Chapter 102: Side Story 2

June was a month of melting gold. The midday sun mercilessly roasted the pavement and the examinees swarming out of the teaching buildings.

Xie Lan followed the crowd toward the exit until a hand caught him at the gates of Yingzhong High School.

“Found you at last,” Dou Sheng said, catching up. “How was it?”

Xie Lan hesitated, struggling for words before finally muttering, “I can’t say for sure. It felt a bit… strange.”

A banner hung over the west gate of Yingzhong: Success in the Gaokao, May Your Name Bloom on the Golden List.

Once the exam rooms were cleared, the security guards received orders to open the telescopic gates. The examinees blocked at the entrance suddenly flooded out like a released torrent.

Xie Lan and Dou Sheng were nearly at the back of the line. They weren’t in a hurry, shuffling along slowly with the crowd.

Dou Sheng couldn’t resist asking, “The essay—”

“I just feel like the essay topic was a bit odd.” Xie Lan hesitated. “I feel…”

Dou Sheng tensed. “Do you feel like you went off-topic?”

“Not exactly, it was just… difficult to write.” Xie Lan sighed. “How did you write yours?”

The H-Province Gaokao Chinese essay prompt this year was concise and to the point:

As a young person in the 21st century, how do you view “Sang Culture” (Depression/Defeatist Culture)?

Please write an argumentative essay of no less than 800 words. Choose your own angle, determine your thesis, and create your own title. No plagiarism; do not disclose personal information.

Dou Sheng observed Xie Lan’s expression and hesitated to speak. Xie Lan frowned in confusion and asked, “Didn’t Old Qin say the Gaokao prompts would focus on virtues and values? Why… why did they test such an inauspicious thing? I don’t know much about this area, so I didn’t have many viewpoints for the argument. It was a bit of a disadvantage. But it’s okay—thanks to playing that game with you back then, otherwise, I would’ve been finished.”

Dou Sheng’s expression went cold. He grabbed Xie Lan’s hand.

“Which game are you talking about?” he asked, shocked. “What exactly did you write?”

Xie Lan hesitated. “The character Sang appeared alone, and I was a bit confused. The words I could think of were jǔsàng (depression), sàngshī (zombies), and sàngshì (funerals).”

Dou Sheng stared at him. “Don’t tell me you wrote about all three.”

“No, isn’t the test about Sang culture? Only funerals (sàngshì) can really be called a culture, right? Traditional folk culture?” Xie Lan said. “But I haven’t experienced that, so I only remembered that game I played with you last year, something called Paper Bride. Do you remember?”

“…” Dou Sheng remained silent, walking slowly.

His expression held a trace of pity and a great deal of shock.

Xie Lan hissed. “But I wasn’t entirely sure. On one hand, using funerals for a Gaokao essay is too weird. On the other hand, I couldn’t reach 800 words just writing about that, so I extended it. Didn’t Old Qin say the ‘solidity’ of an article can be built by pulling from multiple directions? I deconstructed the prompt: one part was Sang, and the other was folk culture, so I extended both sides.”

Dou Sheng’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m all ears.”

“In the first paragraph, I promoted traditional culture. A great nation of etiquette should have great details even in funerals, showing the magnanimity of a major power.” Xie Lan skillfully recited the templates Old Ma had organized for him, counting on his fingers. “Then I spent a paragraph writing all the little details of Chinese funeral rituals I could think of. After that, I tied it back to the prompt to argue my viewpoint. I argued both sides: the positive side was how paper effigies mimic the living to convey grief and how family vigils embody warm emotions; the negative side was debunking the bad influences of feudal remnants, like how burning paper money isn’t eco-friendly and how ghost marriages are unacceptable—basically, all the bad things in that game you played. And… why are you shivering?”

Dou Sheng hugged himself, looking up at the blazing sun.

“Suddenly, I feel a bit cold,” he murmured. “And then? What did you extend?”

“Oh. For folk culture, I incidentally extended it to ‘Happy Affairs’ (Xǐshì), like weddings. As for the Sang part, I wasn’t sure if my thesis was right, so I extended it slightly toward the direction of ‘Depression’ (jǔsàng).”

