La persona que pertenece al lobo

Chapter 1

I was six years old when I met Fang Cheng. A lot happened that year. My mother died, and my father disappeared. I continued to live with my maternal grandparents, but now I had an older sister.

I wasn't saddened by my mother's passing. In my memory, she always lived in the hospital. Occasionally, my grandmother would take me there, pointing to a thin, frail woman lying in a room filled with a foul odor, saying it was my mother; the equally thin man was my father; and a thin older sister would either be doing her homework or helping my mother. Every time we went, I was terrified. I didn't even dare to go up to my mother and let her hug me. My sister would hold my shoulders so my mother could see me. At that time, she and my father lived in the hospital with my mother. Later, when I grew up, I asked my sister why I didn't live in the hospital. She said the hospital was too dirty! She didn't explain why she could go! Actually, there was no need to ask why; I was too young then. I heard that my mother had been hospitalized for over two years when she passed away. Looking at old photos, my mother was once a very beautiful woman.

Fang Cheng and I were in the same grade, but not the same class. I often saw a boy about my age standing outside the teachers' office. His face was always covered in bruises, and his school uniform was always muddy and torn. What I remember most vividly is that every time he saw me, he would glare at me and snort! It always scared me so much that I would run inside. Later, I don't know if I developed a condition, but I would always lower my head and rush in when I got close to the door, as if I were the one who had done something wrong. I only found out his name was Fang Cheng from what the teachers were talking about.

If I was 'excellent in both character and academics,' then he was 'stubborn by nature.' He never thought he was wrong. However, I didn't know what the teacher's criteria were for judging good and bad. We had only been in school for a short time then. Why could I be the class monitor while he had to stand as punishment every day? It seemed that my path in life was predetermined from the first day of school, but not his.

In third grade, I was named one of the city's "Top Ten Outstanding Youths" and was also the school's class monitor. Teachers liked me, and classmates admired me—except for him, of course. I later learned that he was punished by being made to stand in the corner every day because he was a violent person who would fight with anyone at the slightest disagreement; otherwise, his face wouldn't always be covered in bruises. Even in third grade, Fang Cheng was still fighting and still standing at the office door every day.

He was the school bully; anyone he didn't like would get beaten up by him. Once, in the disciplinary office, I heard a parent angrily shouting, insisting the school expel him. I didn't know what was going on, so I stopped to watch. The old headmaster grumbled for a long time, basically saying no. I noticed he was very skilled at fighting; every time he fought, he seemed to have a good sense of proportion, breaking someone's head while Fang Cheng himself would inevitably bleed. It was a matter of both sides getting a 50/50 chance, and even a demerit seemed like an overreaction. They were all just kids, Fang Cheng seemed to know that, and that made him fearless.

Because of that incident, I developed a peculiar curiosity about him. Fang Cheng seemed to be either born lucky or exceptionally intelligent. His academic performance reflected this; he consistently scored around 60 points, neither high nor low. Even the homeroom teacher wanted to make him repeat a grade or even send him out, but to no avail.

Perhaps it was because we bumped into each other so often in the office. More than once, his class teacher would point at me and say to him, "Why don't you learn from Xiao Ying?" He would glare at me hatefully. Yes, it was a look full of hatred, and even today, I remember it vividly. It seems he only ever looked at me like that. No matter what the teacher said, he seemed indifferent. In the teacher's words, he had a "dead face!" I felt afraid of him, but my eyes would always involuntarily follow him. Flipping through my diary from that time, most entries read: "Fang Cheng got into another fight today, for XX!" Those six years were spent winning awards and watching him fight!

Upon graduation, I was admitted to Shuicheng No. 1 Middle School, the best middle school in the provincial capital. But at that time, I don't know why, I felt a pang of sadness, because I would never see Fang Cheng again. How boring life must be in a place full of good kids! How dull I must have felt. Looking back now, I realize that my feelings for Fang Cheng were more of a 'good kid''s jealousy of a 'bad kid'! Because being a bad kid sometimes has its advantages; teachers will indulge him, prioritizing his happiness; classmates will fear him, flatter him, and he'll always have many people around him. Good kids may gain honor, but they lose much more.

