Chapter Twenty: The Ordinary Youth Versus the Artistic Youth

Cheng Xiaoyu, with two books tucked under his arm, paused in the opera section, while the two young men headed to the pop music area.

The opera section took up about a third of the entire audio-visual department, boasting a plethora of selections from renowned Peking opera masters, albums by famous Yue opera performers, and even operatic works—an impressive array of traditional stage arts. Compared to this, the sections for pop, classical, and folk music seemed rather modest.

Cheng Xiaoyu picked up a strikingly beautiful Yue opera album titled "Peerless Diva" and then grabbed the top-selling Peking opera disc, a Mei school classic called "The Noble Concubine of the Tang Dynasty." He bought them not because he particularly wanted to listen—purely to satisfy his impulse for collecting. He planned to grab a couple of classical piano albums and check out, since Wang Huasheng was due to arrive any minute.

As Cheng Xiaoyu made his way to the classical music area, he noticed the two artsy youths lingering in the adjacent folk music section, surrounding a girl in their school uniform. Cheng Xiaoyu paid them little mind, intent on selecting a Beethoven and a Chopin piano performance before making his exit. Yet as he browsed, the two young men and their schoolmate slowly drifted in his direction.

He overheard the long-haired one say, "Miss, we mean you no harm. We sincerely wish to invite you to be a model for us. I'm from the Art Department at Jiaotong University, my friend here is from Fudan's Literature Department. In fact, you two are practically schoolmates."

The other, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, nodded sagely and added, "Junior, have you heard of the Flower Gathering Society? I am the vice president—my name is Fan Jiaheng, pseudonym Wangxi. Within Fudan University, I have a small reputation. That book out front, 'Finding the Most Beautiful Self in Absurd Years,' is my humble work."

Cheng Xiaoyu nearly burst out laughing at this pretentious tone, biting his lip to stifle his amusement. He wanted to turn to enjoy the show, but also preferred to avoid trouble, so he pretended to keep browsing.

The girl replied, "I'm sorry, but I'm preparing for the college entrance exam; I really don't have the time." Cheng Xiaoyu couldn't see her clearly, but her voice was melodious. With two young men approaching her, she was probably quite attractive.

The long-haired fellow, clearly an old hand at this, pressed on. "No worries, just leave a phone number. If you have any questions about your studies or choosing a university, feel free to call us anytime."

She politely declined again, "No need, my phone's out of power anyway. Maybe next time." Most girls who say "next time" have no intention of sharing their number, but the two persisted with relentless enthusiasm, determined not to give up until they achieved their aim.

It's said a good girl fears a persistent wolf, a queen dreads a rogue. Many lovely young women are eventually won over by men who pursue them with dogged, shameless persistence. Cheng Xiaoyu understood the secret: shamelessness. These two looked to have studied the art of wooing quite deeply.

Seeing that casual conversation wasn't working, the bespectacled one switched tactics, his voice tinged with pride. "Junior, our Flower Gathering Society holds a literary salon this weekend. The poet Hezi will be there, and perhaps even Jiang Lan, the famous actress from the Theatre Academy. If you're interested, I can bring you along—you might even get their autographs."

Cheng Xiaoyu couldn't help but shake his head at this point, finding their approach rather sleazy. They'd say anything to impress a high school girl: if you were into literature, they'd offer you Hezi; if you liked opera, they'd dangle Jiang Lan. Young girls are often swayed by such temptations. If you gave your number, they'd invent a thousand reasons why the person you wanted to meet didn't show up at the event. He himself had played such tricks in his youth—luring naïve girls to "art salons" or music festivals, leading some astray. At least he had a bottom line: he never crossed the line with minors, which he considered a mark of character.

The girl fell silent, perhaps wavering. Cheng Xiaoyu sighed, feeling a twinge of guilt to see yet another innocent girl on the verge of being led astray by so-called artists. He understood these people well—those who claimed to write with their bodies, who used the pretense of art and ideals to play with hearts and bodies—because he had once been one of them. Placing his books and the albums he'd picked up in the shopping basket, Cheng Xiaoyu turned to leave. Even though she was a fellow student, he had no intention of interfering; he felt he had no right. But as he turned, he caught sight of the girl rummaging in her bag for her phone—a face he recognized: Ji Yunyun.

Cheng Xiaoyu, shifting his bulk, found himself face to face with her just as she pulled out her phone. Both were caught off guard—neither expected to run into a classmate at the bookstore at this hour. She had just finished a dance rehearsal, and now hesitated, worried that rumors might reach the school if she was seen with boys outside.

The long-haired youth, hoping to get her number, quickly stepped forward to block Cheng Xiaoyu's view. Inside, Cheng Xiaoyu was torn. He thought of Teacher Ji, who had always been kind to him, and decided to step in and save this girl from the artsy types closing in on her.

As he strode forward, he called out, "Ji Yunyun, if you give them your number, I'll tell your aunt." Instantly, both young men turned to glare at him.

Ji Yunyun had no affection whatsoever for Cheng Xiaoyu, even suspecting he had followed her here—it wouldn’t be the first time someone had done so. She frowned, "Mind your own business," but still hid her phone behind her back; she didn't want her aunt to know she was talking to boys outside of school.

