Chapter 9: The Mysterious Girl Lu Qinglian

As evening fell, the glow of the phone screen illuminated his face.

Zhang Shutong silently parted his lips; the news was quite a shock.

Why did she come?

That distinctive green robe was unmistakable—any mistake was impossible. The girl’s posture was earnest; she sat on a low folding stool, one that usually forced people to hunch over, yet she sat upright as if in class. Nearby lay patches of unmelted snow, evoking the image of a solitary fisherman braving the cold river.

Yet Zhang Shutong tried hard to recall. He had long forgotten many things from his school days, but he was certain Lu Qinglian had never come fishing with them.

Which butterfly had stirred the winds this time?

It couldn’t be himself, could it?

Zhang Shutong was not given to self-indulgent fantasies. Lu Qinglian had indeed spoken to him briefly after school, but at the time, he thought he should have cleared things up. He didn’t believe she was the type to brood over misunderstandings. Besides, he was hardly universally adored; it was unrealistic to think she would cling to him over a simple mix-up.

Still, it wasn’t a big deal. After spending so long in that restricted zone—a grim place—his nerves were frayed. In truth, the restricted zone wasn’t far from where they fished; during the day, one could almost make out the opposite shore across the lake.

So just moments ago, Zhang Shutong had feared Ruoping and the others had encountered the killer, and the thought truly startled him.

Compared to that, Lu Qinglian’s arrival seemed harmless, easily handled by Dukang.

A less than ten-minute ride brought them quickly to the agreed spot.

Moonlight spilled through dense clouds, leaving only a faint glow.

Zhang Shutong parked in the dark and looked down through thick reeds. Ruoping was there, idly scrolling on her phone.

This place wasn’t like the restricted zone; one could walk directly from the road to the shore, which was much lower. It required descending a dirt slope, and the water nearby was shallow—a perfect winter fishing spot.

The car couldn’t be left on the road, so it had to be carried down and hidden among the reeds—thus avoiding detection by patrolling police. Sitting behind the reeds was like having a natural screen; combined with the darkness, it offered privacy, invisible to anyone passing by.

Oddly, Zhang Shutong glanced around but saw only two people—the closest being the short-haired girl playing with her phone.

She had a delicate face, short hair adorned with a petal-shaped headband, and neatly trimmed bangs. When silent, she carried the air of a refined young lady.

Yet on this quiet face was a somewhat large mouth. Zhang Shutong couldn’t call it a flaw—many famous actresses with large mouths were celebrated beauties. To say otherwise would expose his lack of aesthetic taste.

He recalled a time a couple of years ago when the girl had insisted they watch a movie—something called “If You Are the One,” an art-house romance. Afterward, she eagerly asked their thoughts, but Zhang Shutong and the others didn’t understand it, or if they did, it was useless since it wasn’t the kind of response she wanted. As they left the theater, she pouted and stomped her foot, pointing at the poster of Shu Qi, declaring, “Who says having a big mouth means you’re not beautiful?”

Of course, they all quickly agreed, flattering her until she bloomed like a flower.

That was Feng Ruoping—spirited and lively. Zhang Shutong always thought she had the bearing of a heroine.

Though she appeared gentle, her temper was fiery. The three boys feared her; she was a professional at both bullying and defending, often targeting the three of them.

Now, the girl absentmindedly bit her thumb while swiping across the phone screen, absorbed in some game.

He had expected her to confront him upon hearing the noise, but when he approached, she didn’t look up. Just as he was about to speak, Ruoping frowned and urged:

“Go, go, we’ll talk later…”

Zhang Shutong glanced at the screen. Under her finger was a red, plump bird—more like a small bird—staring wide-eyed on a slingshot. As Ruoping’s words fell, the bird was flung, sadly crashing into a concrete barrier. Only the green pig inside chuckled gleefully.

Level failed.

Four bold characters flashed on the screen.

“Zhang! Shutong!” The girl suddenly looked up, teeth clenched in frustration like the angry bird.

Zhang Shutong raised his hands in innocence.

“Don’t mind her, Shutong. She’s been stuck on this level for days,” came a calm voice ahead.

The speaker was a boy.

He was wrapped in a khaki wool coat, wearing fluffy earmuffs that allowed his black, tousled hair to fall over his forehead. Sitting by the water with one hand holding a fishing rod, the other cradling a book, his expression was deadpan—perfectly suited to the role.

Out of ten, Zhang Shutong would give his outfit an eight.

