They say half of a boy's school memories are made in the bathroom, and Zhang Shutong felt there was some truth to that.
As soon as he lifted the rubber curtain, the place was packed with people—lively as a meeting in progress.
He hadn't actually needed to use the bathroom, nor did he plan to attend any "meeting." He just wanted to reminisce a bit, but this particular memory reeked too much. After taking a couple of glances, he pinched his nose and backed out.
Just then, someone slapped him hard on the shoulder, and a voice followed:
"Bro, don't mention it!"
Zhang Shutong was genuinely startled.
Having been stabbed just a few hours ago, anyone approaching from behind now made him jumpy.
Turning around, he saw Du Kang's grinning face.
Many thoughts converged into a single sentence:
"You really haven't changed a bit."
Zhang Shutong felt somewhat sentimental. The other had a baby face, making him look younger than the rest of them now, but he wouldn't show his age later either.
"What do you mean?"
"Complimenting you on looking young. What were you just saying about 'don't mention it'?"
"Turned in your homework for you. No big deal. How about treating me to some spicy strips?"
"Pick whatever you want, but I've got something to do after school, might be a bit late."
Zhang Shutong said with amusement.
The two of them chatted just as familiarly as they would eight years later. But after just a few exchanges, Du Kang glanced at his watch, turned, and ran off, shouting as he went:
"I'm going to pick up the milk! Don't forget what you promised me for next class—a KFC meal!"
Wait, what did I promise you?
Now it was Zhang Shutong's turn to be confused.
He stood there for quite a while, thinking to himself that this kid was just like his future self—always saying only half of what he meant.
That was Du Kang for you. Every class had a boy like him, always rushing around, no one knew what he was busy with, but he was perpetually busy.
Though that mention of "picking up milk" was actually legitimate business.
"Milk" referred to student milk—little square cartons, apparently a product of some nutrition program rolled out at the beginning of this century.
They came in various flavors: vanilla, strawberry, papaya, chocolate... and plain milk that nobody drank.
Zhang Shutong knew that at most schools, student milk was distributed in the morning, usually during the break after second period. But they were on an island, so the milk had to travel an extra water route. It couldn't arrive in the morning, and noon was too close to lunch, so they simply moved it to the afternoon.
Each class would have a "milk monitor" who would pick up the supply from the warehouse behind the teaching building and bring it to the classroom for distribution—a position of sorts.
They say pre-college positions are useless, having neither real power nor bonus points, but this milk monitor position, as far as Zhang Shutong knew, actually did come with some "perks."
Namely, the extra cartons each day.
Perhaps accounting for loss during transport, each delivery came with a few extra cases, which translated to several extra cartons per class. How to distribute these extras—teachers couldn't be bothered to manage it, leaving it entirely to the milk monitor's discretion.
Du Kang was clearly loyal enough. Keeping the bounty within the family, all the extras went to his close friends, accumulating over time like regular inventory.
He still remembered that Qingyi liked chocolate, Ruoping liked papaya, Du Kang liked vanilla... So many details—even Zhang Shutong himself was somewhat surprised by his recall.
But that's how things were. Many things you thought you remembered, you'd actually forgotten; many things you'd forgotten would suddenly come back to you in a certain moment. They'd been sitting in your mind all along, never going anywhere.
But the reason he remembered so clearly was because of another soap-opera-worthy matter—he liked strawberry flavor, and coincidentally, so did Lu Qinglian.
Thus, who should get the extra strawberry milk each time—a best friend on one side, the girl he liked on the other—became Du Kang's constant dilemma.
But the guy was loyal enough. Even though he'd practically squeeze the carton flat each time, looking at it with all the reluctance of parting with a wife, it would still end up in Zhang Shutong's hands.
Though sometimes he'd say pitifully, "Just one carton, let me keep just one extra," that is.
Then the three of them would join in teasing him.
"Abandoning your friend for a pretty face." That was Ruoping.
"Valuing beauty over brotherhood." That was Qingyi.
"Completely agree." That was the sole beneficiary—himself.
Looking back now, it was really unconscionable. Zhang Shutong laughed while conducting self-criticism.
After all these years, Du Kang still hadn't managed to win over Lu Qinglian. Maybe those few cartons of strawberry milk were what made the difference?
