Crescent Bay Secondary School's educational standards were nothing to boast about, and it had little control over its students. The administration simply waited for them to muddle through three years—those who could would go on to high school, others to vocational school, and dropping out halfway was acceptable too.
The delinquent boys stood around Song Erya's desk with cigarettes between their fingers, refusing to leave, shamelessly pestering her. "Boss, let us have it on credit. We'll definitely pay you back tomorrow."
If it were a thin-skinned, timid girl, she would probably have been scared into tears by this display.
Song Erya's face turned cold. "Get lost."
Yang Fan came over and kicked one of his buddies, cursing, "Get out, get out," and chased them back to the rear of the classroom. Before leaving, he raised an eyebrow at her.
A chill ran down Song Erya's spine, and she quickly turned her head away.
Lin Feifei from the back row bought a box of colored square paper from her and whispered in her ear, "Yang Fan is actually pretty handsome."
Song Erya offered no comment.
Yang Fan was one of the group at the back and, to some extent, their leader. Seeing that the homeroom teacher couldn't control them, she appointed Yang Fan as class monitor and let him manage the class. The results were surprisingly good.
He was tall and carried a roguish air. Several girls in the class, newly awakened to romance, blushed whenever they saw him. They bought colored paper from Song Erya, wrote down their naïve feelings, folded them into paper cranes, and tossed them out the window.
At Monday's flag-raising ceremony, the dean harshly criticized this behavior of throwing trash from above, warning that anyone caught would be punished with a week of cleaning toilets.
After paper cranes were banned, Song Erya brought in colorful straws instead, letting them fold stars and put them into glass jars as gifts. Business boomed—girls' money was indeed easy to earn.
On the weekend, Lin Feifei insisted on asking Song Erya out. Near Deyu High School, the pedestrian street had sprung up with all sorts of new attractions—roller-skating rinks, game arcades—stirring restless excitement among students.
Lin Feifei took the bus with her, carrying a cassette player she'd bought cheaply near Deyu's school gate. She shared one earphone with Song Erya.
In those days, owning one of these was enough to make your pride soar among classmates—a true fashion item.
After learning that Song Fang was studying English, Shen Mingsong had given her one, saying it was a sample unit that couldn't be sold.
Song Fang carried it everywhere. She listened to short English phrases on her ride home from work, while cooking, and even before bed. Gradually, she began practicing speaking aloud, and Song Erya tried to converse with her as much as possible—learning in context was the fastest way.
The bus stopped, and they stepped straight into the pedestrian street. Lin Feifei turned off the cassette player and looked toward the crowd. "There's someone performing up ahead."
People thirty years ago lived at a slower pace, not weighed down by the heavy pressures of later generations. Everyone walked with their heads up, and any bit of excitement drew curious onlookers running over.
Under the shade of a massive banyan tree, a crowd gathered, their attention focused on a beautiful girl at the center.
Ming Qiuyue was wearing a white dress that day—youthful and lively. Holding a guitar, she sang and played in a sweet voice, mesmerizing several boys nearby who stared in rapture.
Shen Mingsong sat on his tricycle. While others chased trends in leather shoes and flared pants, he was still wearing his damn oversized shorts and slippers, his short-sleeved shirt open with a vest underneath.
The girl's singing drew in the crowd, and within it were people tempted by the cassette players they were promoting. Domestic brands ranged from dozens to a few hundred yuan—something people could afford if they gritted their teeth. One by one, they gathered around the tricycle to choose.
Lin Feifei stared at Ming Qiuyue with envy. "She's so brave."
Most girls in their teenage years were sensitive and shy, afraid to say a word to strangers. Someone like Ming Qiuyue, bold enough to showcase her talent on the street, was rare.
Song Erya knew that Shen Mingsong liked that kind of confident, radiant type—because that was exactly how he had raised her.
Several boys squeezed through the crowd and surrounded them. Yang Fan led the way. "Song Yao, Lin Feifei, you're here too?"
Lin Feifei's face instantly turned red, her words stumbling. "Y-yes... you guys are here too."
"Then how about going roller-skating with us?"
Song Erya was about to refuse, but Lin Feifei nodded eagerly. "Really?"
Song Erya tugged at Lin Feifei and shook her head lightly.
But Lin Feifei noticed nothing and pulled her along, following the boys.
