[045] The Delivery Boy of 2003

Fang Chang’an had no time to pay attention to the pretentious boy next to him; he’d just finished coaxing the older one, and now he had to soothe the younger. Shen Mo had stopped covering her face with her book and was now lying on the desk reading. Fang Chang’an glanced at her, then picked up his exercise book, flipped to the back, and wrote on their shared message board: “I didn’t have the nerve to say it just now, but honestly, out of all the girls in our class, I think you’re the prettiest.”

After finishing, he thought for a moment and drew a simple stick figure pointing off the page, adding a line of small, vertical script beside it: “North of Tangzhuang, Shen Mo is the most beautiful!”

He used the notebook to nudge Shen Mo. The little girl turned to look at him, clearly still upset, her small face tight with displeasure, not wanting to talk. Fang Chang’an placed the notebook between them, signaling for her to read it. She eyed him first, then, still puffed up with anger, lowered her head to see what he’d written. As soon as she read the line, she pressed her lips together, trying to hide the smile threatening to break free. She shot him a sideways glance, then, upon seeing the cute drawing, finally couldn’t help but let her lips curl upward.

A bit shy, she didn’t dare to look up. Taking her fountain pen, she wrote in the notebook, “Why Tangzhuang?”

Fang Chang’an replied, “I couldn’t exactly write Majia Ditch, could I?”

The girl looked up at him, biting her lip with a smile, and wrote again, “North of Tangzhuang would include the whole town. I’m not that pretty.”

Fang Chang’an smiled and continued to write, “Do you know what’s the hardest thing for a person?”

Shen Mo blinked in confusion. Fang Chang’an wrote his answer: “The hardest thing is to truly know oneself. That’s what you’re facing now.”

This could have been said in another way, like, “Woman, you have no idea how charming you are,” but Fang Chang’an thought that style didn’t suit him.

Shen Mo’s cheeks grew warm. She felt vaguely that something was off, though she couldn’t pinpoint what. Instinctively, she felt this wasn’t a topic to pursue, so she pushed the notebook back to his desk, sat up straight, glanced at Fang Chang’an, and indicated she was going to focus on her reading.

Fang Chang’an smiled at her, then took out his Complete Works of Lu Xun and resumed reading.

He was still on “On Cultural Extremes.” To be honest, the essay overturned his impression of Lu Xun. In his previous life, he’d known Lu Xun was a big figure, but hadn’t realized just how “big.” In his mind, Lu Xun was always criticizing Chinese people and exposing human nature, but the scope and depth of this essay’s thought left him awestruck, even after a hundred years.

What struck him even more was that the essay was dated 1907, and he remembered Lu Xun died in 1937, at just over fifty. That meant Lu Xun was in his twenties when he wrote this. When Fang Chang’an first realized this, he could only think, “Damn,” echoing in his mind. A young man in his twenties, in such tumultuous times, capable of such vision and insight—he could only use “damn” to express his amazement.

In the age of mobile internet in his previous life, information had never been easier to access. Fang Chang’an didn’t bother with romance; aside from working to make money, he’d go online to show off and assert his presence, aiming at the possible “enthusiasts” who might appear—it was dull always helping junior classmates, after all. He craved novelty; when traveling on business or for leisure, having a local guide was always better than staying alone in a hotel.

At such times, talking only about money was unseemly, since he wasn’t truly wealthy. For a better experience and to unlock more “privileges,” he needed better packaging. So he often collected information online—international politics, social systems, wealth stratification, historical changes, character evaluations. He didn’t need to master them, just know more than his audience, and as long as they didn’t know, no one could outdo him.

Thus, he successfully crafted the image of a young, dashing, ambitious, articulate, and thoughtful man, earning himself some wonderful journeys—and, often, follow-up encounters. After a while, with enough success, he even began to believe his own front, thinking he was truly knowledgeable. Now, a single essay shattered that illusion, a blow from a higher plane, making him realize he wasn’t even close.

Fang Chang’an had no intention of becoming a thinker or a man of letters, nor had he aspired to be a profoundly virtuous person. But in his previous life, he’d tried to climb higher, and having been reborn, he only wanted to go further—understanding or even touching upon the deeper social reflections of great minds could never hurt.

After finishing Lu Xun, he even thought of taking his political science textbooks seriously, to broaden his horizons and perspective.

Of course, spiritual nourishment alone wasn’t enough. Fang Chang’an still needed physical sustenance. Cheng Mengfei had brought him four boxes of pure milk, two cans of eight-treasure porridge, a box of Oreo cookies, and some oranges—not expensive things, but to Fang Chang’an, who was still struggling to eat his fill, they were no less than luxury goods.

While these could supplement his nutrition, the real solution to the problem of food, at least until his family’s financial situation improved, depended on his own efforts.

The next morning, before class, after Wang Ke and Zheng Lili had arrived, Fang Chang’an turned to Wang Hao and asked, “Are you going for fried buns again later?”

Wang Hao was puzzled by the early question, hesitated, then shook his head. “No, it’s too far.”

Fang Chang’an said, “How about I bring some back for you?”

Wang Hao was taken aback. Fang Chang’an smiled, “I’m going anyway.”

Wang Hao thought it over as Fang Chang’an made space for Wu Di, and continued, “I don’t eat there, I just buy and bring them back to the classroom. Saves time.”

Wang Hao nodded, “Then bring me seven.”

Fang Chang’an smiled, “Alright.”

“Thank you.” Wang Hao was grateful and quickly took out some money. “I’ll pay you in advance.”

Wang Ke, who had overheard, asked curiously, “Where do you buy them?”

Fang Chang’an pointed in the direction of the bun shop. “There’s a place over there—good value, the buns are big, five or six is enough to fill you up. But it’s a bit far, twenty minutes on foot. Wang Hao wants them but doesn’t want to go, so I’ll fetch them.”

“That far?” Wang Ke had been considering going with him, but now pouted and gave up the idea.

“If you want some, I can bring them for you too.”

Wang Ke was tempted and glanced at Zheng Lili, who was also listening, and asked, “Lili, do you want some?”

Zheng Lili hesitated. “If you want them, I’ll have some too.”

Wang Ke then turned to Fang Chang’an. “How long will you be?”

“About half an hour. I can walk faster alone.”

The girl considered it. “Then bring me five.”

Zheng Lili followed suit, “I’ll have five as well.”

Both girls handed over fifty-cent coins—Zheng Lili’s was a coin, as was Wang Ke’s. Wang Hao gave a fifty-cent note and two ten-cent coins. Fang Chang’an took them all and said to Wang Hao, “After morning exercise, go to the dorm and fill my food jar with water, and bring some chopsticks—remember to wash them.”

Pausing, thinking his roommate wasn’t too sharp, he added, “Drinking water, alright?”

Wang Hao was momentarily confused, feeling a little patronized, but didn’t argue. “Got it.”

Wang Ke asked, “Do we need to go back to the dorm for chopsticks?”

Fang Chang’an smiled, “Up to you. If you don’t, I’ll get disposable chopsticks from the shop.”

Wang Ke, puzzled, asked, “If you have chopsticks, why take more?”

Fang Chang’an laughed, “Disposable chopsticks are too short. I’m not used to them.”

Wang Ke nodded, “I’ll bring mine then.”

Zheng Lili said, “I’ll bring mine too.”

Wang Hao hesitated. “Then bring a pair for me.”

Fang Chang’an nodded, “Alright.”