Cheng Chuan

The Saturday night following the midterm exams, the teacher held a parent-teacher meeting. I sat at my desk doing homework, anxiously waiting for my mother to return. My father was in the living room playing a video game.

Phew, Mom looked quite happy. It seemed the teacher hadn't criticized me.

"How did the meeting go?" I asked, curious once I was sure the coast was clear.

"We analyzed the grades. Your performance is quite stable, anyway. Then we discussed the upcoming academic proficiency tests... Oh right, that little girl you're close with, the one who took first place—her mother shared some of her experiences."

"Lingquan's mother's... experience... sharing..." Just hearing that felt suffocating.

"Oh, it's just something to listen to; it doesn't hold much value. How should I put it? That kind of result, in the end, is just forced out." Mom sighed. "I don't think it's necessary."

"Look, we haven't really pressured you since you were little, and you've grown up just fine, haven't you? We're just ordinary people; there's no need to force your way into Tsinghua or Peking University. Little Gu, as long as you live a happy and fulfilling life in the future, we will be very happy and proud."

"A happy and fulfilling life... what is that like?"

"Like Mom is now, I suppose. I've always felt quite happy." She pondered for a moment before answering.

"Well... Mom only went to a junior college, but you, Little Gu, should still aim for a better university. Otherwise, wouldn't such a smart brain go to waste? And then... have a job that allows you to be self-sufficient. And also... find a smart and handsome boyfriend, someone like your dad..." A girlish smile appeared on her face.

"Eh..."

"Little Gu, you're seventeen already, why are you blushing?" Mom was clearly in the mood for a heart-to-heart, launching into the story of their young romance, which I had heard countless times. "Don't look at your dad like that now; back in his youth, he was no less impressive than any of the Four Heavenly Kings... I had a cold back then, and he came over to cook me dumplings. I thought, 'Wow, he can cook and take care of people,' and I knew immediately he was the one. I was quite the school beauty myself, with so many boys trailing after me, but ever since I chose your father, I've never regretted it—right, Big Gu?" She looked at my father, who was still immersed in his tank game, and reached over to pull the headphones off his head. "Did you hear me? I was praising you! Go wash the dishes in a bit."

"Heard you, heard you." Dad nodded repeatedly.

"Hey... you two are showing off your affection again..." I pretended to be expressionless while complaining, but my heart was in turmoil.

A happy scene like this... it doesn't belong to me, does it?

"Cheng Chuan said she sent me something." One day after class, Lingquan suddenly remembered and turned to tell me. "She sent it the day before yesterday; it should arrive around today."

"You're still in contact with Cheng Chuan?" Rationally, I knew they were just childhood friends, but I couldn't help feeling a bit jealous.

"...Yes. Usually via email, sometimes text messages. For some paid papers, I'll have Cheng Chuan download them using her university campus network and send them to me," Lingquan stated calmly.

"What kind of things?"

"Some chemistry laboratory equipment she bought—it was a hobby. She said she might not need it in the future and it would be a shame to throw it away. I was the only person she could give it to."

"How... come?" With that eerie tone, I felt a chill run down my spine.

"Who knows. Anyway, let's think about where to put it first—where should we keep it? The study hall? Too conspicuous..." Lingquan rested her chin on the academic proficiency test study materials I had just received, then stood up abruptly with a sudden inspiration. "I know a place!"

"The first-floor basement storage room," she whispered into my ear.

After the fourth period in the afternoon, Lingquan said the evening biology competition study session would be paused; we needed to retrieve the package. I stood behind the stairwell waiting for her.

Behind the stairs on the first floor was a small door, locked with a peeling green padlock. Behind it was a semi-basement storage room. If you walked to the back of the teaching building and crouched down, you could see the interior through the window: stacks of old desks and chairs, a blackboard, discarded teaching aids, and models. To my knowledge, that door hadn't been opened since I started school. I didn't know who had the key; it was probably lost long ago.

A few minutes later, Lingquan ran over, carrying a cardboard box the size of a suitcase.

"Alright." She set the box on the ground and pulled a paperclip from her pocket. "Time to show off my special skill," she said with a teasing tone.

She bent the wire into a strange shape and operated it on the lock—the lock opened.

"Cheng Chuan taught me," she explained.

I quickly looked behind me—thankfully, we were behind the stairs, in a blind spot for both line-of-sight and the security cameras. Lingquan pushed the door open. I followed her inside, carrying the box down a few steps into the storage room. A musty, ancient odor made me cough violently. It was very dark, so I fumbled until I found the pull-cord light switch—after the bulb flickered a few times, it actually turned on. Looking around, the mobile blackboard was covered in rust, and yellowed newspapers were scattered on the floor, their dates frozen in the last century.

Lingquan had already used a small knife to dismantle the box, lining up beakers, conical flasks, glass tubes, rubber stoppers, and hoses on several desks, along with a condenser and an alcohol blowtorch I had only ever seen in chemistry problems (though it contained no alcohol).

It looked a bit like a lab, but it couldn't actually be used for experiments. There were no chemicals, and more importantly, no sinks or waste disposal containers. None of the necessary safety facilities existed. I even wondered if the concentration of dust here would cause the alcohol blowtorch to explode the moment it was lit.

"It's not that we can't do experiments... just that we might only be able to do them once," Lingquan countered (which was effectively no counter at all).

"There." Lingquan found a (dust-covered) rag from somewhere and wiped down the "lab bench."

"So, I now declare: this is my secret base! No, our secret base!" She raised her arms and cheered like a child.

