AUS Chapter 8: Liu Jiang, Who Cares About Me

I had already defied the mundane gaze by kissing him in front of everyone.

I had already given up the student council’s sweet-talking promises just to spend a few more hours with him.

Why couldn’t I ask him why he kept randomly picking up people off the street?

In the end, I didn’t ask him that day, even as he walked me out of the alley. The reason was simple: the one who speaks first loses.

At least, that’s how I saw it.

But I still wanted to ask.

That weekend, we didn’t talk for two days. When school resumed on Monday, the weather had warmed up considerably. Liu Jiang was still his usual carefree self.

I saw him in the hallway.

In my previous life, if I had joined the student council by now, I would have spotted him at the school gate—or on the school wall.

At that moment, Liu Jiang was playfully shoving and tussling with the new guitarist. They’d clashed a bit during practice a few days ago, but thankfully, they seemed to get along now. If I remembered correctly, this guitarist stayed with the band for quite a while.

What was his name again?

As I racked my brain, Liu Jiang’s shout gave me a spark of inspiration.

He was being held back by a few guys from the next class, probably because someone had tickled him. Laughing and cursing, Liu Jiang yelled, “Liang Yi, screw you!”

Oh, Liang Yi.

Liang Yi, screw you too.

I strode straight to the stairwell, pushed open the door to the trash room, opened the garbage chute, and tossed in the bubblegum I was chewing. Then I let the metal door slam shut with a deliberately loud clang.

Being somewhat civilized, I’d wrapped the gum in its wrapper before tossing it, so the door’s closing wasn’t as thunderous as it could have been.

Still, the sound, distinct from human voices, drew attention. The crowd paused their antics, turning to look at me in small groups.

Maybe the rumor about my mental illness had spread, or perhaps my entrance was just that dramatic. Liu Jiang, just freed from being pinned, propped himself up among the group and greeted me with a bright, hearty wave.

I didn’t say much, just beckoned him over with a gesture.

In the stairwell, I handed him a stack of printed A4 papers.

Knowing these high schoolers had near-zero proficiency with Office software, I’d sent the spreadsheet to myself, reformatted it at night, and saved it to a USB drive. But after lying down, I got up again, realizing high schoolers probably didn’t have much computer access.

So I sorted the spreadsheet into several versions with different reference points, printed them out, and stapled them together.

How responsible of me!

Liu Jiang clearly thought so too when he took the files. He looked at the folder, then at me, his gratitude practically spilling over.

He slapped my shoulder hard. “You’re amazing, Yang Pingsheng! I’m treating you to milk tea tonight!”

His slaps were a bit too forceful. The few students who’d followed to watch flinched, as if worried I’d have a mental breakdown and do something unthinkable.

Truthfully, his slaps were annoying, but what really bothered me was what had happened earlier.

Liu Jiang’s behavior toward me felt a bit too… egalitarian.

I’d rather he treated me more indifferently, but with a touch of uniqueness, or even cursed me out.

I subtly dodged his hand and said, “Just something I did on the side.”

With that, I turned to leave. Seeing me emerge, the onlookers at the hallway entrance scattered like startled animals, each pretending to be busy in the now-empty corridor.

Suddenly, Liu Jiang called after me.

His tone was less animated now, quieter, almost like the adult version of him.

He asked, “Are you in a bad mood?”

Me, in a bad mood?

I was about to turn and argue, but someone burst into the stairwell.

It was Mouse, looking for me. Sure enough, my decision not to join the student council had even caught Old Sly’s attention.

Summoned to Old Sly’s side through Mouse as a middleman, the discipline director took a different approach this time. He chose to be direct.

He patted the chair beside him, gesturing for me to sit, and launched into a heart-to-heart. “Pingsheng, there are only three days left to sign up for student council. Are you really not going to give it a shot?”

If this were a boss urging me to join a project team, I’d have plenty of reasons to decline. But as a sixteen-year-old high schooler, I couldn’t muster any grand principles.

