JFWCM Chapter 10

Chalk Constellations

Chalk Constellations

The living room lights stung Yi Shang’s eyes. Her father and Professor Zhang sat at the coffee table, several test papers and a thick notebook spread out before them. The fragrant aroma of Longjing tea hung in the air, mixed with the pungent smell of some chemical reagent.

“Ah, Shang Shang is here.” Professor Zhang pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, a smile plastered on his face. “We’re analyzing your mistakes from the last competition.”

Yi Shang lowered her head and walked to the empty single sofa, sitting down as her fingers unconsciously caressed the pink chalk in her pocket. The chalk seemed to be burning, the heat searing her skin through the fabric.

“Question 17, clearly carelessness.” Her father circled a large area on the test paper with a red pen. “You shouldn’t be making mistakes on such basic problems.”

Professor Zhang nodded. “Time management was also an issue. You barely touched the last two major questions.” He turned to Yi Shang. “Did you know that the top twenty in this competition get guaranteed admission to Tsinghua and Peking University? You ranked 23rd.”

Yi Shang stared at the water stain on the coffee table, watching it slowly spread into an irregular shape, like a bird spreading its wings.

“Speak!” Her father suddenly slammed the table, the water in the teacup shaking violently. “Do you know how much we’ve sacrificed for you?”

“I know,” Yi Shang’s voice was almost inaudible.

“No, you don’t.” Her father pulled a stack of documents from his briefcase. “To get you into this competition class, I donated a laboratory to the school. To hire Professor Zhang for private tutoring, I turned down an important project at the institute.”

Professor Zhang feigned persuasion. “Professor Yi, don’t put too much pressure on the child…”

“Pressure?” Her father sneered. “Her mother didn’t have enough pressure back then, which is why she accomplished nothing.”

Yi Shang suddenly looked up, her chest heaving. The last night before her mother left, she sat in the living room like this, listening to her father criticize her paintings as “worthless.”

“Mom didn’t accomplish nothing.” Yi Shang heard herself say, “Her paintings are in a museum collection.”

Her father’s expression froze. The room was eerily silent, even Professor Zhang held his breath.

“Who told you that?” Her father’s voice was dangerously low.

Yi Shang bit her lip. It was Jiang Wan’yuan. Last week in the library, Jiang Wan’yuan mysteriously slipped her a museum brochure with her mother’s name and a watercolor painting called “Starry Night” printed on it.

“That’s not important.” Her father stood up, looking down at her. “What’s important is that starting today, you’ll do two extra sets of practice exams every day. And you’ll go to Professor Zhang’s lab on weekends to help.”

“Laboratory?” Yi Shang looked at Professor Zhang in confusion.

Professor Zhang’s smile widened. “I’m researching a new type of neural enhancer that can improve memory and calculation speed. We need some adolescent volunteers to do testing…”

“No!” Yi Shang blurted out. “I don’t want to be a lab rat!”

Her father’s eyes turned cold. “This isn’t a request, it’s a decision. Professor Zhang will pick you up at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

Yi Shang clenched the chalk in her pocket, chalk dust covering her fingers. She suddenly remembered what Jiang Wan’yuan had said today: “They want to turn everyone into the same kind of star.”

“What if… what if I refuse?” Yi Shang asked, summoning her courage.

Her father and Professor Zhang exchanged a look. Professor Zhang took a small bottle from his briefcase, containing a few blue pills.

“Shang Shang, you know you sometimes have nightmares and talk in your sleep, right?” Professor Zhang’s voice suddenly became unusually gentle. “This is a mild sedative that can help you focus.”

Yi Shang felt a chill run down her spine. She did occasionally have nightmares, dreaming that she was trapped in an endless maze. But every time she woke up, she couldn’t remember the details of the dream, only feeling exceptionally tired.

“I… I don’t…”

“Last Tuesday at three in the morning, you were shouting ‘Don’t lock me up’.” Her father said calmly, “One night last month, you sleepwalked in the hallway and almost fell down the stairs.”

Yi Shang’s face turned pale. She didn’t remember any of this.

“These are just early symptoms.” Professor Zhang sighed. “If we don’t intervene in time, it could develop into a more serious mental disorder. Your mother back then…”

“Don’t mention her!” Yi Shang stood up abruptly, the chair scraping harshly on the floor. “You’re lying to me! Jiang Wan’yuan said you’d give medicine to students who don’t obey!”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Her father’s face instantly turned ashen.

