Chapter 3: Morning Mist

An unknown world flickers into being and changes endlessly before my eyes.

—Jian Zhen, Splitting Silk in April

After Chen Zhiyu returned to his apartment, he received a call from his mother, asking how he had been doing in Dancheng.

A potted elephant ear plant sat on the windowsill. The previous tenant had left it behind. When Chen Zhiyu was cleaning the apartment, he saw that it was thriving, so he had continued caring for it.

He stood beside the window and lit a cigarette. Remembering that he had not yet recovered from his illness, he took only one drag before holding it between his fingers.

“Are you coming home next week?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have anything planned for now.”

His mother, Gu Peiyu, sighed. “It’s Cheng Wan’s birthday next week. Have you forgotten?”

He tapped the ash into the flowerpot. “I remember.”

“Come home if you don’t have anything important to do. You shouldn’t behave too improperly.”

He murmured an “Mm.”

The call had been over for a long time before he returned to his senses. The autumn night breeze was slightly chilly. In that brief span, he seemed to have thought about many things, but when he came to himself, he could not remember what any of them had been.

The first day of the Boshi Forum was held at Dancheng University. On the second day, the subforum moved to S City, and some of the professors were going with it. The university had chartered a bus that would depart at six in the morning.

Su Nan woke early. Only after reaching the bus did she realize that she had arrived far too soon. Not a single professor was there yet. The morning temperature was low, and she had not worn enough, so she could only crouch beneath the eaves of the still-locked school administration building, hugging her backpack tightly.

After a while, she heard footsteps. She looked up and saw Jiang Mingqian.

He had run over. He gave the bus’s front door a push before noticing Su Nan crouched nearby.

“Senior Sister.”

Su Nan stood and acknowledged him.

Jiang Mingqian smiled. “Have you had breakfast?”

Before she could answer, he tossed her a packaged bun. Su Nan caught it and thanked him.

By the time she had nearly finished eating, the professors began arriving one after another.

Su Nan and Jiang Mingqian stood outside the bus, checking each person against the list. When it was almost time to leave, Chen Zhiyu was the only one who had not arrived.

Su Nan was hesitating over whether to call him when she saw a figure approaching in the distance.

Jiang Mingqian placed a check beside the final name on the attendance sheet and raised his eyebrows with a smile. “Everyone’s here.”

When Chen Zhiyu drew closer, Su Nan greeted him.

Chen Zhiyu gave an “Mm” and boarded the bus.

Jiang Mingqian grabbed the handrail and jumped aboard. Su Nan followed close behind.

She swept her gaze through the bus. Chen Zhiyu was seated beside the window in the last row, with another three or four seats empty beside him. Jiang Mingqian casually sat down next to Chen Zhiyu and greeted him with “Professor Chen,” leaving Su Nan no choice but to sit beside Jiang Mingqian.

Dawn had only just begun to break. The professors had risen early and were still half asleep. The dim bus was silent and still, with only the sound of the engine audible.

At seven, the professors began waking one by one, and the bus finally grew lively.

When the bus turned a corner, Su Nan jolted awake and realized that she had unknowingly fallen asleep as well.

“Senior Sister, you don’t look very graceful when you sleep.”

She instinctively wiped the corner of her mouth.

Jiang Mingqian chuckled. “I was lying!”

She did not know what expression to make, so she could only smile along with him.

Jiang Mingqian had the sort of personality that made him instantly familiar with everyone. He began chattering away on his own, moving from his undergraduate major to taking the graduate school entrance examination in his senior year, then from student club activities to athletic competitions. He seemed naturally incapable of allowing a conversation to fall silent. As long as someone offered a casual response, he could carry on from there.

His chatter was beginning to give Su Nan a headache, but politeness kept her from saying anything.

“There’s an entrepreneurship competition next month. Senior Sister, do you want to join me? I’ve already found three people. We only need one more...”

“I’m not very good at that sort of thing.”

“That’s fine. You can handle the new media marketing part, can’t you?”

“Are you no longer writing your thesis proposal?”

A stern voice suddenly interrupted them. Su Nan jumped. It took her a moment to recover before turning to her left.

“Professor Chen.”

Chen Zhiyu was frowning. His face was pale, and he looked somewhat haggard. He sat angled slightly toward the window, a book resting on his lap and one finger held between its pages.

Su Nan hurriedly apologized. “I’m sorry.”

Chen Zhiyu pressed his fingers to his temple and said nothing.

Jiang Mingqian did not dare speak again. After sitting in silence for a while, he appeared to grow bored and exchanged seats with Su Nan, then leaned against the window on the right and went to sleep.

Chen Zhiyu opened his book and read for a moment. Then he turned his gaze outside and pushed the already wide-open window down even farther. A cool breeze entered, carrying exhaust from the rear of the bus.

Su Nan saw his complexion immediately worsen. He clenched one hand into a fist and pressed it against his stomach.

“Professor Chen...”

Chen Zhiyu glanced at her.

“Do you... Do you get carsick?”

Chen Zhiyu did not answer.

She hurriedly picked up the backpack beside her, unzipped it, and rummaged through it. After a moment, she found a small, slender cylindrical object and handed it to him.

