Chapter 32: A Sense of Déjà Vu

"Did the two of you know each other before?"

"How could that be?" Before Gu Qiumian could speak, Zhang Shutong immediately shook his head. "You're overthinking it, Teacher. When would I have ever met her?"

Though they were both children from the "big city," their lifestyles were worlds apart. Even if they had visited the same amusement park, it would have been while he was waiting in a long line outside the main gate, whereas she would be strolling leisurely into the VIP entrance—it wouldn't even be out of the question for her to hold an annual pass.

He recalled how Gu Qiumian used to take her Pokémon out to play on the island. A convoy of taxis would head toward the largest commercial plaza. Then, she would step onto the polished marble floors, flanked by rows of high-end fashion boutiques, leading the way while others carried shopping bags of all sizes. They would inevitably end up booking an oversized private room at a KTV... As for other forms of entertainment, Zhang Shutong’s imagination was limited; he couldn't think of any more.

He thought this way because he had suddenly noticed that Gu Qiumian rarely wore the same outfit twice, with the exception of that one scarf. Unlike himself, he could make one coat last an entire week.

He found it quite dramatic: she was a rich young lady who should have been living a carefree life, yet she was the one being targeted for revenge, and she was the one whose life was in danger. He truly didn't know if that was a blessing or a curse.

"Why do I feel like you two have been acting strange from the very beginning?" Old Song persisted.

"That's just your imagination."

Zhang Shutong hadn't realized Old Song was this gossipy. He wanted to roll his eyes but held back, intending to leave the eye-rolling to Gu Qiumian, who would surely say in a huff, "Oh, Teacher, are you ever going to stop being so annoying..."

But in reality, that didn't happen. Gu Qiumian seemed not to hear their conversation at all. It was as if she had just swum ashore from a long river of memory. She nodded her chin belatedly and said calmly, "Yeah, we don't know each other."

She then asked Zhang Shutong without looking back, "I usually live in Deer Lane. Where is your home?"

Zhang Shutong hadn't heard of the name, but it sounded vaguely familiar; he assumed it must be some famous, ultra-high-end residential area. In any case, given his family's circumstances, he shouldn't have known it. He gave a name of a similar tier to his own "Warm Home," and, as expected, Gu Qiumian indicated she hadn't heard of that either.

"Then it's even more impossible," the girl said decisively.

Old Song’s curiosity was left unfulfilled, and he muttered, "That's true. We aren't on the island, and the provincial capital is much bigger than this..."

But no one echoed his sentiment, and the cabin seemed to go cold for a moment.

Zhang Shutong just wanted to wait for Gu Qiumian to get home safely, hear whatever "important matter" Old Song had regarding the girl, and then go do what he needed to do.

By now, the Ford Focus was about to turn onto a mountain road. The path ahead was empty, with a mountain on one side and a lake on the other; this meant they had left the city center behind. Song Nanshan relaxed as he drove, turning on the radio and taking the time to fiddle with the stations.

Static crackled through, occasionally mixed with a faint female voice. The signal was poor, and after struggling to find a frequency, he simply told Gu Qiumian to find a disc in the armrest box.

With one eye on the road and one on the armrest box, he directed her, "Yes, it's called 'Poetry of the Post-Youth,' the cover has a very large tree on it..."

The disc was swallowed, and the sound of guitar strumming filled the air. Song Nanshan didn't forget to introduce it: "Listening to Mayday is fine, right? Don't you kids all love their songs..."

Zhang Shutong didn't care; sitting quietly and listening to music was fine. It had already turned dark, and at some point, a few drops of water had appeared on the windshield. As the car moved forward, the drops began to accumulate.

It was raining.

It started suddenly, without any warning.

It made Zhang Shutong feel, for no reason, that following along on this trip might have been the right decision.

The windshield wipers swept back and forth nonchalantly, the yellow candle-like headlights illuminating the road ahead. With nothing but the music in his ears and the dimness of the cabin, perhaps this sudden drizzle washed away some pretense, allowing Zhang Shutong to realize that all three people present had their own secrets.

He looked out the window, realizing that Gu Qiumian had to travel this road every day. The scenery could only be described as average.

The car drove through the dim road.

The car’s condition wasn't great; by future standards, it was an old vehicle that lagged behind in every way. Even in 2012, it wasn't particularly new. It was likely a used car before it came into Old Song’s hands. Every time they passed over a pothole, the chassis would creak and groan. Zhang Shutong was shaken up quite a bit, something he hadn't noticed before.

Only now did he realize that, besides the chassis, the gray-white fabric interior had turned yellow, the headliner was torn in one spot, the seats revealed the foam underneath, and the plastic on the center console had cracked. This little car had been with Old Song for so many years; it had really seen some tough times.

But Song Nanshan was just that kind of rough-and-tumble guy.

He probably didn't care about these things.

Yet, for some reason, there was a Bulbasaur figurine on the center console. A metal spring connected the Pokémon’s belly to the base, and every time they hit a rough patch of road, it would wobble. The figurine was likely the newest thing in the car, well-protected, as if he had bought it at the mall just yesterday, even though it looked a bit faded upon closer inspection.

The little creature was "ugly-cute," with a wide mouth and green skin. It was said to be the most steadfast and docile of the starter Pokémon. Zhang Shutong had previously wondered why Old Song kept it in the car—perhaps he drove too fast and was afraid of an accident, placing it there in an attempt to gain the blessing of the God of Bulbasaur.

But now, he had a new answer.

He asked if that frog was bought by Old Song’s ex-girlfriend. The man nodded and said yes, then grinned and reached out to flick the creature: "Actually, I bought it for her as a desk ornament. But when I turned around, she had used glue to stick it to my car. This ugly thing—if it weren't stuck on so tight, I would have thrown it away long ago."

Zhang Shutong thought to himself that Old Song was a "tsundere," an old tsundere at that.

Who knew, Old Song suddenly added:

"But if I threw it away, I couldn't buy another one. It's a knock-off. I shouldn't have been cheap and bought a knock-off back then. Look, aren't the eyes of this turtle yellow?"

Zhang Shutong looked closely; a yellow-eyed Bulbasaur was indeed a one-of-a-kind mistake.

He couldn't smoke in the car, so he started rambling:

"It was at that amusement park I mentioned to you guys earlier. There was a small stall, twenty yuan for one; you could get them for five elsewhere. I hadn't been working long and was dirt poor, but I felt that romance was the greatest thing in the world, so I steeled myself and bought it.

"Turns out, after I bought it, I found out her favorite was the yellow mouse, or at the very least, the blue turtle would have been fine. She said this frog was the ugliest one when it grew up. I searched online, and it was true. You have to wonder if the people at the game company have something wrong with their heads. Just draw a cute pet that every girl likes; why make a frog look so ugly? Did a frog offend your whole family..."

At this moment, the radio cut to a new track, and he suddenly stopped talking. He seemed to have been waiting for this for a long time, listening intently in silence. Zhang Shutong listened along for a few bars; the song title seemed to be "Like Smoke."

The car entered a curve to the sound of the music. As the headlights turned, a van suddenly appeared in their path, driving recklessly. One of its wheels had already crossed the center line. Zhang Shutong had been staring ahead, and before he could even give a warning, Song Nanshan slammed the steering wheel, making the tires screech.

The two cars narrowly missed each other, but the Ford's right side-mirror scraped against the mountainside.

"...How are you driving?!"

Old Song wanted to curse, but remembering the two students in the car, he forcibly held it back. He didn't dare lose focus now, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, his speed slowing down slightly.

The car's headlights illuminated the slanted rain, and in the silence of the journey, they finally lit up the building ahead.