“Jiang Wan’yuan?” He said, enunciating each word. “That crazy girl? Her sister jumped off a building after taking medicine, and now she’s spreading rumors everywhere!”

Professor Zhang quickly stood up to smooth things over. “Professor Yi, calm down. Shang Shang has just been misled.” He turned to Yi Shang, but his eyes were as cold as a snake. “Jiang Wan’yuan’s sister did participate in our early experiments, but she had severe depression to begin with.”

Yi Shang took a step back, her back against the wall. Jiang Wan’yuan had never mentioned how her sister died, only saying “They killed her.”

“From now on,” Her father’s voice brooked no argument, “You’ll come straight home after school and you’re not allowed to talk to that girl. Hand over your phone, I’ll check all your communication records.”

Yi Shang mechanically pulled her phone out of her pocket, but hesitated at the last moment. In the phone’s photo album were pictures of her and Jiang Wan’yuan, taken on the back mountain of the school, Jiang Wan’yuan pointing to the sky and saying that she could see the Andromeda Galaxy.

Her father snatched the phone away. “Go upstairs. The new plan starts tomorrow.”

Yi Shang turned and walked toward the stairs, her legs like lead. Halfway up, she heard Professor Zhang say in a low voice, “The sample size isn’t enough… we need more data… that Wan’yuan child is too unstable…”

Her footsteps paused, but she didn’t dare to turn around.

Back in her room, Yi Shang locked the door and slumped to the ground. Moonlight streamed through the window, forming a pool of silver on the floor. She took out the pink chalk and drew a star on the wooden floor.

The star immediately began to glow, brighter than it had been on paper, the pink light illuminating the entire room. Yi Shang watched her creation in amazement—the star not only glowed but was slowly rotating, like a real celestial body.

“Do you like your star?”

The familiar voice came from outside the window. Yi Shang looked up and saw Jiang Wan’yuan sitting on the windowsill, her legs dangling in the air. The night wind ruffled her white dress, and the moonlight cast a silver edge around her.

“How did you—” Yi Shang rushed to the window, “My dad just said I’m not allowed to talk to you!”

Jiang Wan’yuan smiled, her eyes brighter than the stars. “So are you going to listen to him?”

Yi Shang opened her mouth, but couldn’t say “yes.” She looked down at the glowing star on the floor, then back at Jiang Wan’yuan. “Your sister… did she really die because of Professor Zhang’s medicine…”

Jiang Wan’yuan’s expression instantly darkened. She jumped into the room, her bare feet stepping on the glowing star. “My sister was the first to discover the truth. They’re not enhancing brains, they’re Renovationit.”

She took a blue chalk from her pocket and drew a complex symbol on Yi Shang’s floor. As soon as the symbol was complete, it began to emit a blue light, interweaving with the light of the pink star.

“What’s this?” Yi Shang asked, fascinated.

“A key.” Jiang Wan’yuan said mysteriously, “A key to the waltz.”

She took Yi Shang’s hand. “Come with me. There’s a meteor shower tonight, we can see it better.”

Yi Shang hesitated. “But my dad might check…”

“Just this once.” Jiang Wan’yuan’s eyes sparkled with pleading. “For your mother. For my sister. For all the stars they’ve locked up.”

Yi Shang thought of the sketchbook her mother had left her, of the “Starry Night” on the museum brochure, of her father’s contemptuous tone when he mentioned her mother earlier.

“Okay.” She heard herself say, “Just this once.”

Jiang Wan’yuan’s smile lit up the entire room. She took Yi Shang’s hand, and the two of them stepped onto the glowing blue symbol. Yi Shang felt a dizzying sensation, and the scene before her began to distort and dissolve—

When her vision cleared, they were standing on the roof of the school’s astronomical observatory. The night sky was as dark as ink, the stars like rain, and the Milky Way like a glowing river across the sky.

“Look.” Jiang Wan’yuan pointed to the east. “The meteor shower is coming.”

Yi Shang held her breath as the first meteor streaked across the night sky. Then a second, a third… Soon, the entire sky was raining meteors, millions of trails of light weaving together into a shimmering net.

“This is the waltz,” Jiang Wan’yuan said softly, her voice filled with awe. “Each meteor is a note.”

Yi Shang looked up, feeling more insignificant and free than ever before. In that moment, her father’s plans, Professor Zhang’s medicine, all the rules and demands, became so distant and unimportant.

“They want us all to become the same kind of star,” Jiang Wan’yuan continued, “But the universe needs diversity. It needs artists, it needs dreamers, it needs people like your mother who can see beauty.”