The year I started junior high school, my older sister was admitted to the provincial university of political science and law, majoring in law. My grandparents were overjoyed and told me to be as capable as her and get into such a good university. My sister, however, calmly said that I would be more successful than her. At that time, in my eyes, my sister was omnipotent.

I've never met my father. When I first received the "Top Ten Outstanding Youth" award, someone asked me where my dad was. I couldn't answer. I asked my sister, and she firmly told me that we didn't have a father.

I protested and started crying. My sister doted on me; she would do anything for me if she could. She would never let me be sad and upset, and I was certain she would come to comfort me. But that day, she let me cry. After I finished crying, she pulled me outside and we ran until we stopped in front of an old building. Pointing to a window upstairs, she said, "That man is upstairs, with his new wife and newborn son!" She glared at me, her eyes practically spitting fire. "If you go up there, you'll never come home again!" She let go of my hand and started walking back. I followed her, crying and calling out to her. I was terrified; the fear seemed even greater than when I lost my parents. My sister came back, took my hand, wiped away my tears, and led me home. After that, I never mentioned my father again.

Just like elementary school, middle school for me was still endless studying, activities, and Fang Cheng. Yes, I don't know what he was thinking, but I saw him again in the registration line, looking impatient. At that moment, I was overjoyed; I actually felt that being classmates with him again was the happiest thing about entering the school.

Fang Cheng saw me too, and glared at me with disgust, as if I were his nightmare. But I gave him a sweet smile, and for the first time, I didn't lower my head or look away in front of him. He was taken aback; in the past six years, I had never treated him like that. He rolled his eyes at me and turned away. I thought he was really funny, and I was happy all day. When I got home, my sister asked me if I was so happy because the new school was so good. I didn't say anything. In my diary, I wrote: "Fang Cheng and I can study together again, I'm so happy!"

Arriving in a new environment meant readjusting. I realized I had hardly any friends during my six years of elementary school. I was always surrounded by people, but when I actually thought about friends, Fang Cheng's cool image popped into my head. What's worse, I don't find it easy to make friends. Although I felt down for a while, after some time, I adjusted and it didn't seem like a problem. I guess I'm just a cold person.

He and I were still in different classes, but separated by only a wall. There were four classes throughout the year; classes one and two shared the same teachers, while classes three and four shared another. I was in class three, and he was in class four. In other words, although we weren't in the same classroom, we had the same teachers for all our subjects. In elementary school, the divisions weren't so strict; we should have grown up in the same environment. So why were we so different? Perhaps it was this question that made my three years of junior high school less lonely.

Fang Cheng wasn't as bad after entering middle school. I don't know if my description is accurate, but I still saw him in the teacher's office, though he wasn't being punished by standing anymore; he was always standing there listening to the teacher's scolding.

I remember the first time I saw Fang Cheng in the middle school office, I felt a surge of joy, thinking he was still the same Fang Cheng. He hadn't been fighting; he was arrested for reading a novel in class. The teacher was waving a thick novel around. When they weren't looking, I cautiously peeked at the cover—"Seven Heroes and Five Rituals"?! What was that? I glanced at him again; he didn't care about the teacher's reprimand at all, just like when we were kids. Until he discovered me peeking, he glared at me fiercely, without exception. At that moment, I felt he hated me! I felt a little sad. In the days that followed, we encountered each other many times, only with different teachers and different books. He seemed to read everything, regardless of the occasion or time.

There were no leisure books in my family. My grandparents weren't very literate; they worked hard their whole lives, and their small black-and-white television was their only source of joy. My older sister didn't read leisure books either; she spent all her time reading "serious" books—thick legal textbooks. As far as I can remember, she seemed to have a deep love for law books, and she never had any other ambitions. Those books were lent to her by Uncle Zhou. He said my sister was born to be a lawyer, and I would ask him playfully, "What about me?" He would tap my nose and say, "Yingying is a lucky girl! Because Yingying has the best sister in the world!" Every time Uncle Zhou said that, I was very happy, as if I were that lucky girl in the world.

