Chapter 9
After school, the crew holed up in the billiards hall by the back gate, playing cards.
Wang Lu’an leaned back, head lolling. “Exams the second day of term. Fangqin is a f***ing maniac.”
“Does your class really post the scores in the parents’ group every time?”
“Do not bring it up. My dad is going to greet me with a baseball bat again.”
He turned to Yu Fan with genuine gratitude. “Good thing my brother’s around. I will never be dead last.”
Yu Fan ignored him and tossed a card.
Zhang Xianjing, the only girl among them, crossed a leg and sipped milk tea. “Isn’t your deskmate the discipline monitor? Did you not copy a little?”
“Copy my ass. Discipline monitor my foot,” Wang Lu’an grumbled. “His handwriting is as bad as Yu Fan’s. I was about to go cross-eyed. Could not read a single— are you f***ing kidding me? I play a three and you hit me with a double joker?”
“You were annoying me,” Yu Fan said.
“…”
Zhang Xianjing laughed herself half over. “But Yu Fan, blank paper on day two and not even guessing the multiple choice. Are you trying to give Fangqin a heart attack?”
The exam made Yu Fan think of a certain someone. His next card hit the table a little harder.
“Can you guess your way to a ninety,” he asked.
Her brow twitched. “The multiple choice does not even add up to ninety.”
Exactly.
If he could not break ninety, writing or not was the same.
His fingers itched. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette and touched a rough sheet of paper. He swore under his breath and snatched his hand back.
Chen Jingshen’s scratch paper.
He had meant to crumple it and toss it, but Zhuang Fangqin had been passing the back door right then and called out to him. Reflex had shoved the wad back into his pocket.
He was probably developing an allergy to anything paper that came from Chen Jingshen’s hand.
“What is there to write on an exam? I never write,” Zuo Kuan said around a cigarette, still playing it cool. “Teachers do not dare mess with me.”
“More like they cannot be bothered,” Wang Lu’an said.
“Even better. Your homeroom teacher sounds like a nightmare,” Zuo Kuan scoffed. “If she were mine, I would have long since—”
Smack.
Yu Fan slapped his last card down. “Cut the crap,” he said. “Face. Over here.”
“…”
Thirty seconds later, a turtle in marker decorated Zuo Kuan’s cheek.
“F***. Again.”
He had barely said it when the guy beside him bumped his arm. “What.”
“Bro, look. Outside. Is that the girl who used to chase you?”
“Who?” Wang Lu’an glanced out.
“That’s her,” Zuo Kuan said after a look at the girl hurrying past the hall. “Nobody special. A junior from Class Three. Chased me for two months, bringing water and snacks every day. Drove me nuts. She is ugly too. Took me ages to dump her.”
“Is she blind,” Zhang Xianjing said, eyes on her phone, voice cool.
“Bullshit. I am handsome as hell. People line up to chase me.” He sorted his hand. “And the worst part? You know Class Three. The secret liberal arts honors class. She wrote me a letter every week. Packed with classical poetry and ancient prose. I could not read a f***ing line—”
“How did you dump her?” Yu Fan asked suddenly. Zuo Kuan blinked. “What?”
“I said,” Yu Fan repeated, “how did you get rid of her.”
“Easy.” Zuo Kuan smirked. “I covered her name on one of the letters and glued it to their class bulletin board.”
“You are vile,” Zhang Xianjing said, rolling her eyes.
“What, she would not stop clinging.” He turned to Yu Fan. “Why are you asking? Someone chasing you?”
“Please. You think girls do not chase my bro,” Wang Lu’an said, eyebrows cocked like he was the one getting confessions. “He just got a love letter— f***, Yu Fan, you bomb me again? We are on the same team this round. I am a farmer too.”
“Too loud,” Yu Fan said.
Zhang Xianjing put down her phone and leaned closer to their table, curious. “For real? Yu Fan, who wrote you a love letter?”
“No one,” he said.
“Come on,” she prodded. “First or second years? Is she pretty? Do I know her? Or is it… Chen Jingshen?”
Yu Fan flung his cards down.
He opened his mouth to deny it when Zhang continued, “Is that Chen Jingshen?”
Yu Fan paused and looked toward the back door.
Chen Jingshen stood just outside, back to them, backpack on one shoulder, hands loose at his sides.
He was motionless. Three sleazy-looking guys faced him.
“It is him,” Wang Lu’an said, pressing to the glass. “Those three… from the school next door? What are they doing?”
“What do you think,” Zhang said. “Extorting him.”
Yu Fan propped an elbow on the sofa back and watched lazily.
There was a technical school near their campus, messy and full of trouble. They came around a lot.
For a while, Hu Pang had patrolled the area every other day to haul people in. With the term starting, he had been too busy, and the problem was back.
The three blocking Chen had trendy-freak dye jobs, bright long tees, and skinny black pants. Step left into the barbershop and they could start work.
