JFWCM Chapter 7
by VolareYi Shang stood on the cement ground of the parking lot, the sunlight stretching her shadow long. She looked down at the crumpled chocolate wrapper in her hand, the foil reflecting tiny specks of light in the sun, like scattered stars. In the distance, the black sedan on the mountain road had long disappeared, leaving only a faint smell of gasoline lingering in the air.
She slowly walked back to the bus stop, her fingers unconsciously stroking the pink chalk. Beside the bus sign was a rusty trash can. Yi Shang hesitated for a moment, then stuffed the chocolate wrapper into her school uniform pocket.
The bus back was empty. Yi Shang chose a window seat in the last row, the glass reflecting her blurry image. She took out her phone and opened her chat with Jiang Wan’yuan. The last message was still from yesterday: “I’ll take you somewhere tomorrow.”
Her finger hovered over the screen for a long time. Yi Shang finally just sent a short “Are you home?” and quickly locked the screen. As the bus drove over the cross-river bridge, she saw cargo ships slowly moving on the river, the decks piled with colorful containers, like huge building blocks.
The phone vibrated. Yi Shang quickly unlocked it, but it was the second message from her father: “Remember to wear that navy blue dress.” She stared at the screen for a few seconds and put the phone on silent mode.
It was already dark when she got off the bus. Under the plane trees at the entrance of the residential area, several children were drawing hopscotch with chalk. Yi Shang stopped and watched for a while, then took out the pink chalk from her bag and squatted down to add a small star next to a little girl’s square.
“The big sister draws so well!” The little girl with pigtails looked up at her, “Can you draw a rabbit, too?”
Yi Shang’s fingers froze. The chalk left a trembling dot on the cement ground. She remembered the small line of text at the bottom of the tombstone, and Jiang Wan’yuan’s abrupt stop when she mentioned “the last page of her notebook.”
“Next time.” Yi Shang stood up and handed the chalk to the little girl, “It’s for you.”
Back home, her father was watching the news in the living room. The blue light of the TV screen shone on his sharply defined face, making him look particularly stern.
“Where did you go?” he asked without turning his head.
“The library.” Yi Shang put her bag on the low cabinet in the entryway, where three of her physics competition trophies were displayed.
Her father finally turned his head, his gaze sweeping over her trouser legs stained with grass clippings: “Your older female cousin will be here at seven.”
Yi Shang nodded and walked to her room with her bag. As she closed the door, she heard her father add, “She just got an offer from MIT.”
In her room, Yi Shang threw her bag on the bed and took out a tin box from the depths of a drawer. Inside the box was a small, folded piece of paper. Unfolded, it was a draft paper from last year’s physics competition final, with a crooked rabbit drawn on the back in blue ballpoint pen. Jiang Wan’yuan was sitting diagonally behind her at the time and threw it over when the proctor wasn’t looking.
The sounds of children laughing and playing came from outside the window. Yi Shang drew back the curtains and saw the children downstairs still playing hopscotch. In the twilight, the star drawn with pink chalk was already blurred.
She suddenly really wanted to call Jiang Wan’yuan. But as her finger swiped through her contacts, she realized that they had only ever exchanged text messages. What would she say if she answered the phone? Ask if her mother was angry? Ask which question was the 26-point physics problem? Or ask about the unfinished “last page of the notebook”?
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. “It’s six thirty.” Her father’s voice came through the door panel.
When Yi Shang changed into the navy blue dress, she found the cemetery ticket in her pocket. The paper stub was already softened by sweat, with “Nanshan Cemetery” and the current date printed on it. She hesitated for a moment, then put the ticket stub into the tin box.
In the restaurant’s private room, her older female cousin was showing off campus photos on her phone. “This is the lab’s newest particle collider,” her fingertip swiped across the screen, “It’s at least ten years more advanced than those at domestic universities.”
Her father’s eyes lit up: “When Shang Shang applies next year—”
“I want to take the Gaokao.” Yi Shang interrupted him. As soon as the words left her mouth, she was stunned herself.
Silence fell on the table. Her older female cousin awkwardly drank some juice, leaving half a lip print on the glass.
“Because of that Jiang classmate?” Her father put down his chopsticks. “What was her ranking in the last monthly exam?”
Yi Shang’s fingernails dug into her palm. She remembered Jiang Wan’yuan’s slightly shining eyes when she said “This is her favorite color” at the grave today, the colored chalk rolling on the black marble, and the astronomical observatory coordinates engraved on the back of the tombstone.
“It’s not because of her.” Yi Shang raised her head. “It’s because I want to see how high I can jump.”
