Chapter 8: I Don't Understand

Around eight at night Nanliu No. 1 High lay under dark sky. Several junior and senior buildings still bright.
Evening self-study time—in Grade 10 Class 4—
Students bent over desks, focused. Only occasional page turns.
Jiang Ya on duty tonight. Usually chatty troublemakers were quiet—no one dared act up before homeroom teacher.
Silence.
No discipline to worry about—should be easier. Tonight Jiang Ya found her efficiency slower anyway.
She had graded since seven twenty. Nearly half an hour—still a thick stack.
She flipped roughly—about twenty-some left.
Still twenty-some.
Veins at her temples throbbed dull. Jiang Ya breathed deep, set down red pen, closed eyes, rubbed temples, face tired.
Teaching was not easy—especially at a top school like this. Strict for students, higher bar for teachers.
Morning reading duty, open classes, weekly department meetings, lesson plans at night… early up late down was routine.
She had adapted—but maybe insomnia these nights piled daytime pressure… Today alone, counting half a cup left, three coffees.
Still could not wake up.
Worse—in that half hour grading she had drifted how many times.
She never drifted at work.
Jiang Ya sighed again soundlessly. Glasses off—the faint shadows under her eyes clearer.
She did not rest—rotated sore wrist, glasses on, graded again.
Focused, under five minutes the stack thinned a lot.
Slender bony fingers on red pen—flying across papers. Smooth.
But after several red circles on one sheet, her hand stopped.
Afternoon class quiz—grammar. Not hard. For an honors class, ninety on a hundred should be easy.
This one—just the front half—eight points gone in circles.
Jiang Ya frowned, found the name—
Qi Xuan.
Instinct—looked up at Qi Xuan’s seat.
Short ear-baring hair, clean face—the girl propped chin, unaware of being watched.
Bias drove Jiang Ya crazy.
Science top of grade. Liberal arts nearly failing…
Opposite of her sister in every way.
Qi Yu’s name flashed inside. Gaze on the paper went still.
Memory rose.
Back then every weekend she played little teacher in the library, explaining math Qi Yu could not solve.
Library just built—nothing like now. No auto doors, no AC, no sofas—wood tables, a row by the window.
Not comfortable—but their small world.
Age full of hope—they were curious about everything. Studied there, talked youth, sometimes slacked—whole afternoon.
One evening stuck deep. Heavy rain. Sheltering under the library eaves, finally one umbrella home.
Under the umbrella Qi Yu’s hand careful on her shoulder, arm around her as they walked. Two girls’ clothes almost soaked—still laughing.
Scolded harshly at home for late return—did not spoil her mood.
Best time with Qi Yu. Then she really thought—they would be friends for life…
On the podium empty gaze, unfocused—dazed nearly five minutes.
Memory cut away. Conversation with Qi Yu surfaced unbidden.
…..
“Before was before. Now is now.”
“Being friends again is pretty good, right?”
….
Word by word still in Jiang Ya’s ears. Like a loop playing in her chest, again and again.
Jiang Ya found herself strange.
Seven years she had owed Qi Yu, wanted to make up, not lose her—wanted a clear answer from Qi Yu’s mouth.
She had waited seven years for this chance.
The question she held seven years—today a satisfying reply.
So why—remembering Qi Yu’s lukewarm eyes when she said it—did her chest feel so blocked?
*She’s not hiding. She even said openly—let’s be friends again. What are you still unhappy about?*
The more she thought, the more loss spread inside.
Jiang Ya sighed deep, eyelids falling at last—emotion dark and complex, thick fog, no bottom visible.
No one could read her.
Not even herself.
.
Weekday noon Qi Li and Qi Wenping watched the shop. Qi Xuan ate at school then came back. Qi Yu had lunch at the company.
Weekends were when the family rarely ate together.
Dishes just served—four and soup, meat and veg, steam fragrant. Qi Xuan’s hunger woke.
Qi Xuan ate bold—mouth full the moment she sat. Qi Wenping scolded while ladling soup.