Yi Shang turned to her. “How do you know about my mother?”

Jiang Wan’yuan’s expression became complicated. “Because my sister knew her. Before… before that.”

An especially bright meteor streaked across the sky, illuminating the tear stains on Jiang Wan’yuan’s face.

“My sister discovered the truth about Professor Zhang’s experiments. They’re not enhancing brains, they’re erasing individuality, creating a group of perfectly obedient geniuses.” She wiped away her tears. “Your mother was probably the last art teacher who refused to participate.”

Yi Shang’s heart pounded. “So Mom didn’t leave because she wanted to abandon us…”

“She was protecting you,” Jiang Wan’yuan said firmly, “Just like my sister tried to protect me.”

The meteor shower reached its peak, the entire sky burning. Yi Shang felt something awakening within her, like a dormant star finally beginning to shine.

“I can’t let Professor Zhang give me medicine,” she said resolutely, “And I can’t let you fight them alone.”

Jiang Wan’yuan looked at her in surprise. “You believe me?”

Yi Shang nodded and took out the chocolate wrapper star from her pocket. “From today on, we’ll fold stars together. A thousand, ten thousand, until the whole night sky can’t hold them anymore.”

The two girls stood under the meteor shower, their hands clasped tightly together. In the boundless cosmic waltz, two small stars decided to dance to their own tune.

And far away, in Professor Yi’s study, he frowned at the computer screen. The screen displayed surveillance footage of the astronomical observatory—two blurry figures standing on the roof, illuminated by the meteor shower. He slowly picked up the phone and dialed Professor Zhang’s number. “Lao Zhang, the observation data is abnormal.” Professor Yi’s voice sounded particularly heavy over the phone. “The meteor swarm’s orbit has shifted by 0.3 degrees, exactly where they’re standing.”

The sound of glass clinking came from the other end of the phone, Professor Zhang was apparently drinking coffee in his late-night laboratory. “I knew that girl wasn’t simple. Wan’yuan has had this ability since she was three years old, every time she gets emotionally agitated, the astronomical observatory’s instruments will…”

Yi Shang suddenly felt the star in her pocket burning. When she took it out, the paper star was hovering and spinning in her palm, emitting a faint blue light.

“Look!” Jiang Wan’yuan exclaimed, and the next second, more stars flew out of her backpack, forming a small galaxy around the two of them. Each star dragged a stream of light, echoing the meteor shower in the sky.

When Professor Yi saw this scene on the monitor, the pen in his hand fell to the ground with a thud. He had never seen his daughter show such a vivid expression—Yi Shang looked up at the surrounding star cluster, the corners of her mouth raised in a crescent-like arc.

“Dad always said stars are cold calculations,” Yi Shang reached out and touched a spinning paper star, ripples spreading from her fingertips. “So they can dance too.”

Jiang Wan’yuan suddenly grabbed her wrist. “Careful!” A meteor that had deviated from its orbit suddenly fell towards them, but stopped strangely ten meters above the roof, turning into a ball of dancing starlight.

The two girls gasped at the same time. In their clasped palms, a warm power was pulsing. The corner of Yi Shang’s white coat moved without wind, and small flashes of electricity passed through Jiang Wan’yuan’s short hair.

The astronomical observatory’s alarm suddenly sounded. In the laboratory downstairs, Professor Zhang stared at the suddenly erupting solar flare data and muttered to the phone, “Lao Yi, we may have mistaken the cause and effect… it’s not the meteors affecting them, it’s them guiding the meteors…”

At this moment, the star cluster on the roof suddenly began to accelerate its rotation, forming a dazzling vortex. Yi Shang felt countless formulas automatically calculating in her mind, while Jiang Wan’yuan heard ancient nursery rhymes she had heard in her childhood. When a dazzling light burst out from the center of the vortex, they both stepped forward at the same time—

“Stop!” The moment Professor Yi pushed open the observatory’s rooftop door, he saw the figures of the two girls engulfed by the starlight. He reached out in vain, but only caught a slowly falling piece of chocolate wrapper, on which was written in childish handwriting: “For those who see the meteors.”

Yi Shang was adjusting the focus of the telescope while listening to Bach’s “Air on the G String” through her headphones. This was her set routine for observing celestial bodies—classical music helped her block out the surrounding noise and focus on calculations and recording.

“Excuse me, you’re blocking my constellation chart.”

The cool voice made Jiang Wan’yuan, who was waving a glow stick, turn around. The roof of the astronomical observatory was crowded with students who came to see the meteor shower, but there was an invisible isolation zone around the girl in the white coat in front of her, and no one dared to approach.

