AUS Chapter 13: Accepting Liu Jiang’s Challenge

Back at my apartment, I cleared my desk, dumped the contents of the cardboard box onto it, spread out the school uniform, and placed the envelope on top.

Liu Jiang did have a habit of writing, but his writing was limited to lyrics, never for personal communication.

I turned the envelope over a few times, then held it up to the light bulb. It was sealed with glue, containing only a folded piece of paper. Under the light, the words intertwined, making it impossible to read the contents.

I retrieved a utility knife from the entranceway, angled it, and slit the envelope open.

My hand was steady, but the anxiety in my stomach burned all the way to my throat. Whatever was written in this letter, it was something Liu Jiang wanted to leave behind.

I unfolded the paper. The contents were quite beyond my expectations.

“Do not wait for me in the spring breeze

Strive for vibrant clothes and a spirited horse, for youthful triumph

The day called regret will eventually pass

Wake up

Let us forget together”

It was a poem, or perhaps song lyrics.

That’s it?

I flipped the paper back and forth, trying to see if anything was tucked between the folds, but there was nothing. The envelope contained only this single sheet.

Looking closely, it seemed to be torn from the draft notebook Liu Jiang used back then. The top edge was cleanly cut, without any ragged tears.

So, it wasn’t the letter itself he wanted to leave behind, but its contents.

I looked back at the paper, feeling a wave of dizziness. A shameful fact: my Chinese grades were the worst.

I remembered studying poetry in middle school. Poetry was the perfect medium for creativity. All ethereal imagery, all meaningless rhetoric could be piled on, added in, while I sat restlessly in this ocean of literature.

I’d rather take three consecutive science exams than sit there and analyze the author’s intent. I sat down at my desk with a sigh, smoothing out Liu Jiang’s letter.

Actually, upon closer inspection, his lyrics were quite straightforward. They were probably about the anticipation of reunion between two young lovers separated in their youth—was that it?

That scenario was somewhat similar to ours.

However, I quickly dismissed the thought. Liu Jiang wasn’t one to sulk, much less write little love poems when angry, and then painstakingly sew them inside a school uniform. His moods did fluctuate sometimes, but such a dramatic display wasn’t his style.

Unless he did it to make me angry, or simply to keep me guessing.

No, no—I dismissed the idea again.

If Liu Jiang was still angry with me, he wouldn’t go through this trouble for me. If he went to such lengths, he couldn’t be angry with me.

After going back and forth in my mind, I was getting a headache. I pushed the letter aside and started looking at the rest of the contents of the box.

As expected, besides the uniform, everything else was from high school. Nothing special, though. Things like a Twenty Middle School graduation commemorative thermos, a Pilot pen with dried-up ink, a stack of unused notebooks, and the photo album Hao Zi mentioned.

I pulled my chair closer and opened the album.

The first page was empty. As I turned to the second page, I came face to face with a familiar face I hadn’t seen in a long time.

It was a Polaroid photo. Liu Jiang was lying on a bed, holding the camera above him and taking a picture from a top-down angle. The flash was on. With no free hand to make the rock-and-roll gesture, he expressed his rock spirit with his face, a slightly exaggerated grimace.

But that was the magic of Liu Jiang. No matter how bizarre or quirky the elements, he could pull them off effortlessly, like this expression that now seemed a bit chuunibyou.

I stared at it for a while longer, until I actually laughed.

I laughed so hard that the desk shook, and the cardboard box almost fell to the floor. I quickly steadied the table and turned to the next page.

From the second page onwards, the album became more substantial. The photos captured everything, people and objects, school hallways, lilac trees outside the building, Hao Zi sleeping soundly on his textbooks, and a figure sitting by a window.

Except for the figure by the window, all the other photos seemed to be taken with a phone and then printed, some with the telltale overexposure of early smartphones. Only the photo of the figure was clearer, taken with a Polaroid like Liu Jiang’s selfie.

I held the album up and examined it carefully, realizing the figure was me.

I was sitting on the windowsill in Liu Jiang’s bedroom, my feet dangling outside. The lights were off inside. I looked thinner than I remembered, no wonder I didn’t recognize myself at first glance.

But I had no memory of this photo being taken. He probably took it secretly.

Indescribable emotions welled up inside me. I decided to put them aside for now and turned to the next page.

The photos were arranged chronologically. The people in the early photos looked young and innocent. Liu Jiang still had black hair. Many photos were rough, as smartphones weren’t common back then, and students weren’t allowed to bring them to school.

But at some point, my eyes suddenly lit up. Liu Jiang had dyed his hair silver.

The first photo was a low-angle shot, showing his straight nose and narrowed fox eyes. His hair was silver, almost purple, and appeared translucent in the sunlight.

Even such a deathly angle couldn’t diminish his charm. My assessment of Liu Jiang was spot on.

From this point on, the pixel quality of Liu Jiang’s phone improved, and there were more photos of him with other people. Backstage, in the sunlight… if I remembered correctly, this was when he started performing with his band.

Flipping further, those familiar faces reappeared.

Hao Zi and Peng Xiaoxia caught candidly, Liang Yi caught by the back of his neck while climbing a wall, Lao Diao sneaking a picture from the school building, a group photo in a milk tea shop—wait a minute.

I immediately flipped back, my eyes fixed on the milk tea shop photo.

It was a group photo after a performance, taken in front of the milk tea shop counter. Instrument cases were piled up beside them. Liu Jiang wasn’t in the center of the frame, but he was still the most eye-catching. And beside him stood a face I had never seen before.

Slightly taller than Liu Jiang at the time, with gentle features and glasses.

I didn’t need an explanation. I knew who this was. This was Liu Jiang’s “brother.” This was Gu Tongyu.

Someone once said I was strange, my competitiveness bordering on abnormal. When faced with a major challenge, normal people might avoid it or sigh. I was different. My first reaction to a challenge was to laugh.

This kid? Challenge accepted.

Seriously, I accepted the challenge.

I quickly flipped through the rest of the album. It wasn’t full, only about half filled with photos. Chronologically, the photos only went up to the end of high school. After that, either printed photos went out of fashion or it became inconvenient to carry them around. There were only a few scattered photos of Liu Jiang at performances or his ID photo from back then.

As the time gaps between photos grew larger, the memories they held became fewer. I closed the album, staring at the dust motes dancing in the light, indescribable emotions churning within me.

My past life wasn’t perfect, so I would have more experience this time around. Moreover, this life could be lived infinitely slowly. I had countless opportunities.

I could do it right. Just like Liu Jiang said in his letter—strive for vibrant clothes and a spirited horse, for youthful triumph.

I stood up, put the letter back in the envelope, tucked it into the photo album, and neatly arranged the contents of the cardboard box, putting everything back inside.

I wouldn’t let Liu Jiang only see my back this time. This time, I would turn around and face him.

The day called regret would eventually pass.

Go, Yang Pingsheng!