Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Scenery We Admire Together

As a key institution among key schools, Fudan Affiliated High School rarely saw students skipping class, so the gatekeeper wasn’t particularly strict. Cheng Xiaoyu pedaled the orange-red women’s bicycle belonging to Xia Shamo, carrying her slender form behind him, and seized the moment when the gatekeeper was absorbed in his newspaper to swiftly dash out of the school gate.

Even though they hadn’t been caught, Xia Shamo felt like a child who had done something wrong, her face flushing bright red and her heart racing. She wasn’t sure whether her nerves stemmed from doing something she knew was forbidden for the first time, or if some other emotion was stirring inside her.

The morning drizzle had long since ceased. After several showers, the sky over Shanghai was flawless, only clusters of pure white clouds drifting across a blue backdrop, and the warm sun, like a mischievous child, darted in and out among them.

In the alley behind Fudan University, one side was lined with cherry blossom trees, the other with old cement utility poles. The lonely wires seemed to connect to another realm, stretching endlessly into the distance. Sparrows perched atop them, eyes closed, like proud singers ready to perform.

A gust of wind set the cherry blossoms fluttering, like the gentle lift of a girl’s pink gauze skirt. Cheng Xiaoyu lifted his face, inhaling the intoxicating air, the chilly freshness tinged with the faint scent of cherry blossoms.

Xia Shamo held onto his shirt with one hand and supported herself on the bike’s rear seat with the other, sitting sideways as if flying on this bicycle.

At the corner of the street stood a small café. In the exuberant pink season of cherry blossoms, its dark sign peeked out: “Balcony Under the Moonlight.”

Slightly out of breath, Cheng Xiaoyu stopped the bike, planted one foot on the ground, and turned to Xia Shamo. “Let’s have a cup of coffee.”

As he turned, he caught sight of Xia Shamo’s long legs suspended in midair, just lowered enough to brush the ground. She gathered her wind-tousled hair, smiled, and nodded to Cheng Xiaoyu, her smile radiant with sunshine. He dared not look for long, turning away to park the bike beside the café.

Outside the café, several umbrellas were set beneath the cherry trees, small brown tables and silver chairs scattered among them. In this lovely season, on this ordinary corner, everything was just right, like a scene from a film.

Cheng Xiaoyu ordered two lattes, Black Forest cake, chocolate brownie, and cheese mousse. He remembered someone had once told him that sweets could lift one’s spirits—their ingredients held happiness.

The two sat outside the café named Balcony Under the Moonlight, basking in the tranquil beauty. From the speakers drifted the piano piece “Liebesleid” by Kreisler.

Watching Xia Shamo absent-mindedly stirring her coffee with a delicate spoon, Cheng Xiaoyu asked, “SR, don’t mind the rumors. Time will prove their absurdity. Just keep being yourself.”

Xia Shamo hung her head, her hair tucked behind her ears, biting her lip. “Actually, what they say about me doesn’t bother me as much as I imagined. I just worry it might trouble you.”

Cheng Xiaoyu spread his hands, making an incredulous face. “How could it? You know I have thick skin. I’ve never cared about others’ mockery. If I were that sensitive, I wouldn’t know how to survive.”

She still kept her head down, her pale slender neck bent under heavy thoughts. She spoke softly, “I’ve been used to it since childhood. A single-parent home is just missing a bit of love.” It was the first time Xia Shamo mentioned her family.

Cheng Xiaoyu was silent for a moment, memories surging in his mind. His fragile, reclusive soul had always avoided recalling America—aside from the muscle memory of playing the piano, he wished to remember nothing else.

He gazed at the cherry petals dancing in the air, like floating musical notes, and said quietly, “Do you know how I started learning piano? My mother played piano too. She wasn’t well, her moods often unstable. Only when I played did she calm a little, sometimes even smile. Back then, what kept me going through tedious practice was just the hope she’d smile. She had depression, often cried, saying she shouldn’t have had me. But when she saw me eating her food, she was so gentle; when I played, she was strict—if I missed a note, she’d hit me with a hanger. Now, I can’t tell if I loved her more or hated her more.”