The two young men, seeing their prize about to slip through their fingers, were clearly displeased but ignored Cheng Xiaoyu, addressing Ji Yunyun with even more sweetness. "Don't pay attention to that fat guy. We're just having a normal conversation. What's wrong with that?"

Before Ji Yunyun could reply, Cheng Xiaoyu cut in, "Yesterday, those two asked another girl for her number here—said exactly the same things to her." He looked at Ji Yunyun calmly.

Ji Yunyun, seeing that Cheng Xiaoyu didn't seem to be lying, shot a questioning glance at the long-haired one. The long-haired youth looked confusedly at his bespectacled friend, who shrugged helplessly. Ji Yunyun seemed to understand, put her phone away, and walked toward the checkout counter.

Cheng Xiaoyu hurried after her. The two young men exchanged a look, realizing they’d been exposed. Their weekend amusements slipping away, they were furious—uncle could bear it, but aunt could not! They marched forward, hoping for a last chance to win the swan back, but Cheng Xiaoyu’s large frame blocked their path.

Cheng Xiaoyu wasn’t worried; these skinny types looked like they couldn’t pin down a chicken, and their only weapon was pretentious rhetoric. Instead, he raised his eyebrows at them in an unmistakably mocking way, as if to say, "What can you do about it?" After all, Wang Huasheng would be here any minute—if ever there was a time to show off, it was now. Inwardly, Cheng Xiaoyu reflected, with some bitterness, on his own lamentable journey since being reborn.

The two artsy youths, however, were truly at a loss with Cheng Xiaoyu. They could only trail behind, hoping for another chance to speak with the pretty girl and salvage a bit of pride.

At the checkout, Cheng Xiaoyu paid at the left register, Ji Yunyun—cold-faced—paid at the right. She felt no gratitude toward Cheng Xiaoyu. First, she genuinely admired the poet Hezi and wanted to attend the literary salon. Second, she was naïve about the darker side of human nature, believing nothing bad could happen to her. Third, she despised being threatened.

Cheng Xiaoyu hadn’t expected her gratitude; he intervened only for Teacher Ji’s sake. What Ji Yunyun thought of him was irrelevant.

The two young men, seeing that the fat boy was watching them like a hawk and offering no opening, couldn’t help but mock Cheng Xiaoyu, "Fatty, do you have a crush on this little girl or something? A toad trying to eat swan meat?"

Cheng Xiaoyu remained unruffled. "No need to bother with a nobody like me, brothers. Life’s too short—live sexy. Go chase girls elsewhere, why waste your time on a toad like me?"

The bespectacled one perked up now that Cheng Xiaoyu answered back. He wasn’t afraid of insults, only of indifference. If he couldn’t defeat his foe physically, he would wound him with words—a technique called, in their jargon, ‘psychological damage.’ In literary terms, it was about exerting a cold, ruthless spiritual pressure, forcing the enemy to confront his own insignificance and foolishness. As a star of the literature department, he spoke with an affected cadence. "I see you’re also from Fudan High. As your elder, I have the right to educate you. How can you lie and slander people so lightly? How can you take pride in shame? Is the century-old spirit of Fudan worth nothing to you? A student like you must be a disgrace to both grades and character." By now, nearly everyone in the bookstore was watching. The bespectacled youth grew bolder, briefly worrying that calling someone ‘a disgrace’ might be too crude.

Cheng Xiaoyu was immune to such attacks. Feigning resignation, he replied, "Can you blame me for your own foolishness? Maybe I should leave my number for you to make up for it?" The look on his face was as provoking as ever.

The long-haired youth, seeing that Cheng Xiaoyu was impervious to attack and with so many eyes on him, realized this fat boy was more trouble than he looked. He turned instead to Ji Yunyun with a charming smile. "Sorry to have disturbed you today, miss. But I truly wish we could become friends. See, I’ve persisted even with so many people watching—I hope you can see my sincerity."

Ji Yunyun, somewhat embarrassed now, glanced at him. She’d had plenty of boys approach her, and while the two artsy types were a bit thick-skinned, they had at least remained polite. Besides, they weren’t bad-looking. She glanced back at Cheng Xiaoyu, whose uncouth appearance made her feel he’d gone too far. She mumbled, "It’s fine."

The long-haired youth sensed she was approachable, and pressed on: "To show my apology, I’ll draw you a portrait right here. The moment I first saw you, I was captivated by your flawless beauty and wanted to invite you as my model. I believe it was love at first sight." He paused, then recited in a melodious, emotional tone, "Someone like you needs no pose to dazzle, no smile to stir a breeze. I cannot help but pursue you, even if others misunderstand. I only hope you remember—while the sandalwood still burns, I will not depart. The Han sky vast and deep, holding onto the city’s fleeting sorrows—within the curve of your brow, fate decrees our meeting. Your grace is the sand slipping through your fingers; my aging is the lifetime I promise you. Forgive my boldness and endless words—I simply do not wish to regret letting this moment pass us by. All I ask is to know you, if only for a while."

This impassioned monologue was unexpectedly effective; several onlookers applauded, delighted by this scene unfolding free of charge—a romantic drama with a handsome, refined male lead and a pure, lovely heroine. Audiences in China have always favored such pairings. And then there was Cheng Xiaoyu, with his fat face, coarse speech—the perfect foil, a classic villain.