What's Wrong with This Alpha? - Chapter 99

Chapter 99 – The Great High School Student

“Why don’t we go out and clear our heads?” Hao Shanshan said, resting her chin in her hand. She glanced at Duan Yi, who was slumped over his desk. “President Duan can’t keep going on like this. I’ve never seen him so heartbroken before, and it’s been over half a month now. It’s like he’s stuck in a never-ending drama.”

With just over two weeks until the National College Entrance Examination (Gaokao), Duan Yi’s condition had only worsened. During the second mock exam, he fell asleep again, just like he had during the first one.

This finally caught Duan Ji Huai’s attention.

Multiple doctors visited their home, conducting thorough examinations of Duan Yi, but they couldn’t reach any conclusions.

Xiaoduan Mom, frantic with worry, tearfully searched for answers herself and came across the term “hypersomnia.”

With the Gaokao looming, Duan Yi stubbornly refused to go home to study, despite his family’s insistence.

In fact, Duan Ji Huai had even hired a private tutor for him.

“He scared me to death last time, crying in our dorm,” Pingtou insisted, still convinced it was just the pressure of the National College Entrance Examination. Even Duan Yi, the usually fearless rich kid, was starting to feel the tension. “Isn’t the coming-of-age ceremony tomorrow? After it ends in the morning, we can go explore the area in the afternoon.”

Second High School scheduled the coming-of-age ceremony before the exam, as a final chance for students to relax before the big day.

Duan Yi was one of the youngest in the class; he wouldn’t turn eighteen until November.

Jiang Wangshu sighed. “I don’t think it’s just exam stress.”

Duan Yi shifted and continued sleeping.

Jiang Wangshu turned away. “Fine, we’ll do it your way.”

Coming-of-age ceremonies for Mac City High schools were traditionally held at the Confucian Temple.

Early the next morning, the school arranged for several buses to transport the students to the temple.

The buses were lively, filled with jokes, banter, and singing. After months of intense studying, this rare outing was a chance to finally let loose.

Of course, there were also students like Xiaobudian, who were cramming every last minute, even bringing her test papers to the coming-of-age ceremony and reciting formulas non-stop.

Jiang Wangshu had brought a small notebook of formulas and occasionally glanced at it.

Duan Yi sat next to him on the bus, falling asleep against the window as soon as they boarded.

He didn’t wake up even when they got off the bus, leaving Jiang Wangshu anxiously patting him gently.

Duan Yi stirred from his sleep, his eyes still red-rimmed.

It took him a long moment to focus on Jiang Wangshu before he murmured, “Did I fall asleep again?”

“Are you too tired?” Jiang Wangshu asked.

Duan Yi shook his head. “I’ve been having dreams lately.”

Jiang Wangshu offered to carry Duan Yi’s backpack, but Duan Yi refused, slinging it over his shoulder as he stepped off the bus. Not wanting to lose this rare opportunity for conversation, Jiang Wangshu quickly pressed on, “What kind of dreams?”

For the past two weeks, Duan Yi had been almost completely silent.

He spent his days either sleeping or staring blankly, seemingly drained of energy. He couldn’t focus on his studies; when he opened his textbook, he saw Ma Dongmei, and when he closed it, he saw Ma something Dongmei.

(T/n: “Ma Dongmei” symbolize distraction or mental preoccupation, but only in a humorous, meme-like context.)

The Old Class Teacher and the others had also noticed Duan Yi’s strange behavior. The main reason was that the boy had stopped being mischievous and disruptive, as if his entire personality had been replaced. His unnerving quietness was unsettling.

The sun was blazing outside. Hao Shanshan handed Jiang Wangshu a small fan. As a meticulous young man, Jiang Wangshu casually opened a parasol—a frilly, feminine model he’d bought from the school’s secondhand market.

The little fan whirred, blowing at Duan Yi, but it did nothing to dispel the heat.

Duan Yi paused. “I keep dreaming about someone.”

“That’s normal,” Jiang Wangshu replied. “Who is it? Have I met them?”

Duan Yi didn’t answer Jiang Wangshu’s question, instead continuing, “He’s in every single one of my dreams.”

Even Duan Yi found it strange.

In his dreams, the boy’s face was vividly clear, but the moment he woke up, the features vanished like smoke, no matter how hard he tried to remember.

Duan Yi recalled that the boy seemed tall, was in their class, sat next to him, and shared a dorm with Pingtou. They had shared many experiences together, and in the dreams, Duan Yi’s heart would leap with every move the boy made.