Chen Zhiyu paused before accepting it.

“Smell it.”

Chen Zhiyu removed the cap, brought it closer, and inhaled lightly.

“Harder. Let it rush straight into your head.”

Chen Zhiyu frowned but did as she said.

The powerful, cooling menthol surged through his nasal passages. The nauseating tightness in his chest immediately eased a little.

He inhaled twice more, then turned the tube to examine the English logo printed on it. “Where did you buy this?”

“A classmate brought it back from a trip to Thailand. You should be able to find it on Taobao. You can keep this one.”

He thanked her and accepted it. “Do you get carsick too?”

“No. I use it to stay awake. When I’m rushing to meet a deadline, it works better than coffee...” Only after the words left her mouth did she seem to realize that she had said something she should not have. She hurriedly fell silent.

“The assignments you submit to me aren’t rushed, are they?”

As if she would dare.

“No. Only sometimes... You’ve probably heard that our dean assigns a great deal of work.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell the dean you said that?”

“You... probably don’t have that much time on your hands.”

Chen Zhiyu laughed.

“My roommate says that when you’re carsick, it’s best not to read. Sleeping and talking help.”

Chen Zhiyu glanced at her and set his book aside. “Then keep me company for a while. Professor Lin told me that you still have no ideas for your thesis.”

Su Nan immediately regretted speaking. Deep down, she was terrified of discussing academic matters with Chen Zhiyu. She had truly brought this upon herself.

“Mm...”

“Is there any field you would like to work in?”

“I took several classes on feminism with Sister Han, and I’m interested in that.”

“I don’t know much about the field. As far as I’m aware, there aren’t many particularly novel research perspectives at present. Most work concerns gender politics, discourse construction, identity, or stereotypes.” Chen Zhiyu thought for a moment. “Have you heard of Bakhtin’s theory of the carnivalesque?”

“I have, but I haven’t read any of the relevant literature.”

“The theory is used more frequently in literary studies. It hasn’t been cited quite as much in communication studies. If you’re interested in feminism, you could select a social phenomenon or cultural product that embodies female consciousness and analyze it through the theory of the carnivalesque.”

Su Nan froze. She had never expected Chen Zhiyu to offer such detailed guidance and hurriedly said, “All right.”

“It would be an easy angle to work with. Graduating shouldn’t be difficult. But if you were my student, it certainly wouldn’t pass.”

In the end, he still had to bring the conversation back to that.

After hearing it so many times, she had begun to feel somewhat immune.

“Graduating is enough for me.”

“Are you in a hurry to start working?”

“Mm.”

“Then why did you pursue a graduate degree?”

“I was accidentally recommended for admission.”

“Did you also accidentally submit the application materials?”

She grew embarrassed and had nothing to say.

Chen Zhiyu turned his gaze toward the window. “I suppose it makes sense. Very few people can resist an opportunity to take the easier path.”

There was no denying that he was right. While everyone else was busy with campus recruitment, she had secured direct admission to graduate school. For at least another three years, she would not have to consider where to go or what to do next. Most people would have found it difficult to reject such an effortless temptation, even though she now bitterly regretted her moment of indecision.

She lowered her head, despondency welling inside her. Her voice was nearly inaudible.

“I’m paying now for taking the easy way out back then.”

Chen Zhiyu turned toward her. “Hm?”

She lightly bit her lip and shook her head.

Chen Zhiyu’s gaze settled on her face. A slightly lost and anxious look had appeared in her eyes, and her frail shoulders had drawn inward. He recalled the shadow he had seen two nights ago, seemingly on the verge of collapsing beneath some crushing weight.

“Was that too harsh?”

“No. You were right.”

“Don’t take it personally. I’ve always been like this.”

“I don’t. You were right. There’s nothing wrong with being rigorous about scholarship. It’s only that I... I truly am not suited to it. I chose the wrong path...” Her head dropped even lower. “But I still have to finish walking it, don’t I?”

Not necessarily.

He glanced at her but did not say the word “withdraw.”

It had not come to that. Most graduate students merely drifted through their days and went through the motions. There were plenty far worse than Su Nan. Perhaps it was precisely because she worked so diligently without producing any meaningful results that he could not help feeling sorry for her.

Since the semester began, he had assigned two pieces of coursework. Because of Lin Han, he had paid particular attention to Su Nan’s submissions. Whether or not her work contained any original arguments, her literature reviews were the most thorough. Her footnotes and references were also neat and properly formatted. Even if he examined them with a magnifying glass, he could find nothing to criticize.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore.” Chen Zhiyu paused. “What about that entrepreneurship competition? Are you going to participate?”

“I don’t have the time.”

“It isn’t particularly meaningful. It would only make your résumé look a little better. If you need an opportunity like that, I can introduce you to several worthwhile internships after you finish your thesis proposal.”

“Thank you, Professor Chen.”

Chen Zhiyu glanced at her. He seemed to want to say something else, but perhaps there was nothing more to say.

He closed the window slightly, leaned back, and shut his eyes.

The sky grew steadily brighter. Warm orange light draped the low woods in the morning mist like a veil of gauze.

They had arrived in S City.