Zhuang Fanxin's heart gave a loud thump. Two words: Done for.
This problem set was very difficult, so the grades of the whole class were lower than usual. This particular problem was the most difficult within the difficult set. Most people hadn't even answered it. In this situation, he was the only one with full marks—a dark horse that somehow managed to stand out.
But in truth, he didn't even understand the question.
"Sorry, Teach, maybe you should explain it instead," Zhuang Fanxin tried, "I'm no good at explaining…"
"Don't be shy, come explain your logical process to everyone," said the teacher, who then turned to look at the other students. "There are two methods of solving this problem, and Zhuang Fanxin's method is different from the one I wanted to explain. Listen closely, everyone."
Trapped, Zhuang Fanxin had no choice but to leave his seat and shuffle over to the podium. Holding the paper, his palms began to sweat slightly. When he stood before the crowd's concentrated gaze, all that remained was panic.
The teacher laughed. "What's with that face? You look like you're about to jump on a grenade. Are you feeling ill?"
"I have a fever," explained Zhuang Fanxin. He raised his paper and moved his lips, reading the question aloud. After reading it once, he took a deep breath and read it a second time.
There were low voices of students muttering, perhaps feeling that he was stalling. The teacher also urged him to move on. Zhuang Fanxin could only steel himself and speak. "I'll explain how I solved it." He began to read out the steps; fortunately, Gu Zhuoyan had written them very clearly.
"Wait," the teacher interrupted. "Don't just read out the steps, explain your thought process too."
It was just as he had feared. Awkwardness written all over his face, Zhuang Fanxin pursed his lips, almost tearful. "Teach, I can't remember right now…"
Some reincarnation of Mother Teresa spoke out of nowhere. "It must be the fever."
The teacher patted Zhuang Fanxin's back, saying more understandingly, "It's fine if you're not feeling well. Go back to your seat and drink some water. You can explain it in our next class."
Feeling as if he had been granted a stay of execution, Zhuang Fanxin hurried off the podium. His legs were so weak and his nerves so shattered that he barely knew how he made it back to his desk. For the next half of the lesson, he kept his head buried in his arms, his face burning and his stomach churning.
God as his witness, it was his first time getting someone to do his homework for him, and it was just because he was worried that Gu Zhuoyan wouldn't readily accept his help. Had he known it would end up this way, he never would have done it.
Zhuang Fanxin suffered until the bell rang, and then waited for the other students to leave before he emerged from his cocoon. He still had two bottles of medication to drip today, so he went straight to the clinic. He was the only one there at noon. Hooked up to the fluids, he sat in the same spot as he did the day before.
The doctor on call looked at him. "Your face is really red. Has the fever come back?"
"It's just hot," said Zhuang Fanxin. It was actually from shame. He stared at the dripping IV bag. The classroom scene refused to be banished from his mind, playing on loop, filling him with so much shame that he shivered.
Why did he get called on to answer? Why did he have to be the only one who got it right?
It wasn't even him who got it right. Zhuang Fanxin thought of Gu Zhuoyan. Was this guy for real? Just like that, he could get full marks? He pulled out his phone and wrote: "The maths worksheet you did for me got full marks."
A few minutes later, Gu Zhuoyan replied: "Oh."
Oh? The "oh" smacked of nonchalance, as if getting full marks were the most normal thing in the world. Zhuang Fanxin felt himself grow mentally unbalanced. Sourly, he replied: "Why did you have to get such high marks?"
Gu Zhuoyan: "Didn't you ask me to?"
Zhuang Fanxin thought back on their conversation. It seemed he really did ask for it. But he hadn't expected that this person was that good. Regretting his initial behaviour and having no right to ask, he gave up and ranted directly: "The teacher asked me to explain it, I didn't know how."
Gu Zhuoyan read between the lines: so he was upset with him. He looked at his watch. Class should be over by now. He asked Zhuang Fanxin where he was.
"Getting my IV drip," replied Zhuang Fanxin. "What are you up to?"
Gu Zhuoyan got up and walked out, typing as he did, "Nothing."
It was the doctor's turn to go to lunch, so only one nurse remained on shift at the clinic. Zhuang Fanxin picked up a call from Zhao Jianqiu, and didn't bother Gu Zhuoyan after that. Unexpectedly, a few minutes later, Gu Zhuoyan appeared at the clinic door.
Zhuang Fanxin was surprised. "Looking for me?"
