The child belonged to 2010, while Zhao Menghua belonged to 1992—there was a chasm of time between them.
Zhao Menghua felt a little cold, curling up and putting his hands in his pockets. His fingertips touched something.
A phone!
He suddenly remembered he had his phone! He had initially planned to go to Zhongguancun to get it fixed!
He hurriedly pulled out his phone, and his vision darkened. He had forgotten to charge it last night, and it had run out of battery. These large-screen smartphones only lasted a day, needing to be charged every night.
Zhao Menghua slumped into his seat, and a white figure flashed in his mind—not a ghost, but Chen Wenwen. He hadn’t charged his phone regularly since breaking up with her. When they were together, he charged it every night because Chen Wenwen was too sensitive, wanting Zhao Menghua to always have his phone on so she could find him. Every night before bed, she would text him, “Goodnight, remember to charge your phone.”
When you break up with someone, you also say goodbye to everything related to them… You no longer go to her favorite restaurant, you close the blog you started together, and if a movie scene once made her inexplicably cry and rub against your shoulder, you’ll instinctively look away and draw back your shoulder when you see it again.
And, of course, you no longer wait for her little sensitive messages… “Where are you?” “I had a dream.” “Is today the first frost? It’s getting dark so early… What are you doing?”
In the grand scheme of things, these are nothing. A prettier girl will take you to a better restaurant, you’ll start hanging out on Weibo, where you meet selfie queens posting daily low-cut shots, and there will always be new late-night movies with sentimental women wiping their tears on your shirt. You’ll still live a full life.
But when you’re trapped in an enclosed space, relying only on a phone for rescue, you realize that you stupidly said goodbye even to the habit of charging your phone every day!
It was something she had to teach you over and over before you remembered it…
Maybe there’s still a little power left? Zhao Menghua thought. After shutting down, the battery usually retains a bit of charge; you can restart the phone and use it for a few more minutes.
A few minutes would be enough! With trembling hands, Zhao Menghua pressed the power button, and the screen lit up. The slow boot-up process of the smartphone was nerve-wracking. Zhao Menghua stared at the screen, afraid that the battery would suddenly drain. If a pedal generator were placed in front of him right now, he would definitely be willing to trade his expensive Rolex watch for it!
The phone booted successfully! But there was no signal…
Zhao Menghua felt like he was about to explode. He remembered that the Beijing subway had no mobile signal transmitters, and only at subway stations could he get a signal. He pressed his face against the window, staring ahead, and finally saw a faint light—the next station was ahead. Suddenly, the phone signal jumped to two bars!
There really was a signal! But the train sped past the station without slowing, leaving only a dozen seconds. He had to make a call quickly—the battery would only last for this station.
But his phone was broken, and he couldn’t access his contacts list. Zhao Menghua was at a loss, his mind a complete blank. He didn’t remember his parents’ number, nor his dorm mates’, not even Liu Miaomiao’s. Young Master Zhao had never paid attention to such small matters. The only number he remembered was 114, but if he called 114 now and said, “Hey, hello, I’m trapped on a dark subway train, I’m so scared, can you come save me?” the operator at 114 would probably just politely say, “Understood, I’ll transfer you to the mental hospital.”
He had only a dozen seconds; he needed to call someone who would believe him! Someone who would believe in him unconditionally!
There was one other number, but this person was no longer in his contacts list—he had deleted her. He remembered her number because she had once forced him to memorize it, saying that if he couldn’t, he had no right to put his arm around her waist while walking under the streetlights. Her reasoning was that, no matter if Zhao Menghua lost his phone or was in a wilderness without cell service, he should be able to find her by that number.
She’d said things like, “Look, as long as you remember these eleven digits, you can find someone for a lifetime. Because I won’t change my number, and I won’t turn off my phone,” and she used “being able to continue holding her waist while strolling” to make him memorize that string of chaotic digits.
Sitting alone in the darkness, Zhao Menghua murmured, “138…” The irregular numbers tumbled out of his lips one by one, as if they hadn’t been remembered by his brain but by his lips and tongue.
The same lips and tongue that had once kissed a girl.
The call connected, but no one spoke—there was only the faint sound of breathing.
“Wenwen, save me…” Zhao Menghua’s tears flowed, his breath weak like that of someone freezing in the depths of a cold night.
Valhalla Hall.
Outside the window, a rooster statue was still stuck upside-down in the “Well of Foundation,” its tail feathers pointing up like a roasted chicken placed on a platter, ready to be served. The ruins had not yet been cleaned up, but the hearing was proceeding as scheduled. This was the biggest event at the college currently—the first time in a century that the principal was being impeached. The one facing judgment was Chu Zihang, but everyone knew he was just standing in for Anjou.
Chu Zihang stood in the center of the square wooden dock in the hall, expressionless, nodding to the jury members. The jury consisted of department heads and tenured professors, all dressed in black, slowly taking their seats at the front of the hall. They were so old they looked like they’d just been dug up from a grave, their expressions solemn and their behaviors varied—some smoked pipes, others chewed on stalks of celery, and one with bright eyes was blowing bubble gum.
“They look like a bunch of idiots,” Finger whispered from behind the vice principal. “Not even half as charming as you and the principal!”
“But these people are the foundation of the college. The Execution Bureau, Information Department, and Gear Department all rely on their research. Without them, there wouldn’t be a Cassell College,” the vice principal sighed. “The School Board is ruthless, bringing out these old research scholars to decide college affairs. It’s so easy to fool them.”
“If they can fool us, they can fool them.”