As soon as Xie Lan finished, Dou Sheng’s eyes lit up. “How much did you write for the depression part?”

“Just a few sentences. The core was that the depressed emotions people feel at funerals have also become part of the culture,” Xie Lan said. “I had to maintain the overall integrity of the essay, after all.”

“…”

They walked a few more steps. Xie Lan gave a long sigh. “Just tell me. Did I drift off-topic, or did I miss it entirely?”

“Don’t think about it.” Dou Sheng shook his head vigorously. “There are other subjects coming up. Once an exam is over, don’t think about it.”

Xie Lan wouldn’t give up. “Tell me. It doesn’t matter what score I get anyway…”

Just as he spoke, he saw Old Qin under the crooked plane tree outside the west gate, surrounded by several students from Class 4.

As Xie Lan approached, he heard Che Ziming mutter, “I wrote a huge section using milk tea as an example. Is that too tacky?”

Old Qin said, “Tackiness doesn’t matter, but I’m afraid you drifted. Milk tea is a very twisted cultural symbol. It’s fine for media people writing blog posts, but as a point for an argumentative essay, it lacks ‘grip’.”

Che Ziming sighed, pulling his backpack higher. “Whatever. My Chinese has always been like that. Ready for Math this afternoon.”

“Get going then,” Old Qin said, then caught sight of Xie Lan and waved.

Xie Lan no longer wanted to go over.

—Not after hearing the nonsensical “milk tea” example.

Throughout the process of explaining his essay topic and thesis to Old Qin, he could see out of the corner of his eye that Dou Sheng was in a state of wanting to speak but holding back. Dou Sheng tugged his sleeve several times but ultimately just looked away in silent endurance.

“…So in the end, so…” Xie Lan couldn’t go on. He sighed under the hot sun. “So this essay wasn’t supposed to discuss funeral folk customs at all, was it?”

Old Qin clutched his heart. “You might as well just bury me and hold a funeral for me right now.”

Xie Lan: “…”

Dou Sheng let out a long sigh and finally couldn’t help but say: “Sang culture is a buzzword from recent years. it refers to how young people nowadays are often ‘depressed’ or listless, liking to drink milk tea and be ‘fat otakus,’ hating work and resigning on a whim, escaping the so-called ‘involution’ (nèijuǎn). You must have seen everyone ranting in the comments and bullet chats, right? Like ‘I’m so Sang‘ or ‘I’m Sang again today.’ That is Sang culture. This topic seems broad, but it can be written narrowly. You point out these appearances, then counter them with the actual struggles and hard work of young people… anyway… it has nothing to do with those… underworld things.”

Xie Lan’s mouth slowly fell open.

“This… this can be called a ‘culture’??”

Old Qin looked at him with a weary gaze, his fingers trembling. If he had a cigarette in his pocket, he would have lit one right then.

Dou Sheng reached out and rubbed Xie Lan’s head. “You understand ‘culture’ too narrowly. It’s not just traditional customs and civilizations that count… but it doesn’t matter. You don’t need the Gaokao points anyway.”

“But…” Xie Lan was still speechless. He couldn’t believe he had strayed so far off-topic, and he felt a pang of regret for all the mental effort he’d spent in the exam room.

Dou Sheng pulled his hand. “Let’s go. Time to head home.”

“Alright…” Xie Lan turned to look at Old Qin. “Teacher… I’m truly sorry.”

Old Qin went silent for a long time before managing to squeeze out a fragile smile.

“It’s okay. Good luck this afternoon.”

All those years of special care and extra tutoring… were, in the end, misplaced.

---

Having drifted off-topic on the essay, Xie Lan had zero fighting spirit for the remaining exams. He turned in his Math paper as soon as he finished, coming out the moment early submission was allowed to stare blankly at the large crowd of parents outside.

A short-haired woman pulled at him. “You’re Xie Lan, right? Was the test hard?”

Xie Lan was dazed for a moment before recognizing her as Wen Zisen’s (the sports rep) mother.

He shook his head. “Not hard. Similar to the mock papers from the last two weeks.”

“That’s good, that’s good.” The woman breathed a sigh of relief. “You finished early?”

“Mm.”