Song Erya yanked her hand back. "I'm not going."
Yang Fan reached out to help Lin Feifei tug at her arm. "We're all classmates. Don't be so rude."
Shen Mingsong tipped his head back to drink water. The water in his bottle had warmed with the temperature—good only for quenching thirst. Ming Qiuyue bought him a bottle of soda; beads of condensation clung to the glass, looking wonderfully refreshing.
Shen Mingsong refused.
Ming Qiuyue was a little displeased. "It's just a soda."
"Give it to me, Yueyue. I love this stuff," Lu Nian quickly took it to smooth things over. "Brother Song wouldn't take something from a girl..."
Ming Qiuyue laughed. "So fussy."
Suddenly, Shen Mingsong slammed his water bottle to the ground, startling everyone.
"What's wrong?"
Before Lu Nian finished speaking, Shen Mingsong was already striding off after someone, moving fast in a certain direction, his hand instinctively pressing against his lower back.
"What happened?" Lu Nian grew nervous.
Another boy said, "Lu Nian, hurry and go check. I'll stay here and watch the goods."
Lu Nian agreed and hurried after him. They all knew Shen Mingsong always carried a wrench, though he rarely used it—only for self-defense when absolutely necessary. Carrying a knife would get you arrested.
...
The roller-skating rink was like an underground parking garage, with cheap colored lights hanging from the ceiling and low-quality speakers blasting rock music. The flashing lights dazzled the eyes.
It was crowded and lively. In an era without mobile phones, this kind of entertainment was hugely popular. The rink was packed, men and women lined up like a game of tag, holding onto each other's clothes as they skated around.
Entry was free, but skates had to be rented. Yang Fan paid to rent several pairs and invited them to join.
Seeing the filthy skates—who knew how many people had worn them—Song Erya worried about catching athlete's foot and refused outright, standing by the railing to watch.
She hadn't expected to be dragged there after clearly refusing. She wanted to find a chance to slip away but worried that Lin Feifei might get into trouble alone with the delinquents.
She scanned the rink managers—several men nearby—and wondered whether shouting for help would do any good.
Lin Feifei, skating for the first time, didn't know how. Yang Fan held her hand and guided her. Several times she nearly fell, only to be caught in his arms. Her face grew so red it seemed about to drip blood; the more flustered she became, the clumsier her movements.
After skating with her for a bit, Yang Fan glided back over. "Song Yao, you really don't want to try?"
Song Erya shook her head stiffly. Yang Fan chewed betel nut, a smoky smell clinging to him that made her want to cover her nose and mouth.
Unwilling to give up, Yang Fan smiled meaningfully. He had repeated two grades and was fourteen that year. With an instinctive gaze toward women, he found the girls around him unremarkable. Song Erya was the prettiest he'd seen—and she looked easy to fool.
He wasn't bad-looking. With a crooked grin, he reached out and rubbed Song Erya's head. "Come on, I'll teach you. I promise you won't fall."
"Lin Feifei!" Song Erya stepped back, dodging his hand, and shouted. "Come out, let's go home!"
"So uncooperative." Yang Fan suddenly grabbed her arm to stop her from leaving, his expression darkening. Lowering his head, he caught sight of the girl's snow-white neck, his eyes drifting toward her collar.
"Let go of me." The intense discomfort made Song Erya want to kick him.
Yang Fan watched her struggle with interest. Seeing her flat chest, he bared his teeth in a grin. "Why are you developing so slowly—ah!"
Yang Fan cried out in pain.
Before Song Erya could turn around, the hand gripping her arm was seized and twisted, forcing him to let go. A strong force yanked her aside.
It wasn't over. Shen Mingsong reached over the railing and hauled Yang Fan out, his arm muscles taut, veins bulging, his eyes terrifying. "You motherf—ing dog, are you tired of living?"
People around them turned to look at the commotion. Even Song Erya stood stunned—this was the first time she had ever heard Shen Mingsong curse so viciously.
He often moved among Lin Hai's entertainment venues, and many people knew he was one of Lin Hai's men—not a thug, but someone who could command them.
Someone like Yang Fan, who skipped classes to hang around, naturally recognized him. His legs nearly gave way, and his friends behind him wished they could pretend not to know him.
He forced a smile. "Brother, let's talk this out."
***
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