NOVEL NEXT vol. 1 chapter 14 - “His name was Lang Feiran”
Chapter 14 – “His name was Lang Feiran”
“Passive aggressive” speech was a violation of school rules. Once reported, it was punishable by more than just a point deduction, whereas informants were rewarded with three points.
Shooting the pimpled youth a look full of warning, Qin Mu pretended he hadn’t heard anything and walked away. Since entering the school, he had never volunteered to report anyone. It was the last line that he silently guarded. Although he feared the electric shock, he feared even more that he would, under this regime of tyranny and prolonged indoctrination, become like the “classmates” that surrounded him. Forsaking their conscience and humanity, like rabid dogs, ripping and tearing into each other, for the sake of gaining a few points or avoiding punishment.
The correctional education continued. During that time, Zheng Yan came to see him once. Following the instructions of his teachers, he “willingly, out of his own volition” knelt on the floor and washed Zheng Yan’s feet. As he washed, he recited the words that he had memorised daily to the point of complete perfection – he was being a rebellious teenager, insisting on being different, and ended up giving himself a mental sickness; he had defied his parents, was disobedient, neglected his filial duties and committed a serious crime; from now on, he would, with the help of his teachers and classmates, sincerely reform himself… When he started speaking of the debt of gratitude he owed them for their parental nurture, he bowed his head deep against the floor, and even cried.
Qin Mu felt that an entirely alien personality had separated out from him. This personality was like a talented actor who, according to the designs of a script, accurately performed a character’s expressions, movements and speech. Meanwhile, the personality that was his original self, filled with a barely contained hatred and disgust, watched numbly from the sidelines. He saw on Zheng Yan’s face the long-lost expressions of joy and satisfaction, just like she once had when she received his exam results. How happy she was. With teary eyes, she held him in her arms and said, “My son has returned! I’m so glad, my son has returned…”
And who was her son? In that strange yet familiar embrace, he thought fleetingly, if the person she liked and needed was a false version of his self, then what was the point of his real self existing? The real self that had been nearly drowned by the tidal waves of loneliness, helplessness, fear, suffering and despair, the real self that still clung desperately onto a piece of driftwood, refusing to drown – for what was it still so desperately struggling?
In the end, it didn’t matter whether he could get out or not; there was no one waiting for him on the outside anymore.
Qin Mu had never felt so helpless as he did in this moment. Yet he smiled and hugged her back tightly, exactly the way a repentant and wayward son would when he finally returned to his mother’s arms.
That night, he curled himself inside his blanket, covered his mouth with his hand, and cried without a sound. When the tears finally stopped, he tried his best to convince himself that he had to be strong. He quietly mouthed lines of poetry he had learnt from school, trying to find some comfort within – “I bite the mountain green and won’t let go*”, “They give no care to blaze and flare*”, “There are so many mountains and with the way the river twists, you think there’s no road, And then, dark willows, bright blossoms, another village appears*”, “Walking up to where the stream ends, It is time to sit and watch the rising of clouds*”… He sought some strength, some courage, from those ancient people who had long departed. These lines of poetry were like a fragile tether ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) between him and the outside world, with his real teachers and real classmates. Like fireflies that flickered in the night, that faint powder of light kept him from perishing in the darkness. Even unto this moment, he was still using all his strength to hold onto the last remnant of his true self, holding onto his own judgment of right and wrong, kindness and cruelty, good and evil, and in so doing, resisted against the indoctrination and conformity that repeated day after day.
But the hand that held the brush of fate refused to stop and slowly, slowly wrote a passage that one could not bear to read.
One day, two months after he had entered the reform school, the yellow-toothed man had to head out to collect a new student, and Qin Mu’s reformation teacher changed to the 40-something Mr Zhou. His face was thick and fleshy, a large bald spot sat on the top of his head. He was unusually brutal towards students, meting out verbal tirades and physical punishments at the slightest pretext. Qin Mu was terrified of him.
The air-conditioning was not turned on in the discipline room. Baldhead Zhou walked in, wrapped in a down coat. With a heavy drop, he sat on the chair, gave Qin Mu a few examining looks, and then smirked, “Take everything off, shirt and pants.”
