To Covet (GL) - Chapter 49

She picked up her backpack, and a stack of books fell out of the open zipper. I bent down to help pick them up. She beat me to it, so instead of touching the book covers, I touched her wrist.

I thought Yu Zhouwan would pull away, but she just squatted there. Only after I released her did she stand up and tell me, “Get some rest. I won’t be back for the next week.”

She turned her face away to avoid my gaze. When she didn’t hear my reply, her departing footsteps paused, and she glanced back, seemingly about to say a few more roundabout words.

I considered telling her about the hosting, but then thought it was unnecessary. Was I really expecting her to come and watch the spectacle? I would probably just get overly nervous on stage and forget my lines.

Yu Zhouwan opened the door and stood there looking at me, as if she had something to say or was waiting for me to make a move. I was annoyed with the task in front of me and leaned over the desk, pretending to be engrossed in reading. At some point, she quietly slipped out.

The scripts for all the classes’ performances had been collected. Some parts, such as the rhymes in certain sentences, needed revision.

The teacher in charge of the hosting—the one who led the school song during the weekly flag-raising ceremony—was so associated with bel canto that Xu Lanlan nicknamed him “Pavarotti,” which is why I couldn’t remember his real name for days of rehearsal.

Teacher Pa, without room for negotiation, assigned the task of polishing the script to the guy who looked like the 7Up boy. I asked 7Up Boy what revisions he had made. He gave me his usual condescending look, questioning me:

“Have you memorized all your lines? Are you in such a rush for these two sentences?”

I looked toward Teacher Pa. He maintained his standard eight-teeth smile facing the audience, completely unaware of the offensive words, even though we were standing just a step away from him.

“Oh, Gao Rui, why are you here?” He noticed the auditorium door being pushed open. His half-spoken words cut off abruptly, and he was a little annoyed. Seeing it was Gao Rui, his impatience instantly vanished, and he quickly walked down the stage to greet her.

“Teacher Lu,” Gao Rui was still holding books in her hand. “I came to drop something off for her.”

It was only then that I remembered his full name was Lu Liang.

“Are you really not hosting? I remember you hosted the freshman ceremony, and the atmosphere was fantastic. Want to try again?”

“Thank you, Teacher. I really enjoy hosting, but I’m truly very busy with my studies lately.” Gao Rui politely declined. “Can I watch your rehearsal?”

“Yes, yes, you’re welcome.”

I tried to minimize my presence, but the spotlights on the stage exposed me from every angle. Every step on the hollow floor echoed in the hall. I raised the microphone to recite the script.

Lu Liang rushed onto the stage and sharply tugged my sleeve. I suddenly remembered I had been distracted and forgotten my standing position. In the momentary daze, I missed my cue by a beat.

“Why is there a segment missing here?” Gao Rui tilted her head, hands crossed, with the air of a director.

“The lines haven’t been revised yet.”

“Who’s revising them?”

“Me.” The male host raised his hand.

“Teacher Lu, let Yan Yue revise it. She’s in the liberal arts class.”

“Oh, right, how could I forget? Yan Yue has written poetry in the school magazine before. Writing something like this should only take a moment.”

Yan Yue, one of the female hosts, was flipping through an essay material magazine backstage. Hearing her name, she looked back at the stage, then continued reading her book, offering no reply.

“Alright. You all have your strengths, so feel free to use them to the fullest.”

I yawned, my mind a mess. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the pathetic, sulking face of 7Up Boy after being snubbed for no reason, and I secretly enjoyed it.

“Liu Ziyin’s writing is actually quite mediocre. I don’t know why he always manages to get into the school magazine.” Yan Yue put down her pen and handed me the revised script. It took her less than twenty minutes.

“Who?”

“The guy standing next to you, the one with the high-spiked hair.” Xu Lanlan ran to the snack bar during the break and bought a five-yuan milk tea. I took a sip—a mouthful of hot saccharine flavor.

“Don’t get angry at him. He’s just inherently unpleasant, a complete snob. If his grades weren’t good, who would let him host? His voice sounds like a big drake.” Xu Lanlan wanted to put on character makeup before going on stage but was mocked by him. She was thoroughly annoyed.

“Rehearsing for so long, and you didn’t even remember the other person’s name?” Gao Rui walked back and handed me the umbrella I had left behind.

“I didn’t pay attention,” I couldn’t help but rub my eyes. Rehearsal was more exhausting than evening self-study. “No wonder I kept feeling like I’d heard that name somewhere.”

“He’s often in the top three for exams. It’s normal to have heard of him.”

“He’s quite annoying. Every time I take my cue from him, I feel like he’s unwilling. I don’t know how I offended him. He said he’d revise the script but kept putting me off for three days.”