This matter was definitely related to him.
Mm, next time he definitely wouldn't drink any.
Then he returned to the classroom to get his backpack and lined up in the hallway, waiting for the seat change next period.
The homeroom teacher was already standing at the front, rolling up his sleeves and hollering:
"You little brats hurry it up, anyone who needs the bathroom get going, I'm giving you five minutes..."
"Quick, quick, quick, yes you, I'm talking to you! What are you doing, sneaking around like a weasel stealing chickens? Can't you pick up your backpack properly..."
"Oh, Shutong! You come up front, you're first anyway."
The man was around twenty-six or twenty-seven, a bit older than his pre-regression self, over one-eighty in height, with a hooked nose, long face, and square jaw that gave him a resolute air.
His voice was loud enough to echo right now. When he found someone displeasing, he'd even push their shoulder, completely lacking the gentlemanly manner he'd shown when talking to Lu Qinglian earlier.
But the students he reprimanded weren't angry; some would even cheekily talk back with a grin.
This was their homeroom teacher, Zhang Shutong's favorite teacher throughout his entire student life—Song Nanshan.
Song Nanshan was a typical rough guy. The top button of his shirt was perpetually missing, his hair never particularly groomed, his chin covered with dark stubble—somewhat slovenly, yet with a rough masculine charm.
In class, his sleeves were always rolled up to his elbows. Once during a public demonstration class for the city, he heard the grade director coughing several times from the back, but remained completely oblivious, one hand writing on the board with flourishing strokes while spittle flew everywhere.
He was also somewhat unreliable—capable of things like losing the test papers while grading them, having to move a stool to sit next to a student while explaining the answers.
But don't underestimate him for that. Song Nanshan had originally been a teacher at a key middle school in the city. He came to the island to work toward a professional title promotion—essentially gilding his resume. By rights, once he got the promotion, he should have left, yet he stayed on.
He got along well with the students in his class. Open-minded, he could both command authority as a homeroom teacher and become one with the kids. Those he was closest to were Zhang Shutong and his close friends.
He had a red car, something called a Focus, manual transmission.
On weekends, he liked to drive around aimlessly, sometimes taking Zhang Shutong and the others along. They'd smell the cigarette smoke that never quite left the cabin, watching their homeroom teacher smoothly drift through mountain roads, entering and exiting curves with fluid grace. Then Ruoping would get out and vomit.
He also liked to drag them along fishing, but his skill level was truly abysmal, earning him Zhang Shutong's disdain.
The homeroom teacher taught English. Thanks to him, Zhang Shutong's English was always solid. He finished CET-4 and CET-6 in his freshman year, and even that later work-from-home job was translation-related.
Thinking about it now, his English grades in middle school never dropped below second place—really bringing honor to his teacher. The homeroom teacher always called him his "beloved general."
But the English class representative was Lu Qinglian. It seemed that love wasn't deep enough after all.
At this moment, Song Nanshan asked him casually:
"You're not performing well, kid. Why only fifth place on the monthly exam? Got the confidence to make it to top three in the grade next time?"
Zhang Shutong thought to himself that next time, not being in the bottom three would already be good. He glanced at him and couldn't help but remind:
"Your cigarette pack is showing."
"Oh, oh..."
The other quickly stuffed it back into his pocket and went to the back of the line to herd the students.
Their class changed seats after monthly exams. Come to think of it, even seat changes could be done with flair—
Teachers in other classes, the snobbish ones, generally assigned seats by test scores.
The responsible ones would organize study groups of four, with each group shifting as a unit monthly.
But when it came to Song Nanshan, he somehow came up with "priority seating rights."
It wasn't entirely useless—Du Kang had forcibly pushed forward nearly twenty places to reach mid-tier level, though he was still too far from first place Lu Qinglian.
Zhang Shutong was second place.
Thinking of this, he finally remembered what Du Kang meant by "what you promised."
It was to save him a seat.
Teenage boys had complicated thoughts—bashful yet stubborn. Take Du Kang, for instance. He wanted to sit near Lu Qinglian but didn't dare be her deskmate. Ideally, they'd be in front-back rows.
So what to do?