Old Ma was waiting under a tree. Seeing Xie Lan approach, he didn’t blame him for leaving early or ask about the math; he only sighed.

“I heard about your essay.” Old Ma paused. “My condolences.”

“…”

Xie Lan stood under the tree with a blank face.

In June, the plane trees at Yingzhong were in bloom again. An elegant fragrance lingered under the tree, and the soft, slightly wrinkled petals made the fierce sunlight seem gentle. Xie Lan stared at them for a long time until a bead of sweat rolled from his hair, and then he gave a soft sigh.

“Teacher,” he said in a low voice. “Why do you think learning Chinese is so hard?”

Old Ma said immediately, “It’s not hard. Actually, you’re already excellent. Standardized testing can filter talent, but it has its drawbacks. For example, with this essay, you might lose more than half the points—but the root cause isn’t that your values are wrong or your logic is poor, but simply that you didn’t know one specific vocabulary word.”

The lump in Xie Lan’s chest loosened slightly. He was about to nod when he heard Old Ma add: “Besides, if the Gaokao really did ask about ‘underworld’ things, ordinary people couldn’t possibly out-gloom you.”

“…”

Xie Lan looked away expressionlessly. “Thank you. I feel very comforted.”

---

At 5:30 PM on the 8th, the English papers were turned in. The H-Province Gaokao was over.

The moment the proctor sealed the papers into the file bag, miraculously, Xie Lan’s sense of loss over the essay vanished.

The teacher’s hand caught the end of the cotton string, winding it around the seal of the file over and over, as if winding up the time spent over these past ten-plus months. Once the seal was applied, a piece of the past was settled.

He instinctively turned to look out the window—it was near dusk, the sun was still strong, and a vast expanse of red and purple clouds filled the horizon. It was sacredly beautiful.

The proctor ordered everyone to leave, saying with a smile, “Congratulations everyone, the Gaokao is over.”

In an instant, the room was filled with sighs and exclamations. Xie Lan, as slow as ever, waited until most people had left before packing his ID and getting up. Passing the back door of the room in the hallway, he saw the door was half-open and dazed for a moment at an empty desk.

That was Chen Ge’s desk.

Chen Ge had finished his sophomore and junior years elsewhere, but his school registration remained here, so he had returned for the Gaokao. By pure coincidence, they were assigned to the same room.

During these days when he finished early and stared into space, he would occasionally see that desk and feel a sense of trance.

When he first joined Class 4, Chen Ge sat at that very desk by the back door. Back then, he wore non-compliant ripped jeans and dirty T-shirts, his hair was a mess, and his gaze was fierce.

Over a year ago, on the day Chen Ge left, his hair had been cut very short, appearing a bit stunned yet determined to burn his bridges.

Meeting him this time, his hair had grown back—clean and fresh. He wore a simple white T-shirt and sky-blue jeans, diligently answering questions for the full two days.

Xie Lan wanted to say hello, but their seats were too far apart, and they had no chance to speak over the two days of testing.

As Xie Lan walked out of the building, Dou Sheng was waiting in the usual spot. Seeing him, Dou Sheng opened his arms from a distance.

“Come here, give me a hug, little Xie Lan,” Dou Sheng said with a smile. “Our senior year is over.”

Xie Lan hummed, going over to hug his boyfriend. Their chests pressed together over their heartbeats as they stroked each other’s backs.

“You worked hard,” Dou Sheng said. “Chinese high school graduate, Student Xie Lan.”

Xie Lan whispered, “You too. How was your test?”

“Just for fun.” Dou Sheng tossed his ID card holder into the air and caught it. With his thumb, he pulled a thin, resilient maple leaf from a back slot and handed it to Xie Lan. “Here.”

Xie Lan took it and put it in his pocket out of habit, feeling the veins on the leaf. Looking at Dou Sheng’s casual smile, his mood brightened again.

“So, does this mean you did well?”

“Mm.” Dou Sheng smiled in the sunlight, squeezing through the school gates with him. “Provincial top scorer in Science. Want to bet?”

A group of nearby parents immediately looked over with strange expressions. Dou Sheng couldn’t help but laugh, waving his hand. “I’m just joking.”

“This kid is quite confident,” one parent laughed. “Keep that mindset, keep that smile.”

