Chen Yimang didn’t know where he’d found the courage. Or rather, the sheer nerve.
He really had become the Chinese-class representative. Of course, he liked to add a qualifier before the title:
Shi Rui’s Chinese-class representative.
He tried studying seriously, too. For the first time in his life, he discovered how troublesome the Chinese language could be. Who knew there were so many different kinds of faulty sentences? And apparently materialist dialectics and dialectical materialism weren’t the same thing.
Sometimes Shi Rui would look at his report card and sigh, smiling a little helplessly. “How did you ever get into our school?”
It was true. With his grades, he wouldn’t even have qualified for this ordinary high school.
“I paid to get in,” Chen Yimang said quietly.
“Well, at least you’re honest.” Shi Rui picked up a red pen and circled the “23” on his report card. That was Chen Yimang’s math score.
“Your math is far too weak. How about signing up for some extra classes outside school?” As he spoke, his brows drew together slightly, his expression perfectly serious. It was late spring turning into early summer. He wore nothing but a simple dark-blue T-shirt, leaving the taut line of his jaw and the straight, even set of his shoulders and back clearly visible.
“Hmm?” Shi Rui raised his head and met Chen Yimang’s eyes.
“I… I think I’ll give up on math,” Chen Yimang said, hurriedly lowering his gaze. He answered with uncharacteristic honesty. “I’d be better off spending that energy on the humanities comprehensive exam.”
“You little rascal.” Shi Rui smiled again.
Chen Yimang loved hearing him say that. Only in front of Shi Rui did he feel entirely like a child, exactly the child Shi Rui believed him to be: raised in a wealthy home, thoroughly spoiled, and afflicted with all the faults of a rich family’s son. He liked to play around, wasted money, and had no ambition.
“Last time, you mentioned wanting to study art,” Shi Rui asked. “Have you discussed it with your family?”
“Both my parents agreed,” Chen Yimang said.
“Mm. But switching to the arts track requires a parent’s signature. It would be best if they could come and speak with me in person.”
“They…” Chen Yimang had no choice but to build another lie on top of the others. “They’re leaving for Los Angeles on business tomorrow. They won’t be back for quite a while.”
“They’re that busy?” Shi Rui considered it. “In that case, have them sign the application of intent tonight and bring it in tomorrow.”
“All right.” Chen Yimang gripped his textbook tightly. “Thank you, sir.”
It wasn’t until he left the office that he realized his teeth were chattering slightly, probably from nerves. He’d been terrified that Shi Rui would add, Then I can just talk to your parents on the phone. Where on earth would he find someone to impersonate them?
The decision to study art had been his alone. His academic subjects were so poor that if he wanted to go to university, the only apparent option was to take the specialist arts route. After thinking it over, art seemed the most suitable choice.
Who would have imagined a day would come when he’d seriously consider going to university?
It was all because of Shi Rui. Because Shi Rui had said, You should at least go to university. Shi Rui had said, You’re not stupid. Shi Rui had said, If your class ranking improves this time, there’s a reward. Shi Rui had said, Chen Lei, if you don’t do your math homework, you can stand outside the classroom.
Shi Rui would never guess, would he? Even being scolded by him made Chen Yimang happy. It was as though someone had tucked a balloon into the left side of his chest, filling it until he felt both full and weightless.
“And then?” asked an online acquaintance who had messaged him privately from a gay social group. “Did you two get together?”
“How could we? Back then we were just teacher and student. Besides, I didn’t know he was gay.”
“He’s GAY???”
“Yeah.” Chen Yimang’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. He paused, as though admitting it took all the courage he had. “I only found out later. He’s gay too.”
But afterward, he wished there had never been a later.
From the second semester of his first year of high school to the second semester of his second, Shi Rui taught their Chinese lessons for more than a year. Chen Yimang heard that some girls in the class had written love letters to him. He didn’t know whether it was true and certainly didn’t dare ask. Then, on the day the final exams ended, while the class was doing a thorough cleaning, he happened to pick up a postcard. It smelled faintly of printing ink, as though it had fallen from a book. Only two characters were written on it, in delicate handwriting: Shi Rui.
At last Chen Yimang couldn’t keep it in any longer. He went to ask, as indirectly as he could, “Sir, there must have been lots of girls chasing you at university, right?”
“What?” Shi Rui smiled at him. “Is some girl chasing you? Looking to me for advice?”
“No… no.” Chen Yimang immediately grew flustered. “I was just asking.” Though a girl from the next class really had confessed her feelings to him once.
“If you’ve got something to ask, ask it directly.” Shi Rui opened a stack of Chinese exam papers, speaking almost absentmindedly.
It was a summer afternoon. Chongqing’s summer was so oppressively hot that even people’s thoughts seemed to slow. The cicadas grew louder and louder, their cries enough to make anyone dizzy. Perhaps it was the heat that made him actually ask, “What if a student confessed to you?”
“A romantic relationship between teacher and student is against school regulations and professional ethics,” Shi Rui replied without hesitation.
“But after a student graduates, they’re not your student anymore.”
The moment the words left his mouth, the cicadas outside went silent.
Or perhaps they hadn’t. Perhaps he was so frightened by what he’d let slip that his mind had gone blank and he could no longer hear a thing.
Shi Rui slowly raised his face and looked straight at Chen Yimang.
“You’re thinking too much,” he said.
From the moment Shi Rui lifted his head to the moment he finished speaking, fewer than five seconds probably passed.
But those five seconds were so, so, so slow. They were an endless judgment, and Chen Yimang had no idea how he endured it.
“Then I’ll head home,” he said at last, fleeing in panic.
“Do you think he realized how you felt?” the online acquaintance asked.
“Maybe.”
“Then what happened?”
“Then summer break started. I didn’t find out he’d resigned until school began again.”
“…”
A full ten minutes passed. Chen Yimang had already mixed himself a cup of instant coffee when the other person finally messaged again. “Well, at least it was a beautiful memory.”
Chen Yimang stared at the words beautiful memory and laughed at himself.
If his story with Shi Rui had ended there, he wouldn’t have had to stay away from Chongqing for six years.
Shi Rui’s replacement was a female teacher in her early thirties who specialized in teaching the final year of high school. She was said to have excellent teaching methods. But because of the intensive art training, Chen Yimang spent most of his senior year at an off-campus training center.
That year, he got his first identity card and took the opportunity to change his name to Chen Yimang. Let a single reed-boat go wherever it pleases; cross ten thousand acres of boundless waters. It was the line from Rhapsody on the Red Cliffs that Shi Rui had loved most.
Elio’s Notes: Chen Yimang takes the characters 一 (yi, “one”) and 茫 (mang, “vast/boundless”) from the line of Su Shi’s Rhapsody on the Red Cliffs that Shi Rui once said was his favorite. His former name was Chen Lei.
He sent Shi Rui two messages on QQ. The first asked: Why did you resign??
The tone was aggressive. He really did sound like a spoiled, willful rich kid.
Shi Rui didn’t reply.
Sixteen days later, Chen Yimang sent a second message: Sir, why did you resign? Everyone in class is worried about you.
This time, he sounded like a proper student, and Shi Rui answered like a proper teacher. No, he had always been one.
Shi Rui: Something came up in my family. I had no choice but to resign. Tell everyone not to worry about me, and good luck on the gaokao.
Chen Yimang: Sir, are you still in Chongqing?
Shi Rui: Mm.
Chen Yimang: All right. I’ll tell everyone… Good night, sir.
He thought Shi Rui would say good night in return. But there was no reply. Shi Rui’s QQ avatar simply went dark.
If only things had ended there, that would have been fine too.