explanations are doomed to be futile, silence becomes a tragic ritual to maintain the last dignity.
The teacher looked at him doubtfully, but continued teaching without further investigation.
He barely listened to anything for the second half of the class. The pain in his stomach intensified, like a hand clenching and rubbing it. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead, and he could only hunch his back, press his elbows against his stomach, and pray that the class would end soon.
The bell for the end of get out of class finally rang, like the sound of nature.
As soon as the teacher walked out of the classroom, Cheng Xiaorui stood up suddenly, wanting to rush to the toilet or find an empty corner to rest.
However, someone was faster than him.
Zhao Dakun's huge body blocked his seat, a malicious smile on his face: "Princess Cheng, where are you in such a hurry to go? Your face is so pale, are you sick again?"
Cheng Xiaorui tried to get around him, but was pulled back. Amidst the chaos, he caught a glimpse of Lu Ziyi finally standing up. He straightened his cuffs, which didn't need straightening, and gracefully made his way around the scene, heading out of the classroom.
When he passed by Cheng Xiaorui, his steps did not pause for a moment, and he did not even give him a glance. It was as if he was just passing by a pile of insignificant garbage. At that moment, Cheng Xiaorui felt not anger, but a chill that penetrated his bones.
Despair doesn't come from a single, violent blow, but from countless repeated, tiny wears and tear, like water dripping through a stone, wearing away all your imaginations of beautiful possibilities. He no longer even bothered to suppress the flaming flame, knowing it would eventually be extinguished by the cold reality.
The numbness of the bystanders, the complacency of the abusers, all of this is like a drama that has been rehearsed countless times. Everyone is extremely skilled in their own role, only he is like a lame supporting role who can never keep up with the rhythm, and endures everything clumsily.
Sometimes, standing in the hallway, watching the noisy crowds running downstairs, he'd feel lost. Why were they so energetic? How did they manage to look forward to tomorrow? And he, like a chess piece forgotten in a corner, was trapped in the eternal, gray present.
Persistence? What is persistence? Persistence is the pursuit of a faintly glimpsed bright destination. But Cheng Xiaorui looked ahead, seeing only thick, impenetrable fog, the same old thorns and cold stares. It seemed the meaning of his persistence was simply to be able to enter the cycle on time the next day, to continue playing the role of the insulted and harmed.
Living had become a habit, not a choice. He was simply carried forward by the torrent of time, lost in thought, unaware of its end. Sometimes, a terrifying thought would quietly surface: perhaps sinking completely would be better than endlessly repeating this hopeless torment.
The cramps in his stomach came back, real and sharp. He hunched his back, using his elbows to push against them. At least this pain was fresh, a reminder that he still existed in this tiring world.
Cheng Xiaorui took a deep breath. The air was a mixture of chalk dust, sweat, and a despair called "daily life."
Then he took a step forward, walked towards the classroom for the next class, and towards a tomorrow that was destined to be repeated.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