“I will,” Dou Sheng nodded seriously.

Xie Lan couldn’t stop smiling. Once the parents were far away, he whispered, “We’re both betting on the same side. What’s there to bet?”

---

Zhao Wenying picked them up personally after the exams. The auntie at home had prepared a table full of dishes—all the things Xie Lan and Dou Sheng loved. Xie Lan ate until he was stuffed, then lay on the bed scratching Wutong’s chin until he fell asleep. When he opened his eyes, it was dark.

He was woken up by the vibrating of the group chat.

• Cherries (Che Ziming): Coming out? “High Roast Top Scorer”! I actually managed to book a table! The boss is a real one!
• Gouzi Wangwang: I’m in! Who else?
• Cherries: Default is everyone in the group. Liu Yixuan is coming, and Chen Ge too.
• Latte Coffee: Holy crap, “Small Boat” (Chen Ge) is back? I’m rushing over!
• Herring (Yu Fei): Me too.

Xie Lan sat up groggily. Not long after, there was a knock on the door. Dou Sheng stood there with a smile. “Gaokao’s over night. Shall we go?”

“Where? High Roast Top Scorer?” Xie Lan asked.

Dou Sheng laughed. “Mm. To fulfill the Yingzhong tradition.”

What tradition?

Xie Lan was stunned once they reached the area outside the west gate.

On the night the Gaokao ended, the street outside the west gate, which he expected to be silent and empty, was packed with students. Street vendors were out in force, and the tables of “High Roast Top Scorer” stretched across half the street. A pile of old wooden boards had been set up at the entrance, with thick hemp ropes tied across them, filled with sticky notes attached by small pins.

Only four hours after the exam ended, Xie Lan was shocked to find the girls had undergone a collective transformation. Straight long hair and wavy curls split the scene, with eyeshadow, lipstick, and dresses everywhere. The boys each held a beer bottle, clinking them together like brothers.

“What’s going on?” Xie Lan was shocked. “Did someone tear off the talismans suppressing the monsters of Yingzhong?”

Dou Sheng burst out laughing. “Nice. Your use of sarcasm is very skilled now.”

Xie Lan sneered. “Heh.”

Skilled in sarcasm, yet still unable to write a good Gaokao essay. It was too f*cking ridiculous.

Che Ziming suddenly poked his head out of the shop. “Over here! Just waiting for you two!”

Dou Sheng raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Impressive. You actually booked an indoor table with a fan.”

They wove through the crowd and stepped into the cramped little shop.

There were two large tables. He didn’t recognize the people at the other table, but the one he knew was already full.

In addition to those Che Ziming mentioned, Dong Shuijian was there, sitting next to Chen Ge. Liu Yixuan sat beside Dong Shuijian, with Yu Fei next to her. One empty spot was presumably for Che Ziming, then Wang Gou and Dai You.

A space had been left for Dou Sheng and Xie Lan to the right of Dai You. Xie Lan sat next to him, and Dou Sheng sat down right next to Chen Ge.

It was the first time he’d seen Chen Ge in a long time. He didn’t exchange much pleasantry, just asked casually, “How was it?”

“Okay. No big surprises.” Chen Ge handed over two cans of cold beer, placing them in front of him and Xie Lan. He smiled at Xie Lan. “I was in the same room as you. I wanted to say a few words after the first session, but you looked so lost I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Ah.” Xie Lan thought of his cursed essay and immediately wilted. “Don’t mention it.”

“Not mentioning it.” Dou Sheng smiled and rubbed his hand.

Chen Ge saw their intimate gesture and his expression remained natural. Dong Shuijian and Liu Yixuan were also long used to it.

Dong Shuijian wore a light blue off-the-shoulder gauze dress today. Her short hair from months ago had grown past her shoulders, looking soft and gentle.

“What are you eating?” Chen Ge asked her. “Want some gristle?”

She nodded. “Non-spicy.”

Chen Ge got up and found two non-spicy gristle skewers from the chaotic pile of BBQ. He used a tissue to wipe the oil and cumin from the sticks before handing them to her.

Liu Yixuan “tsk-ed” on the side. “There’s another woman here, you know.”

