Chapter 2 Zhihe
Hang Liumei took out a phone book from decades ago to contact old friends. They were all pretty much the same, some enjoying their grandchildren's company, some suffering from illness, and only a few were still working on the front line.
Hang Liumei rubbed her eyes and pulled her grandson over: "Grandma used to have a pen pal who later went abroad to study. Can you help me find where she is now?"
"ah?"
"What? That girl was really good. I wanted to take her in as my apprentice. She later went abroad, and now I want to pass on my skills. Maybe I can even train a successor, making my decades of work worthwhile."
So Xiaomai was watched from behind by her grandmother. She pulled out a stool and followed her instructions to enter the password, verification code, wrong password, forgotten password, reset password...
The most recent reply letter was six years ago, in which the girl told Hang Liumei that she would be leaving for Europe in July.
Why didn't grandma write back to her? Xiaomai remembered that year when her mother Mai Sui had a minor operation. Her father stayed by her bedside without taking off his clothes. Later, when the patient complained that his hair smelled too oily, he finally found time to go home and rest.
After being discharged from the hospital, Mai Sui recuperated at home for a while. Xiaomai saw his grandmother bringing brown sugar stewed eggs to his mother, so he followed her and heard the words "ectopic pregnancy" and "postpartum confinement" from the half-open door. At that time, he did not understand the meaning of these words and forgot them as soon as he turned around.
By the time Mai Sui recovered, Xiaomai would be ready for middle school. His parents were each busier at work, leaving it entirely up to his grandparents to take care of his daily needs. Their grandmother and he tacitly cut off contact.
Xiaomai obediently drafted a new email, following Hang Liumei's instructions. She checked daily for the next few weeks, but received no reply. While waiting, Xiaomai reread all their previous conversations—with Hang Liumei's permission, of course.
The people in the letter like old movies. They talked about "New Dragon Inn" and "A Chinese Ghost Story", and they argued about who was more stunning between Brigitte Lin and Joey Wong. After graduating from university, she and her classmates took the Northwest Grand Loop. Hang Liumei told her about Yumen Pass and Nine-story Tower, and reminded her that she must try the Li Guang apricots and donkey meat noodles in Dunhuang. What they talked about most was painting, lines, blocks of color, and space.
They had never met or exchanged photos. As Xiaomai read these words, the image of another girl appeared in her mind.
Her hair was half tied up and had never been dyed. Her face was clean, her eyebrows were eyebrows, and her eyes were eyes. He couldn't say which of her facial features was the most beautiful, but it had to be that kind of brow bone and that kind of nose bridge, which were completed in one go and hidden for several times to form such a heroic and cold face, like a thin white porcelain without any ink color.
Her name was Pu Zhihe. Xiaomai first met her in an elective class. He had originally chosen "Fifteen Lectures on Western Philosophy," but instead chose "History of Buddhist Art." Rumor had it that the teacher of the latter class frequently called on students and gave them a lot of homework, so Xiaomai didn't dare skip class.
Everyone liked to huddle at the back of the classroom, but Xiaomai was the only one who occupied a seat in the first row near the door and the corridor. The teacher often stood in the middle of the lecture hall with a microphone in his hand, and it was really dark where he was.
That day, Xiaomai casually walked into the classroom, drinking his favorite green plum and osmanthus tea as usual, holding a straw in his mouth, only to find a strange girl sitting in his designated seat. He silently put down his schoolbag and sat at the other end of the three-person desk. There was an empty space between them, and on top of it was her bag.
She turned her head and looked up at Xiaomai, then picked up her bag and put it in her desk pocket: "You want to sit here? Sorry, the bag is too big, so I just put it on your seat."
Xiaomai shook her head and said, "I'm fine here, you can let me go."
He spoke so softly that he almost swallowed the last syllable. He then took another sip of his now empty drink, the straw poking at the plum, the sourness making his teeth ache.
He took out a pen and paper and looked towards the podium, his line of sight covering the girl at the other end of the table. She was wrapped in a large suit jacket and black boots. It had just rained lightly outside, and her boot legs, like Xiaomai's trouser legs, were stained with mud.
