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Chapter 16: The Encounter
Wang Wenjun stood surrounded by a group of people. However, from the fragmented memories of his past self, Gu Lu only recognized one person: Bai Xiaohua, who was currently munching on a scallion with childish delight.
The other three were tall and broad-shouldered, probably around five-foot-seven—a respectable height for teenagers in Southwest China back in 2012. They looked like they could hold their own among the rough-and-tumble kids from Yunnan, Guizhou, Sichuan, or Chongqing—the so-called "F4" regions known for their tough reputations.
Thankfully, it seemed that everyone present was a student; no outsiders had shown up to complicate things further. This realization made Gu Lu breathe a little easier. But while Gu Lu felt some relief, others weren’t as calm. Zhao Juan, along with her dorm mates Chen Na and a few other girls, stood anxiously at the school gate, peering into the distance.
Zhao Juan, especially, was beside herself. As a boarding student, she wasn’t allowed to leave campus, but Wang Wenjun and Gu Lu were across the street. She kept pestering Sister Nana, asking if they should call a teacher over. It was a dilemma—escalating the situation might make things worse, yet doing nothing left them stuck between a rock and a hard place.
“Do you even know why I called you here?” Wang Wenjun asked, draping an arm casually over Bai Xiaohua’s shoulder. His tone dripped with arrogance.
“To thank me?” Gu Lu replied solemnly. “Seriously, we’re classmates, there’s no need to be overly polite. Just treat me to a meal.”
“…What?” Wang Wenjun and the other four exchanged bewildered glances. Had they misheard? Their eyes darted toward this otherwise unremarkable classmate standing before them.
“What did you just say?” Wang Wenjun snapped, ready to unleash his fury. If Gu Lu didn’t apologize properly—or at least grovel a bit—he’d have to teach him a lesson. After all, steel pots don’t bend easily (a local idiom meaning someone wouldn’t go down without a fight).
“Isn’t Zhao Juan your ex-girlfriend?” Gu Lu cut straight to the point.
Wait—that wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Shouldn’t Wang Wenjun be the one saying something like, “Do you know Zhao Juan is my girlfriend?”
Wang Wenjun nodded hesitantly.
“That settles it then,” Gu Lu continued smoothly. “I helped her out of a jam. I thought maybe you still had feelings for her and wanted to thank me. So tell me—do you still care about her?”
At this question, not only Bai Xiaohua but also the other three boys turned their attention to Wang Wenjun.
“Yeah, do you still have feelings for Z-Zhao Juan?” Bai Xiaohua chimed in between bites of scallion.
Wang Wenjun froze. Did he still care? Honestly, he wasn’t sure. He’d been the one to break up with her after all. Was it really about lingering affection, or more about pride—feeling awkward that she’d moved on so quickly?
And if he didn’t care…then why were they all here confronting Gu Lu?
“Yes—” Wang Wenjun started to answer, then faltered. If he admitted he cared, wouldn’t it look bad that Zhao Juan almost got caught by a teacher—and needed help from an outsider? That would be humiliating.
He swallowed his words and tried again. “I guess I care a little. That’s why I brought you here—to ask what exactly happened.”
“Right, what happened?” Bai Xiaohua echoed.
“Well,” Gu Lu began, leaning forward slightly, “Zhao Juan lent me money once. You might not know this, but my parents are never home, so I often go hungry. Look—I haven’t eaten since lunch today.”
It was a classic move, reminiscent of those anime tropes where characters inadvertently reveal too much about themselves. If high school cliques had archetypes—"heartless," "lazy," "sarcastic," and "self-destructive"—Gu Lu fit squarely into the last category.
His blatant admission left everyone speechless. True, Zhao Juan had occasionally lent money to classmates. Everyone knew that, including her ex-boyfriend.
“It’s normal to repay a favor, right?” Gu Lu shrugged. “Besides, my parents don’t bother feeding me, let alone anything else. So I didn’t think twice about stepping in. Even if they called my parents, it wouldn’t matter.”
All five of them were students from No. 37 Middle School—not exactly hardened criminals, just fifteen- or sixteen-year-olds trying to figure life out. Hearing that Gu Lu couldn’t afford food and was merely repaying a debt made them pause. Had they been too harsh coming here to confront him?
“You see my point, right?” Gu Lu added.
“Yeah, yeah, no worries about parents being called,” Bai Xiaohua agreed, glancing at Wang Wenjun. After all, it had been Wang Wenjun who organized this whole thing.