“It’s your fault for coming wearing earmuffs and not saying a word! Why else would I be on my phone? Should I go catch turtles instead?” Ruoping turned her ire on him, exasperated. “And why earmuffs in this weather? Cold?”

The boy turned his head without a word.

“What’s his deal?” Ruoping snapped her head around.

“He can’t hear,” Zhang Shutong translated.

“Huh?”

“More precisely, he’s playing a role. He thinks with his look, he shouldn’t be able to hear anything.”

Qingyi was a severe case of adolescent delusions, mixed with a dash of literary pretension.

Books were never far from his hands; you could find anything from popular magazines to old manga volumes to finely bound books. Usually expressionless and quiet, he was lost in his own world.

Zhang Shutong always thought that compared to Qingyi’s elegance, he himself could never be called cold or aloof.

Eight years later, glimpsing his social media, Qingyi seemed to be a department head in a major corporation—a thoroughly elite engineer.

Sometimes he’d post photos, but they were rarely landscapes; rather, shots taken from dozens of floors up in office buildings, capturing the bustling night cityscape—pedestrians like ants, flowing vehicles like colorful ribbons.

Occasionally, he’d share company dinner group photos, where young women flocked to his side, but his face remained stern amidst the revelry.

He also had a golden retriever, and only in selfies with the dog did his eternally stoic face rarely crack a smile.

Most often, he shared profound and philosophical quotes, recommending books he was currently reading. Zhang Shutong never took his suggestions seriously, merely liking the posts, to which Qingyi replied with a smiley—the one that looked sarcastic in the emoji set.

Their connection had endured all these years without interruption, but they never chatted—only interacting on social media like skilled tacticians, exchanging subtle messages, a tacit understanding between them.

In some ways, it had been like that eight years ago as well.

“Which book are you reading today?” Zhang Shutong asked as he approached his close friend.

“‘The Headless One: The Haunting,’ a new classic mystery novel published last year.”

No need for further explanation—Zhang Shutong had never heard of it. The only well-known mystery works were Conan and Sherlock Holmes.

Still, he gave a thumbs-up.

“Cool.”

In the night, the other returned the gesture.

“But can you really read the words in such darkness?”

“...Honestly, no.”

“I’m speechless,” Ruoping sighed, “typical adolescent delusion.”

Qingyi shot her a glare and stopped reading.

See, that was adolescent delusion—the phrase itself was the greatest weakness.

Four folding stools had been set by the water. Zhang Shutong took the first seat, watching the two bicker.

Ruoping soon lost patience and snatched Qingyi’s earmuffs. Qingyi reluctantly negotiated terms, and Ruoping laughed like a queen, agreeing only if he helped her clear five levels of Angry Birds. After a while, they settled down.

They sat on either side of Zhang Shutong; Qingyi handed him a fishing rod to start while he battled the green pig on screen.

Just as Zhang Shutong was about to ask for water, Ruoping leaned in, saying if not for him, she’d have beaten that level already—and reminded him he still owed her five levels.

He encouraged her to try the same trick in class tomorrow; she’d retrieve her phone without playing any levels.

That made Ruoping angry; she ruffled his hair mercilessly.

She loved messing with their hair, and since he cared about his hairstyle, it was his weak spot.

Ruoping didn’t like fishing herself; she’d just watch the boys with a serious face, acting as referee. Sometimes Zhang Shutong felt sorry for her, always hanging out with boys and getting wild.

But Ruoping was a hopeless romantic. Once, when asked why, she covered her mouth and smiled, saying it was because he and Qingyi were handsome. Zhang Shutong could only shrug, unsure how to respond.

Then she asked:

“Where did you go just now?”

No way to answer that honestly. After thinking, Zhang Shutong said, “My mom asked me to deliver something, so I rode out.”

“You were quick, and you haven’t eaten? I brought some cookies, want some?”

“Sure.”

“Want water?”

“If you have some, that’d be great.”

Zhang Shutong found it hard to describe their relationship with Ruoping. They were all only children, but if they had siblings, it might be just like this.

Sometimes she was like the big sister—nagging but caring, managing everyone, always asking questions. They didn’t mind, just following her lead.

Other times she was like the little sister. Once, she was made to cry by an older student and came back with red eyes, scaring them. She wiped tears, angry no one comforted her. Then she looked up to find the three boys ready to fight, holding helmets and bikes, fierce and protective.

She was already victorious but thought she hadn’t insulted the other enough. The anger grew until she cried again.