Gu Zhuoyan came in. "Just digesting my lunch." He sat at the side, not as close as he did yesterday, about a fist's distance. After a moment of silence, he tried to start a conversation. "You haven't eaten?"
"Nope," answered Zhuang Fanxin. He was actually quite hungry, but he hadn't finished his first dose of medication, so he still had to wait. Now that he thought about it, why was he waiting here? He might as well finish dripping it at home.
With the nurse's permission, Zhuang Fanxin went home with his IV drip. Gu Zhuoyan held the bag up next to him and carried his backpack. When they reached home, the IV bag was put on a clothes hanger and Zhuang Fanxin sat in bed eating congee.
It was Gu Zhuoyan's first time over. He walked over to the wall to look at things in the cabinet. Aside from a few art pieces, it was filled with trophies big and small. Some were in Chinese, some in English—it was clear that they came from both national and international competitions. Aside from drawing-related competitions, there were design competitions. He gathered that Zhuang Fanxin's dream was to be a designer.
"Are these all yours?" asked Gu Zhuoyan.
"Yeah." Zhuang Fanxin joked, "I put them on display to look impressive."
Gu Zhuoyan was no artist, but he understood the amount of effort it took to win a trophy. Done admiring them, he went back to the bedside and adjusted the drip rate. Once adjusted, he said, "You go ahead and rest. I'll be heading back."
"You have to help me pull the needle out," said Zhuang Fanxin.
Gu Zhuoyan had forgotten about that. The midsection of his thumb rubbed against the midsection of his index finger, flexing. He sat by the bed, having nothing to say and nothing to do. The atmosphere was far too awkward.
Zhuang Fanxin pressed a bag of potato crisps on him and asked, "Wanna watch a film?"
Gu Zhuoyan, who felt sleepy the instant he watched: "No, thanks."
Zhuang Fanxin cast about for anything else. He picked up the book he had put next to his pillow for bedtime reading and handed it over. "Do you read murder mysteries?"
Gu Zhuoyan opened it for a look. It was the original Japanese version, baka.
The mood was somewhat worse than earlier. Zhuang Fanxin felt a bit helpless, like a child who had taken out all his toys to share, only to find his companion uninterested in any of them. After a moment of silence, he politely and apologetically said, "Sorry for inconveniencing you."
This was the sort of thing Gu Zhuoyan was most afraid of. To stop Zhuang Fanxin from being unreasonably weird, he tore open the bag of crisps and ate noisily, and then pulled out his phone and began to play.
As a less awkward atmosphere settled around them, Zhuang Fanxin stuck his neck out to spectate, shifting closer. He looked like one of those old men who watched others playing chess in the park, except this was more exciting than chess. When Gu Zhuoyan won, he cheered; when Gu Zhuoyan was wounded, he sighed; when Gu Zhuoyan finished the original flavour potato crisps, he hurriedly handed over a pack of tomato-flavoured ones.
"You don't have to mind me," Gu Zhuoyan finally spoke.
Zhuang Fanxin smiled. "And you don't have to mind me. Carry on, then."
Gu Zhuoyan continued to play. After a while, he said indifferently, "I need a partner."
"Hold on, I'll register now," said Zhuang Fanxin. He pulled out his phone and fiddled about, his excitement too obvious for Gu Zhuoyan to turn him down.
"What should I call myself?" Zhuang Fanxin looked at Gu Zhuoyan's username: it was GZY, to the point. Reflecting on the day's calamities, he gave himself the name "Stressed Again Today".
After a few seconds, GZY received a friend request from Stressed Again Today. Among his high-level friends list appeared the only Level 1 user, looking so weak and pitiful that he first sent over several sets of equipment.
Zhuang Fanxin put them all on and formed a group with Gu Zhuoyan. Not even familiar with each other in real life, the two didn't share the slightest form of tacit understanding in-game, dying almost at the same time in their first match.
Embarrassed, Zhuang Fanxin said, "It's pretty hard."
Gu Zhuoyan was blunt. "You should level up by yourself first."
Any noob loves a game god. "But I want to play with you," said Zhuang Fanxin.
Gu Zhuoyan was ruthless. "Right now, I'm out of your league."
Met with Gu Zhuoyan's indifference, and his own inability to reach his level, Zhuang Fanxin didn't make a sound, silently visiting the shop and buying useless bouquets and hearts, then sending them all to GZY.
