Chapter Thirty-Three: An Unexpected Confession

Cheng Xiaoyu returned to his monotonous routine, shuttling between school, the piano room, and home. His daily amusement was watching the digits on his electronic scale drop by a few pounds, though the pitifully small decrease brought about no gratifying change in his appearance. With final exams looming, he threw himself into the heavy burden of revision.

Occasionally, Tang Wenqian would text him for a chat, and Cheng Xiaoyu played his A-character role to perfection, discussing makeup, skincare, fashion, and even the tangled emotions of teenage girls. Yet Tang Wenqian never brought up meeting again, and Cheng Xiaoyu didn’t mind—this was merely a small diversion in his dull life. It was just a pity the girl’s impression of ‘A’ seemed unshakeable.

Now, Xu Qinning no longer doubted he was an ‘A’ and, in fact, enjoyed chatting with this witty, chubby fellow about everything under the sun. In her mind, the “lecherous fat guy” had already been upgraded to “adorable fat guy,” though she herself was not entirely aware of these subtle shifts in her feelings.

Without the excuse of rehearsal, Cheng Xiaoyu now had to feign hunger to eat up the lunch Xiasha Mo brought during breaks, after which he could improve her diet. Watching her complexion grow rosier and her figure fill out slightly brought him a sense of accomplishment, though his own chances of ever being called slender drifted further away.

Chen Haoran ordered another bass drum, and Cheng Xiaoyu promised to teach him over winter break. In exchange, Chen Haoran tutored him in his studies, pointing out difficult and important sections and sharing exam tips.

Wang Ou printed out online guitar tutorials and, at every opportunity, dragged Cheng Xiaoyu into impromptu lessons. Cheng Xiaoyu answered every question willingly. Wang Ou, imagining practicing in Lantern Forest over the winter holiday, was beside himself with excitement and anticipation.

Since Cheng Xiaoyu began driving himself to school, his relationship with Su Yuxi grew even more distant. He even wondered if greeting her, with no response in return, only made her more annoyed.

Life continued in its simple, uneventful way. The only visible change was the increasing number of love letters Xiasha Mo received. Cheng Xiaoyu and Wang Ou would often open them without permission, critiquing this one’s lack of literary merit or that one’s shallow flamboyance. The thoughts of these young men were as clear as water plants at the bottom of a lake—hidden, or so they thought, but visible to all.

Another thing that thrilled Cheng Xiaoyu was watching his music workstation being built at a visibly rapid pace. Qiao Sansi had enlisted the company’s recording studio director to oversee the project and hired a design team to consult with Cheng Xiaoyu. Aunt Zhou allocated two more garages to him, expanding his territory. When the design renderings were complete, Cheng Xiaoyu would wake from dreams with a smile. Construction and installation, however, would not be finished until winter break. As for the cost, Cheng Xiaoyu had no idea, but it was certainly a significant sum.

On the last Friday before exams, Cheng Xiaoyu was dizzy from memorizing history. Despite his extraordinary memory, it was only effective for music, leaving him to rote-learn other subjects the hard way. When the bell rang, he numbly packed all his things, knowing that next week, he’d face the finals directly. Homeroom teacher Wang Wei made a few announcements, offered some words of encouragement, and dismissed the class.

All extracurricular activities were suspended this week. After class, Wang Ou didn’t have to train, so the two of them went downstairs together. The corridors were crowded, and when they reached the third floor, Su Yuxi happened to enter the hall.

That day, Su Yuxi wore her hair in a bun, with no trace of makeup, her complexion radiant as dawn light on snow. Her slender, jade-like neck gleamed, and even the smallest movement drew the attention of all around her. A schoolbag hung from her left shoulder, several reference books cradled in her right arm. Even amidst the sea of students, the space around her remained clear—no one dared come too close.

Cheng Xiaoyu hesitated, slowing his pace. If he continued, they would meet at the stairwell’s turn, and whether or not to greet her felt awkward. At that moment, their eyes met in midair. Cheng Xiaoyu froze for a second, managing an embarrassed smile. As both found themselves at a loss, the crowd stirred.

Suddenly, the throng in the left corridor parted. Out stepped the dashing Chen Jiajun, like a god descending from the heavens. The basketball captain was dressed in a spotless white suit with a red bow tie, his handsome face aglow with youthful energy. In his hand was a Swarovski crystal rose, and behind him trailed a group of basketball teammates in black suits, each holding a red rose.

