JFWCM Chapter 13

Star Scar Rust

Star Scar Rust

Jiang Wan’yuan burst into the astronomy club, a strawberry lollipop hanging from her mouth, just as Yi Shang was calibrating the star chart instrument. By the window, the copper-rusted armillary sphere model reflected the twilight of March. The cracks that once flowed with golden liquid had long been filled with mineral gel, congealing into an amber-colored river.

“The Gemini meteor shower is tonight!” Jiang Wan’yuan slapped the ultramarine pigment left over from art class onto the observation deck, the scattered dust weaving into a blue mist in the sunset, “Want to go to the rooftop—”

“No need.” Yi Shang didn’t even look up as she adjusted the equatorial mount, her wrist wrapped in a black sports bandage gleaming bluish-white in the cold light of the instrument. Since that rainy night at the sports meet, she had never worn the decorative bandage with the star trails again.

Jiang Wan’yuan casually sat on the windowsill, swinging her legs as she watched Yi Shang put a dust cover on the telescope. Behind them, the LED screen steadily glowed with “Diligence and Aspiration,” never again displaying the Orion constellation—the education administration discovered during maintenance that it was just an Easter egg buried in the program by a previous astronomy club member.

“Hey, your wound.” Jiang Wan’yuan suddenly pressed her sketchbook against Yi Shang’s back, “It’s still bleeding.”

Yi Shang froze for half a second. That night at the labor fair, when she supported the tilting armillary sphere, Jiang Wan’yuan’s iridescent paint can spilled on her wrist, mineral powder seeping into the abrasion. After the scab formed, it actually left a nebula-like scar on her skin. At this moment, those blue-purple marks peeked out from the edge of the pure black bandage, like auroras sneaking out of a cage.

“None of your business.” Yi Shang’s movement to pull back her wrist knocked over the paint box, ultramarine and ochre rolling onto the star chart carpet. Jiang Wan’yuan suddenly laughed, her paint-stained fingertip tracing across the other’s bandage: “Look, Orion’s belt.”

The twilight at this moment underwent a wonderful refraction. The setting sun shining diagonally through the window lattices passed through the hollowed-out core of the armillary sphere, projecting the copper rust onto Yi Shang’s bandage surface, piecing together a complete three-star belt with the remaining paint stains.

Yi Shang finally turned to look at the girl. Jiang Wan’yuan had a star and moon hairpin given out during the astronomy club’s recruitment pinned behind her ear, shimmering with an unreal glow like the pseudo-star chart on her wrist. Those golden-green copper rust spots that were once believed to have magic were just a conspiracy between the bronze oxidation layer and the glitter powder from the art room.

“Six seventeen.” Yi Shang suddenly announced the time, raising her hand to point to the sky that was beginning to turn purple. The stars that once frequently changed abnormally lit up obediently, like the astronomy club program locked down by the director of studies. Jiang Wan’yuan looked in the direction she was pointing, seeing Venus nailed to the spire of the clock tower, like a silver nail that would never deviate from its orbit.

When the evening breeze wrapped around cherry blossom stationery, Jiang Wan’yuan was painting the newly mixed malachite pigment on the edge of Yi Shang’s bandage. “This way it’s like real star trails!” Her triumphant ending note dissipated in the suddenly ringing evening class bell. Yi Shang looked down at the flowing turquoise on her wrist, recalling this day last month—when they were supporting the armillary sphere in the rainstorm, Jiang Wan’yuan was also like this, using a hand full of color to grab her observation notes that were about to fall.

When the night wind knocked on the astronomy club door for the third time, Yi Shang tossed a cold object into Jiang Wan’yuan’s arms. It was an Orion constellation bookmark made of bronze, with mineral gel used to repair the armillary sphere still clinging to the edges.

“To compensate you for your paint can.” As she said this, she looked at the streetlights gradually lighting up outside the window, not seeing the starlight that exploded in Jiang Wan’yuan’s eyes when she pressed the bookmark to her heart, more dazzling than any abnormal celestial phenomenon.

Night finally descended completely, the stars silently revolving in their predetermined orbits. The pseudo-star chart on Yi Shang’s wrist and the bronze luster on Jiang Wan’yuan’s collarbone echoed each other from afar, like a certain conservation law agreed upon since the beginning of the universe.

