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Deng Haijun felt a sense of admiration mixed with regret at the thought of losing such an excellent rival as Zhuang Zi’ang.
The two sat at the bus stop, watching the flow of traffic, and talked for a long time.
From their first clash at the beginning of the school year to their first collaboration in a competition, memories unfolded like a slideshow, evoking deep emotions.
Youth quietly slipped away in tears and sweat.
Suddenly, the No. 19 bus turned the corner.
Zhuang Zi’ang picked up his phone and saw it was exactly six o’clock.
Yet, Xiao Butterfly was nowhere to be seen.
“Haijun, do you know where the No. 19 bus goes?” Zhuang Zi’ang asked.
“To Xiaoyao Palace. Isn’t that what it says?” Deng Haijun pointed to the sign behind them.
“If you’re free, why not sit on the bus with me? I’ll treat you to the fare,” Zhuang Ziang said with a smile.
“Two yuan for the fare—how generous of you,” Deng Haijun teased.
Zhuang Zi’ang frowned.
Right, a bus ride only costs two yuan.
But Xiao Butterfly always set aside four yuan to go home, which meant she had to transfer buses.
Knowing where she lived was not an easy task.
They boarded the bus, but there were no seats left, so they had to hold onto the overhead straps.
As the bus doors closed, the driver stepped on the gas, and the scenery outside gradually receded.
“Excuse me, sir, there’s a girl who often rides this bus. She wears a white shirt and a blue skirt, with a peach blossom in her hair. Do you know which stop she gets off at?” Zhuang Zi’ang asked quickly.
Generally, passengers are not allowed to converse with the driver to avoid distractions, so Zhuang Zi’ang spoke rapidly and succinctly.
Xiao Butterfly was so beautiful that she would catch anyone’s attention; he hoped the driver would remember her.
The driver waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t know. I can’t disclose passenger privacy.”
That response left Zhuang Zi’ang feeling helpless, but he had to admit the driver had a sense of professionalism.
“You’ve dragged me into this whole chase for a girl,” Deng Haijun said, pouting in discontent.
“She’s the girl you saw yesterday. I’m a bit worried about her,” Zhuang Zi’ang said plainly.
“Zhuang Zi’ang, let me give you a piece of advice: a wise man doesn’t fall in love. You’re straying down the wrong path,” Deng Haijun advised with a serious expression.
“Don’t tell me you have no interest in girls at all?” Zhuang Zi’ang asked.
“Ha! Women only slow me down when I draw my sword,” Deng Haijun replied, pushing his glasses up with his middle finger.
In his eyes, Zhuang Zi’ang had clearly fallen from grace.
An outstanding student shouldn’t be troubled by romantic feelings.
Just look at Newton, Leibniz, Descartes, Tesla, and Pascal—did any of them have wives?
The two swayed back and forth on the bus, unsure where to get off, so they simply rode to the final stop, Xiaoyao Palace.
This was the most famous Taoist temple in the area, bustling with visitors throughout the year.
The term “Xiaoyao” represents a rare state of being in life.
Zhuang Zi’ang and Deng Haijun stepped through the mountain gate, casually exploring the surroundings.
As they inhaled the rich scent of sandalwood, their minds began to calm.
“In the North Sea, there’s a fish called Kun, and the Kun is so large that no one knows its size in thousands of miles!” Deng Haijun couldn’t help but recite from “Xiaoyao You.”
“Haijun, do you know what sound the Kun makes?” Zhuang Zi’ang asked with a laugh.
“Is it ‘gaggle gaggle gaggle’?” Deng Haijun guessed playfully, even flapping his arms as if trying to imitate wings.
Zhuang Zi’ang burst into laughter.
It turned out that this usually serious student had a good sense of humor.
“Young man, please refrain from making loud noises inside the temple,” a voice called out.
Zhuang Zi’ang quickly stopped laughing and looked over to see a Taoist priest in a robe.
“Sorry, Daoist,” he replied.
On the altar in front of the priest were fortune sticks, and on the wall behind him hung the corresponding fortunes.