Her father’s expression became inscrutable. The waiter came in at that moment with the dessert, mango pudding, trembling slightly in the porcelain bowl, like solidified sunlight.
Her father was silent on the way home. It wasn’t until they were almost at the residential area that he suddenly asked, “Do you know why I named you ‘Shang’?”
Yi Shang shook her head. The night wind lifted her skirt, revealing a faint bruise on her knee, which she got from hitting the steps at the cemetery today.
“‘Shang’ means plumb line,” her father’s voice came with the evening breeze, “A tool used by carpenters to make straight lines. I hope your life doesn’t take any detours.”
Yi Shang looked at the flickering neon lights in the distance and suddenly remembered Jiang Wan’yuan saying that her older sister always drew physics formulas in the shape of stars. “Because the universe is curved anyway.” The girl in the photo was forever frozen at the age she said that.
After taking a shower, Yi Shang found an unread message on her phone. Jiang Wan’yuan sent a photo: on a crumpled physics test paper, the original score of 26 points was crossed out with a pink highlighter, and a rabbit wearing a graduation cap was drawn next to it.
“My mom tore it up and then made me tape it back together,” followed by a crying and laughing emoji, “She said my sister failed her first monthly exam too.”
Yi Shang curled up in bed, typing and deleting in the chat box. In the end, she just sent a rabbit emoji.
The “typing” prompt flashed for a long time. What finally came was a blurry photo: on the yellowed title page of a notebook, in childish handwriting, it was written “Jiang Wan’ning’s Universe Exploration Handbook,” with a simple diagram of the solar system drawn below, each planet with a cartoon smiley face.
“Last page,” Jiang Wan’yuan added in another text, “Turn it over to the back.”
Yi Shang zoomed in on the picture. On the very edge of the paper, there was a line of small characters that were almost too faint to see: “If one day I am no longer here, please help me tell Wan’yuan that the rabbit she draws is closer to the truth of the universe than my formulas.”
Outside the window, a shooting star streaked across the night sky. Yi Shang remembered the astronomical observatory coordinates, the scattered chalk dust in front of the grave, and the conversation that was interrupted on the steps today. She opened her computer and searched for “Zijin Mountain Astronomical Observatory meteor shower,” and the best viewing time for this year’s Perseid meteor shower, next Wednesday at dawn, popped up.
The phone vibrated again. It was a photo of Jiang Wan’yuan’s class schedule, with all of Wednesday afternoon’s classes circled in pink highlighter.
“The astronomical observatory has a special observation event on Wednesday night,” followed by a telescope emoji.
Yi Shang looked at the calendar on her desk. Next Wednesday was circled in red with “Physics Competition Training Camp,” which her father had signed her up for two weeks ago.
She opened the ticket purchase app and entered “N32°04′, E118°46′”, and the Zijin Mountain Astronomical Observatory’s visit reservation page popped up on the screen. As her fingertip hovered over “Confirm Payment,” her father knocked on the door and said there was a chemistry test tomorrow morning.
“Got it,” Yi Shang replied, and pressed the payment button.
As the payment success notification sounded, she quickly stuffed her phone under her pillow. But her father had already pushed the door open, holding a glass of hot milk in his hand.
“Go to bed early,” he put down the glass, his gaze sweeping over the physics problem set spread out on the desk, “Your older female cousin did this set of problems three times back then.”
Yi Shang stared at the steam rising from the rim of the glass. A thin film had formed on the surface of the milk, like some kind of unformed universe.
After her father left, she opened the closet and pulled out a hoodie from the very back—Jiang Wan’yuan had lent it to her to wear at last year’s school sports day, and she had washed it and forgotten to return it ever since. Something poked her hand in the pocket. She took it out and saw that it was half a stick of blue chalk.
Yi Shang suddenly remembered something and opened the interlayer of her backpack. The ticket was still there, the long-distance bus ticket that Jiang Wan’yuan had stuffed into her hand last week: “The bus ticket to my hometown. We agreed to see fireflies together during summer vacation.”
The desk lamp cast her shadow on the wall, the edges of the shadow trembling slightly, as if trying to break free. Yi Shang opened the window, and the fragrance of osmanthus wafted in with the night wind. In the distance, a crescent moon was slowly rising between the tall buildings.
She sent a message to Jiang Wan’yuan: “See you after school at the school gate on Wednesday.” Then she put the half stick of chalk and the ticket together into the tin box with the note.
The moment the box lid closed, cheers came from the children downstairs. Yi Shang leaned out and looked down, seeing that the hopscotch squares had been covered with newly drawn patterns—a crooked rabbit sitting on a pentagram, gleaming faintly pink under the streetlights.