Qi Yu listened quietly, looked up—a bowl of hot soup before her too.
“Drink more soup. Good for you.” Qi Li looked at her, soft voice.
Qi Yu half a beat slow, pulled the bowl closer, tugged a smile. “Okay… thanks.”
“No need. I’ll serve myself next time. Too much—I can’t finish.”
Qi Li paused, rubbed fingers awkward. “Oh… okay. Mom knows…”
“Too much? Want Mom to take this bowl—you get a fresh one?”
“No. It’s fine.”
“Okay…”
Qi Wenping heard, looked up—sitting so close, faces somewhat alike—still not like mother and daughter.
What mother and daughter talk so polite.
So long—and still not fixed between them.
Qi Wenping hid her look, sighed inside.
Qi Yu distant from her mother—understandable.
When Qi Li divorced and left town, she left the child with her aunt. Qi Yu was seven.
Seven—left Qi Li, lived with her aunt.
Over ten years the aunt was family in all but name.
When Qi Li suddenly moved back during Qi Yu’s college years, the aunt dared not admit—a little unwillingness in her heart.
Time passed—they stayed lukewarm. Qi Wenping worried.
Sister and niece-both-as-daughter—she hurt for both.
Now she smoothed things, to Qi Yu: “Yu Yu, you should fix that habit.”
“What?” Qi Yu blank.
“Family—why thank you? So formal. Don’t say thanks anymore. Mother caring for child is natural.”
She turned to Qi Li. “Sis, you sound stiff too when I hear it.”
Qi Yu and Qi Li silent, glanced at each other.
Qi Li wanted to speak—saw Qi Yu eating, words circled and went back.
“Hey! You!” Qi Wenping tapped Qi Xuan’s bowl with chopsticks. “How many times—don’t eat so fast. Stomachache last time forgot? And this chicken wing—not clean, meat left…”
“Ugh! Mom! Stop nagging…” Qi Xuan’s face wrinkled, eyes aggrieved.
She looked at Qi Yu. Qi Yu returned a gleeful look.
Qi Wenping went on. “Oh right, forgot to tell you.”
“Morning your homeroom teacher messaged me. Liberal arts weak—especially English.”
“Last class quiz—grammar? Lots you didn’t get.”
“So—homeroom teacher asked if you want tutoring at her place tomorrow.”
Qi Xuan finally chewed slower.
Only a pause. “Won’t go.”
Qi Wenping stopped peeling shrimp. “Why? You praise her every day—why not?”
“No reason. Don’t want to… I can study at home.”
“Ha—at home I never see you study!”
Voice jumped—Qi Yu and Qi Li both startled.
“I don’t care—you’re going. Indulged you once at term start, not again.” Sharp. “She tutors free—doesn’t charge—kind to help—you’re ungrateful!”
No room for argument—chopsticks down, verdict: “Tomorrow I’m free. Ten I take you. Twelve pick up. Settled!”
“And I’ll ask homeroom teacher how you’ve been lately…”
“Mom…” Qi Xuan weak—one glare from Qi Wenping, silence.
She could go—not that she could not. But if Qi Wenping met Jiang Ya, questions would fly. If anything slipped she was finished.
No hope fighting—eyes turned, idea lit. She looked at Qi Yu sipping soup.
“Fine—I’ll go. But let my cousin pick me up. She’s free.”
Qi Yu frowned, rushed to speak after soup—almost choked.
“Cough cough…” Tissue from Qi Li, wipe mouth. “Why?”
Pick up—meant going to Jiang Ya’s home.
“Yeah why?” Qi Wenping scanned her up and down. “You messing up at school? Afraid I’ll ask the teacher?”
“No! Model student…” Qi Xuan unhurriedly pulled out the excuse. “Cousin and homeroom teacher know each other! Classmates before!”
“All the more—cousin can go, right?”
Qi Xuan looked at Qi Yu—*save me* eyes.
Qi Yu slanted a cool glance, lips pressed.
She wanted to say *can I not go*.