Chapter Forty-Five: Creatures of the Hive

Actually, when I first saw the introduction to this school online, I once believed it was a strong and reputable institution. The photos on the website excited me for quite some time. Although it is a bit distant from the city, the images depicted a school nestled among lakes and mountains—a truly beautiful place, seemingly perfect for fostering romantic relationships. Yet, it was only today, after visiting in person, that I realized sometimes photographs can be deceiving. The shimmering lake shown in the pictures turned out to be a foul-smelling body of water, reeking of fish and other unidentifiable odors. The hills surrounding it were barren, wholly desolate.

Nonetheless, judging solely by the school itself, the campus is quite spacious, and for a private institution to reach such a scale is indeed rare. Not far from the school, beside a small town, stands a tall peak named Penholder Mountain because its shape resembles a pen rest. It is said that a temple devoted to the Immortal resides atop, reputedly very efficacious. Whenever the major exams approached—be it the national English tests or finals—the temple would be packed with students burning incense and praying for success.

This made me suspect that this place might be the origin of the saying, “Never burn incense until in need; then embrace Buddha’s feet in a hurry.”

As my father, uncle, and I busied ourselves tidying up the dormitory, my mother suddenly walked in, carrying her high heels, which seemed to have a broken heel. I found myself wondering how she managed to slip past the school’s many barriers and enter the boys’ dormitory, but she wore a look of pride on her face.

Before my mother could even settle in, another young man, scholarly-looking and bespectacled, entered the room. Judging by his appearance, I guessed he must be a well-behaved student with good grades, though for reasons unknown, he had ended up in the foundation program alongside me. Following him were two men and a woman, suggesting that, faced with unreasonable parents, the school’s rules were little more than empty words. My intuition told me the woman was his mother, and among the two men, the older one was likely his father.

Perched on the upper bunk, I glanced back, then continued energetically scrubbing the dusty bed board. But the boy’s mother approached my bed, greeting me politely, “Hello, this is my son, Chen Li. You’ll be sharing a dormitory, so please look after him.”

“Yes, of course,” I replied quickly, grinning from ear to ear. What struck me as odd was that since entering the dorm, Chen Li hadn’t uttered a single word, merely standing there with his head down. “I’m Li Xiaobei,” I said, jumping off the bed, wiping my hand on my clothes, and extending it to him. Chen Li nervously shook my hand, then promptly retreated to his mother’s side.

“Li, let’s choose this bed,” his mother said, pointing to the upper bunk opposite mine.

“Yes, yes, whichever,” Chen Li replied, not even raising his head. I watched as the two men threw a mountain of luggage onto the bed.

While I continued cleaning, I eavesdropped on their conversation. It turned out Chen Li’s father was the deputy director of the local health bureau, and the younger man accompanying them was his personal driver. I couldn’t help but sympathize with the driver—working over the weekend in such heat, running errands for his boss’s private affairs. These days, being a subordinate is hardly easy.

Chen Li’s mother never stopped fussing over her son, and he responded with constant nods, meek and obedient. Clearly, he was a flower nurtured in a greenhouse. Ah, the successors of our nation in the twenty-first century! I couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.

After a busy morning, lunchtime arrived, and my bed was more or less organized. I decided to eat first and thought about inviting Chen Li and his family, but they were still busy cleaning, so we went ahead without them.

Grandma waited alone on a bench under a tree outside the boys’ dormitory. After meeting her at the door, we headed straight for Student Street.

Student Street was simply laid out, with identical square buildings arranged like a grid, and the passages between them formed the streets running east, west, north, and south. Being new, I felt as if every street looked the same; after only a few steps, I was already uncertain where I was.

We entered a restaurant and randomly ordered a few dishes. Without air conditioning, we ate, sweating profusely, enduring the meal with difficulty.

With the dorm nearly organized and no more tasks to help with, I eagerly urged my parents to leave as soon as we finished eating. Sitting in the car, my mother rolled down the window and kept reminding me of the things I needed to be careful about while alone at school—a testament to the universal concern of parents.

I nodded repeatedly in agreement, watching as the car slowly drove out of the school, gradually disappearing along the winding mountain road.

Finally, I was left alone. I couldn’t tell whether I should be happy or sad. Returning to the dormitory alone, I found the door closed; Chen Li’s family was no longer there, presumably out for lunch. Rising early, I was feeling drowsy, and didn’t bother speculating further. Climbing onto the bed, I prepared for a nap. But before I could fall asleep, the door opened and a jumble of footsteps sounded. I thought it was Chen Li and his family, but lifting my head, I saw a thin boy, about 1.7 meters tall, walk in.

“Hello, I’m Zhang Tao,” he said, reaching out his hand as soon as he saw me. I reciprocated, shaking his hand, and he chose the lower bunk below mine.

I sat up and glanced at the door, then curiously asked, “Zhang Tao, didn’t your family come with you?”

“Well, sort of. My mother came, but she’s been blocked outside the dorm and can’t get in,” Zhang Tao replied, scratching his head in frustration, then pulled out his phone to call his mother.

By afternoon, the rest of the dorm mates began to arrive: the refined Zhao Gang, the tall and sturdy Lin Jie, and the quirky Cai Jianhao. Among us, apart from myself, Zhang Tao, and Lin Jie, the other three were locals.

We were all the type who came to school mainly for fun and leisure, so we quickly became familiar and started joking around. Only Chen Li was an exception.

Dinner was shared among the six dorm mates. Afterwards, we argued for some time over who should pay the 54 yuan bill, perhaps because, having just become friends, everyone was particularly enthusiastic. No one could convince the others, so we finally settled on splitting the bill evenly.

(Chapter revised on August 26, 2010)