He could only ask Zhang Shutong to help by sitting in front of or behind Lu Qinglian, then becoming Du Kang's deskmate to achieve his goal. The whole operation was unnecessarily complicated.
Zhang Shutong found it both amusing and exasperating.
But it wasn't a big favor. Crushes during student days were matters of utmost importance. Since the other had difficulty asking, Zhang Shutong didn't mind helping.
With a round of urging from the homeroom teacher, the students finally lined up properly, and he began calling out the rankings:
"Second place, Zhang Shutong."
As for why he didn't call first place—because their class's first place was permanently fixed. Lu Qinglian didn't bother coming out to line up or pack her things. Every time, she'd just spot which position she wanted and directly move her desk there.
Eventually, everyone got used to it, and even the homeroom teacher started calling from second place.
Zhang Shutong responded and entered the classroom, seeing the girl sitting by the window.
The island was located north of the Qinling-Huaihe Line, so the classroom had heating—right under the windows, a whole row.
Heating season started around this time each year. The most comfortable position in winter was by the window; in summer, it was by the wall.
This spot was exactly to Zhang Shutong's liking. It seemed Lu Qinglian also understood this principle well—worthy of being grade number one.
Not that he was old now—though he wasn't that young either—but when he was little, he truly had no concept of "cold." In autumn, he'd still turn on fans, wandering around the house in short sleeves.
These past few years, though, he had to wear proper thermal underwear to sleep and didn't dare expose even his shoulders.
When choosing between front and back desks, he thought about it and, not wanting to be stared at from behind, sat diagonally behind Lu Qinglian on her side. The seat directly behind her was naturally reserved for Du Kang.
After organizing his things, he propped his face on his hand and watched students enter one by one, a perfect opportunity to match names with faces.
"...Du Tingting."
A slightly chubby girl.
"...Zhou Ziheng."
A boy with somewhat dark skin.
For some reason, the other froze when he saw him.
"...Meng Qingyi."
Next, a very cool-looking boy walked in—black tousled hair, white turtleneck sweater, hands in pockets, expressionless face. He looked like a handsome guy with resting poker face.
Then the boy gave him a thumbs up with an admiring look, roughly meaning "you're the man."
Zhang Shutong returned a thumbs up, indicating "you're the man too," though he had absolutely no idea what his close friend meant.
He felt a bit embarrassed. Du Kang had gone to pick up milk, and what if someone wanted to sit next to him now? He'd have to refuse them, which felt like bullying kids.
But looking around, rankings were already past ten, and not a single person showed any intention of sitting in this area.
The seat in front of Lu Qinglian was taken, but behind her—besides himself—had become a vacuum zone, as if this area had bad feng shui that everyone avoided like the plague.
Zhang Shutong found this strange.
He knew quite a few boys in class liked Lu Qinglian. By rights, some should come over. Even setting aside whether they liked her or not, being close to the heater was a good position.
Could it be his own problem?
Zhang Shutong patted his own face.
To familiarize himself with faces, every time someone entered, he'd stare at them continuously, which probably seemed a bit gloomy.
But it shouldn't be that bad. Even if "aloof," it wouldn't be terrifying enough to scare people away.
Just as he was thinking this, another short-haired girl quickly walked over. She tapped on his desk, and he could see the light pink nail polish on her hands.
Before Zhang Shutong could speak, Feng Ruoping quietly said:
"Didn't you sleep well?"
"What?"
"Why would you want to sit next to the 'young miss' of all things?"
She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, and before leaving, gave him a look of "take care," similar to how she'd looked at Lu Qinglian's photo a few hours ago.
Young miss?
Next to?
With this thought, memories buried for many years seemed to awaken.
Zhang Shutong glanced into the desk hole beside him. There were still a few books that hadn't been cleared out, and he immediately understood.
The seat next to him was none other than Gu Qiumian's. Though he'd glanced at her a few times last class, he certainly hadn't memorized where she sat.
And she had a peculiar habit, or rather, a strong sense of territory—like a young lioness. Since transferring and claiming a window seat after the first monthly exam, she'd never moved since.
It's not like a scene played out where "the young miss slapped down a few bills with a cold laugh, saying, 'This is my seat, be smart and leave immediately, I'll add more if that's not enough.'"
Most people, as if following some unspoken agreement, felt that one seat wasn't worth touching her sore spot.