Before Wang Wenjun could respond, Gu Lu interrupted again. “By the way, have you guys eaten yet?”
His gaze lingered pointedly on the half-eaten scallion in Bai Xiaohua’s hand. Reluctantly, Bai Xiaohua handed over the remaining bundle.
“Thanks.” Gu Lu accepted it graciously. “I never realized—you’re actually a good guy.”
Why did that sound so off? Bai Xiaohua frowned inwardly.
“I owe you one…” Wang Wenjun struggled to find something substantial to offer. He considered inviting Gu Lu to dinner, but he and his friends barely had enough cash for themselves.
After a long moment of hesitation, Wang Wenjun finally said, “If anyone owes you money for helping with homework, just tell me. I’ll collect it for you!”
“You’re a good guy too,” Gu Lu said dryly. Who volunteers to collect debts when they can barely pay their own?
“Right, we’re all good guys!” Bai Xiaohua piped up cheerfully.
With that, Wang Wenjun and his crew dispersed as quickly as they’d arrived. Lunch breaks were short—only two hours—and they had gaming to catch up on.
As for Gu Lu, he reflected on the day’s events. A single scallion had somehow solved everything. Yet despite resolving the issue, he couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling.
This discomfort had nagged at him since morning. Could it be his sixth sense warning him about something beyond Wang Wenjun’s antics?
Later in the afternoon, the classroom buzzed with energy as students chased each other around desks. Watching the chaos unfold, Gu Lu marveled at their boundless vitality.
When the final bell rang, Mr. Li mercifully ended class early. He needed to type up The Resounding Shadow on his computer and submit it.
“Haven’t sent any customers my way lately,” the bespectacled vendor remarked as Gu Lu crossed the pedestrian bridge near the school. “Can’t even afford next month’s rent.”
Gu Lu vaguely remembered introducing a few classmates to the vendor for MP3 downloads. But judging by the card games he’d seen the man playing recently with neighboring stall owners, business didn’t seem that dire.
“Really struggling?” Gu Lu asked skeptically.
“Dead serious,” the vendor sighed.
“Looking at your Adidas getup, I thought you came from money,” Gu Lu remarked. In his past life, he’d been loyal to Nike until certain events turned him off the brand entirely. But even in 2012, a full Adidas tracksuit was still considered pricey.
“Sigh! If my family had money, I wouldn’t be stuck doing this. If I were rich, I’d be out partying every night. I’ve got a friend who’s a programmer—makes good cash—but I don’t have that kind of talent…”
Gu Lu had initially planned to slip away. He didn’t feel like listening to a twenty-something vent about their struggles in life.
But just as he took a few steps, a soft ding sounded in his mind. His expression shifted, and he paused mid-stride, turning back.
Perhaps the vendor didn’t have many close friends his own age—or maybe he was too embarrassed to confide in his parents. For whatever reason, this semi-familiar middle schooler seemed to make it easier for him to open up without reservation.
Fifteen minutes later, the vendor finished his spiel. On one hand, he felt a flicker of gratitude for the ear Gu Lu had lent him; on the other, he couldn’t help but feel a bit sheepish for oversharing with a teenager.
“Well, I’ll get going now,” Gu Lu said tactfully, excusing himself.
The vendor felt marginally lighter after unloading his troubles. It wasn’t just realizing his own shortcomings that stung—it was knowing how much more successful his childhood peers had become, leaving him feeling imbalanced. Standing there on the bustling pedestrian bridge, pouring out his frustrations, it was clear just how much pent-up frustration he’d been carrying.
Gu Lu, meanwhile, couldn’t quite figure out why the vendor’s words had triggered something in his mind. But as he walked away, three tags crystallized into focus: [Strange Tales], [Repeatedly Declared Retirement From Writing], and [Award Creation]. Together, they formed the outline of a book.
It wasn’t the modern German book he’d expected to materialize next. Instead, it was another work—one hinted at earlier by an unexpected trigger involving a sofa.
The Human Chair
Details: A curated collection of eighteen iconic short stories by Edogawa Ranpo, blending labyrinthine mysteries with gripping twists, offering readers a glimpse into a surreal world of deduction and unease.
TLN: Damn it. This is where a lack of knowledge really comes back to bite you. I’ve spent hours searching through Edogawa Ranpo’s stories, but I still can’t figure out which one contains those lines or that scene. If anyone knows, please drop a comment—I’ll edit the story accordingly.
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