It was clear he was there to interpret fortunes for visitors.
“Haijun, do you want me to ask about your love life?” Zhuang Zi’ang teased.
“No need; my fate is in my own hands, not dictated by heaven,” Deng Haijun replied dismissively, not believing in such things.
Zhuang Zi’ang didn’t really believe in it either; after all, they were good students of dialectical materialism.
Seeking a fortune was merely a way to find some psychological comfort.
The priest fixed his gaze on the red string around Zhuang Zi’ang’s wrist. “That’s one of our temple’s items.”
Zhuang Zi’ang raised his wrist, and a faint scent of peach blossoms wafted from it.
“Really? A girl gave this to me.”
“It can bless you with safety,” the priest said.
Zhuang Zi’ang felt a surge of excitement; it seemed Little Butterfly had been here.
Perhaps her home was nearby.
“Then I’ll draw a fortune!” Zhuang Ziang said respectfully.
“Boring,” Deng Haijun scoffed.
Reaching the front of the hall, Zhuang Zi’ang shook the fortune stick, and after about twenty seconds, he finally drew a stick.
He picked it up and felt a sudden tightening in his chest.
It was the worst fortune.
Zhuang Zi’ang handed the stick to the priest, who quickly found the corresponding fortune.
It was a short poem:
“A clear tune and a cup of wine, hard to find the shadow of beauty in the Peach Blossom Spring.
Zhuang Zhou dreamed of transforming into a butterfly yet could not find freedom in this world.”
No wonder it was a bad fortune; the words “difficult,” “dream,” and “empty” were certainly not good omens.
“Young man, what do you wish to ask?” The priest’s expression grew serious.
Zhuang Zi’ang was momentarily taken aback, unsure of what to ask himself.
After all, with not much time left to live, everything seemed futile.
After thinking for a long while, he finally responded, “I’m looking for someone. Can you tell me where she has gone?”
The priest furrowed his brows deeply. “Do not search for her; she will return naturally, but…”
“But what?” Zhuang Zi’ang pressed eagerly.
“Desires and worries can be sought day and night, but it’s better to remain still and plan wisely.” The priest spoke in an enigmatic tone, delivering riddles.
He continued with a long-winded explanation, filled with lofty phrases.
It felt like he had said a lot but conveyed nothing at all.
Zhuang Zi’ang listened, utterly confused, and eventually handed over ten yuan for the fortune interpretation.
The priest accepted it with a smile and pointed outside the mountain gate. “There’s an old lady selling snacks over there, all alone and destitute. If you’re hungry, you might want to take care of her.”
“Did I just get scammed out of ten bucks?”
Once they had walked away, Deng Haijun started to tease Zhuang Zi’ang.
Zhuang Zi’ang chuckled, “It’s fine; I’ll consider it a donation for incense.”
Even though a cloud of doubt lingered in his heart, he remembered Xiao Butterfly had said she would only be delayed for a few days and would come back next week.
It should be fine.
As they exited the mountain gate, they indeed saw an old lady selling snacks.
Her hair was gray, and her face bore the marks of hardship.
In front of her was a basket where she sold tofu pudding.
“Haijun, you’ve accompanied me for so long; let me treat you to a bowl of tofu pudding!” Zhuang Zi’ang said with compassion.
“You do have a good heart,” Deng Haijun accepted gladly.
The two approached the stall, and Zhuang Ziang called out, “Grandma, two bowls of tofu pudding, please.”
The old lady quickly stood up, looking up at Zhuang Zi’ang with cloudy eyes.
Zhuang Zi’ang’s kind heart was touched; seeing such a lonely elder brought tears to his eyes.
He felt a sense of familiarity in her features.
“Young man, do you want it salty or sweet?” The old lady’s voice was slightly hoarse.
“I want it sweet, with extra sugar,” Deng Haijun immediately replied.
“You’re quite the oddball; who eats tofu pudding sweet? I want mine salty,” Zhuang Zi’ang shot him a disdainful glance.
The debate over sweet versus salty tofu pudding was a never-ending conflict.