The entire corridor fell silent, all eyes on this golden couple.

“Su Yuxi, could I have a few minutes of your time?” Chen Jiajun blocked her path.

“Oh, is something the matter?” Su Yuxi glanced at his formal attire, then looked down, unwilling to meet his intense gaze.

“I’ll be transferring to Yanjing next semester. Before I go, I don’t want any regrets.”

“Then I wish you well in your studies and a safe journey,” Su Yuxi replied softly, with a faint smile.

Then Chen Jiajun took a deep breath and declared loudly, “Su Yuxi, I like you. I’ve liked you since middle school!” His voice startled a flock of sparrows from the distant camphor trees. For a moment, the corridor was silent, then erupted in applause and cheers.

He continued, “You may not remember me from middle school. My grades weren’t great then, but when I heard you might be admitted to Fudan High School, I studied hard and got in. Knowing you liked basketball, I enrolled in a summer camp, practiced every day, and became team captain as soon as I entered. I never wanted to disturb your life—just quietly watching you was enough. But now, since I must transfer, I can’t leave without telling you how I feel. I don’t expect you to accept me now. All I ask is for your phone number, a chance to remain in touch. Wherever you go for college, I’ll follow. If you don’t like me, I’ll be your knight and protect you. If you accept me, I’ll spend my life by your side. I’ll use time to prove my promise, witnessed by everyone here.” With that, he knelt on one knee, holding out the crystal rose like a knight awaiting his princess’s decree.

A new wave of applause burst from the students. Such a scene was unprecedented in Fudan High’s history. A few girls near Cheng Xiaoyu murmured, “So romantic! If someone confessed to me like that, I’d die of happiness.” The lively discussion was endless.

Wang Ou clapped vigorously, whispering to Cheng Xiaoyu, “No wonder Chen Jiajun never hung out with any girls—he likes the goddess Su! What a spectacle!”

Cheng Xiaoyu sighed inwardly. Handsome men are called romantic; for the less fortunate, it’s tragic.

Even Su Yuxi, though accustomed to performing on stage before larger audiences and having been confessed to before—sometimes from afar with pointing and whispers—had never experienced such a grand display. Teachers kept order from a distance but did not interrupt, as the rules around romance were somewhat relaxed in high school. Besides, both she and Chen Jiajun ranked among the top students. Teenagers, flush with hormones, were bound to do something impulsive now and then, but in these two, it only added to their allure.

Amid the cheers, Su Yuxi hesitated, then asked Chen Jiajun to hand over his phone and entered a number. Then she said something that shocked Cheng Xiaoyu to his core: “I don’t have a phone right now. This is my brother’s number. If you want to reach me, call this number.”

Sure enough, Cheng Xiaoyu felt his phone vibrate. What kind of farce was this? He stood there dumbfounded, unable to process this plot twist, wanting to rush over and question Su Yuxi on the spot.

Chen Jiajun, overjoyed, asked, “Can you accept this crystal rose as a keepsake?”

Su Yuxi shook her head. “It’s too valuable, I can’t accept it. I have to go to tutoring now.” Seeing his main goal achieved, Chen Jiajun, having exhausted his courage, stepped aside, still clutching the rose. Su Yuxi hurried downstairs as the applause and cheers persisted.

Cheng Xiaoyu followed the crowd, checking his phone to find a message from an unsaved number: “Hello, big brother. I’m Chen Jiajun, Su Yuxi’s classmate.”

Immediately, Cheng Xiaoyu texted Su Yuxi for the first time in his life: “Aaro, what’s going on?”

Much later, as he was approaching the piano room, he received her reply—a string of German: “ab,nsa,nabnaon,npaaranra,brrsrassn,nrarrnnrbo,assarpsrrnsbnnrb.”

In his past life, Cheng Xiaoyu had studied German for a time, inspired by Hiroyuki Sawano and “The Ring of the Nibelung.” The “Sword Song” performed at the New Year’s gala also had German and English lyrics.

The gist of her message was, “All passionate love, no matter how refined or ethereal it may appear, is rooted in **, this powerful drive second only to love of life itself.” A famous quote from Schopenhauer, the German philosopher, indirectly revealing Su Yuxi’s attitude toward love: seeing through its essence, and suggesting her complete worldview was beyond the reach of boys like Chen Jiajun.