The boy’s presence in Duan Yi’s dreams was so vivid, the dreams so real, that every time he woke up, his pillow was soaked with tears.

He began to look forward to falling asleep each night.

He even wished he could stay in his dreams forever.

He didn’t want to wake up and face a world that didn’t include him.

“I dreamed he was in our class,” Duan Yi murmured, as if talking to himself, but also to Jiang Wangshu.

Jiang Wangshu played along. “In our class? A boy or a girl?”

“A boy,” Duan Yi replied. “I dreamed we were lovers.”

“Wow…” Jiang Wangshu exclaimed. “What did he look like? Do you remember? I heard that strangers in dreams might be people we knew in past lives. Given how often you dream about him, you two might have been married in a previous life.”

“I don’t know…” Duan Yi’s eyes began to sting, as if he were about to cry again.

His nose also tingled, as if the mere thought of the boy in his dreams was enough to bring him to tears.

Duan Yi’s voice choked with emotion. “I miss him so much…”

Hearing the distress in his voice, Jiang Wangshu quickly wrapped an arm around him in comfort. “What’s wrong?”

He genuinely didn’t know how to comfort Duan Yi.

If Duan Yi wanted to meet someone real, even if he wanted to chase after Beyoncé, that would be fine—the only question was whether Beyoncé would want to meet him.

At least with real people, if you really wanted to meet them, you could find a way. There was always some hope.

But Duan Yi wanted to meet someone who didn’t even exist, a figure he had conjured up in his dreams. That was a much more difficult problem.

Jiang Wangshu, afraid of upsetting him, tried to change the subject.

But Duan Yi kept circling back to it. Jiang Wangshu sighed. “What do you usually dream about him?”

“I don’t know,” Duan Yi said. After a moment, he realized “I don’t know” wasn’t quite right. “I’ve forgotten.”

Sometimes he dreamed of the boy talking to him. Duan Yi always felt the boy’s words were malicious and infuriating. In those dreams, he would sometimes get so angry that he’d roll around on the boy’s bed. After a while, the boy would lean over and offer a half-hearted apology, his face completely insincere as he playfully twirled a strand of Duan Yi’s hair around his index finger. Yet, strangely, Duan Yi always forgave him.

Sometimes, Duan Yi dreamed of going to school with him. The boy always woke up early, signing in and taking attendance before heading to the cafeteria for breakfast. Duan Yi would often wake up to the aroma of fried dough sticks and steamed buns, leaping out of bed with unwavering certainty that the boy would catch him. And he always did, Duan Yi always woke up in the boy’s arms.

Sometimes, the details in his dreams were so vivid, so real, it felt like they had actually happened.

The greater the joy and happiness he felt in his dreams, the more pain and anguish he felt upon waking.

“Do you believe me?” Duan Yi asked, his gaze fixed earnestly on Jiang Wangshu’s face.

Jiang Wangshu straightened up, his usual carefree expression gone. “Of course I believe you. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t? We’re like brothers. If I don’t believe you, who else in the world will?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Duan Yi said, “I don’t think it was just a dream.”

“Huh?” Jiang Wangshu replied.

“I think he’s real. I’m sure I’ve met him somewhere before. We must know each other. I just… I’ve forgotten him.”

His voice grew increasingly urgent. “I really don’t think it was a dream! Come with me to find him, please? If I don’t see him again, I’ll go crazy!”

Jiang Wangshu touched the tip of his nose. “Um, Xiaoduan…”

Duan Yi’s eyes shone brightly, but as he met Jiang Wangshu’s skeptical gaze, the light gradually dimmed.

He knew it.

No one would ever believe such nonsense.

But the dreams were becoming more frequent, each one feeling as vivid as a real memory. No one could understand what he was going through. Only he knew for certain that he had met this person somewhere.

Jiang Wangshu patted his shoulder. “Have you ever heard of déjà vu? It’s when you feel like you’ve been to a place before, even if it’s your first time. Scientifically, it’s called déjà vu or false memory. It’s… actually quite normal. Maybe you should see a therapist?”

This suggestion seemed to strike a nerve with Duan Yi. He lowered his head, silent and dejected, kicking at a stone on the ground.

Jiang Wangshu put his arm around Duan Yi’s shoulder. “How about this? Let’s not go back to school tonight. We’ll stay out and I’ll keep you company. We can relax and have some fun, okay?”

Hao Shanshan turned around from the front. “Take me too! Take me too!”

Jiang Wangshu: “It’s just the two of us staying together. Where would you stay? In the room next door?”

