Chapter 9: The Ninth Dimension 1/2

After sending the friend request, Song Fuzhi went to class. Two consecutive classes, lasting an hour and a half. When he returned to his office and checked his phone, Shi Zhang had accepted his friend request.

Shi Zhang didn’t just stop at accepting the request; he politely greeted, “Hello, Mr. Song, I am Shi Zhang,” followed by, “Mr. Song, what would you like to eat next time?”

According to their agreement, Song Fuzhi would be treating next time, so he should choose the venue.

After some thought, Song Fuzhi asked him, “How about the Spanish restaurant on Central Street?”

To be honest, Song Fuzhi had only been dragged by Luo Luli to try it once in a decent restaurant with a Spanish chef, exquisite dishes, and a not-so-modest price.

That should qualify as a return invitation for Jiangnan cuisine.

Soon, Shi Zhang replied with a “good.”

The signals and attitudes from both sides were clear; they had passed each other’s first test and could continue their interaction.

Song Fuzhi had to admit that of all the blind dates he had been on, Shi Zhang was currently the most suitable candidate.

He had seen the Chinese teachers grading exam essays—five seconds for the introduction, five seconds for the conclusion, ten seconds for the main points and citations, and finally, a glance at the writing style and handwriting. Twenty seconds in total, swiftly flipping through the rest.

Writing an essay for an hour and grading it in half a minute

Song Fuzhi felt that Shi Zhang judged people like he graded essays. Some people were given a failing grade just by looking at their appearance, but for Shi Zhang, Song Fuzhi had to stop and carefully evaluate whether he deserved a perfect score.

The agreed-upon day for their meeting was Thursday.

Song Fuzhi woke up half an hour early, ironed his shirt, shaved, and styled his hair neatly.

Before leaving, he hesitated for a moment, then retrieved a bottle of ebony cologne from the closet. A dignified and exquisite dark gray bottle went into his bag.

A handsome appearance could make a significant difference.

Walking amidst the half-dead morning rush of office workers at eight in the morning, Song Fuzhi was literally shining. He caught the attention of several sleepy white-collar workers, awakening them from their drowsiness with just a glance.

Upon reaching the office, the other teachers greeted him with a “hey.”

“Mr. Song, do you have a public class today? You’re so handsome.”

Song Fuzhi smiled and said no.

He hadn’t intended to dress too nicely; he just felt it was a matter of respect.

The restaurant sent a reminder message to Song Fuzhi in the morning, containing the time and table number.

Song Fuzhi forwarded the message to Shi Zhang, who replied, “See you in the evening.”

Whether it was because Song Fuzhi looked a bit more handsome that day, the usually rowdy group of students seemed to behave better. Many of them submitted their homework, which was quite unusual.

The day was well-arranged, and Song Fuzhi was looking forward to dinner. However, in the afternoon, while sitting in the office grading papers, he suddenly noticed a flashing light in his field of vision. Jagged lines expanded, and his vision became blurry. His eyes felt like they were being stabbed, and a wave of discomfort spread across his brain.

Song Fuzhi threw down his red pen, frowned, and felt a sense of unease.

He was familiar with this; it was the precursor to a migraine.

Another class was coming up, and Song Fuzhi could barely hold on. He continued to teach, maintaining a clear structure and neat writing on the board. However, his nerves were jumping and throbbing, and a pounding pain developed on the left side of his head. His eyes started to become sensitive to light.

After the class, he had to extend the students’ free calculation time to catch his breath and rest.

Having barely endured that class, Song Fuzhi felt he couldn’t continue. He had to take sick leave and return home.

The first thing he did upon arriving home was pull the curtains tightly shut in every room. The entire place darkened instantly, bringing him a bit of relief.

The pain gradually intensified, becoming unbearable.

Song Fuzhi fumbled for the medicine box but realized the compartment where the painkillers were supposed to be was empty.

A chill ran down his spine. He must have finished the last batch and forgotten to buy more.

Song Fuzhi had no choice but to resort to alternative measures. He grabbed a handful of ice cubes from the freezer, wrapped them in a towel, and pressed them against his temples.

As he walked around with effort, he accidentally hit his knee on the door frame. In the darkness, he stumbled into the bedroom, dislodging his knee from the pain and falling onto the bed, motionless.

Song Fuzhi, one hand on his head and the other on his knee, shivered in agony. His face buried in the pillow, he chuckled bitterly.

What a waste of today’s appearance. Now he was in such a miserable state.

It had been a long time since he had had such a severe migraine.

He had tolerated less severe ones before, but today’s pain made him want to bang his head against the wall. His head felt like it was being sawed open.

At a time like this, Song Fuzhi still remembered he had a dinner appointment in the evening and couldn’t just silently cancel.

Feeling for his phone, the bright screen stabbed his eyes, causing his eyeballs to throb. He blindly found Shi Zhang’s WeChat and pressed the voice input.

The phone started recording, and only then did Song Fuzhi realize how bad he felt.

He took a few seconds to adjust his breathing, cleared his throat, and, enduring the pounding in his head, spoke slowly, “Professor Shi, sorry. I won’t be able to make it for dinner tonight. Can we reschedule? I apologize for the inconvenience.”

After sending the message, Song Fuzhi collapsed. The damn headache was driving him insane, and lying down or sitting up was equally uncomfortable. He was sweating all over.

After a while, his phone suddenly rang. With his eyes closed, Song Fuzhi tapped to answer, and after a few seconds, a voice came through.

“Mr. Song.”

The man’s voice was calm, with a subtle crackling sound like electricity.

“Shi Zhang?”

It took Song Fuzhi a few seconds to distinguish the voice, feeling surprised.

“Yeah,” Shi Zhang said. “Are you not having dinner tonight?”

Song Fuzhi turned on the speaker, lying down with his eyes closed, and said slowly, “I’m really sorry. I’m not feeling well tonight. I should have told you earlier. Professor Shi, do you have time next week?”

Shi Zhang remained quiet for a while, not answering the question directly. Instead, he asked with a certain confidence, “Are you feeling unwell?”

Subconsciously, Song Fuzhi blurted out, “No.”

Having endured countless excruciating headaches since childhood, Song Fuzhi was accustomed to bearing them alone. He disliked troubling others and didn’t want anyone to see his vulnerability. Saying “it’s nothing” was almost an instinctive response for him.

“Your breathing is heavy, different from usual,” Shi Zhang stated, “and your speaking pace is different too.”

“Are you enduring the pain?”

Song Fuzhi remained silent for a moment. It seemed he was caught by the teacher lying for the first time.

After waiting for a while without a response, Shi Zhang called out, “Song Fuzhi?”

Being called by his full name made Song Fuzhi’s limbs tingle, as if a cool breeze had swept away the pain.

Seemingly, the first time Shi Zhang addressed Song Fuzhi by his full name, unexpectedly, the slightly deep voice sounded quite pleasant. Perhaps this utterance had some magic; unconsciously, Song Fuzhi spoke the truth: “Yeah, I have a bit of a headache, an old ailment that can’t be cured.”

“Is it very painful? Apply a hot towel or ice pack to your temples; it can alleviate the pain.” Shi Zhang quickly proposed a solution.

“I’m already doing that.” Song Fuzhi chuckled lightly.

“If it doesn’t work, take a painkiller and get some rest.”

The man’s voice was calm and quiet, giving a sense of reliability.

Song Fuzhi felt like he had been numbed by the pain. Perhaps it was the dimly lit bedroom that relaxed his guard. Without much thought, he spoke, “I’ve run out of painkillers at home, and my eyes hurt too much to look at the phone. I can’t buy any either.”