What could anyone say?

Later, Zhang Shutong lost touch with Ruoping, unsure how the lively girl fared.

These were the stories of their small island days—memories that held a special place in his heart eight years later, living alone in a rented room.

The bobber wobbled. Zhang Shutong lifted the rod, a small fish leapt from the water.

The fish was no bigger than his index finger, hardly a catch. He tossed it back, thinking he’d spare it today; when it grew, it should return the favor.

Fish rarely bite twice, just as people grow wiser with experience. Each hooked moment teaches caution.

Eventually, one becomes a shrewd old fish, the largest in the pond, navigating freely—but what happened to those small fish that once swam alongside? There’s no answer, only to slow the process as much as possible.

He murmured:

“I hope it always stays this way.”

Unintended words, yet Qingyi and Ruoping nodded in agreement. No one knew who first spoke of the future—high school, holidays, weekend plans, trips off the island. The outside world was always tempting.

“But this is pretty good,” Zhang Shutong said.

“Yeah.”

“Just the three of us,” Ruoping smiled.

They fell silent, staring at the water. Ripples shimmered as birds chirped and collided with pigs on the screen.

After a long pause, Zhang Shutong suddenly asked:

“Say... aren’t we missing someone?”

Ruoping snapped awake:

“Hey, right, where’s Dukang?”

...

Ruoping looked a bit embarrassed; after all, she was the one who said “just the three of us is good.”

Zhang Shutong recalled and quickly asked why it was just the two of them.

“Don’t interrupt. I wanted to ask about you—why you suddenly went over to the young lady, and what’s with that scrap of paper...”

“Dukang didn’t tell you?”

“Do you think I’d believe that?”

Qingyi perked up. “You like Gu Qiumian, right? We even saw her after school today. Want us to call her for you this weekend?”

Zhang Shutong rolled his eyes.

“Spill it!”

Ruoping’s future boyfriend was in for a challenge.

Just as he tried to change the subject, Qingyi spoke mysteriously:

“You better not ask. Men are men because there’s always a forbidden zone in their hearts no one else can reach.”

Zhang Shutong thought, where did this middle school cliché come from? But clung to the lifeline:

“Agreed.”

“Fine, then don’t say anything.”

Ruoping wasn’t on good terms with Gu Qiumian.

Zhang Shutong relaxed.

“So where did Dukang go? His bike’s still here.”

“Oh, him,” Ruoping smiled mysteriously, “he’s probably laughing stupidly now. Hey, did you see the photo I sent? Lu Qinglian was there. What’s she doing here?”

“I was about to ask you.”

“Me?”

“Who else? You wrote her name wrong; I couldn’t think of anyone else.”

Zhang Shutong ignored this and asked again:

“What happened?”

“At dismissal, we planned not to wait for you and eat first. Dukang forgot something and went back for it. When he came out, he was dragging his feet like a girl. I asked, ‘Why are you acting like a lady?’ Guess what?”

Ruoping laughed as she told it:

“He sidled aside, and sure enough, a girl was hiding behind him. Lu Qinglian had come down behind him. Dukang said she asked if she could come fishing with us.”

Zhang Shutong raised an eyebrow, curious:

“So they finally have a chance?”

Ruoping gave a dry smile and ignored the question.

“I thought Lu Qinglian was the type with no spark at all, but turns out she’s interested in fishing. So we told her the spot, we ate first and came here. After a while, she showed up.”

Zhang Shutong looked around:

“Then she fished a bit and left? Did Dukang take her?”

“No. After teaching her how to cast, just when I was taking a photo, she suddenly remembered something and said she’d come back after handling it. Didn’t say where, just put down the rod and left. Dukang’s still sitting here clueless...”

Qingyi took up the story:

“We told him if he didn’t check on her now, it’d be late, so he chased after her. He left not long before you arrived, Shutong.”

Zhang Shutong pieced it together but drew no conclusions.

So, after all this, they still didn’t know why Lu Qinglian came.

She couldn’t have come just to fish, could she?

He found her behavior somewhat familiar, akin to his younger self—sometimes busy with other things among friends or family, then suddenly triggered to act, fumbling for excuses before rushing out.

Sometimes he’d involve himself in matters where he barely knew anyone, joining in awkwardly while others stared, yet he fancied himself a superhero making an entrance.

He was about to ask more when Ruoping waved behind her:

“Here, here... they’re back. If you have questions, just ask.”

They had returned.