Qin Mu was taken aback. In the past, the yellow-toothed man had only made him take off his shirt, he had never asked him to remove his pants.
Seeing his hesitation, Baldhead Zhou lifted the cane, lashed his shoulder with sudden force and shouted in anger, “Move it!”
Gasping in pain, Qin Mu took off with his trembling hands his shirt, his outer pants, his inner cotton pants, and then stood with his arms hanging by his side.
Baldhead Zhou raised an eyebrow, “Are you deaf? I told you to take it all off!”
“Teacher Zhou…” Feeling vulnerable and afraid, Qin Mu wanted to plead with him, but after another lash, with tears in his eyes, he pulled off his underwear.
“You are sure growing nicely.” Baldhead Zhou used the cane to flick around Qin Mu’s penis and said with a half-smile, “I hear you like men?”
“Before, I had a sickness in the brain. I don’t like men anymore.” Qin Mu was afraid to move. He was cold and tense and shaking all over.
Twice, the cane in Baldhead Zhou’s hand struck with force across his face, “Can’t trust a word you’re saying. I know you’re lying.” When he finished speaking, he stood up and slowly walked two circles around Qin Mu, then suddenly pressed close from behind.
Shocked, Qin Mu’s body instinctively leaned forward, but the other person hooked their elbow around his neck. Baldhead Zhou lowered his voice and said, “You’re shivering from the cold, aren’t you? If I hold you like this, you won’t feel cold anymore.”
Choked by the grip, Qin Mu was struggling to breathe and had to lean back. Tensing his entire body, he said with panic, “Teacher Zhou… I’m not cold anymore.”
“Lying again. Do you want to be locked in the little black room?” Seeing that he had successfully scared Qin Mu, Baldhead Zhou said slowly, “Kids these days, can’t resist trouble, eh? Playing at being gay. Haha. Do you even know what being gay means?” He threw away the cane. His large, coarse hand followed Qin Mu’s spine, reaching down into the cleft of his buttocks, and then he used a finger to press against Qin Mu’s anus. Leaning close against his ear, he said, “It means you let someone’s dick push in here and thrust in you. You know the prostate gland, don’t you? A few thrusts against the prostate gland, and that’ll get you excited. Haha. Little brat, you want to try?”
Qin Mu’s face went utterly pale. Trembling, he said, “Teacher Zhou… I don’t want to try…”
“Don’t like it? There are other ways. How about stuffing a dick in your mouth? Let it thrust deep and hard into your throat, fucking you over and over, and you can swallow all the cum as a health tonic.” Baldhead Zhou groped around his buttocks with rough mockery. As he groped, he said, “But still, I like your bottom better. Very perky. And soft. Must feel good to push inside.”
“Teacher Zhou… Please don’t, Teacher Zhou…” In extreme fear, Qin Mu started to cry.
“Stop pretending, little liar. I know what you’re thinking. You grew tired of playing the good kid, wanted to try your hand at being a rebellious teenager. You want others to think you’re different. Didn’t you want to play at being homosexual? Let me give you a taste. Go. Bend over the lectern. Raise your bottom.”
Absolutely frightened, Qin Mu only realised what was happening when he was shoved next to the lectern. He wrenched himself free from the other’s grip and turned to run. But the man had long locked the door, iron bars covered the window, there was no way out. Baldhead Zhou caught him. Qin Mu shouted for help and fought with all his strength.
No one came.
Qin Mu was dragged out, given the electric shock, and then locked inside the isolation room, without food, for an entire day.
He developed a fever. Dazed and disoriented by the high fever, he was plunged into a terrifying nightmare, an endless torture which he could not escape from.
The half-baked school doctor couldn’t be bothered to deal with him, tossed him some cold and fever meds and left. Perhaps because his fever was indeed alarmingly severe, the yellow-toothed man was worried that if Qin Mu actually died, he wouldn’t be able to explain it to the parents, so he excused the pimpled youth from the daily drills and classes and assigned him to keep an eye on Qin Mu, feeding him fever-reducing medicine whenever the forehead was hot to the touch.