Which only made Chen Jingshen look cleaner.
Zuo Kuan studied his face and tested the waters. “Yu Fan, you not going to step in? He is in your class.”
Yu Fan did not answer. He was still watching.
Step in for what. Half the month someone gets shaken down. Who can police them all. Was Fat Tiger paying him protection fees now?
Besides...
Bookworm or not, the kid was well fed. Shoulders twice as broad as those scrawny punks. Half a head taller. If not for that annoyingly proper air, no one would believe the three stick insects were the ones squeezing him. If he had any spine at all, he would swing back once and none of them would be walking straight-
The tall figure stalled and reached into his pocket.
“…?”
To be honest, the punks were not confident either.
They usually picked on underclassmen or girls. But those sneakers… almost five figures, according to someone’s intel.
Plus the good-student getup. They decided to go for it.
Fortune favors the bold.
“Did you… hear me,” the ringleader said, mustering courage and flashing a WeChat QR. “Transfer five hundred now or we take this someplace private.”
Chen Jingshen’s eyes lowered. His gaze passed over each of their faces.
Only then did they realize the good-student aura came from the pristine uniform. The boy’s lids were thin. His features cut clean and sharp. It was a cold face.
When he looked down at them, their stomachs tightened.
For a moment, they regretted this.
Chen Jingshen thought for two seconds and slid a hand into his pocket.
That look must have rattled them; the leader took two steps back, thinking Chen was pulling a weapon or calling the cops. “What are you doing. Hands where I can see them or I—”
He cut off as Chen pulled out cash.
They watched, dumbstruck, as he counted out five red bills and held them out.
“No WeChat. Cash.”
His first words to them.
For a second the punk felt weirdly like a beggar being handed charity.
And what the hell?
What are high-schoolers these days. Who carries that kind of pocket money.
“No WeChat? Who are you fooling,” the guy sneered. “You do not chat with friends? Do not game? Do not date?”
He slowed on the last word, deciding this one probably did not date.
He pocketed the five hundred and kept eyeing Chen’s hand. “Forget it. How much do you have. Hand it all over.”
An empty card box whipped through the air and cracked him right on the forehead.
It clattered to the pavement.
He reeled and clutched his head, glaring past his mark. “Which f***ing—”
He saw the face and shut up.
Everyone at their school knew. If you came to the neighboring high school to fish for cash and saw the tall guy with two moles and a mean face, walk away.
Wasn’t that him?
Jingshen turned and saw his new deskmate.
The expression on Yu Fan’s face was just like when he had refused to let him copy the test. Not friendly.
Yu Fan did not look at Chen Jingshen. “Give him back the money,” he told the three, “and get lost.”
Their faces changed. The middle one jutted his chin. “Who the f*** are you?”
“You do not know him,” Wang Lu’an said, friendly as he slung an arm over the guy’s shoulder. “He just beat the crap out of your flat-top buddy. You did not hear?”
“…”
“They are probably still trying to drag themselves to class. They looked pretty wrecked that day.”
“…”
Ten seconds later, the leader handed the cash to Yu Fan.
“Is that mine,” Yu Fan asked without taking it.
He hesitated, moved his hand sideways, and aimed the bills at Chen Jingshen.
The trio had barely turned away when Zhang Xianjing strolled out of the hall. “Leaving already? Pathetic.”
“They were not much to begin with,” Wang Lu’an started to say, and stopped when he saw the sudden black-rimmed glasses on her face.
“Right,” she said, pushing them up and turning on a sugary concern. “Jingshen, were you scared?”
Jingshen slipped the money into his pocket. “No.”
“Good. The back gate gets messy. Be careful,” she said with a gentle smile.
Her tone gave Wang Lu’an goosebumps. He curled his lip. “Top student, why did you hand over the money so fast? There is a guard at the back gate. One shout and he would show up. Or at least struggle a little. They do not dare make a big scene.”
“Troublesome,” Chen said.
Expression calm, voice cool, like it had not been him who paid on demand.
“…”
“Tell you what,” Zhang said, eyes curving. “Why not add me on WeChat. If you ever run into danger, you can call me. I will bring people and come save you.”
She paused. “Oh, right. You do not have WeChat. Phone number works.”
Chen Jingshen was silent two seconds and recited a string of digits.
She had not expected him to give it so easily. She blinked, fishing out her phone. “Wait, wait, slower.”
Yu Fan regretted walking over the moment he arrived.
He swore at himself for being idle, put one hand in his pocket, and turned to go.
He had taken a step when someone caught his sleeve.
Everyone blinked.
Yu Fan looked down on reflex and saw a familiar, long-fingered hand gripping his jacket.
He gave a sharp tug.
It did not come free.
He frowned and looked up, voice cold. “What are you doing.”
“Can I add you on WeChat?” Chen asked.
“…”
Zhang Xianjing, halfway through entering the number, “?”
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