She was looking at the teacher at the podium, and all that was left of Xiaomai was the back of her head with her hair flying and a little bit of her profile. Her earrings were still swaying slightly, and she didn't know where the wind came from.
The teacher said they had invited an assistant teacher today. She stood up and walked to the podium to introduce herself. "Hello everyone, my name is Pu Zhihe. I used to study murals in the Cultural Relics Conservation major at this university. I'm considered your senior..."
Xiaomai had only known her a minute before the others, but it felt like he'd known her forever. It was this "minute" that brought him such a sense of joy he hadn't even noticed. He'd also learned from her self-introduction that she'd gone to study abroad in Italy after graduation. He was ten years younger than her, and if it weren't for today, they would never have met at school.
Pu Zhihe lectured well, but few people paid attention. Xiaomai, sitting in the front row, felt compelled to show some enthusiasm, looking up the entire time. She had planned to cram for the electromagnetics midterm exam the day after tomorrow, but she hadn't even taken out her textbook.
After class, she came back and stood to pack her things. She pulled a scarf out of her bag and wrapped it loosely around her neck. Suddenly, she looked up and said to Xiaomai, "Classmate, your teacher just said that I seem to have taken your seat today. I even sat in the first row for the elective class. Not bad."
"Senior, will you still be teaching next week?" Xiaomai asked.
"Hmm?" Pu Zhihe reacted, "It's still me. I'll give you the seat back next time."
Xiaomai really wanted to answer her, Hello, my name is Mai Xu, it’s okay.
But he still just said softly: "It's okay, it's okay."
Pu Zhihe smiled, smoothed the hair by her ear, picked up her bag, looked down at her phone and walked out with the crowd.
"History of Buddhist Art" was an evening class. By the time Xiaomai left the classroom, it was already dark, and the path back to the dormitory was still wet. He could smell the damp earth after the rain, a scent that some studies suggest humans can detect more effectively than sharks can smell blood in the water. Xiaomai, too, had become a plant, the streamside hut deserted, blossoming and falling.
Across the road, someone was looking up to take a picture. It was said that tonight was a supermoon, a phenomenon that only occurs once in a century, and the moonlight would be brighter than usual. So Xiaomai walked very slowly, capturing the entire night.
The next class was a week later, but Pu Zhihe did not come that day.
Xiaomai was calm as usual, sitting down, listening to the lecture, and taking notes. The class returned to being dull, so Xiaomai turned on his computer and continued writing his endless online novel. The protagonist died again during the adventure.
The sound stopped, and Xiaomai stopped and looked up. The teacher was also smiling at him. He calmly closed the computer, but unexpectedly the teacher made an inviting gesture: "Please come to the stage."
Xiaomai didn't know what was going on and hesitated whether to go up. Just as she was about to stand up, a slender figure jumped out from behind her. It was Pu Zhihe. It turned out that the teacher was talking to her.
"Sorry I'm late. I won't be in the classroom today. Everyone, gather at the west gate now. We're going to Xiangji Temple."
Accompanied by a burst of cheers, everyone rushed out. Xiangji Temple was heading south down the mountain, and a bus was parked at the entrance. Pu Zhihe sat in the first row, with the window seat next to her empty. Xiaomai saw her first after getting on the bus, and then saw that the last row was not full. He stood at the front of the bus, holding the seat, thinking, and the driver urged him to sit down quickly. Pu Zhihe recognized him at a glance, moved a seat inward, and indicated that Xiaomai could sit next to her.
"Classmate, were you writing down your class notes just now? It shouldn't be Siddhartha who killed the troll with a lightsaber, right?" After Xiaomai sat down, Pu Zhihe leaned her head against the window and asked him.
Xiaomai's face felt a little hot. It turned out that Pu Zhihe had just been sitting in the row behind him reading his novel.