Yu Fei straightened up from the table. “I’ll do it.”

The table erupted in laughter. Che Ziming slapped Yu Fei on the shoulder. “Can you not break character for once?”

“F*ck off,” Yu Fei brushed his hand away. “Are you done?”

Everyone was laughing. By the time Xie Lan realized he was laughing along with them, he didn’t know how long he’d been grinning like an idiot.

After the Gaokao, everyone was superstitious about talking about the exams, but the people at this table were very relaxed.

Dou Sheng once again casually claimed he’d likely be the provincial Science top scorer. Everyone else expressed that they performed normally. Dong Shuijian’s English listening was a bit weak, but with the bonus points from the math competition and independent recruitment for two schools, she was fearless.

After everyone was asked, Dai You looked at Chen Ge. “How far have you caught up? What’s your level for a normal performance?”

Chen Ge was looking down eating meat. Hearing this, he glanced up. “The same level as before.”

The room was noisy, but the table went silent for several seconds.

Dou Sheng was the calmest. “Can you hit 700?”

“Yes.” Chen Ge nodded. “700, 710. I reckon it’s around that range.”

The moment he finished, Che Ziming punched him on the shoulder and slammed a beer bottle onto the table. “Small Boat, that’s badass!”

Chen Ge hummed, swallowing his food before saying, “The school I went to wasn’t great. The teachers in the elite class were just okay. In the second semester of senior year, I relied on Douzi feeding me problems and materials to barely pull through.”

Che Ziming looked at Dou Sheng in shock. “You were feeding him problems?”

“Paid knowledge,” Dou Sheng said casually. “He’s doing two jobs for Xie Lan. Later, Xie Lan needs to record some outdoor scenes. He has steady hands, so he’ll be our camera operator.”

“And the wages?”

“Industry standard, 20% discount.” Dou Sheng glanced at him. “Interested?”

Che Ziming waved his hands quickly. “No, no, no. I was just curious. You black-hearted guy, giving a bro some materials and then charging a 20% discount on his labor. Totally dishonorable.”

Chen Ge laughed. “But I feel like I got a good deal. Douzi took photos page by page to send to me; my phone album is full.”

The table burst into laughter again, and the topic quickly shifted to complaining about the “Demon Teachers.”

Xie Lan didn’t join in the loud banter but looked at Chen Ge several times. Chen Ge was completely different from before—cheerful and open. Even though he’d never seen this version of Chen Ge, he felt a faint sense of familiarity.

If he had to say, perhaps he was a bit like Dou Sheng.

Seven boys and two girls ordered over a thousand yuan worth of BBQ and alcohol. Xie Lan hadn’t even digested his dinner before he was coaxed into filling his stomach with beer and skewers. He was both drunk and stuffed, his head spinning so much that the bustling crowds outside seemed to be rotating.

He didn’t know when, but he eventually rested his chin on Dou Sheng’s shoulder. Once his chin was on his boyfriend’s shoulder, his vision stabilized. He wasn’t so dizzy or spinning anymore, so he just kept it there.

After the Gaokao, everyone had endless things to say—talking about life, dreams, those few difficult Math and Physics problems, choosing majors, games… Dong Shuijian and Liu Yixuan even started talking about nails and hair.

Wang Gou was going back to his hometown tomorrow. For this longest and most carefree summer break of his life, he was going back to help his family with chores and find a way to earn some living expenses. The so-called “creditors” of Chen Ge’s family were reportedly arrested two months ago for other cases. The mess they were involved in was much more complex than he imagined. He only knew those unwarranted debts were gone and planned to buy a smaller house in H-City. His mother still wanted to live in a familiar place.

Che Ziming, needless to say, would spend the summer helping his dad with stock and accompanying his grandma, with a couple of trips planned for Dai You and Yu Fei—everyone said they should go together.

In a short while, they decided on several places they wanted to visit. Dai You even planned out a travel route. When asked, Dou Sheng refused bluntly.

“Not going. No time.” Dou Sheng shelled a peanut—there were two inside. He ate one and fed the other to Xie Lan over his shoulder. “I have a video list this long—all debts.” He gestured the size of an A4 paper in the air and sighed. “I can’t flake anymore. If I flake any longer, my Top 100 for this year won’t be safe.”

