Chapter 1

Chapter 1

In middle school, I was a good student. My grades weren’t exactly top-tier, but I made up for it by being steady and sensible. Compared to the childish boys my age, I was the more precocious type.

Because I was good at navigating social situations, I was quite popular. My classmates found me reliable, and my teachers thought I was well-bred.

Only I knew that all of this was the result of painstaking effort.

In reality, I wasn’t as composed as I appeared. My true nature was insecure and gloomy, often filled with dark thoughts. I had already learned how to smoke and skip class back in elementary school.

When I reached middle school, I resolved to start over and worked hard to play the part of a model student.

But everything was destined to fall apart.

It all started in the eighth grade.

That year, a girl named Chen Zhen transferred into our class and sat at the desk directly in front of me.

She had a cold personality. She never laughed, never spoke, and gave off an air of being completely unapproachable.

Sitting behind her, I never saw her turn around. If she ever had turned back to reveal a pale face devoid of features, I wouldn’t have been surprised-years later, I would often have nightmares like that.

In truth, I can no longer clearly remember what Chen Zhen looked like. It must have been a plain, forgettable face.

However, I remember certain trivial details.

Her hair was very black, tied neatly behind her head, and her neck was thin and pale.

She always kept her head lowered, which caused two vertebrae to protrude from that white neck, sharp and fragile-looking.

Her collar was always crisp, never stained with sweat; her shirts were always smooth and neat, with no wrinkles except at the shoulder blades.

I couldn’t stop myself from looking at her.

During morning self-study, the sunlight would slant in, making the fine peach fuzz on her neck glow, while a fresh scent of soap wafted from her clothes.

I would peek out from behind my book, staring blankly at her back.

Why did I keep looking at her? I couldn’t say for sure.

One day, I finally couldn’t help myself. I dropped a pen at Chen Zhen’s feet and tapped her on the shoulder, asking her to pick it up for me. She picked it up slowly and handed it back with her head down, never meeting my eyes.

I often used the opportunity of handing out assignments or collecting papers to circle around to her front to see what she was doing-usually, she was fiddling with her pencil case, seemingly obsessed with the order of the stationery inside.

Later, my curiosity about her grew. I would tap her shoulder from time to time, making small talk just to hear myself speak-

“What did you have for dinner last night?”

“Do you know how to do this problem? I can teach you.”

“Do you not talk to your mom at home either?”

Chen Zhen would always turn around expressionlessly, keeping her head down and remaining silent. She was so cold that I couldn’t even tell if she had heard me.

It wasn’t just with me; she was like that with everyone. She often kept her head down during class and didn’t seem to be listening, so her grades were at the bottom of the class.

At first, our classmates were friendly toward Chen Zhen, but no one could endure that kind of coldness forever. Over time, they stopped bothering. I was the only one who kept trying to get close to her, despite the constant rebuffs.

We all knew something was wrong with Chen Zhen.

She had autism, a neurodevelopmental disorder. It couldn’t be cured; it could only be managed through early intervention to keep things from getting worse.

The fact that she could remain emotionally stable, possessed some self-care abilities, and could sit in a regular middle school classroom was the result of her family’s desperate efforts.

Of course, there was another reason: the school gave her extra consideration because her mother was our school’s geography teacher.

My fixation on Chen Zhen was obvious. Some classmates rumored that I was trying to suck up to the teacher’s daughter for grades, but then they realized geography was just a minor subject-it made no sense to go to such lengths for a minor subject while ignoring Chinese, Math, and English.

So, the more common rumor was that I liked Chen Zhen.

My classmates didn’t say anything to my face, but behind my back, they said I had unique tastes. I had no way to refute them.

Chen Zhen’s mother, Teacher Lu-Lu Xiaoyun-was very grateful that I was willing to interact with her daughter. She called me into her office and treated me to snacks, hoping I would continue to help Chen Zhen.

Teacher Lu was gentle and beautiful. When she smiled, her eyes crinkled, giving off a warm feeling like a spring breeze-the complete opposite of her ice-cold daughter.

Chen Zhen’s father had deserted them early on, leaving shortly after Chen Zhen was diagnosed. For over a decade, Teacher Lu had raised her daughter alone, emptying her savings for intervention programs, patiently teaching her how to live and communicate, and correcting her abnormal behaviors. She never gave up.

A gentle spring breeze attempting to move an iceberg is a long and arduous journey. Even now, Chen Zhen remained emotionally detached with poor learning abilities. She refused to speak and wouldn’t even call her “Mom”; the last time she had done so was two years ago.

Teacher Lu loved nature, which was why she chose geography as her specialty. She also loved the world of people, which was why she chose the profession of teaching.

She loved everything in this world, while her daughter loved nothing.

It was hard to imagine how such a mother and daughter survived together, and even harder to imagine how Teacher Lu had endured those long, hopeless years.

Actually, Teacher Lu didn’t need to ask me. I naturally couldn’t stop myself from approaching Chen Zhen and trying to talk to her.

Chen Zhen seemed to have a natural pull on me.

I knew it wasn’t love, but if I didn’t like her, why did I keep approaching her?

I was confused by this myself.

Chen Zhen had a face that was both plain and cold, the kind that could cause physical discomfort. Aside from her mother, no one would like her.

She even made me feel afraid.

In countless midnight dreams, looking back at my middle school days, I would break into a cold sweat and wake up abruptly from a nightmare.