This inevitably brought up Gu Qiumian's strange ecological niche in the class.
The kids on the island were classmates in class, but if you ran into them outside school, most were related somehow: someone's father was someone else's cousin, someone's grandfather was an old war buddy of someone else's... it was perfectly normal.
So students all had fixed circles.
For instance, everyone just finished playing basketball on Friday, and then over the weekend, some aunt came to visit at home, and the aunt's son turned out to be the kid who dunked on Friday.
Their friendships could extend beyond the school gates, and often involved entire families—an experience that city kids didn't have.
Precisely because of this, Gu Qiumian hadn't made any proper friends in class. To mix in small circles, the most important thing was to "fit in."
Especially girls' circles, where boundaries were even more clearly defined.
But with a bit of effort, fitting in wasn't terribly difficult. Like when Zhang Shutong first arrived, he also had no friends, but he worked hard... well, he didn't really work hard at all, actually. He suddenly just made a few new friends, and they became best buddies.
Applied to Gu Qiumian, she wasn't a girl who fit in, yet no one dared deliberately exclude her. Though what comes next sounds a bit grandiose, the fact was—
She single-handedly isolated everyone else in the class.
You could look down on her ability to make friends, but you absolutely couldn't look down on her pride or her wallet.
The young miss clearly understood relativity. After hitting a wall with the chocolate incident, regardless of who was right or wrong, giving someone the cold shoulder when they didn't want it was absolutely unacceptable. She simply developed connections outside the class.
Can't fit into your circle? Fine, I'll just build my own then.
Gu Qiumian's minions were all from other classes.
All four grade levels—Pokémon she'd captured everywhere.
Sometimes you'd see her taking her Pokémon out to play off the island.
Saturday at ten sharp, meeting at the dock, a group of minions would have their bicycles lined up neatly on both sides.
Then a black Audi would drive into the center of the formation, a pale, slender leg would emerge from the car, and everyone would follow the leg's owner onto the ferry.
—Actually, they could have ridden the bicycles on board. The ferries traveling to and from the island didn't have cabins, just a huge deck. Pedestrians cost three yuan, bicycles five, cars ten.
But the young miss didn't have a bicycle and couldn't ride one. She also didn't want her family's driver following along. If everyone rode bikes while she walked alone, wouldn't that be embarrassing?
Might as well everyone walk instead.
Anyway, once the ferry docked, with a wave of her hand she could summon several taxis. She'd direct who should get into which car.
Then with a tilt of her chin, the red and silver fleet would majestically head toward the nearest gym... no wait, shopping mall, as dramatically as filming a TV show.
Car fare was naturally all covered by Gu Qiumian.
Once, Zhang Shutong went off-island to buy books and ran into this group. He'd just spat out his chewing gum and was wrapping it in paper, wondering why there were so many students today.
Someone lowered their voice and asked him:
"Bro, you pushed your bike on board? You're that bold?"
While frantically signaling with his eyes at the bicycle in Zhang Shutong's hands.
Zhang Shutong chatted with him for quite a while before understanding the reason, feeling utterly speechless.
So much so that he forgot he'd spat out the gum and chewed hard, biting the soft flesh inside his mouth. It hurt quite a bit, giving him a new nervous habit as a result.
Then when the ferry docked, Gu Qiumian somehow came over. She crossed her arms, hair blown by the wind to her lips, wearing the expression of a victor. After quite a while, she finally asked:
"Zhang... Shutong?"
Her tone was similar to Ash saying "Char... izard?"
Thanks for still remembering this Pokémon.
Actually, back then he didn't have so much internal commentary. He just nodded coolly, treating it as running into a classmate, got on his bicycle and rode off, leaving Miss Gu standing there disheveled in the lake breeze.
The "traitor" label was harshly marked down another entry.
In any case, Gu Qiumian didn't lack playmates. Sometimes she'd invite a few close girls to karaoke, and they didn't even need to leave the island—her family's four-story detached villa worked fine.
In Zhang Shutong and his close friends' dictionary back then, it was called "the castle"—a place they'd only look at through the imposing iron fence.
An entire basement floor had been converted into a home theater.
She had no proper friends in class, but that was just friends. It didn't mean there weren't boys who had crushes on her.
