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Chapter 10 – You Seem to Be Afraid of Me?

The streetlights stretched their shadows. Jian Li looked at the silhouettes of herself and Zhou Shubei on the ground — sometimes they drifted apart, sometimes they overlapped briefly. Their sleeves brushed when turning, the fabric making a barely audible sound, like a feather landing on a still lake.

It was soft, but ripples spread across the entire surface.

Under the moonlight, shadows of tree branches swayed overhead. In the distance, music students strummed guitars and sang folk songs. Beside her was someone she had secretly liked for two years.

Jian Li felt that tonight wasn’t so bad after all. Her gloomy mood faded with the retreating light and shadows.

The way back to the dorm was long. Jian Li wanted to say something but didn’t know how to begin.

Throughout her past decade or so of social interactions, Jian Li had always been the quietest one in any group. During holidays, she’d try her best to remember every face and relationship when visiting relatives with her parents, just to earn a brief compliment from Zhang Wenxiu.

At first, peers would invite her to play, but every time she wanted to join, Zhang Wenxiu would firmly refuse. Gradually, others stopped inviting her altogether.

Another path passed beneath their feet.

“How’s the campus card working out for you?” After much thinking, she found this safe question.

Zhou Shubei gave a short “Mm.” “It’s alright.”

Jian Li said, “That’s good then.”

The topic died, and she felt a bit deflated.

“You’re quite professional,” Zhou Shubei said lazily, shifting the load from his right shoulder to his left. “And pretty bold too.”

“Huh?”

“You were the one who called the police.”

It wasn’t a question — it was a statement.

Jian Li didn’t intend to hide it. “Yes. The police could investigate faster and clear your name sooner.”

Zhou Shubei raised his brow slightly and gave a small, surprised laugh. “You trust me that much? What if I really was the one who did it? I’d be detained.”

“You wouldn’t.” Jian Li stopped walking, her tone firm. “You wouldn’t do something like that.”

Zhou Shubei tilted his head to look at her — a girl a head shorter, looking up with clear eyes that reflected his silhouette, her expression earnest.

“You’re not the kind of person who’d lash out randomly. And if you did fight someone, it’d be face to face, fair and square — and you’d admit to it afterward.” She looked him in the eye. “You’re not the type to do something and then not take responsibility.”

Zhou Shubei was momentarily stunned, then let out a laugh that sounded a little self-deprecating. “And what if I am that kind of person?”

Before Jian Li could answer, he looked away. The careless nonchalance returned, but his voice deepened a little. “Don’t idealize me, little classmate.”

The words caught in her throat.

She watched him walk ahead at an unhurried pace. A gust of wind blew a leaf to the spot where he’d just stepped. There was an inexplicable sense of loneliness.

She caught up quickly. “It’s not idealizing. I just genuinely believe that.”

Zhou Shubei gave a soft chuckle but didn’t take it seriously.

Jian Li reached for his sleeve but let go immediately, realizing it was inappropriate. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you.”

He was going to keep walking but paused out of curiosity. He set his things down and watched as she pulled out her phone. A warning about low storage popped up, which she ignored. She waited impatiently for the page to load and then handed it to him.

“Look, these are what people are saying about you.”

It was a forum thread discussing the recent incident. Among the sarcasm and ridicule, there were also those who believed in Zhou Shubei.

The forum was anonymous, and the most upvoted comment had over 3,000 likes.

Zhou Shubei knew people were talking about him online but didn’t care enough to check. People had mouths — he couldn’t stop them from saying what they wanted.

“There are doubters, but there are also those who believe,” Jian Li said. “We shouldn’t — and don’t have to — deny ourselves because of others.”

Her tone was firm, unlike those who feigned concern but only watched for drama.

Zhou Shubei felt something press lightly against his heart — not too heavy, but enough to leave a mark.

They arrived at the dorm entrance.

Zhou Shubei borrowed a cart and elevator card from the dorm manager. The dorm had a freight elevator, but it required a card.

Jian Li took the card. “Thanks.”

He placed two bags on the cart and waved the A4 sheet in his hand. “Thank you, little classmate.”

He turned to leave, waving behind him. An empty plastic bottle rolled to his feet — he kicked it aside, then bent down to pick it up and toss it into the trash.

The boys’ dorm was in the opposite direction. It took Zhou Shubei half an hour to get back. As he opened the door, Song Lang, who was about to ask how things went, spotted the scratch on his chin and lit up like he found treasure.

“That scratch — don’t tell me a cat did it.” Song Lang slung an arm around his neck. “Old Zhou, something’s up, huh? That girl who got you the card, right? I knew something was fishy. So many people have knocked on your door before and you never bothered.”

Zhou Shubei leaned back, stuffed his phone into his pocket, and caught Song Lang’s neck in a headlock like a basketball. “My fault for not raising you better if you think you can talk to me like that.”

“Damn! Zhou Shubei, what’s gotten into you? You start dating and go crazy?” Song Lang struggled and tried to talk his way out. “I’m your dad, remember?”

Zhou Shubei twisted his arm. “Don’t spread rumors. I got scratched by a branch on the way back.”

Song Lang yelped in pain. “Okay, okay, I give!”

