Performance

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The winter wind began to howl, sweeping in through the classroom’s north windows and out through the south. It was bitterly cold, but we could not close them—the autumn and winter months were peak flu season, and our homeroom teacher had reminded us to keep the room ventilated.

“It smells like people in here.” Whenever we kept the windows shut for too long because we were cold, that was what she would say when she came in.

During evening self-study, when we went downstairs to fetch water, the stairwell was filled with the same shrieking cross-draft. Ye Zihan stood at the mouth of it, huddled with students he knew from other classes and whispering among themselves. That guy was practically a distribution center for gossip.

He slipped back into his seat just as the bell rang, then, while the teacher was still away, leaned over and began sharing news he could not keep to himself.

“Did you hear? Did you hear? Someone from the Affiliated High School—” He deliberately lowered his voice even further. “Jumped from a building.”

I looked up.

“W-what?” Xu Ning, seated in front of him, turned around in confusion. Even spoken in such a low voice, everyone was unexpectedly sensitive to words like that.

“How did you hear about it? I haven’t heard anything,” one of our groupmates asked.

“Are they dead?” another voice asked timidly.

“Apparently it wasn’t even a current student, but someone who had already graduated... You idiot! There’s no way something like this would be reported publicly. I only found out because someone in a class I used to be in has a girlfriend at that school. His girlfriend even said not to spread it around, so I don’t know anything more...”

Zero Aldehyde turned her expressionless face toward Ye Zihan. She opened her mouth, then hesitated.

“To be honest, I’m really curious—why this time, this place, and this method? Could it be, say... someone who failed the college entrance exam, couldn’t survive university, and finally came back for one last nostalgic farewell to the old days? Or perhaps a forbidden romance from high school that had finally ended in ruin? Or someone driven to the edge by society’s prejudice and violence...”

“Those who inspire pity must have something hateful about them.” Zero Aldehyde’s hand never stopped working through the problem, but the words sprang firmly from her lips.

“Those who are hateful must have something pitiable about them too... Anyway, I have fresh material for my school ghost stories.” He opened a blue hardcover notebook.

“Quiet! This is evening self-study,” I reminded him under my breath. Maintaining order was the group leader’s duty.

The Affiliated High School was only a few streets away. Death, so close at hand. Death suppressed until it could survive only in whispered rumors. We did not even know whether the person had been male or female. Before long, the blood would be scrubbed away completely, and the rumors surrounding it would disperse just as thoroughly. As though that person had never existed at all.

Existence was such a fragile thing.

The following evening, when I returned to the study room carrying steamed buns from the cafeteria, I found Zero Aldehyde sitting on the windowsill.

Teetering on the edge.

She turned her head and looked down. By the time I realized what was happening, I had already settled into a sprinter’s starting stance. But I could not take another step forward. As if under a spell, I stood rigid where I was—why was she there? What was she looking at? Had she seen something?—and, without any reason, I suddenly began to wonder: if I reached out to pull her back, would I really be able to touch her?

It seemed that no matter how hard I tried, I could only ever stand outside the window, outside the door, or outside her shell, forever knowing nothing about what lay within her true heart. I could not open that black box.

The terror and sense of isolation were immense.

Fortunately, a few seconds later she climbed down from the sill, and I lunged forward. My entire body went limp from the strain of holding myself so taut. Thank goodness what I touched was not a cold outer shell, but a soft palm and warm breath stirring her hair.

“Sorry, sorry. I just wanted to know what it felt like to stand on the edge at such a height. To be honest, I wasn’t scared at all. Looks like my alarm system needs repairing.” Zero Aldehyde muttered to herself as she wandered over and started a video explaining the lesson points.

“I told you never to scare me like that again...”

“I forgot.” She stuck out her tongue.

“Only biology can save humanity.” When it was time to return to studying, Zero Aldehyde packed up her books and notes.

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“Save humanity... But that sounds so difficult. Things like repairing DNA, stopping aging, bringing dead cells back to life... It feels as though, if we aren’t careful, we’ll end up creating some kind of zombie virus.” I frowned. “Ah, but it’s precisely because it’s difficult that we have to keep researching it!”

“Yes. But by saving humanity, I don’t only mean eliminating death... I also mean things like making people happier, helping them understand one another better...”

“Isn’t that the mission of psychology, literature, and art?”

“But they aren’t direct or effective enough! A philosopher once said, ‘Life swings like a pendulum between pain and boredom’—because natural selection does not select for happiness. It selects only for successful reproduction. But now that we understand the functions of neurotransmitters and the transmission of electrical signals, we can use molecules and electrodes to change all that! Happiness as hard currency—however much you want, you can have! Do you know about deep brain stimulation, the treatment used for Parkinson’s disease and severe depression...?”

“What if we keep going and end up like the world in Brave New World?”

“Sigh... I rather wish something like soma really existed. And I want the kind of technology they have in movies, too—the sort where you plug a cable into the back of your head and instantly connect with someone else, knowing what they’re thinking! And uploading yourself into a computer! And, and...” In the sunset, she propped her chin on one hand, excitedly imagining one future after another with an almost fanatical intensity.