Seeing him reading a novel made me a little envious, so I asked my sister to find me some light reading material. She paused, smiled, and said nothing. The next day, she found me a few fairy tales at the university library. Although they were very good, I still felt unsatisfied. She then asked me what I wanted to read, and I blurted out "Seven Heroes and Five Gallants." My sister shook her head and asked if I could understand it. I wasn't sure, but thinking that even the naughty Fang Cheng could read it, there was no reason why I couldn't. My stubborn personality made me nod vigorously. My sister smiled and lent it to me anyway. It was indeed a very thick book, and judging from the cover, it was different from Fang Cheng's, which was a little disappointing. I actually asked my sister if there were any other books also called "Seven Heroes and Five Gallants"? My sister was very curious that day, perhaps because she thought I was funny. To avoid her probing gaze, I ran back to my room with the book.

The book was filled with dense text. With my limited knowledge of classical poetry and barely any formal classical Chinese literature, reading a traditional novel was obviously difficult. Perhaps the only thing keeping me going was my stubbornness towards Fang Cheng. I managed to read it, albeit haltingly, and surprisingly, I didn't find it hard to understand at the time. Little did I know that I couldn't truly claim to have understood it then. Rereading those books in university, I felt ashamed and finally understood the meaning of my sister's words. As Lao She said, "When you're young, you understand everything you read; later, you don't understand anything!" Clearly, reading is a process!

My three years of junior high were spent secretly watching Fang Cheng and reading. I remained a "good" student, especially making rapid progress in Chinese language. When I started reading novels, it was to find out what Fang Cheng was doing, following his tastes. He loved novels; it seemed like his only purpose at school was to read them. Whether in class or out, he was always engrossed in a book. Like me, he didn't seem to have many friends, always hiding alone in a corner of the classroom, absorbed in his reading. Later, even the teachers stopped bothering him, as long as he didn't disturb others. And his family seemed to have a lot of books; besides his "badness," I envied his collection. Initially, I borrowed books from my sister's university library, but later she got me a library card at a nearby public library, allowing me to read freely. Her approach to education was very lenient; in her view, reading for leisure wasn't a bad thing, as long as it wasn't during class. When she said this, I immediately thought of Fang Cheng.

I went to the same high school, and my grades were decent. Without being immodest, I consistently maintained a good record, never letting anyone steal my number one spot, which made me quite proud. Looking at my classmates, all the top students were diligently studying, while I had to dedicate a lot of time to leisure reading, yet I still easily won first place – that definitely took skill. My most vivid memories from those years are of how I squeezed in time to study. I did my homework at school, trying to resolve any questions I didn't understand there, and used my home time for leisure reading. My sister didn't care much about my grades. Every time I brought my report card home, she would ask with surprise, "How could you do so well?!" Every time she said that, I was happy and focused on getting good grades for her. She never asked what my ranking was, nor did she ever ask why I didn't study. In her eyes, my academic ability was a given. I remember once telling her I got first place in the whole grade! She just kissed my cheek and praised me. It wasn't that she was indifferent; rather, she was more concerned with my happiness and making more friends. But at the time, I didn't understand any of that!

Junior high school should have been the best time for me to make friends, but unfortunately I really didn't have much time to make friends. I had to do homework during breaks, review during lunch breaks, and help the teachers with chores; where would I find the time to make friends? Besides, it's hard to make friends if you get good grades! But looking at the results, because of Fang Cheng, I started reading leisure books, and it was around that time that I gradually established my direction in life, so whether I had friends or not doesn't seem to be a big regret.