The pimpled youth was older than him by a few years. His name was Lang Feiran. When his parents gave him the name “Feiran”, which meant remarkable, they had wished he would become a brilliant and remarkable person. But in his last year of high school, things went off track. He was sent here for having an internet addiction and refusing to study. He had been here two years already. In his previous sessions of “deep self-criticism and self-analysis”, Qin Mu had picked up a few details here and there about his life. Before he arrived here, the pimpled youth had actually made a name for himself in the province as an esports player. He was, in fact, on the cusp of signing with a professional team. But his parents couldn’t understand the point of online gaming, and considered his behaviour of spending all day on the internet as an idle and aimless waste of life. They wanted to save him, and so, by force, sent him here to break his internet addiction. When Feiran was brought in, he fought back, fiercely, and broke a finger in the process. It didn’t heal properly, and the index finger on his right hand that once was used to click mouses now remained permanently bent, unable to be straightened.
The pimpled youth was indeed saved. Out of all the students, he was the most outstanding. He adhered rigidly and unwaveringly to every school policy. He was remorseful of his own offences to the point of tears. He respected the teachers with almost fanatical devotion. The slightest hint of trouble, and he was at the forefront of reporting it, he was an excellent “watchdog”. He was, thus, made class monitor. Now and then, the school would parade him as the “model of reformation”, a “positive example” for all the parents to see and as proof of the school’s success in correctional education. Whenever the yellow-toothed man went out to collect new students, he would let him act as a “lure”, to coax the “new student” into the car. They gave him all the keys to the dormitories, made him do nightly room checks, gather the daily diaries, and then lock each door one by one before handing over the keys again. The pimpled youth once declared that he was going to stay at the school for the rest of his life, that he would work himself like an ox or a horse to repay the debt of reformation he owed the school. And so the teachers were happy to entrust Qin Mu to his supervision.
When Qin Mu woke, it was already noon. Still dazed and dizzy, he took a few sips of water from the enamel cup that was held next to his lips. Only then did he see clearly who was in front of him. In a hoarse voice, he managed a “thank you”.
There were only the two of them in the dorm. The pimpled youth shot a glance at the door, lowered his voice and asked, “Did he succeed?”
Qin Mu pressed his lips and didn’t say anything. After a pause, he slowly shook his head.
The pimpled youth smiled a little and gave him a thumbs-up, “Good on you.” Then passed him a bun that was now cold, “Eat. Eat and you’ll have strength. If you don’t want to die here, then do as I tell you.”
Qin Mu took it, silently chewed on the bun that was hard like a rock, and swallowed with difficulty. Without realising, tears started to flow down his face. He scrambled to wipe them away with his hand. The pimpled youth pulled the blanket over him, covering his face.
“If you want to cry, cry.” The pimpled youth said, “You didn’t tell on me, I won’t tell on you either.”
Having spent all this time in this place that was full of surveillance and betrayal, Qin Mu didn’t know if he could believe him. When he felt a little more composed, he came out from underneath the blanket and said thank you once again. With the help of some warm water, he finished the cold bun. As he was chewing, his badly swollen face and eyes all hurt like hell. He wanted to rest for a while, but the pimpled youth forced him to get up.
Qin Mu struggled to his feet. Because of his injuries, his legs were shaky.
The pimpled youth asked, “Can you run?”
Qin Mu felt it was difficult and shook his head. At this moment, someone walked passed the doorway and shouted from outside, “Class monitor, Teacher Chen is looking for you.”
The pimpled youth turned to say OK. He hurried in a whisper, “Get some rest. Don’t sleep too deeply tonight.” And left.
After that, they didn’t get another chance to communicate.
At night, when everyone had fallen asleep. Qin Mu felt someone gently pat his back through the blanket. Startled, he opened his eyes. The pimpled youth covered Qin Mu’s mouth and wrote the words “run away” on his palm.
Qin Mu stared at him in shock, not knowing what to do. Baldhead Zhou had his eyes set on him, and next time, it was likely he wasn’t going to escape the fate of being raped. He didn’t know if he could trust the pimpled youth, but apart from trust, what else could he do? By himself, there was no way he could get out. After some time, trembling, he nodded.