Cheng Xiaoyu sighed for the handsome boy’s sake and marvelled at Su Yuxi’s profound spiritual world and cultural depth—such a prodigy was beyond what ordinary mortals could handle.

In this era where even English was not popular in Huaxia, learning German, an even more niche language, required not only intelligence but a transcendence above the masses. Cheng Xiaoyu reflected that at her age, he had only cared about video games and martial arts fiction; philosophy was a distant dream. Fortunately, with over thirty years more life experience, he could keep up—otherwise, in a time before translation apps, he’d have lost face completely.

Switching his phone’s input method, he replied after some thought:

“rosrsnsan (Every rose in the world has its thorns)
nnnarnssnan (If, for fear of being pricked,)
nssananabn (you abandon it,)
annbsrrrannrosn (you will never enjoy the fragrance of roses).”

Another quote from Schopenhauer. In the world of the literati, not knowing a bit of Schopenhauer or Nietzsche meant you wouldn’t survive.

Su Yuxi replied almost instantly: “asnasrr (All happiness wants everything to last forever)
s,sa (Wants honey)
sro (Wants dregs)
nnrnabrnn (Wants to be drunk at midnight)
rab (Wants the grave)
rabr?nnros (Wants the comfort of tears by the grave)
rorsonnnnran (Wants the gilded evening glow)”

This passage is from Nietzsche’s “Thus Spoke Zarathustra,” meaning human desire has no end; one cannot begin, much less indulge oneself endlessly.

Cheng Xiaoyu responded with another Nietzschean aphorism: “rnrn?p,asn,assrnabnnnabrnbs,brabrnannn.” Meaning, “When you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.” A gentle reminder to Su Yuxi: while one may study and contemplate profound philosophy, one should not let it govern all of life.

Their exchange became a philosophical duel, with Kant, Hegel, and Heidegger all making appearances before they finally laid down their arms.

When Cheng Xiaoyu’s phone finally fell silent, he breathed a sigh of relief. Conversing with Su Yuxi was truly mentally taxing. Thankfully, his years as a literary youth were not in vain. In his previous life, after immersing himself in Nietzsche and Schopenhauer in hopes of impressing a few naïve girls, he found times had changed. Now, girls first asked, “Where do you live? What car do you drive?” As for culture—could that be swiped like a card? Could it pay for a night in a five-star hotel? Could it buy a purse, or at least a Maserati’s tire?

For a long time, Cheng Xiaoyu lamented the decline of morals and the changing of hearts. Back at university, he could win a date by playing guitar under the teaching building, sharing a meal and a few songs with some beer. Those days were gone. After that, only music and books could offer solace.

After practicing Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier for a long time in the piano room, Cheng Xiaoyu received another message from Su Yuxi: “sarssb?n.” (Watching a play requires paying the price.)

So, giving Chen Jiajun his number was Su Yuxi’s way of punishing Cheng Xiaoyu for witnessing her embarrassing moment—and marked the end of their philosophical debate. Neither had convinced the other.

Cheng Xiaoyu was speechless. It wasn’t as if he wanted to watch! This was truly a case of “if you wish to condemn, there’s always a pretext.” Resigned, he replied, “abnansorr, abransorr.” (I do not fear the world, but I fear you.)

At dinner that evening, he saw Su Yuxi at the table, calm as ever. He had to admit, women are born actresses. Today’s events seemed not to have happened at all—she didn’t spare him a glance.

As for Chen Jiajun’s number, it was promptly consigned to the blacklist with a cold laugh.

(The author is, of course, not a sis-con—but the protagonist is! The protagonist is! The protagonist is! Someone is gradually slipping into the dark abyss of **.

Cheng Xiaoyu: “Got any more literary quotes?”

“You know what internet cleanup campaigns are?” says the author.

“No more quotes and I’m quitting,” Cheng Xiaoyu retorts angrily.

“Damn it, I hardly get any clicks, and you think you’re a big star?” The author raises the keyboard.

“Hell, I haven’t even scored a single girl yet—you expect anyone to read this?” Cheng Xiaoyu smashes his guitar.

“...You’re only at chapter 33 and already scoring girls—how am I supposed to write the rest? This isn’t a harem novel, boy,” the pitiful author mutters.

“No smut, no harem—you’re doomed!” the readers shout.

The author is left utterly disheveled in the wind.)