Before Xiaomai could answer, Pu Zhihe offered him a way out: "Since I caught you slacking off in class, I'll give you an assignment. Write a 5,000-word essay based on what I covered in these past two classes. Your novel is pretty good, too, and I'd love to read the next installment. Is that okay?"
Xiaomai agreed, scratched her head and asked her: "Senior, did it send it to your email?"
Pu Zhihe glanced out the window, turned around and said, "I don't have a work email address. Send it to your teacher, and she will forward it to me."
After saying this, she turned her face to the window again, leaned against it and closed her eyes. Xiaomai sat beside her, holding her schoolbag, and said nothing more.
The Xiangji Temple tour quickly concluded. The return bus stopped at the school's east gate. Students disembarked in groups of three or four to meet for lunch. Pu Zhihe had to walk through the entire campus to catch the bus at the west gate. Everyone had already dispersed. Seeing Xiaomai still standing there, she stopped and asked, "What's wrong? Any questions? Oh, I don't know your name yet."
He said my name is Mai Xu, Mai as in wheat, and Xu as in order.
"Mai Xu, are you a Taurus or a Gemini?"
"Huh?" Xiaomai didn't understand.
"Doesn't the term 'wheat sequence' refer to the time in April or May of the lunar calendar when wheat matures?"
Xiaomai was surprised. His grandmother had indeed named him after him, but no one had ever told him before. "That's what my name means, but I'm an Aries on my last day."
"I'm going to Ximen, why don't you leave?"
Xiaomai was about to return to the dorm at the South Gate, but for some reason she said, "I want to go to the West Gate, too." Pu Zhihe barely reached Xiaomai's shoulders, her face half buried in her scarf as they chatted idly. Xiaomai remembered her asking what her major was, what books she liked to read, where she had published her novels...
He politely answered that he was studying physics, liked to read fantasy and historical novels, and posted casually on Weibo...
At this point, he suddenly remembered that last week after class, he posted a fantasy romance short story on Weibo. After his roommate saw it, he teased him about being a Mary Sue and a naive person. He quickly added, "Senior, if you want to read it, I'll email it to you when the time comes."
Finally, he added: "I will finish my homework first."
Pu Zhihe blinked. "Don't be so nervous. Writing a novel isn't a bad thing. I'm just asking casually. Am I being boring?"
Xiaomai nodded. "You're right. My grandmother studies murals, and I like them too."
"Oh, that's impressive. Is she also a teacher at this school?"
"No, she used to be copying murals in Dunhuang. Her name is Hang Liumei."
Pu Zhihe paused, a little surprised. "Your grandmother is Teacher Hang Liumei. No wonder—" She paused for a few seconds before re-instructing Xiaomai, "Send your homework and novels to me on WeChat. My WeChat ID is my full name in lowercase. Remember that, Xiaomai."
Xiaomai nodded seriously, as if he had just finished a test and was being marked with key points. They kept chatting until the door opened, and Xiaomai told Pu Zhihe that she lived in the local area, so she would go to school on weekdays to go home and take care of her grandmother.
"Okay, then I'll get on the bus at the next stop. See you later." Pu Zhihe waved goodbye to Xiaomai.
"Why don't you take the subway or a taxi?" Xiaomai pointed to the subway station across the street. Under the streetlight, she could see raindrops falling from the sky. "You look cold."
"Is there?"
"Yeah." Xiaomai gestured on her face and pointed at her eyelids: "Your eye circles are red from the cold."
Xiaomai's serious expression and straightforward words made Pu Zhihe laugh. She wiped her eyes and held the remaining powder in front of Xiaomai's eyes to explain, "That's the eyeshadow I put on. It's originally a lotus root pink. The color is called 'fresco,' which means mural. Xiaomai, please don't misunderstand me again in the future."
There was no news from the person that Grandma asked Xiaomai to find, and the empty inbox encouraged Xiaomai to realize his bold idea.
That student might be Pu Zhihe. He was a little nervous, yet full of confidence. For a moment, he felt that Pu Zhihe was the person Hang Liumei was looking for.
He was looking forward to the moment when the two of them would get to know each other.
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