I'm A Math Idiot, So What? - Chapter 65

Chapter 65: Unrestrained Affection (4)

My boyfriend, however, wasn’t exactly the most perceptive.

I told Fang Congxin that after exterminating the mice, I still heard eerie noises at night, adding in a coy voice, “This delicate flower is so scared!”

My knight in shining armor replied, “Don’t worry, I’m here for you.”

That very day, he brought me a sleek, well-fed cat.

He said he’d borrowed it from a friend. Its name was Little Flower, and he claimed it was as easy to care for as me—just needs some food.

“With her around, the mice won’t dare make a peep.”

“Once Little Flower gets used to you, we can bring Xiao Q from Grandma’s and raise them together.”

You’re practically a feline yourself, I thought. Why would I want two cats?

Besides, it wasn’t cats I needed!

I just felt like the bay window area was a bit empty!

Take the Drama Club, for instance.

I used to be its president, basically playing the part of an old farmer squatting by the paddy fields, smoking his pipe and fretting over his crops. My main job was raising funds for our drafty, crumbling club, which was leaking money faster than a sieve.

After finally retiring from all that nonsense last year, I was barely settling into my new life when my former Drama Club deputy showed up at my door a few days ago.

She said she thought she’d seen me strolling around campus with a handsome guy.

“You must be mistaken,” I said.

What she actually saw was me holding hands with a handsome guy as we strolled.

My former deputy said, “I have a request, but I’m not sure if I should ask.”

“Then don’t,” I replied.

“It could help deepen and elevate your relationship,” she insisted.

“Well, tell me more,” I said.

“The Drama Club’s new adaptation of The Butterfly Lovers is about to go on sale. Would you and your boyfriend consider playing the leads?”

“Isn’t it a bit late to cast us as Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai when the show’s almost opening?” I pointed out.

“We’re not asking you to play them directly,” she explained. “We want you to portray their next life.”

“Now that’s an interesting twist,” I said. “Reincarnation adds a nice touch. Is it set in modern times?”

I actually think I’d look better in contemporary clothes. I have such a small face, you know.

“Not exactly,” she replied.

“Then what exactly are we supposed to be playing?” I pressed.

After a long pause, she blurted out, “I want you to play the butterflies.”

You know, the scene where they fly out of their graves after they die.

“What, do you think you’re running a puppet show here?” I snapped. “The last time I performed was back when I was still wearing a red scarf.”

“Don’t get mad,” she pleaded. “Have you ever heard the classic song ‘Two Butterflies’ by Pang Long?”

Without waiting for an answer, she launched into a greasy rendition: Darling, fly slowly, watch out for the thorny roses ahead…

“Singing that song just guarantees I won’t go,” I snapped. “It was better when you didn’t sing it.”

“Look,” she argued, “your boyfriend is so handsome. Imagine flying on stage together, a perfect pair, with thousands of audience members watching. The symbolism is perfect!”

“Thousands of audience members?” I scoffed. “Is ‘Thousands’ their name?”

“Are you going to do it or not?!” she demanded, her voice rising in anger. “If you don’t, the Drama Club might as well fold! We only recruited three new members this semester, and two of them quit halfway through. Running a drama club at a STEM school is hard enough. Maybe we should just let it die.”

With that, she burst into tears.

“Fine, fine, fine,” I relented. “It’s just playing an insect, right? We’ll do it.”

Later, during our study session, I mentioned it to Fang Congxin. He vehemently refused.

“Play some fluttering moth?!” he scoffed. “Aren’t you embarrassed?”

Fang Congxin asked.

“What fluttering moth?”

“That’s a butterfly. A really beautiful one.”

“Butterflies undergo metamorphosis, transforming from caterpillars. Why would I want to play a freak?”

“The point isn’t you playing a freak, it’s us playing freaks.”

“What’s the difference? It’s still childish. Go play if you want, but don’t drag me into it. Now hurry up and study.”

I was still annoyed at him for not indulging in some childishness for the sake of love when Yuan Chongfeng, whom I hadn’t heard from in ages, called me.

He asked if I had any plans for the weekend, saying he’d just bought a new ping-pong paddle and invited me to play.

“I don’t think I have anything planned,” I said. “I can come over.”

After hanging up, Fang Congxin flipped through the textbook from page 100 to 150 and clipped a stack of papers between the pages. “This is your homework for the weekend.”

“If you’re jealous, just say so. I’m going to hang out with him anyway.”

“Jealous? Don’t be ridiculous! I’m just concerned about your studies. Besides, he’s practically thirty—he doesn’t need you to keep him entertained, does he?”

“Thanks for being such a devoted career fan. But your idol isn’t feeling particularly career-oriented lately.”

“Look,” I said, “we should show gratitude. When my hand injury made headlines, Brother Fengfeng flew all the way back from America just to comfort me. That alone is reason enough for me to go.”

Fang Congxin was silent for a moment. “Fine, go ahead then.”

He was silent for a moment. “Then I’ll go too.”

“Why are you going?”

“I just like playing alone.”

He glared at me. “Lin Meng, you’re something else. Have your wings finally hardened?”

I wasn’t about to back down. “Yes. My wings are hardened now. I’m flying off to be a butterfly, and I’m not taking you with me.”

“Fine, go then.”

He turned and started to walk out the door.

After leaning against the doorframe for five minutes, putting on his shoes, he said, “If I were a butterfly, would you take me to play ping-pong?”

I mentally cheered, Yes!, but coldly replied, “I’ll think about it.”

“Hey, I’ve been waiting here for ages!” He stood by the door, giving me a cold look.

“Waiting for what?”