I scratched my head, opting for the simplest response. “Teacher Diao, I’m worried it’ll affect my studies.”

Old Sly had a moment of realization. “Are you concerned about it cutting into your study time? No problem. We’ll reserve a spot for you in this office. If you have any questions, just come in and ask!”

I hesitated, continuing to decline. “It’s not that, Teacher Diao. I really don’t have the time.”

Another realization hit Old Sly. “Are you worried student council activities will take up your free time? No worries. I’ll talk to the other student leaders and make sure they bother you as little as possible!”

Then what’s the point of me joining the student council? Old Sly’s pie-in-the-sky promises were on par with my old boss’s.

I blinked my clear, sixteen-year-old eyes, while Old Sly looked at me expectantly. It seemed Number Twenty High School really couldn’t find any other standout students besides me.

Both paths were blocked now, but I still had an escape route.

I suddenly stood up, pressing a hand to my head. “Oh no, oh no… it’s time for my medication. Sorry, Teacher Diao, let’s talk next time. I need to take my medicine!”

Before Old Sly could react, I bolted out the door.

Walking down the hallway, now tinged with the green of spring outside the windows, the obedient facade I’d worn for the adults slowly faded.

I had zero interest in joining the student council or what benefits it might bring. Even when facing the discipline director, my mind was preoccupied with one question—my relationship with Liu Jiang felt a bit off.

I couldn’t quite recall the details of how we used to interact, but I knew I wasn’t this insecure.

Or was I?

I couldn’t remember.

Interpersonal relationships were far harder to solve than math problems.

The first period ended, and the next class was PE. The high schoolers, who’d been cooped up all morning, instantly perked up. Amid their noisy chatter as they changed into athletic clothes, I propped my chin on my hand, staring out the window.

The flickering sunlight dimmed as someone appeared in front of my seat. I didn’t need to look to know it was Liu Jiang.

So I deliberately paused, sighed, and turned back with my most perfect composure.

Only to be met with a gaunt, acne-covered face.

What the hell? Who was this?

My chin recoiled at least twenty centimeters. The strange guy seemed to think something was on his face and raised a hand to touch it.

Coming to my senses, I reassured him, “There’s nothing on your face.”

The problem was his face itself.

He lowered his hand and stood straight. Only then did I notice he hadn’t sat in the chair in front of me but was standing beside me with his hands behind his back. The main reason he’d startled me was because he’d been bending down to look at me.

Thankfully, he hadn’t sat in the chair. In my mind, only Liu Jiang could pull off that carefree posture and make it look good.

As my thoughts wandered, the strange guy introduced himself. “I’m Qin Bowen, your class president.”

I raised a skeptical corner of my mouth, feeling like his tone was straight out of The Empire Strikes Back when Darth Vader says, “I am your father.”

He didn’t catch my subtext and continued, “Classmate, I need to ask—why aren’t you joining the student council? Are you worried about something?”

Old Sly had even enlisted help?

Wait, I remembered now. There was indeed a Qin Bowen in high school, and he was, in fact, part of the student council.

Some people are born to be bureaucrats, effortlessly mastering the art of flattery and reading their superiors’ cues without any training.

Qin Bowen was one of those people.

In my previous life, I’d been the one charging ahead, while he handled the cleanup. He let others take the spotlight and bear the brunt of public opinion, staying in the background to enjoy the shade and curry favor with the leaders.

Good thing he never worked with me in my career, or I wouldn’t have stood a chance against him.

So now, with the frontrunner gone, his sense of crisis wouldn’t let him take the risk.

I furrowed my brow, deciding not to stay seated. I stood up and started pulling on my school jacket. To my surprise, he followed me into the hallway, muttering as we walked, “Classmate, joining the student council is every student’s dream. The student council is the pride of Number Twenty High School!”

I stopped abruptly, looking at him as he looked at me.

I said, “I’m sick!”

He countered, “No, classmate, you’re not sick.”

I shot back, “No, I’m serious. I’m really sick. Mental illness.”