Fang Yun quietly raised her hand. “Chairman, I don’t want to go back to school either. Just looking at my desk makes me want to throw up—I mean, really throw up. I could show you right now. The thought of going back makes me gag. Even the word ‘school’ makes me—bleh!”

She was putting on quite the act.

Like a pebble dropped into a pond, her words stirred a wave of reactions. Pingtou immediately responded to the group’s call to action: “Then I’m not going back either! Let’s go have fun after the coming-of-age ceremony. We’re already downtown anyway. I want to grab some snacks at Lakeside.”

Bookworm eagerly chimed in: “How about an escape room? I found one that’s super thrilling…”

Jiang Wangshu looked at Duan Yi. “What do you say? Let’s relax a bit. I think you’ve just been under too much stress lately, which is why you keep having those dreams.”

Duan Yi had no desire to go out. He was walking unsteadily, his eyelids feeling like they were about to stick together. All he wanted was to sleep—sleeping seemed far more appealing than going out, and perhaps he could even see the boy from his dreams again.

Jiang Wangshu asked, “Is that guy in your dreams, like, super smart? Does he always let you copy his homework?”

Duan Yi vaguely remembered something like that, and he looked at Jiang Wangshu in surprise. Seeing his expression, Jiang Wangshu grew even more convinced. “You’re just stressed about the National College Entrance Examination and hallucinating. Stop thinking about nonsense all day.”

Duan Yi opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.

Amidst the laughter and chatter, anything Duan Yi said would have sounded weak and pale.

The crowd was lively, but he felt utterly alone.

After the coming-of-age ceremony, Jiang Wangshu indeed dragged Hao Shanshan and the others out, Duan Yi included.

Hao Shanshan pulled out her phone and searched for nearby restaurants and fun places. The top-ranked result was a famous tourist spot, but it required hiking up a mountain. Since it was two in the afternoon, the hottest time of day, everyone immediately dismissed the idea.

Jiang Wangshu asked Duan Yi what he wanted to do, but Duan Yi had no thoughts on the matter.

Fang Yun, with her sharp eyes, spotted a “Time Experience Hall” by the roadside. The uniquely named establishment suddenly made Duan Yi stop in his tracks.

Just as Jiang Wangshu had described, though his memory insisted this was his first visit, he felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity.

Pingtou noticed Duan Yi’s hesitation and looked up. “Time Experience Hall? What’s this?”

Hao Shanshan explained, “It’s a trendy activity these days—time capsules. You put something from your present into a capsule, and the shop stores it for ten years. Then you come back to retrieve it. Jiang Wangshu and I tried it before. Want to give it a shot?”

Fang Yun looked eager, and the others expressed interest as well. The group enthusiastically piled into the Time Experience Hall.

“Welcome!” the attendant greeted them with a smile. “How can I assist you?”

Hao Shanshan, a regular, waved off the attendant and took charge, explaining the process to Pingtou, who was visiting for the first time.

Jiang Wangshu, meanwhile, was explaining the concept to Duan Yi. Mid-sentence, he suddenly paused and asked himself, “Why didn’t I bring you here before?”

Whenever Jiang Wangshu discovered a fun shop or activity, Duan Yi was always the first person he thought of.

After all, they were always a team when it came to having fun.

If Jiang Wangshu had never been here before, it wouldn’t have mattered. But he had been here before, and not with Duan Yi.

He looked at Duan Yi, who was also looking back at him.

Duan Yi seemed to be looking at him, yet also through him, as if seeing someone else entirely. His expression was blank and distant, like he was about to fall asleep. Jiang Wangshu gently shook him, worried he might actually doze off right there.

Hao Shanshan spoke up, “Just scan this QR code and claim a time capsule.”

As soon as she finished speaking, everyone pulled out their phones.

Jiang Wangshu took Duan Yi’s phone and tried to unlock it. The password was incorrect.

“Did you change your password?” he asked, turning to Duan Yi.

Duan Yi’s password had always been the birthday of Luffy, the main character from One Piece.

When Jiang Wangshu’s first attempt failed, Duan Yi took back his phone, entered a few numbers, and unlocked it. Jiang Wangshu was puzzled. “Why did you change it to that?”

0922.

The autumnal equinox.

“I forgot,” Duan Yi said. “I don’t even know when I changed it.”

When unlocking his phone, the date seemed etched in his mind. Without conscious thought, his fingers instinctively tapped it out, guided by muscle memory.

“Whose birthday is that?” Jiang Wangshu asked.

Duan Yi repeated, “I forgot.”

Jiang Wangshu opened the WeChat QR code scanner and scanned Duan Yi’s code.