Zhou Shubei finally let go, pulled out his chair, glanced at a group photo on the wall, sneered, and casually covered it with a book.

Rubbing his sore arm, Song Lang got back to the real topic. “What did the police say?”

“The security footage shows I left and never came back. I have a complete alibi.” Zhou Shubei’s voice was calm, as if the whole mess had nothing to do with him.

Only the two of them were in the dorm, so Song Lang didn’t hold back. “Dai Jiangtao sounded so sure. If I didn’t know your temper, I might’ve believed him too. His story was solid — even had photos — super convincing. If he said it wasn’t you, I wouldn’t believe him either.”

“What are you going to do?” Song Lang asked.

Zhou Shubei popped a mint into his mouth and chuckled softly. “I’ve got nothing to back me. What can I do?” Though he smiled, his eyes were cold. “Just hope he enjoys the inheritance he’s so eager for.”

Song Lang knew Zhou Shubei had taken mental note of it. The other two roommates came back then, and the topic was dropped.

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Before lights out, Jian Li received a message from Song Lang.

After politely replying, she opened Weibo as usual. She typed a few lines to journal her thoughts, deleted them, and finally left only one sentence:

“Zhou Shubei, you’re really a good person.”

The next morning, the school released an official announcement about the incident between Zhou Shubei and Dai Jiangtao. After a full investigation, the police confirmed Zhou Shubei’s innocence. The school urged students to stop spreading rumors. Still, some skeptical voices remained, refusing to trust either the school or the police, insisting on their own assumptions.

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“Extend your fingers one by one like a folding fan,” the drill instructor said, demonstrating the correct move in front of Jian Li. “Control your fingers. Don’t let the whole class be off-sync because of you.”

Jian Li nodded. “Sorry. I’ll practice harder.”

Seeing her good attitude, the instructor didn’t scold her further and moved on.

There were two days left before the end of military training. Each class began extra sessions at night. After dismissal, Jian Li stayed behind, put on her earphones, and ran through the moves again.

There were a few people scattered around the soccer field. The nearby basketball court was lit up like daytime. Occasionally, couples passed by hand-in-hand, glancing her way, mimicking her gestures playfully.

She saw one girl nail the motion effortlessly — meanwhile, Jian Li had practiced it nearly a hundred times, yet her fingers still wouldn’t fan out properly.

Jian Li wasn’t a naturally gifted student. Her method of learning was simple — memorize, drill, repeat. She liked the challenge and the momentary satisfaction of overcoming it.

But after more than half an hour, she hadn’t improved. Her normally nimble fingers, so good with schoolwork, weren’t cooperating. Sweat gathered on her forehead. She sat on a flier she’d picked up earlier, opened her bottle to drink — it was empty.

She put the lid back on and unplugged her earphones.

“Drink this.”

Her heart jumped. Jian Li looked up and saw Zhou Shubei standing in the inner lane of the red rubber track. Black hoodie, black pants. The strings of his hood hung loosely across his chest. He was holding two bottles of mineral water.

Jian Li: “What are you doing here?”

“Passing by,” Zhou Shubei said lazily. Seeing her hesitate, he raised a brow. “Afraid I poisoned it?”

“No.” Jian Li took the bottle. The white label had a red plum blossom on it.

The water was slightly sweet, and the taste filled her with energy from throat to chest.

Zhou Shubei’s gaze landed on her slender pale fingers. “Which move are you stuck on?”

“The fan motion.” She demonstrated sincerely. “When I spread my middle finger, my index finger lifts too. There should be a 0.02-second delay — mine’s simultaneous.”

She even memorized the timing.

Zhou Shubei crouched down to eye level, intrigued. “Like this?”

His fair, slender fingers made the gesture beautifully. The evening breeze ruffled his bangs, and his handsome features were softened by the night.

Jian Li: “Yes.”

He tapped the bottle lightly and pulled at the drawstrings of his hoodie. “Hand.”

Jian Li didn’t quite understand but still held out her hand.

He tied her thumb and index finger together with the string.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

“Sometimes brute force works better than technique,” Zhou Shubei said, tilting his chin. “The other hand.”

The nearby couples had left. Because of the extra training, most people were now on another field. At this moment, it was just her and Zhou Shubei on the whole track. He looked down slightly, long eyelashes casting a faint shadow on his lower lids. A light sandalwood scent lingered in the air.

Suddenly, he looked up. Jian Li couldn’t look away in time, meeting his gaze. Her breath caught — she didn’t dare blink, afraid he’d notice the feelings she was trying to hide.

When he tied the knot, his fingers brushed her hand.

It was fleeting, but it felt like static electricity — a jolt that traveled through her whole arm, making her heartbeat skip wildly. She looked away as if to escape.

Zhou Shubei followed her gaze — just a few lonely streetlights.

“Hey, classmate, can I ask you something?” he said.

Jian Li looked back at him and the black string around his neck. “What is it?”

“What’s your name?”

Her lashes fluttered. She answered calmly and clearly, “Jian Li. ‘Jian’ as in simple, ‘Li’ as in dawn.”

“Mm.” Zhou Shubei nodded. A trace of a smile escaped his throat.
“Jian Li — you seem kind of afraid of me?”

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