Che Ziming stared. “So you want to defend your title?”

“A man without dreams is nothing.” Dou Sheng yawned, lightly patting Xie Lan’s head on his shoulder. “Do you want to go on a trip with them?”

Xie Lan snapped out of his drunkenness for a moment and shook his head.

“I have a lot of videos saved up too,” he said. “Young Swordsman 2 is about to air, there are promotional activities, and there’s a follow-up collaboration to discuss with Pei Qing.”

Moreover, the T-University Math Department required national team members to “return” to school early.

In short, everyone looked too busy to enjoy the sights.

Xie Lan’s mind was a bit muddled, but the clacking fan in the room mixed with the evening breeze made him feel clear.

In the crowd outside, some people were still wearing Yingzhong uniforms. Few people wore them normally, but now they had pulled them out from the bottom of their drawers.

The plane trees bloomed brilliantly this year. People sat at tables under the trees; the wind curled the flowers and leaves onto the tables, where everyone idly played with them.

The night breeze was fragrant.

He rested his chin on Dou Sheng’s shoulder, nuzzling slightly, and took a deep breath.

Dou Sheng turned his head and said softly, “Sleepy?”

“No.” Xie Lan retracted his gaze, his eyes falling on the layers of wish boards. He muttered, “What exactly is that tradition?”

“It seems to have started with the class two years ago. The boss of this shop puts out these boards on the nights after the Gaokao ends for examinees to write their wishes—the schools they want to go to or the scores they want. They say it’s quite effective.” Dou Sheng turned to ask the others, “You guys writing?”

Everyone immediately got up. “Let’s write.”

They went one by one to write. When they were done, they didn’t come back to sit but stood by the door, spacing out in the wind.

An old acquaintance from the “All-A” class called out to Chen Ge, so he went over to chat, and the group followed behind him to eavesdrop on the gossip.

The table was once again left with only Xie Lan and Dou Sheng.

Xie Lan squinted at the crowds outside for a long time before lightly patting Dou Sheng’s shoulder.

“Let’s go write too. Then go home.”

Dou Sheng lightly gripped his finger and kissed it.

“Mm.”

---

Those two days of the Gaokao were very long.

In the exam room and out of it—it was like two different worlds, two grand slow-motion films.

In the years to come, Xie Lan would gradually forget his Gaokao essay, forget many exam details, and even forget his own score and the scores of most of his friends.

But he remembered the feeling of that night—between sobriety and intoxication, leaning on Dou Sheng’s shoulder, blowing in the evening breeze with him, listening to his friends chatting nearby, and writing down his wish stroke by stroke.

The other wishes on the board were all on colorful sticky notes.

Like Dong Shuijian’s “J-University” on a sky-blue note, or the one next to it of the same color, an anonymous drawing of a small boat with the words “Together.”

Or Liu Yixuan, who didn’t wish for a Gaokao score that day; her wish was “500K followers this year,” written on a piece of pink paper.

And then there was his and Dou Sheng’s.

They didn’t use a sticky note. Instead, they casually picked two plane tree leaves. Their small characters were written on the leaves, fluttering gently in the evening wind.

He wrote: “Douzi must become the provincial Science top scorer.”

And Dou Sheng, who would indeed be revealed as the provincial Science top scorer shortly after, wrote in that moment: “Go to the same school as Xie Lan and study whatever interesting major. Graduate together, make money together.”

---

Author’s Note:

The Keyboard-thumper (Author) sighs.

You two are going to the same “Egg University.” Be a bit more low-key and don’t turn the school upside down, okay?

Lan-Egg (Xie Lan) sits on the sofa leisurely eating a lollipop: “Got it.”

Dou-Egg (Dou Sheng) can’t help but ask: “Have you always been this naggy after raising so many ‘eggs’?”

…The Keyboard-thumper is speechless: “No.”

Lan-Egg asks: “Do you have a bias against me and Dou-Egg?”

The Keyboard-thumper is surprised: “You only just found out?”

It’s actually true? Lan-Egg is suddenly depressed: “Egg is sad. I’m catching the Sang culture. I need another lollipop to perk up.”