“Ah, sorry!” Jiang Wan’yuan bit the glow stick in her mouth and deftly rolled up the star chart spread on the ground. “Here, this is for you.” She took out a star folded from candy paper from her pocket. “Orange-flavored, can replenish blood sugar.”

Yi Shang stared at the golden paper star, frowning slightly. She never accepted food from strangers, let alone this kind of… handmade product.

“I don’t eat sweets.”

“Oh～” Jiang Wan’yuan drawled out, but stuffed the star into Yi Shang’s white coat pocket without any explanation. “Then take it as a talisman. It is said that the once-in-a-century Draconid meteor shower has the magic to fulfill wishes!”

Yi Shang was about to refute this superstition, which had no scientific basis, when a strange burning sensation suddenly came from her pocket. She took a step back abruptly and bumped into the telescope stand behind her.

“What’s wrong?” Jiang Wan’yuan reached out to support the shaking equipment.

Yi Shang felt a sting on her fingertips when she took out the star. The paper star was hovering and spinning in her palm, emitting an increasingly strong faint blue light, reflecting a strange luster on her pale cheeks.

“Look!” Jiang Wan’yuan exclaimed, and the next second, more stars flew out of her backpack—silver tin foil stars, colorful candy paper stars, and even stars folded from old test papers, all broke free from the constraints of the backpack and formed a small galaxy around the two of them.

In the astronomical observatory’s monitoring room, the pen in Professor Yi’s hand fell to the ground with a thud. On the screen, his daughter, who had only been interested in numbers and formulas, was looking up at the surrounding star clusters, her mouth raised in a crescent-like arc that he hadn’t seen for many years.

“Dad always said stars are cold calculations,” Yi Shang reached out and touched a spinning paper star, ripples spreading from her fingertips. “So they can dance too.”

Jiang Wan’yuan suddenly grabbed her wrist. “Careful!”

A meteor that had deviated from its orbit cut through the night sky, dragging an unusually bright tail flame toward the astronomical observatory. Yi Shang’s pupils reflected the approaching firelight, but her body seemed to be nailed to the spot. At the critical moment, the meteor stopped strangely ten meters above the roof, turning into a ball of dancing starlight.

The two girls gasped at the same time. In their clasped palms, a warm power was pulsing. The corner of Yi Shang’s white coat moved without wind, and small flashes of electricity passed through Jiang Wan’yuan’s short hair.

“This is impossible…” Yi Shang stared at her hands, and a series of astrophysics formulas flashed through her mind, but she couldn’t find any theorem that could explain the phenomenon in front of her.

But Jiang Wan’yuan suddenly laughed. “I told you meteors have magic!” She stretched out her other hand towards the suspended starlight, and as soon as her fingertips touched the flame, the entire fireball turned into countless points of light and scattered into the night sky.

The alarm of the astronomical observatory suddenly rang sharply. In the laboratory downstairs, Professor Zhang stared at the suddenly erupting solar flare data and muttered to the phone: “Lao Yi, we may have mistaken the cause and effect… it’s not the meteors affecting them, it’s them guiding the meteors…”

At this moment, the star clusters on the roof suddenly began to accelerate their rotation, forming a dazzling vortex. Yi Shang felt countless formulas automatically calculating in her mind, while Jiang Wan’yuan heard ancient nursery rhymes that her grandmother used to sing. When a dazzling light burst out from the center of the vortex, they both stepped forward at the same time—

“Stop!” The moment Professor Yi pushed open the rooftop door, he happened to see the figures of the two girls being swallowed by the starlight. He reached out in vain, but only caught a slowly falling piece of chocolate wrapper, on which was written in childish handwriting: “For those who see the meteors.”

The monitoring screen froze on the last frame: In the starlight, the backs of Yi Shang and Jiang Wan’yuan were decomposing into countless light particles, and their hands were always tightly clasped.

Three days later, the Department of Astronomy and the Department of Literature received leave notes at the same time. One was written in rigorous regular script saying “Need to verify the relationship between string theory and star movement”, and the other was painted with an exaggerated smiling face, next to which was marked “Going to chase stars～”.

And in an astronomical observatory in a small town thousands of miles away, when the duty officer rubbed his eyes to check the abnormal data, two meteors flashed past the window—one dragging a calm blue light, and the other bursting with joyful orange flames. They intertwined with each other across the night sky, like a carefully choreographed cosmic dance.