Stars in the daytime
Red maple leaves and yellow leaves, blue sky and clear water, ivy burning like fire covering the walls—autumn colors are at their peak on campus, bathed in warm sunlight. The pole vaulting area is packed with people, and volunteers wearing sun hats and armbands are maintaining order.
Cheng Zhou stood in the crowd, head down, staring at the lines on his palm.
On the last day of military training, he was coaxed into participating in the physical fitness test organized by the student union, thinking it would affect his PE grades, so he ran like crazy—and before he knew it, he was recruited to be an athlete.
Cheng Zhou doesn't dislike sports. While traveling around preparing for the college entrance exams, he even participated in two or three marathon races.
He's fast, well-coordinated, and has strong core strength, making him well-suited for pole vaulting. Half-heartedly, Cheng Zhou got into the habit of regularly participating in athlete training organized by the Academy of Fine Arts' sports department.
Aside from sleeping, Cheng Zhou had almost no rest time, attending classes, participating in the national flag guard and athlete training, and occasionally taking on a few freelance jobs.
But having survived the intensive training, he didn't find university life, where he could freely manage his time, dull.
He would often look at his palm and wonder: If it were Hu Tong, what would she do?
Hu Tong would never become an athlete half-heartedly, would never succumb to his senior's request to join the national flag guard, and would never dedicate most of his free time to the "organization"—an organization he has not yet developed a sense of belonging and honor to.
"Cheng Zhou?"
The girl's gentle, slightly trembling voice pulled him back to reality.
Cheng Zhou looked up, his bewildered gaze appearing somewhat cold.
In front of me was a girl with pigtails, wearing a white shirt and a green sweater over it. Her face was a little red, though it didn't seem to be from the wind.
"Oh, here, have some water." Amidst her friends' cheers, she offered them a water bottle. "Good luck with your competition."
Cheng Zhou was very familiar with this expression, this tone, and this scene.
He was lucky to be liked.
Those who like him will unfortunately be politely rejected and suffer from the gossip of the audience. Whether it's comfort or ridicule, it's essentially a form of pity and contempt.
Liking someone is a game of relinquishing power.
Cheng Zhou doesn't covet power offered to him, nor does he like to bully others. He is willing and accustomed to belittling himself to minimize the losses suffered by the other party in the process of being rejected.
"Thank you for your kindness, classmate," he hunched over, rubbing his stomach through his clothes, his brows furrowed, "but I drank cold water before exercising and it hurts my stomach, I'm sorry. I wasn't very well prepared to begin with, if I come in last, my only fate will be to hang myself."
After using this set of "loser" tricks taught by Zhou Jin'an—showing weakness, exaggeration, and touching sensitive areas—the girl with pigtails smiled awkwardly and turned to leave, and even the surrounding crowd relaxed a bit.
Cheng Zhou breathed a sigh of relief, straightened up, and continued watching the competition, secretly comparing everyone's parrying techniques. He didn't hear the girl squeeze next to her friend and whisper, "Ahhh! So cute!"
Soon, it was his turn to go on stage.
Cheng Zhou cleared his mind, gripped the pole, and ran, jumped, cleared the pole, and landed on the mat in one smooth motion.
The results will be announced after all the athletes from all the colleges have played.
He stepped off the mat and stood aside to watch the game.
It was late autumn, and the plastic grass was covered with a thin layer of frost that had melted in the sun but hadn't had time to evaporate. The sports field was like a big frying pan, and the sun was the orange-red heart of the flame. Groups of people running and jumping around were like bubbles rising and bursting in boiling water, bubbling and bubbling, cooking up a hot and humid atmosphere.
Cheng Zhou flicked his fingers to pull up his collar to cool off, treating the people around him like little bees, their chatter a buzzing sound that had nothing to do with him, until familiar words pierced his eardrums like needles.
"...Hu Tong".
Cheng Zhou looked in the direction of the sound and saw a strange man of medium height chatting gossip with an athlete from the School of Information Science. Perhaps he was trying to ease the other person's tension in this way, but the focus of his conversation was Hu Tong.
"Really? She didn't give you face because of this?" The athlete from the School of Information Science, also wearing a red vest and numbered 14, asked in surprise. "That's too much. If you can't agree on a price, fine, but to throw water in your face? Only someone as good-tempered as you, Lao Guo, would do that."
The man called Lao Guo scoffed and waved his hand. "That's right. If I hadn't seen how hard it was for her to come all the way to Beijing to sell, I would have exposed her at the gathering. The customer is always right, but even if the price isn't agreed upon, the customer is still right, isn't he? But I'm just telling you this, be careful if you run into her in class in the future."
As he spoke, Guo Lin chuckled, "I'll show you her class schedule when I have the chance. I got a new phone these past few days, so I didn't save it. She's quite attractive, from Jinshi, with a small face, big eyes, and fair skin."
Number 14 scratched his cheek: "Isn't that a bit inappropriate, considering we're from the same college..."
"What is it—"
Before Guo Lin could finish speaking, he was punched in the face, staggering back two steps while clutching his bleeding nose, yelling, "Damn it!"
The densely packed crowd dispersed instantly, and before the volunteers and referees nearby could react, a second punch landed on Guo Lin's cheekbone.
Number 14 shouted "Stop fighting!" and jumped back. His expression was as anxious as his movements were swift, like a red-faced paper doll being blown away by the wind of a punch.
Guo Lin belatedly raised his hand to block, but was instead grabbed by the collar and lifted up.
He lifted his swollen eyelids to look at the person in front of him. Tall, white-haired, not very strong, a typical pretty boy. Guo Lin's courage grew again. He spat, "Who are you!"
Cheng Zhou gripped his collar, tightening his grip.
He looked down at the bulging veins and reddened skin on Guo Lin's neck, his expression calm.
Guo Lin slapped his hand while yelling, "Damn it! Let go of me!"
How strange! Even though it was daytime, Cheng Zhou saw stars, twinkling and shimmering like golden stars, floating in the humid air.
Guo Lin's cheeks were like the sky at dusk, with swirling, purplish-red clouds.
Roars, chatter, and breathing buzzed around him.
Cheng Zhou commanded in a hoarse voice, "Shut up."
He knew he wasn't calm; he was merely in a state of extreme anger, on the verge of losing control.
Cheng Zhou hated this calm simmering with undercurrents, hated the trembling hands that kept increasing their force, but what he hated most... was the thick lips in front of him that kept moving, uttering evil words and spreading rumors about Hu Tong.
He felt his thoughts gradually drifting away from reality, like a ghost floating above the humid air, looking down at everything in the sports field.
The bright yellow finish line on the track and field, the pale purple banner hanging behind the podium that reads "Self-reliance creates excellence, innovation illuminates the future," the blue-domed tents of various colleges scattered along the edges, and the orange sea of flowers made up of cheerleading pom-poms blooming in full swing in the stands...
Yellow, purple, blue, or orange
It was his mother's old clothes that he cut off the buttons of and threw into the fire.
What was he thinking at that time, when he was only six years old?
This one is too tight, it makes Mom want to lose weight all the time, burn it; this one is too thin, it makes Mom sneeze all the time, burn it; this one is too stiff, it leaves red marks all over Mom's body, burn it...
Mom, is it finally my turn to be consumed by flames after enduring the pain of childbirth?
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