After this incident, the school sports meet was coming soon.

The morning mist had not yet dissipated, and the muffled sound of metal colliding with the sandpit had already startled the sparrows in the pagoda trees. Yi Shang held the shot put against her neck, the muscle lines under the bandage like a fully drawn bowstring, the 45-degree parabola cutting through the thin mist, smashing the 37th perfect dent in the sandpit. The sports committee member squatted beside the measuring tape recording data, the tail end of Russian words lingering in his yawns—the analysis of the National Youth Games opponents that Yi Shang had organized last night was going viral in the class group.

Jiang Wan’yuan sat cross-legged on the parallel bars, her sketchbook spread across her knees, charcoal pencil outlining the trajectory of the parabola: “Do you have to be so competitive?” She shook her paint-stained sneakers, “The sports committee member from the next class saw your training schedule and cried as he added two sets of squats to his training this morning.”

The sharp sound of the metal ball slicing through the air startled the doves on the sycamore tree. Yi Shang took half a step back, the muscle lines under the bandage like a fully drawn bowstring, the shot put tearing through a perfect 45-degree parabola the moment it left her hand. “21.37 meters!” The sports teacher’s voice exploded in the playground, the last stroke of ink on the record board being swept away by the wind.

Jiang Wan’yuan flipped off the parallel bars, the lollipop wrappers tucked in her sketchbook rustling: “The 37th time getting a perfect score, you’re going to Smashput a meteorite crater in the shot put area.” She deliberately emphasized “meteorite,” the ultramarine pigment on her fingertips gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

The morning mist condensed into a frosty curtain in the shot put area, the knuckles under Yi Shang’s bandage turning bluish-white from repeated gripping. When the metal ball broke through the fiftieth parabola, the doves startled from the sycamore treetops shattered the art room window lattices, and the undried starry sky oil painting splattered ultramarine teardrops.

“Take it easy!” The sports teacher gripped the measuring tape tightly, the numbers on the record board already approaching the National Youth Games selection line, “You’re going to smash through the sandpit.”

Jiang Wan’yuan hung upside down on the horizontal bar, the sketchbook suspended three inches from the tip of her nose, charcoal pencil disassembling Yi Shang’s starting movements into geometric figures: “The next class is betting on when you’ll throw the shot put into the principal’s office.” She suddenly flipped to the ground, her rust-stained palm slapping onto the record board, “21.37 meters—is this number the last four digits of your genetic code?”

Yi Shang tore off the sweat-soaked bandage around her neck, purple bruises winding into constellations below her collarbone: “Margin of error 0.3%.” She rolled the spare shot put towards the sandpit, the morning sun reflected on the metal surface stinging the eyes of the freshmen taking sneaky photos.

When the art committee member staggered over with a paint box, Jiang Wan’yuan was drawing tick marks on the track with cobalt blue. “Senior!” The girl raised the palette breathlessly, “The Prussian blue you wanted…” Before she could finish speaking, Yi Shang’s shot put suddenly deviated from its trajectory, smashing the paint box into a modern art exhibit.

“I’ll pay you double.” Yi Shang tossed over the training bag, the corner of a Russian notebook peeking out from the inner layer revealing Jiang Wan’yuan’s graffiti—a cartoon drawing of a shot put turning into a rocket and smashing through the principal’s office window.

When the morning mist dissipated, the sandpit was already filled with forty-three meteorite crater-like dents. Jiang Wan’yuan squatted on the edge of the newest impact crater, inserting a strawberry lollipop into the scalding metal ball: “Want to give this murder weapon a name?” Her eyelashes were Dip covered with ultramarine fragments, “How about calling it ‘Asteroid 437’?”

Yi Shang twisted open the fifth bottle of electrolyte water, the trajectory of the water flowing over her Adam’s apple overlapping with the perfect parabola. The sound of shattering glass suddenly came from the distant teaching building, and the two turned their heads at the same time—a first-year student who was secretly practicing was wailing while clutching his ankle, the skewed shot put lying quietly in the flower bed under the principal’s office window.

“The bet is on.” Jiang Wan’yuan’s laughter startled a whole row of doves, the fluttering shadows of wings casting an ephemeral star chart on Yi Shang’s bandage surface.