Chapter 31.2 - Story Sister (2)
“I never liked asking why when I was little. Grown-ups always said, ‘You’ll understand when you grow up,’ so I held tightly to the belief that growing up was the answer to everything. I would remember everything I didn’t understand back then—really remember it—and wait for adulthood. Maybe that’s why I recall those memories so clearly. An elder once said that obsession often begins this way—because even a sensible child can’t fully comprehend things.”
Sheng Huainan’s eyes flickered for a moment, but Luo Zhi didn’t notice. She continued:
“So even though I didn’t understand what they were saying, I didn’t ask why.”
“Story Sister said, ‘If you two like each other, I don’t mind. But why treat me like this?’”
“The pretty girl snapped back, ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know or don’t care. Don’t you like XX? You think I don’t see it? The things you’ve done—spreading rumors, trying to turn us against each other—you think I don’t know?’”
“Story Sister got flustered immediately and said, ‘Who says I like him?’”
“The boy—XX—who had been standing silently on the side trying to look cool suddenly spoke up and said, ‘Can you really say you don’t like me?’”
At that point, both Luo Zhi and Sheng Huainan burst out laughing.
“Looking back now, their expressions and tone were so childish and theatrical. Even the whole argument seemed secondary—it was more about finally getting a chance to act like the dramatic adults they’d seen in TV dramas.”
“But still, you can’t deny that they were really serious about it.”
“I was serious too. Those two also had a little sidekick—just one. I didn’t talk much, but I was known around the courtyard for having a sharp tongue. I was one of those kids who acted like a sweet kitten around adults but turned into a hawk when dealing with other children. So the other little girl and I joined the fight—but our opponent was that little sidekick.”
“Our verbal battle was basically a constant loop of ‘Why are you helping them and not Story Sister?’ ‘Because I want to.’ ‘Your want is crap.’ ‘I’ll knock you into next week,’ and so on. But in the end, we won. We won gloriously.”
“Story Sister lost miserably. She ran off somewhere I couldn’t find her to cry. She was especially kind to me—kinder than to anyone else—but all I could do to help her was use childish insults.”
“I still remember the stories she told me—like the one about the female college student who, during an experiment, cooked and ate a wolf’s brain, and then started sneaking into the lab every midnight to eat corpses. And the one about the angel who fell in love with a mortal and cut off her over-a-meter-long golden hair for him, only to end up dying. Or the story about the village at the base of the rainbow bridge, where the most beautiful boy in the world lived... and many more.”
“I really liked that older girl. She loved to dream. She swore all those stories came from books—but she’d always forget the book titles. In truth, all of those were dreams she wove herself. She was that angel. She met that boy. Nowadays we’d just call it daydreaming, or 'YY.' But I don’t know if you’ll understand—she actually had a very rich inner world. She was just... far too lonely.”
“But now that I think about it, maybe she was too absorbed in her own stories. She became more and more withdrawn. The other kids didn’t like the stories she told—they were too creepy, too dark. And it seemed like her classmates at school didn’t like her much either. So, I was the only one who often sat with her. But there was a six-year age gap between us. It was hard to be real friends. I couldn’t save her from her loneliness.”
“A neighbor once told my mom it’d be best if I stayed away from her. That her father had mental problems and no one really looked after her.”
“Thankfully, my mom didn’t stop me from spending time with her. But honestly, I don’t even remember what Story Sister looked like anymore. I only remember that final day—when I was moving back to my grandmother’s place. I was sitting in the front passenger seat of the moving truck, and when I looked back, she and a bunch of wild kids were waving at me. She was crying. I cried too. She said, ‘Luoluo, you’ll definitely do well in life. Luoluo, don’t forget the stories I told you. Don’t forget me.’”
“She even said... I might be the only person in the world who remembers her.”
“When I got to high school, whenever I had to write essays—narrative or argumentative—I’d make up all kinds of things. If the teacher asked which famous person I got a certain anecdote from, I’d say, ‘I read it in a book, but I forgot the title.’ Honestly, I picked up quite a few bad habits from her. Like overthinking. And lying.”
Luo Zhi paused and looked at Sheng Huainan, who was deep in thought. She asked, “Was that really boring?”
He shook his head solemnly. “Not at all.”