Looking at the screen full of hearts and flower petals, Gu Zhuoyan was speechless. "If you have money, you might as well buy a skill pack."
"If I did, would you play with me?" asked Zhuang Fanxin. He bought the skill packs and emerged fully equipped in front of the other, sending a team invite.
Unconfident, he pretended to accidentally push the other's arm.
Gu Zhuoyan pressed "Accept", and lied, "My hand slipped."
A new match began. Zhuang Fanxin became an even worse drag, but thanks to Gu Zhuoyan pulling up their overall level, they managed to win.
Gradually, the only sound left in the room was the background music. Gu Zhuoyan and Zhuang Fanxin played earnestly, passing two full hours in silence. Suddenly, Gu Zhuoyan's phone ran out of battery and switched itself off.
Zhuang Fanxin wasn't fully satisfied yet, but followed suit and closed the game. He didn't really play online games, not even when he was little; all his limited free time after classes was spent drawing. Playing on occasion was quite fun.
Gu Zhuoyan looked up at the IV bag: it was almost empty at last, just enough time for a rest before removing the needle. Surprisingly, Zhuang Fanxin reached into his backpack and pulled out the worksheets. "Explain the problem to me. I can't embarrass myself again at the next class."
Looking after someone in a sickbed was tiring indeed. Gu Zhuoyan regretted not watching that film instead. He placed the paper on his lap and jumped straight to question twenty, asking, "Do you understand the question?
"Yes." Zhuang Fanxin was suddenly curious. "How did you learn maths?"
Gu Zhuoyan pointed at the cabinet in the corner. He had a few trophies too, almost all from competitions. He had practiced from a young age, training almost every day; he even did a set of questions on his flight to Rongcheng. Their specialities were different, but the way they worked towards their goals was the same.
Gu Zhuoyan began explaining the first part of the question, meticulousness hidden in his impatience.
Before he had finished, his shoulder suddenly itched. Gu Zhuoyan glanced at his periphery and saw Zhuang Fanxin hooking his chin on his shoulder. He spun his pen. "Can you sit properly?"
Zhuang Fanxin found it less tiring this way. "You used me as a pillow too, yesterday," he said.
Gu Zhuoyan found this hard to rebut. He continued to explain. After the first part of the question, he slowed down for the second. It was his first time teaching, so he paused after he was done to check if Zhuang Fanxin understood. Zhuang Fanxin's chin moved against him as he responded, and his warm breath tickled his cheek, making it itch even more.
The third part was the hardest, so Gu Zhuoyan explained it in even more detail, then asked, "Any questions?"
There was silence from his shoulder; Zhuang Fanxin neither nodded nor made a sound. Gu Zhuoyan muttered inwardly, his brain's a bit slow, but patiently said aloud, "I'll explain again."
When he finished, even the patience in his voice was at its limit. "Do you understand this time?"
A few seconds passed. His shoulder was still silent, and the breath against his cheek seemed a little heavier. Gu Zhuoyan turned carefully to look. A curly fringe, eyelids covered with fine blood vessels, eyelashes, the tip of a nose, a pair of dry lips: everything was magnified, a sharp close-up.
What was he explaining for? Zhuang Fanxin was already sound asleep.
Gu Zhuoyan felt quite upset. He had wasted time and effort acting as a free personal tutor, only to be met with such a rude student. As he thought this, he swiftly took the paper away and laid Zhuang Fanxin's arm down.
He lowered his gaze to the back of Zhuang Fanxin's hand. It was very delicate; the lines in it were lighter than the pale green of the veins beneath the skin, and the few white plasters stuck across it accentuated a sense of fragility.
When the final drop of medicine had finished, Gu Zhuoyan held Zhuang Fanxin's hand in one hand and tore off the plasters with the other. It was his first time removing a needle for someone—fearful of exerting too much strength, he felt nervous. His thumb above the place where the needle met the skin, he quickly pulled the needle out, then immediately pressed down to stop the bleeding.
Perhaps he had pressed a little too hard: Zhuang Fanxin reacted, curling his fingers.
Gu Zhuoyan turned to look, and saw Zhuang Fanxin opening his eyes slightly. He took the opportunity to place him down on the pillow and gently tuck him in. "Are you still stressed today?" he said softly. "Sleep for a bit."
Leaving Zhuang Fanxin's house, Gu Zhuoyan slowly walked home.
The sky was as clear as it was before, but his expression had already changed.