After calming down, she lay her cheek against the cold ceramic windowsill and fell into thought.

“Anyway, we should develop the technology first! As for how to use it, and all that stuff about ethics—let our erudite and empathetic group leader, Gu Heqing, worry about it for me!”

“With pleasure.”

Our English teacher said that this term she would set aside one class for a performance festival of English textbook plays. Students who participated would receive extra credit for their regular grades.

“Let’s put on a play as a group!” By now, Ye Zihan seemed even more like a group leader than I did. “Does anyone have an English script they like?”

“A script... I like Shakespeare. Hamlet? Or Macbeth?”

My suggestion was rejected at once.

“Those are full of obscure words and archaic English—no way!” Ye Zihan clutched his head dramatically. “Something simpler, something everyone knows and can understand! Like... The Emperor’s New Clothes, or Snow White...”

“If we’re doing The Emperor’s New Clothes, then you can be the one to take your clothes off in the middle of winter. We’d be delighted to watch.” Feng Yao, seated behind us, teased him and earned a glare from Ye Zihan.

“Snow White...” Zero Aldehyde suggested softly. “I want Snow White.”

“Then Snow White it is. Any objections?” Ye Zihan looked around. “No? Then it’s settled.”

“I... I get nervous onstage. Give me a role where I don’t have to show my face. I can be the magic mirror—I’ll bring a piece of cardboard.” Xu Ning raised her hand.

“Me too. I’m not good at acting... Wait, do you remember that the full title of the story is Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs?” I asked, frowning.

“So what?”

“There are only six people in our group.”

“Hmm...” Ye Zihan’s expression grew solemn. “No problem! Here’s what we’ll do. There are only two girls in our group, so Lin Quan can play Snow White, and the group leader can play the prince. I’ll play the stepmother, Xu Ning can be the magic mirror, and Feng Yao and Yan Mo can play the dwarfs—abstract art. Everyone can just use their imagination.”

“I... play the prince?” I widened my eyes in surprise.

“You object?” Ye Zihan blinked. “If you do, I’ll play him instead.”

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“No way!” I slammed my hand down on the desk, then realized belatedly that I had made a very loud noise. Students from the other groups turned to look at us curiously.

“Right now, you look like a puffed-up pufferfish.” Ye Zihan gave me his trademark wicked grin.

Then Ye Zihan suddenly remembered that there was also a hunter in the story, leaving us with only one dwarf. As for the others—he said he would replace them with props when the time came. What mattered was understanding the idea.

I downloaded the script from the internet and began cutting and revising it, compressing it into a brief, fifteen-minute classroom play that retained only the essential scenes. As expected, this sort of drudgery landed on my shoulders.

“THE VICTIM OF THE SLEEPING DEATH... CAN BE REVIVED ONLY BY LOVE’S FIRST KISS. LOVE’S FIRST KISS!”

If we could really kiss once onstage under the pretense of acting—pretending, yet not pretending at all...?

No. I mustn’t. It was enough for me to have such fantasies on my own. If I went too far, if I crossed the boundary of friendship... I did not want to lose even the chance to remain her friend.

I sent the script to the group members. It consisted of four acts: Act One, the Queen and the magic mirror; Act Two, the Queen, the hunter, and Snow White; Act Three, the Queen giving Snow White the poisoned apple; Act Four, Snow White being awakened by the prince.

“Impressive! No wonder you’re our group leader!” Ye Zihan exclaimed as he read the script. “But—wait, how do you pronounce this word? My part is way too complicated, isn’t it? Can I bring my lines onstage?”

“Look it up in a dictionary yourself. Do I have to mark the phonetic symbols for you as well? Memorize whatever you can.”

Zero Aldehyde read through the script quietly and intently, as though she were already lost inside it.

The first English class next Thursday afternoon, December 26, would be the performance. Three groups had signed up. So, during breaks throughout the week, we often heard students rehearsing their lines from the scripts.

I did not have many lines. I only appeared at the beginning and the end, spending most of the performance reading narration that bridged over the omitted scenes. I hardly needed to rehearse with anyone.

My parents’ workplaces had both handed out year-end employee gifts. At home, we suddenly had a box of oranges and two boxes of apples. There was no way we could eat them all, so Mother asked me to bring some to school for my classmates. Perfect. I could bring a few apples on the day of the performance and use them as props.

During physical education activity period on Tuesday afternoon, Ye Zihan suggested that we run through the entire play. At the end, I looked down at Zero Aldehyde lying on a bench by the sports field with her eyes closed, and slowly lowered myself toward her. My heart kept speeding up, as though a hundred butterflies were beating their wings inside my stomach.

“Like this... is this close enough?” I whispered to the girl lying there.

“Actually, you could come a little closer... Wouldn’t that look better?” She opened one eye and answered in the same hushed voice.

I bent farther down until the tip of my nose gently touched her forehead.

“That tickles.” The girl giggled and sprang upright from the bench in one fluid motion.

“They returned to the kingdom and lived happily ever after.” Ye Zihan stood beside us, laughing and applauding, then seized the perfect moment to recite the final line of narration.

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