“A hug.”

I rushed over and embraced him tightly. “Don’t let this hug fool you. I’m still mad.”

“I know,” I said. “But the Drama Club is really short on cash.”

“So you’d sell me out just because they’re broke?”

“You’re the one who said, ‘When there’s a pig to slaughter, just slaughter it.'”

“When did your math skills improve so dramatically?”

“Ugh, stop being so sarcastic. Put your heart back where it belongs. My chances with math are as impossible as my chances with Brother Fengfeng.”

He stared at me, speechless for a moment, then said with a laugh, “I honestly don’t even know where to begin roasting that analogy.”

Later, I told Yuan Chongfeng I’d be bringing a friend along.

Yuan Chongfeng said, “Perfect! I have a colleague who loves table tennis too. Let’s all play together.”

“Welcome, welcome!” I replied.

The weekend arrived, bringing crisp autumn air and clear skies.

We met up at the gymnasium.

Yuan Chongfeng brought two people: Teacher Fan, a woman in her forties wearing glasses and dressed casually, and Fan Qing, her skinny, bespectacled eight- or nine-year-old child. The child clutched a well-worn copy of George Orwell’s Animal Farm in English.

We arrived a little late; Yuan Chongfeng and Teacher Fan were already warming up with a few practice rallies.

After introductions, Yuan Chongfeng turned to Teacher Fan and said, “It’s been ages since I played one-on-one with my disciple. Back when I was teaching her, she took a nasty fall once and nearly ended up with a Harry Potter-esque scar on her forehead!”

“I still owe my master a debt of gratitude for saving my life back then,” I replied.

“Fancy a game?” he asked me.

Fang Congxin chimed in, “Let’s all play!”

“Doubles?”

“Sure!” Fang Congxin readily agreed.

“Wanna bet?”

“Alright.”

“If I win, I get to borrow Lin Meng for a while,” Yuan Chongfeng said.

I was utterly bewildered. “Don’t objectify me like that!”

“If you want to challenge me, just challenge me! Why use me as your gambling chip?”

Yuan Chongfeng winked at me and whispered, “If I win, I’ll tell you a secret I’ve kept hidden for years—one I’ll share with you alone.”

Your volume control is remarkably precise, Brother Fengfeng, I thought. Can’t you see Fang Congxin’s expression darkening?

Before the match began, Fang Congxin asked me, “With all his boasting, his ping-pong skills must be decent, right? You’re his disciple—shouldn’t you know?”

“I’m also your math disciple,” I retorted.

Fang Congxin’s face fell. “I miscalculated,” he said, crestfallen.

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “My ping-pong skills are still a bit better than my math.”

Yuan Chongfeng chuckled, radiating kingly disdain. “Since you’re my disciples, I’ll give you a handicap. We won’t bother with strict serve-and-return rules. Just play as you like.”

The match began.

I successfully blocked a shot—with my arm.

Fang Congxin patted my shoulder, giving me an encouraging look. “This isn’t volleyball, Lin Meng,” he said.

I returned another shot perfectly, the ball arcing gracefully through the air before landing far beyond the horizon.

“And it’s not badminton either,” Fang Congxin muttered.

Unable to bear the humiliation any longer, I desperately needed to turn the tables and salvage my dignity. Ignoring the objections of everyone—especially Fang Congxin’s—I insisted on serving.

Truth be told, Yuan Chongfeng had taught me how to serve years ago.

After teaching me, he nearly fainted from the frustration of not being able to beat me up. He claimed he needed to take some emergency heart medication to calm down before continuing.

That “calming down” turned into him leaving the country.

Having not served in years, I crouched slightly, held my breath, gripped the ball in one hand and the paddle in the other, focused all my mental energy, and whoosh! sent the ball flying.

In that moment, I was the Great Demon King Zhang Yining!

But why did the paddle wobble wildly in the air and fly out of my hand? Why was the ball rolling across the table toward the net in slow motion?

The unexpectedness of it all left everyone speechless.

I stopped Fang Congxin’s slightly parted lips, saying wearily, “You don’t need to say it. I know I’m not bowling.

I might as well stand here and be a Teletubby antenna, right?”

And so began my time as an on-court spectator.

I watched the orange ball zip back and forth through the air, Teacher Fan and Yuan Chongfeng trading seamless blows, while Fang Congxin darted around frantically in front of me.

Meanwhile, I stood rooted to the spot, so idle I could have been cracking melon seeds.

Fang Congxin managed to narrow the score to 4-7. As he picked up the ball, I advised, “Relax and pay attention to your opponent’s positioning when receiving serves.”

A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead as he exhaled sharply. “Okay, Coach Lin,” he said.

I waved off the formality and added, “Also, keep an eye on my positioning. I almost thought you were going to hit me a few times there.”

Wiping his sweat, he retorted, “Now, could you gracefully roll back to your original spot?”

“Sure, Fang Jike,” I replied.

In the end, Fang Congxin couldn’t defeat Yuan Chongfeng, though the final score remained close—a respectable loss. Exhausted and panting like a dog, drenched in sweat, he nearly collapsed onto the nearby bench.

A bet’s a bet. Yuan Chongfeng, right in front of Fang Congxin, asked me to go get drinks, claiming he wanted to share a secret with me.

Things have been downright bizarre lately. For years, I hadn’t seen a man’s shadow near me. Suddenly, after all that pent-up energy, my romantic prospects have exploded like fireworks. Is my popularity skyrocketing this much?

Yuan Chongfeng plopped down on a white plastic chair outside the Convenience Store and said solemnly, “Lin Meng, what I’m about to tell you might shock you.”