The pimpled youth had left the door to the dormitory unlocked. Qin Mu followed cautiously behind him, and they slipped outside.
It was snowing outside. It was exceptionally cold.
With practised familiarity, the pimpled youth led Qin Mu around the school grounds and faculty buildings, without a sound, approaching the small iron gate at the school’s entrance. Crouching in the shadow of a wall, he pressed two buns into Qin Mu’s clothes and then placed a brass key in his hand. He whispered, “When you open the door later, if the guard wakes up, I’ll hold him off. Don’t worry about anything, you just run.” He pointed at the hills to the right and said, “Don’t run towards the inhabited areas. The people in the nearby towns are in league with them. They will catch you for the reward. Run to the mountain on the right. Do you see it? On the south side of that mountain is a tourist attraction. When the day breaks, go there and find a non-local tourist to help you. Remember, do not trust your parents. They brought you here once, they can bring you here twice.”
Having finished, the pimpled youth hugged him and then gently stroked his face, “Don’t be afraid. Once you unlock the door, just run. Don’t look back.”
Qin Mu remembered the pale mist of his breath, remembered the warmth of his hug, remembered the eyes that were different from usual, that were luminous, and remembered what he saw when he finally opened the lock with his trembling hands and turned to look back one last time – the pimpled youth was wrestling and grappling with the large security guard.
Amid the sounds of the blaring sirens, he heard the ear-piercing screams from behind him.
“RUN! QIN MU, RUN! RUN!!”
He ran ahead with all his life, running faster and faster, running so fast he was about to fly.
Tears blurred his vision and were then torn away by the blistering wind. The cold wind cut across his face like the blade of a knife, violently slamming into his lungs. Like a frightened antelope, he ran for his life across the snow. His heart was beating so fast it was about to burst. One of his shoes came off, but he didn’t dare stop to pick it up. His sock cut across rocks, sending sharp pains up his foot.
Holding his breath, he ran across several desolate hills. Suddenly, two glaring beams of light flashed across him, and then there was the piercing sound of brakes. A massive object stopped in the last moment just as it was about to slam into Qin Mu, leaving behind two deep brake tracks in the snow.
Terrified, he collapsed onto the ground and then scrambled to get up, but was tripped by a rock, and tumbled through the snow.
“Hey! Are you alright?” Someone was yelling in the snow.
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Translator’s Note:
1. Taken from Zheng Banqiao’s 17th-century poem “Bamboo and Rock”, translation belongs to kekenet.com
Between broken rocks striking my root deep,
I bite the mountain green and won't let go.
From whichever direction the winds leap,
I remain strong, though dealt many a blow.
2. Taken from Yu Qian’s 15th-century poem “Limestone Chant”, translation belongs to frommetertomeaning on WordPress
From hammering the mountain the rocks appear,
They give no care to blaze and flare.
Torn bodies and crushed bones strike no fear,
For they shall leave purity in the human sphere.
3. Taken from Lu You’s 12th-century poem “Travelling to a Village West of the Mountain”, translation belongs to classicchinesepoetry.com
Don’t laugh at the murky winter wine in a farmer’s cottage
In the good years there’s enough chicken and pork for guests
There are so many mountains and with the way the river twists, you think there’s no road
And then, dark willows, bright blossoms, another village appears.
Pipers, drummers, chasing and following each other, the spring sacrifice is near.
Farmers’ straw hats and simple, country clothes, the old way of life is not forgotten.
From now on, please allow me to take advantage of a full moon,
Leaning leisurely on my cane, I’ll knock on your door some evening.
4. Taken from Wang Wei’s 8th-century poem “Villa on Mount Zhong Nan”, translation taken from d3wynightturnr0lls on WordPress
Inclined towards the good path during middle-aged years,
[Thus] later years spent resting in the southern mountains.
When the interest arises, I wander alone,
Happy moments emptily known to me only.
Walking up to where the stream ends,
It is time to sit and watch the rising of clouds.
Occasionally meeting the old man in the forest,
Laughing and chatting to no limits of when to return home.