Cheng Xiaoyu waved his hand in the air, mimicking a piano, and continued slowly, “She left me nothing but music. At least you have half the love. As for me, all I recall is pain. Piano practice brought pain, her illness brought pain, her cold words brought pain, yet she was the only comfort I could rely on. I haven’t played piano for over a year just to forget. I never hated her for not giving me happiness, only for leaving me alone.”

Xia Shamo’s tears fell into her coffee, sending ripples across the surface. She lifted her head, looking at Cheng Xiaoyu. “Seems I have no right to self-pity. You’re much stronger than me. When I asked my mom why I didn’t have a dad, she’d just hold me and cry. I should be grateful she didn’t abandon me.”

Cheng Xiaoyu couldn’t help reaching out to touch her head. He knew she was trying hard to learn humor. He stroked her lovely hair and said, “SR, you’re strong, but you should be proud, too. You have every right to be. Respond to their provocations with pride. No matter how hard life is, my soul is noble. That’s who you are! Don’t bow your head—your crown will fall; don’t cry—those who despise you will smile. You’re the only lead singer of our Guilty Crown!”

Xia Shamo took a small sip of coffee, tasting bittersweetness on her tongue. She hesitated, “But I don’t know what pride should look like.”

Cheng Xiaoyu laughed. “Just pretend you’re always holding a microphone.”

Her eyes sparkled, and she made up her mind: I want to sing, I want to share the scenery with him.

Afterwards, the two didn’t discuss family anymore, but talked about music until lunchtime, when they returned to the classroom. By then, everyone knew the poet could also curse with remarkable skill. When the poet unleashed his verbal fire, others were left speechless.

But as they walked back together, it was Xia Shamo who attracted more attention. Everyone sensed something different about her, though they couldn’t say what. She was like a softly glowing star, drawing every gaze, her beauty tinged with gentle pride.

Wang Ou stared at them blankly. Cheng Xiaoyu came over, patted his shoulder, and said, “I just couldn’t stand seeing SR bullied. Don’t blame me for stepping in to teach those gossipers a lesson.”

Only then did Wang Ou react, shouting, “How could I blame you? You were awesome this morning. Poets really are amazing—even their curses are art. Your video is all over the school forum. Though the comments say you bullied girls, they don’t know why you did it. Don’t let it bother you.”

Cheng Xiaoyu waved his hand. “Five words drift across the sky: ‘It’s nothing at all.’ Even if it were something, it’d only annoy me for a bit, and be over in a moment. I’ve always been a campus rogue anyway—a bit more infamy won’t make a difference.” He looked at Xia Shamo, already seated, her back straight as she faced the whispers and curious stares. He felt as though something inside was about to break free.

Wang Ou asked curiously, “So where did you take Xia Shamo?”

Cheng Xiaoyu hesitated, forcing a smile. “Where else? She was feeling down, so I chatted with her on the field to cheer her up.” He wasn’t sure why he lied—there was nothing shameful about going for coffee. But he felt that little café was their secret.

Wang Ou sighed, “Fatty, honestly, if you could win Xia Shamo’s heart, it’d be best. Better you than someone else—it’d be reliable.”

Cheng Xiaoyu’s heart twinged. “Don’t overthink it. Someone like me isn’t good enough for her.”

Wang Ou said quietly, “You used not to be, but now, who knows?”

Cheng Xiaoyu’s heart tightened. “What do you mean?”

“Damn, you really don’t know? Ji Yun Yun was on the campus radio at noon, reading aloud the poem you wrote on the blackboard today. If that isn’t a blatant confession, what is!!!” Wang Ou was surprised by Cheng Xiaoyu’s reaction; surely he’d have heard the broadcast, even on the field.

Cheng Xiaoyu feigned indifference. “Oh, is that all? You’re making a fuss. She probably just likes my poetry. If she likes me, she’s not brave enough to admit it.”

His head was drenched in sweat. He grabbed a tissue from the drawer, wiped his brow, checked the timetable, pulled out his Chinese textbook, and waited for the bell to ring.