I quickly pulled the light off—it was getting dark outside, and it would be troublesome if we were discovered. We then slipped out of the small door before many people returned from the cafeteria, heading back to the classroom to eat dinner while memorizing key points from the exam guidelines.

We were only temporarily borrowing this space to store things; a dusty old warehouse is hardly a base, and we couldn't do anything in there... Although I wanted to complain about a thousand things, I had to admit—

The term "secret base" is truly romantic.

About a month later, on December 4th, was the Information Technology proficiency exam, followed by the academic proficiency exams on January 11th and 12th. The "minor four" subjects—Politics, History, Geography, and Information Technology—reappeared on the schedule, and the books needing to be memorized piled up like mountains.

Outside, the sky was gray, and an autumn rain was falling. The ground was wet, and the morning exercise and broadcast gymnastics were canceled, leaving us in the classroom to do homework.

"Gu Heqing. Can you promise me one thing?" Lingquan asked suddenly, staring into my eyes for no reason, yet with utmost solemnity.

"Sure... wait, what is it?"

"When one day I, for instance, lose my mind, become completely deranged, or get sent to a mental institution, or... in short, when my brain no longer functions, when I can't solve equations, can't read books, or perform any creative activities, but I'm still clinging to life—by then, if you are still alive, no matter what I say, please... you must kill me. That way, I won't waste social resources anymore, and at least I can make a tiny, humble contribution to reducing the aging population." She didn't sound like she was joking—well, she was absolutely not joking.

"I'm sorry, I can't promise that." I refused immediately.

"Why? Don't give me that 'moral imperative' talk you hold so dear." She propped up her chin, looking intrigued.

"Because... it's illegal. That's intentional homicide."

"Whether it's illegal or not... it doesn't really matter, does it? You can find a—a highly skilled assassin!" She smiled playfully, winking one eye. "Alright, I'm not kidding."

"Killing is wrong."

"So we're back to your morality... but isn't helping someone fulfill their wish also right?"

"If it's that kind of wish, then no." I must have looked cold as ice at that moment. But it was just no.

"But you'd be increasing the total sum of social happiness! According to my calculation standards, this is the most moral act imaginable." She excitedly scribbled the formula J=∑Ji on my draft paper.

"How does killing you increase the total happiness! Even though..."

"Even though the teacher often praises me? Even though everyone seems to like me? Even though my parents, who had no feelings at all, formed an alliance for my sake and proudly shared their experiences at the parent-teacher meeting? That's just for now. By the time I'm in that state, they'll surely deny that a child like me ever existed. If I were still in school, the school would certainly scrub my name from the publicity board overnight. Wouldn't killing me then count as increasing the total happiness?"

"I cannot promise."

"No. I need you to promise... You are the only person I trust most." She grabbed my arm, pleading.

"...Alright." I couldn't win the argument, and I didn't want to dwell on the topic any further. But I still would never agree.

...I believed that I would absolutely never encounter a situation where I would need to fulfill that promise.

After several group activities, Lingquan became much more cheerful and was able to discuss problems with Ye Zihan and the others—not just with pen and paper.

"I'm so bad at this; how do you solve this problem?"

"First... use substitution, like this..."

"Why... ah, I get it! You're amazing! A master! A genius!"

The teacher had called the group leaders over during the break to discuss some things, and upon returning, she saw Ye Zihan "selling his incompetence" again.

"I can't take it." Lingquan helplessly held her forehead. "Are they really praising me, or is it sarcasm..."

"They are really praising you... or perhaps it's just a strange verbal tic."

"Then why do they all keep saying they are bad—hey, you too." Lingquan tapped my forehead.

"Nietzsche once said, 'Our vanity and self-love promote the cult of the genius; calling someone 'divine' means 'here we do not have to compete.'" I showed off some of the notes from my collection.

"Speak like a normal person."

"Students in the 'Elite Class' all have high self-esteem, and the competition is fierce. It's inevitable to feel inferior when comparing oneself to others. To avoid damaging their own self-esteem, they have to elevate the other person; that way, losing doesn't look so bad. If you analyze it theoretically, that's what it is," I explained.

"And if you ignore the theory and just go by feeling—it's that—Lingquan, you really are a gen—ius—" I smiled and put my arm around her shoulder.

"When I was very young, someone really did call me a genius." Lingquan didn't smile, recalling the past with indifference. "Maybe it was just because I knew more characters and read faster. I think I even appeared on local television back then."

"I must find that program and see what Lingquan looked like when she was little!"

Lingquan ignored me: "After I started elementary school, they kept telling me how I was different from everyone else... and so on. Later on, they probably realized that I couldn't reach all the expectations of the 'genius' they had in their minds, so they stopped mentioning it. Instead, I'm the one who, while feeling that geniuses don't exist, still wants to become a true 'genius'."

"Lingquan is already a genius! I don't think anyone else can read research papers like they're reading novels, and not everyone can handle two different academic competitions and still get such good grades..."

"No. Stop. Please, stop. That's still far from enough... Now I only feel like I've gone through the corresponding suffering but haven't been able to achieve the corresponding talent—that's not true, as if talent and suffering are linearly positively correlated... By the way, Gu Heqing, I suddenly remembered—do you know why I made sure to run over to you and greet you after the math competition class ended back then?"

"Eh..." I truly didn't know. I hadn't even thought about it.

"Because it felt like you looked a lot like the kind of genius I imagined, probably like Leonardo da Vinci, who was skilled in both arts and sciences."

"Well, so you were completely wrong..."

"Was I? Then that must have been my luckiest misjudgment. ...No, I wasn't wrong. Gu Heqing is a genius." Lingquan's tone became firm.

"A genius at creating companionship, warmth, and hope."