The official account immediately popped up. Jiang Wangshu paused, and the staff member asked, “Have you been here before?”

Duan Yi looked up at him. Jiang Wangshu replied, “No, this is his first time.”

The staff member checked Duan Yi’s phone number in their system. The backend showed that Duan Yi had visited the Memory Experience Hall around November of the previous year and had even left a time capsule there.

Duan Yi grew increasingly bewildered, his heart pounding in his chest.

He felt an inexplicable premonition, a powerful urge to retrieve his time capsule and take a look.

Jiang Wangshu muttered, “I thought you’d never been here before. Can you still participate in the experience?”

Duan Yi ignored him and stood up. “Get my time capsule. I want to see it.”

“Are you sure? This capsule isn’t supposed to be opened for another ten years,” the staff member said.

“I want to see it now,” Duan Yi insisted.

He had no memory of visiting this place in November.

The staff member took a while to find Duan Yi’s time capsule, but it was small and didn’t take up much space.

It was in the third slot of the second row in their storage room. The staff member retrieved it in front of Duan Yi, who quickly opened it.

Inside was half a sheet of paper, torn unevenly, with only one line written on it:

To my future self in ten years:

Haha, I didn’t write anything! Bet you didn’t expect that! Bleah!

There was also a smaller line: I love you the mostest!

At the bottom were a dozen or so simple flower doodles.

Jiang Wangshu burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. “Good thing you didn’t wait ten years to see this! You’d have been furious at your past self! Hahahaha!”

Duan Yi closed the time capsule, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Is this the only one?” he asked.

“You only stored one capsule when you arrived,” the staff member said.

But Duan Yi felt there was another one.

His gaze drifted to the storage compartment next to number three. The staff member’s eyes followed, and she exclaimed, “Huh? How did a nameless one get in here?”

Hao Shanshan called them from outside. Jiang Wangshu replied, then grabbed Duan Yi and pulled him out.

“Let’s stay at Wuyun Mountain,” Jiang Wangshu suggested. “I found a guesthouse at the foot of the mountain. We can watch the sunrise tomorrow morning. I heard there’s a temple on the mountain where wishes come true. Want to go?”

“A temple where wishes come true? We have to go! I’m counting on divine blessings for the National College Entrance Examination!” Abbot chanted, “Amitabha.”

Jiang Wangshu glanced at Duan Yi, whose gaze remained fixed on the shop.

“What are you looking at?”

Duan Yi replied, “I want to see what’s in that empty compartment.”

“What empty compartment?” Jiang Wangshu asked.

Duan Yi insisted stubbornly, “The nameless storage compartment. I want to see what’s inside.”

Jiang Wangshu paused. “That’s probably someone else’s belongings. They’d never let you look.”

He tugged at Duan Yi’s arm. “Come on, you look so tired your eyelids are about to stick together. Forget about all that for now. Let’s find a place to eat—how about your favorite?”

“Cheers!”

The sky had darkened completely. Jiang Wangshu and the others had already showered at the guesthouse and were now enjoying their first night as adults in their pajamas.

The summer heatwave carried by the wind brushed against the youths’ faces, but even the breeze at the foot of the mountain offered little relief.

“To Tsinghua!” Jiang Wangshu raised his glass.

“To Fudan!”

“To Renmin University!”

“To the cute girls at Beijing Film Academy!” Pingtou chugged his drink first.

Hao Shanshan laughed and shoved him playfully. “Get lost!”

After the coming-of-age ceremony, the cola on the table had been replaced with beer.

The bitter taste burned down Hao Shanshan’s throat. She frantically ate two pieces of beef to suppress the strange flavor, panting, “Where’s President Duan?”

Jiang Wangshu set down his glass. “He said he was tired and went to bed.”

The barbecue restaurant was right next to the guesthouse, and the lights in the room facing theirs had already been turned off.

Hao Shanshan whispered, “President Duan has been sleeping a lot lately, and he’s barely talking. He seems so burdened…”

Pingtou, tipsy from drinking, slurred, “I remember it was like this before too. He cried for ages in our dorm, saying the pressure was too much… Actually, I’m under a lot of pressure too, just not as much as President Duan…”

Jiang Wangshu stood up. “I’m going to check on Duan Yi.”

Hao Shanshan watched him walk upstairs, where Duan Yi’s door was cracked open a sliver.

Jiang Wangshu quietly closed the door, sealing all sound outside.

The air conditioner was set to a frigid temperature. Duan Yi was wrapped in his blanket, curled into a tight ball.