What did fifteen or sixteen-year-old boys always talk about?
Zhang Shutong's answer was fish in the lake, straight branches found on the way to school, and comics in magazines. But unfortunately, everyone around him was talking about the prettiest girls.
Their class was divided into two factions: Lu Qinglian and Gu Qiumian. The former had overwhelming numbers; the latter also had supporters, but they had to mention her casually, chat about her carefully, afraid of their feelings being discovered.
The seat next to Gu Qiumian often went to boys who had crushes on her.
She herself knew this and was sometimes quite annoyed by it, but it wasn't entirely those boys' fault.
She liked snacks. Her backpack had a dedicated pocket, and she didn't just eat them herself—she'd share with her subordinate minions.
Once, Du Kang lost at truth or dare. Grimacing, he was egged on by Ruoping to ask Gu Qiumian for snacks. Everyone stood nearby trying not to laugh, but she actually nodded and gave him some.
Everyone stared dumbfounded as she poured out a pile from her backpack, absentmindedly asking Du Kang what he wanted and to help himself.
But most of the time, if she brought too many snacks or had ones she didn't want to eat, she'd casually share some with her deskmate.
She was quite generous actually, but this was a case of the giver being casual while the receiver read into it.
Boys that age, if a girl looked at them twice, would suspect she liked them. What more if she shared snacks? Of course they'd be thrilled.
Then one unlucky bastard got too full of himself.
At the time, that boy was Gu Qiumian's deskmate. Having just been gifted a few wafer cookies, he munched away while showing off, cookie crumbs falling from the back row all the way to the podium.
Then this person, his head somehow overheating, felt his relationship with Miss Gu was close enough to say something less "superficial," so he ran over and told a dirty joke.
Something about a girl's body—crude humor usually only shared among boys. As for girls they were close with... well, it mainly depended on just how close the relationship was.
But who could have anticipated his head being that thick? He even made Gu Qiumian herself the subject of the dirty joke.
After finishing, he even chuckled twice. Gu Qiumian's face immediately turned cold, and she threw his pencil case on the floor.
"Say that again?"
That boy, unable to save face, was at the age when face mattered most. Having just bragged about how close he was with her, he stubbornly refused to back down, craning his neck to shout it again loudly. In the end, he even said indignantly:
"What's your problem? It's just a joke!"
Gu Qiumian didn't even look at him and just walked away.
Next class, the boy was called out, then received a school-wide criticism and stayed home for a few days. When he came back, he'd directly switched classes.
Only then did everyone gain a deeper understanding of Miss Gu. Before, they'd thought they were people from two different worlds who didn't touch each other.
But actually, she just couldn't be bothered to touch. If she really collided with you, it was like an egg hitting a rock—your world would immediately shatter like wafer cookie crumbs.
After this incident, many more terrifying rumors about her family spread through the class, some reaching truly malicious levels.
Whether she knew about them was unclear. Maybe not, since no one told her.
But even if she did know, she carried a strong air of "I don't give a damn what happens to others," which didn't stop her from attending class daily, occasionally drawing funny faces on the glass when she was in a good mood.
And now, the person next to the funny faces had become him.
Zhang Shutong finally understood where all those surprised looks came from.
Gu Qiumian was that kind of person—like a rose with thorns. If you didn't provoke her, she couldn't be bothered with you.
But if you accidentally offended her, then it was time to discuss the story of this school's distinguished alumnus, donor of the library and sports field, the island's super-rich man, father of Miss Gu—Gu Jianhong.
Anyway, Zhang Shutong knew he couldn't afford to offend so many people.
Speaking of which, where had he sat back then?
Maybe in front of Lu Qinglian, deliberately avoiding this position.
Who would have thought that after returning, following a small change in thought, like a butterfly flapping its wings, the past would change along with it.
Was it too late to change seats now... he wondered.
Calculating the time, "that incident" should have happened not long ago, right?
He vaguely remembered that their relationship could be described as being at an absolute freezing point right now.
But before he could act, as the homeroom teacher's voice rang out again, speak of the devil and the devil appears:
"Next, Gu Qiumian."
Little boots tapped rhythmically on the floor.
Then, a pair of very spirited, very beautiful eyes glared over first.