Seeing him still stunned, I turned and walked away. But he followed me again. Not holding back, I broke into a sprint.

PE classes at Number Twenty High School were held together, and that day, there were at least five classes—hundreds of students—on the field. So, on a sunny morning, hundreds of people witnessed our chase.

My intention wasn’t to let him actually catch up but to prove my mental illness by suddenly fleeing. But I didn’t expect him to be even crazier—he actually chased me!

Though he was slow, he was definitely chasing. His booming voice was undeterred by his sluggish pace. Every time I thought I’d lost him, a thunderous “Classmate!” would force me to start running again.

On the vast field, I finally spotted some familiar faces—Mouse and his band friends were lounging on the grass.

I dashed over, snatched the soda bottle he’d just opened, and chugged a few gulps. Seeing my urgency, Mouse, with one hand still holding the bottle, asked, “Looking for Liu Jiang?”

Why did everyone assume I was looking for Liu Jiang?

But I wasn’t going to waste the chance. I shoved the bottle back into his hand and asked, “Where is he?”

Mouse shook his head. “He left early. Maybe ask Liang Yi?”

Hearing that name made me want to roll my eyes. I patted my pants and stood up, replying to Mouse, “I’m not bothering with him.”

Ten minutes later, I found Liang Yi on the basketball court.

He was taking a break mid-game, looking utterly clueless. I sidled up and nudged his shoulder with my elbow—too lazy to even touch him with my hand.

He was about to drink water but put the bottle down when he saw me. Before I could ask, he said, “Liu Jiang just headed toward the announcer’s platform.”

I was puzzled. “How’d you know I was looking for Liu Jiang?”

A guy from Liang Yi’s class, a bespectacled kid who was always around, couldn’t resist chiming in. “Because whenever Liu Jiang’s around, you’re there, always with a scowl.”

Liang Yi glared at him. I didn’t bother, because Qin Bowen had reached the basketball court.

He shouted, “Classmate!”

Liang Yi asked, “Who’s ‘classmate’?”

The bespectacled guy shook his head. “Not me.”

Then they both turned their gazes to me.

I spun around and bolted toward the announcer’s platform.

But something bad happened—Qin Bowen was gaining on me. Somehow, his earlier leisurely jog seemed to have been a warm-up. Once he hit the rubber track, he started sprinting, closing the gap between us.

But I had agility on my side.

I veered sharply behind the announcer’s platform. It was a dead end, with only a spiked wall connecting to the outside. Unlike the wall Liu Jiang often climbed, this one would definitely leave me scratched up if I tried.

Then, a twist of fate—I spotted a sports storage shed behind the platform, but it seemed locked.

I tugged at the door, and another twist—the lock was only loosely latched, not actually secured.

I ducked inside, pulling the door tight behind me. The noisy sounds outside vanished instantly, leaving just me and the damp smell unique to the sports shed.

But it wasn’t over. I crouched behind a rack of basketballs, where a low window, only shoulder-high, let me easily observe outside.

I saw Qin Bowen’s shoulders appear outside the window. He searched around but didn’t suspect the “locked” shed.

Watching his figure recede, I let out a heavy sigh of relief.

As expected of me. You can’t catch me—I’m as nimble as a mountain—

There was someone beside me.

Realizing this, I stiffly turned my head. Meeting the gaze of the person next to me, I let out another sigh of relief.

It was Liu Jiang.

He was curled up beside me, leaning against the same stack of gym mats, looking like he’d been there for a while.

Here we were again.

In a confined space, just him and me. The outside world felt like it was wrapped in plastic film, and we were hiding inside it. I cared about him, and he cared about me.

“I cared about him” meant that after about ten seconds of eye contact, I asked, “What are you doing here?”

“He cared about me” meant that after shaking his head at my question, he asked, “Is your condition acting up again?”

Fair enough. Sneaking in from the door, skulking to the corner—anyone would think I looked off. Being seen as having an episode was understandable.

A few rays of light streamed through the low window. I saw him backlit, facing me, pursing his lips, which looked strikingly red.