Jiang Wangshu sat on the edge of the bed, turning sideways to study Duan Yi by the faint glow of the streetlights outside.

His childhood friend looked even more vulnerable in his sleep than when awake. Dried tear streaks covered his face, and a dark, damp patch soaked the pillow.

Even in his dreams, Duan Yi couldn’t find peace. Tears silently streamed down his nose, wetting his hair.

Jiang Wangshu gently wiped the tears from Duan Yi’s ear. He noticed Duan Yi’s lips part slightly, as if trying to speak.

Leaning closer, Jiang Wangshu heard a faint, indistinct word.

“Sound…?” Jiang Wangshu murmured. “What sound?”

Jiang Wangshu looked at Duan Yi with a worried expression, as if he were gazing at a terminally ill patient. He sighed repeatedly, wiping away Duan Yi’s tears with his hand. “What’s wrong with you…?”

“You weren’t like this before. How did you suddenly become like this…?”

Jiang Wangshu sighed several more times before silently tucking Duan Yi’s blanket in and closing the door.

With a creak, the room plunged into complete darkness.

Duan Yi slowly opened his eyes, his heavy lashes clinging to a string of tiny teardrops. He wiped his face with his hand, confirming he had once again woken up crying.

He had just had a brief dream: a young boy standing beneath a massive flowering tree. The blossoms were in full bloom, and when the wind blew, petals rained down like rain.

Duan Yi felt the tree was right beside him, but no matter how he tried to approach—walking, then running—he couldn’t close the distance to the boy beneath the tree.

He sat motionless on the bed for a long time before throwing back the covers and silently climbing out the second-floor window, landing on the flagstone path below.

Duan Yi felt an urgent need to confirm something.

The streetlights flickered, stretching all the way to the main road. He ran along the road until he reached the Memory Experience Hall.

It was nearly closing time at the memory experience center. Duan Yi walked straight in, his mind clouded by some inexplicable compulsion, and found the unnamed storage locker.

Before an attendant could arrive, he forced the locker open. Inside was only a small time capsule. Duan Yi’s hands trembled so violently as he held it that he couldn’t open it despite several attempts. His frustration grew with each failed attempt, beads of sweat forming on his nose. Tears suddenly welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision of the capsule.

He didn’t know why he was crying, or why he felt such overwhelming sorrow.

With a final, desperate effort, Duan Yi pried the capsule open. Inside was a single, small slip of paper.

He froze, as if struck by lightning.

Large teardrops fell instantly onto the paper, without even a moment to form.

Countless blurred, desperate dreams coalesced in that instant, merging into a flood of memories deep within his mind, surging into his heart like a rising tide.

On the paper, the handwriting of the boy from his dreams was bold and unrestrained, arrogant and defiant.

The Three Laws of the Great High School Student Sheng Yunze and the Even Greater Sheng Yunze:

First: In a regular galaxy… the greater the distance, the greater the velocity…

Second: When the planets… are connected to a black hole… their orbital speed is directly proportional to their distance…

Third: I will never leave Duan Yi.

“Aren’t you missing a law?”

Through the haze, as if underwater, Duan Yi heard his own voice.

He turned his head and seemed to see two young boys huddled together at a desk in front of him, like a scene from an old television.

Duan Yi watched his younger self say, “Aren’t there three laws? Why did you only write two?”

The other boy replied confidently, “I haven’t figured out what to write for the third one yet.”

When Duan Yi tried to peek, the boy covered his paper. “You can’t see it.”

Duan Yi heard himself retort, “You’re so childish!”

Unbeknownst to him, the boy, still covering his paper, chewed on his pen and earnestly wrote the final law on the half-sheet of white paper.

The most solemn promise the great high school student Sheng Yunze could conceive was: “I will never leave you.”

That boy had once stood beneath the boundless night sky, arms outstretched toward the myriad stars, and made the same vow to him.

A promise heavier than any ancient law in the universe.

It was the boy’s naive, yet profoundly weighty love.

An eternal existence alongside the romantic stars and the endless passage of time.

“I will always protect him, and I will never let him cry for me.”

As Sheng Yunze wrote these words, Duan Yi clutched the note tightly, pressed against the cabinet, and wept uncontrollably, his voice hoarse with grief.

He curled himself into a tiny ball, trying to shut out the vast, unfamiliar world.

Duan Yi squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing frozen. The lack of oxygen made his heart feel like it was being twisted into shreds. He thought numbly: If this is a dream, why haven’t I woken up yet? If this isn’t a dream, why haven’t I died?