“That’s just how he is,” Gao Rui dusted her hands off. “You won’t have to see him after the performance next week. I’ll be here for all the rehearsals these next few days, with all of you.”

Gao Rui had a natural ability to take control, always making people believe that everything was proceeding according to her plan.

I wanted to ask her why she would waste time watching from the audience since she’d given up hosting.

Perhaps it wasn’t too late for me to offer her the position now, but Gao Rui shook her head, refusing to explain the reason. “I don’t want to stay in the classroom. The air conditioner makes it stuffy,” she gave a perfunctory answer.

However, the only benefit of her frequent visits to the auditorium was that Lu Liang’s attitude toward me improved significantly. He no longer huffed and puffed at me for slightly deviating from my standing position.

The question was answered on the day of the performance.

After I put on my makeup and changed clothes, I discovered my microphone was suddenly out of battery right before going on stage. Lu Liang sent me back to find a replacement battery. As I searched through the storage cabinet backstage, I saw Gao Rui again.

“Why aren’t you on stage?”

I heard an unfamiliar female voice.

“I don’t want to.” Gao Rui responded. “I’m not going to study broadcasting or hosting in the future, so why should I waste time on this?”

“It’s an insignificant performance. No one will watch it,” the other party didn’t respond, so she continued.

Feeling someone’s gaze on her, Gao Rui turned and waved at me. I was in a rush to get on stage and didn’t stick my head out to get a clear look.

Through the curtain, I could barely make out the figure of the unfamiliar woman. The only thing clearly visible was the bun at the back of her head.

Once on stage, I adjusted to the blinding lights and saw a middle-aged woman with a bun sitting in the front row. The reason I was so certain was that her full name was written on a plastic placard:

Gao Anqin.

Gao Anqin was seated next to the principal. The principal’s face was beaming as he spoke to her. Fortunately, the repeated rehearsals over the past few days had turned the hosting script into muscle memory, and my distraction didn’t affect the delivery.

When I stepped off the stage, my mind was still blank.

Yan Yue patted my shoulder. “Aren’t you going to watch your class’s performance?”

“Has it started yet?”

“It’s the one after the next.”

I found Xu Lanlan among the crowd in the dressing room. She was playing the role of an old woman.

Her mother had brought her a headscarf from thirty or forty years ago and a pair of old, worn cloth shoes with holes.

Xu Lanlan recited her lines while chewing on a prop flower, which made the rest of the class burst into laughter.

“Lanlan looks even more like Granny Liu now.” Xu Lanlan’s father patted her head.

“Keyi, did your family come?” Xu Lanlan circled me, thoroughly delighted with the long formal dress. Her eyes sparkled. “You look so beautiful today. You should wear long dresses more often; they really suit you.”

Each class had fifteen slots for parents to visit the school. There were still spaces left besides those reserved for the skit performers. The homeroom teacher asked if I needed them, but I refused without hesitation, saying my parents were too busy with work.

“Oh, work is work, but it’s not impossible to spare an hour to watch your child perform on stage.” Old Man Gao was in a rare good mood. I guessed it was because the principal had specifically praised the original skit’s revisions.

“I’ll ask them again when I go back,” I replied.

“No, they have too much going on lately. They won’t have time to come.”

Xu Lanlan was hugged by her parents while they took photos and videos. Others squeezed into the frame, making their own funny faces.

Xu Lanlan pulled me in for a group photo, but I excused myself, saying I had to change clothes for the next segment, and escaped from the jubilant crowd.

The backstage dressing room was vast, and the constant opening and closing of the door for people coming and going made it quite cold despite the heating being on full blast. I put on my coat.

My phone screen lit up. Xu Lanlan had sent me a bunch of photos, pictures she took from the audience and below the stage.

She had deliberately cropped out Liu Ziyin and used filters to blur him in the photos where she couldn’t crop him, leaving only my close-up.

“I have some more on the camera. I’ll send them to you when I get home,” she sent a little kissing emoji. “How’s my photography?”

“Very good.”

I found the group of boys singing on stage too noisy, and since I couldn’t move too far from the stage, I had to squat in a corner under the steps. I mindlessly scrolled through various apps and typed “Gao Anqin” into the browser. There was a news link, but clicking it led to a 404 “not found” page. I could only read the title:

“From Heir to Nothing: His Last Will and Testament Blames His Mother for Ruining Him.”

This was the last entry. The others were just some visit reports from the Bureau of Education. No wonder the principal was all smiles while talking to her below the stage.

Who? I refreshed the page. The signal in the auditorium was poor, and the link wouldn’t open no matter what.

“What are you looking at?” Gao Rui bent down, supporting herself on her knees. “Aren’t you going to watch Lanlan and the others perform? The previous act has already finished.”