It was relatively normal for us to be in the same grade in high school again; he was a student at our school, and with a certain score, he could directly enter the senior high section. However, this score wasn't the cutoff for most high schools, as it was a prestigious school and needed to maintain its college entrance rate. Fang Cheng wasn't a bad student; just like when he was little, he had ways to barely pass both the big and small exams. But with his grades, getting direct entry into the senior high section of our school was still difficult, and I was genuinely worried for him during that period. As it turned out, my worries were unnecessary; Fang Cheng smoothly entered high school again. At that time, I thought he was actually the luckiest kid in the world! But what was abnormal was that this time, Fang Cheng was not only in the same grade as me, but also in the same class!

The high school section was very different from the junior high section. The high school section also had four classes, but they were divided according to academic performance. Our class could be described as the most elite group in the entire province. The difference in scores between us was only a fraction of a point, and the competition was fierce. In such a class full of geniuses, the presence of this oddball was quite a sight. He was assigned to the last row, and the teacher seemed to have been given a hint that he could be ignored, but why was that? And after entering high school, he developed a new hobby: sleeping! Except for the three afternoons in winter, he would fall into a deep sleep amidst the teacher's angry glares and the envious and jealous looks of his classmates.

Under the college entrance examination system at that time, once you entered a top-tier high school, you were no longer an ordinary student. Forget about having time to play or read leisure books; even sleep was something to be minimized. My situation was alright, but I wasn't as addicted to reading leisure books as I was in junior high. By then, I had found my goal in life: I wanted to be a writer. A great writer, even if they only have one work left to posterity, would be content. How ignorant and naive my thoughts were back then!

During breaks, I would rub my tired eyes and glance at the others, but the one I most wanted to see was Fang Cheng. Nine times out of ten, he would lean comfortably against the wall, reading novels or eating snacks. He looked so relaxed and carefree. Compared to the pale, thin faces of the others and the rings of glasses on their noses, he seemed so normal, so normal that it was almost annoying.

Another annoying thing about high school was the assigned cleaning duties. Classroom cleaning was done collaboratively by students, in pairs, taking turns. With sixty students in the class, it only took turns once a month on average, which wasn't much. But after entering high school, the relationships between people seemed to change, and I felt truly disheartened. It even made me wonder if people become more selfish the better their grades! These sixty students, excluding Fang Cheng, were 59 of the best students in the province, the group that should be 'excellent in both character and academics.' Shouldn't 'character' come before 'academics'? Not at all. After entering high school, they would verbally abuse each other over a seat closer to the blackboard; the class monitor, subject representatives, and student union cadres all suddenly became unwilling to do the duties, becoming "humble" and afraid of wasting study time. When choosing cleaning partners, no one chose Fang Cheng. Their thinking was very pragmatic: how could a bad student do cleaning duties? This unpopular person could only be me, the 'excellent in both character and academics' class monitor. I've seen too much of this; I'm numb to it all. Let them do what they want. If it were anyone else, I might get angry for a while, but because it's Fang Cheng, I'm actually quite happy. I finally have a chance to get close to him. And he didn't disappoint me; in fact, he gave me a really big surprise!

Fang Cheng wasn't as unruly as he seemed; he was actually very kind. He was a boy, stronger than me, and I was used to treating everything fairly, always asking him to share the work. But he pretended to dislike me, finishing the heavy and dirty tasks without even looking at me. Sometimes after school, the teacher would assign me tasks, and before leaving, I'd tell him to wait until I returned. But by the time I finished and rushed back to the classroom, he was usually gone, leaving behind a spotless classroom. Apart from our group, nothing much happened for three years. But the other twenty-nine groups were always causing trouble. He didn't say how we were assigned tasks, and neither did I, so the twenty-nine groups kept switching, and by graduation, no one thought of switching with me. They never imagined that the worst student would be the best partner! I attributed this to my good deeds being rewarded, and I'd feel a little smug when others asked to switch.

My older sister graduated from university the year I was in my second year of high school. She went to work at Uncle Zhou's firm. That's when I learned t

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