Chapter 66: Melancholy |
Zhang Shutong stood in place, listened for a moment, then continued walking downstairs.
Green, little person, eyes—he'd just had an unpleasant hunch.
There weren't many students in the hallway; most were napping in their classrooms. He lightened his footsteps, holding his phone to one ear.
Though his mom worked overtime every day, she should be on lunch break at this hour and available to answer. However—
"The user you are calling is busy..."
If she could be predicted by common sense, she wouldn't be his mother.
He simply sent her a text message and waited for her reply.
According to the senior student, the culprit's goal was to prevent Gu Qiumian's father from developing the small island, but this phrasing was actually quite vague. Boss Gu wanted to build all sorts of buildings—who knew what it meant? Preserve the island's original ecology? Or prevent some specific construction?
After all, demolishing Commercial Street also counted as development.
He had to start preparing in advance.
Then Zhang Shutong went to the office. Old Song sat there with a grim expression, saying nothing, occasionally standing up to pace a few steps, rolling up his sleeves and planting his hands on his hips, still pondering over who had left the "go die" message on that A4 paper.
Zhang Shutong thought to himself: Mentor, you won't find the culprit this way. You'd be better off hurrying to eat. Come to think of it, wasn't Old Song the only "victim" of the regression? He'd clearly been promoted eight years later, becoming a refined elite, a handsome uncle figure with cultured manners. Now he'd been knocked back to his original form—this rough-edged man.
He went to Old Song's drawer and grabbed a lollipop. Using your brain required sugar supplementation. Old Song just waved his hand when he saw this, meaning: Eat it and get lost, don't stand there getting in my way while I'm trying to deduce the culprit.
Zhang Shutong sighed and thought to himself: You're giving me the perfect opportunity to show off. He spoke in a calm tone:
"Teacher, I know who it is."
Song Nanshan indeed jumped up with a start, gripping his shoulders with both hands and hurriedly asking who it was.
He even looked around warily and closed the office door, saying quietly that this was safer.
Zhang Shutong only mentioned his deduction—that there might be an opportunity during tomorrow's extended break—but he deliberately didn't mention Li Yipeng. He'd intentionally scheduled the parent meeting for Friday noon, ensuring the arsonist would act at night, catching them all in one net.
Zhou Ziheng's side wasn't so complicated. Hand his father's suspicions over to the police—on one hand, control the man first, and on the other, send that paper with the "handprint" to the city for examination. Results would come in a few days. No need to deliberately fish and drag Gu Qiumian around outside all day like before.
So Zhang Shutong hadn't come here to show off, but for a more important purpose—he analyzed how smashing the castle was likely a metaphor for dissatisfaction with the Gu family's mall, mentioned the Commercial Street conflict, and played the conversation with the lake fish restaurant owner for Old Song to hear, all for just one thing—to attract his attention.
"So what should we do?" Song Nanshan asked instinctively.
"Call Gu Qiumian's father and tell him to hurry back, and send more people while he's at it." This was Zhang Shutong's real goal.
Previously, the bodyguards had arrived Saturday night, and as for Gu Qiumian's father, it was Monday. Zhang Shutong planned to move this timeline up. Even if the real culprit hadn't been caught by then, he didn't believe Gu Qiumian could come to harm with a houseful of people guarding her.
Old Song nodded and went to make arrangements, but Gu Qiumian's father's phone was as unreachable as his mom's.
"He's probably on a plane. He left the island right after dropping Qiumian off this morning," Song Nanshan analyzed.
"Then as soon as possible." Zhang Shutong nodded, urging Old Song to keep this matter in mind. Taking advantage of the man's shocked expression—seemingly not expecting things to be resolved so quickly—he yawned and slipped away.
Only then did he realize how truly tired he was. Saturday night, he'd been sleeping when the regression happened, then spent half a day running around eight years in the future, then came back, and until now, the mental exhaustion couldn't be eliminated. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been on the verge of collapse before.
Zhang Shutong planned to sleep a bit during this time. He returned to his seat and discovered there was an extra person.
His deskmate was lying listlessly on her desk, her coat cushioning her body, one hand propping up her cheek, the other hand scrolling through her phone.
When she saw him approach, the girl glanced at him once, then withdrew her gaze, saying nothing.
Zhang Shutong pulled out his chair and sat down. He actually had a few questions he wanted to ask her, but he happened to catch her when she wasn't feeling well and had no mood to talk to anyone. Besides, what would he say?
Zhang Shutong didn't touch this sore spot, only glancing at Gu Qiumian once.
She'd put away her phone at some point and was now tilting her head slightly, both hands stacked beneath her face, one side of her face squished flat, her thick eyelashes blinking occasionally, as if in a daze.
He figured he probably didn't need to nag about drinking more hot water—even though Zhang Shutong knew full well that saying such things would definitely earn him an eye roll from girls.
The curtains beside them were drawn, blocking the view of the snowy scene outside.
The radiator gave off waves of warmth. The classroom lights were off, the lighting dim, the atmosphere quiet. Most people were napping during lunch break. Drowsiness was contagious. Zhang Shutong also lay down. Beside his ear was the sound of shallow breathing, drowning out the wind and snow outside the window. He closed his eyes, his nerves gradually relaxing, feeling a sudden sense of security.
He used to dislike napping in the classroom, feeling stuffy, but now he had no choice.
Just like he used to feel uncomfortable sleeping next to Gu Qiumian—as the saying went, How could others sleep soundly beside the young lady's bed?—but now he had no energy for such jokes. He just wanted to lie quietly for a while.
Wisps of faint fragrance drifted into his nostrils. He sniffed, thinking he was close to developing a new skill—recognizing who was nearby just from this scent.
Zhang Shutong didn't understand perfume, nor was he sure if the scent on Gu Qiumian was actually perfume. He couldn't distinguish sandalwood, citrus, or floral notes... He was quite insensitive to scents, but if he smelled something enough, it would be stored in his memory.
He closed his eyes and lay quietly, hearing a rustling sound beside him. Zhang Shutong turned his head to look and found Gu Qiumian had also closed her eyes. She'd draped that wool coat over herself, revealing only her small face. Zhang Shutong had seen her peaceful sleeping face before, in the nail salon. He instinctively made a comparison—the current Gu Qiumian had her brows slightly furrowed, clearly in considerable pain from her stomach cramps.
Some girls really did need to be carefully protected.
Zhang Shutong had this thought out of nowhere. It sounded like something Old Song would say, but that man hadn't said what to do if certain things were only remembered by one person. He didn't have time for melancholy sentimentality. He forced himself to fall asleep as quickly as possible so he could gather his energy for the next step, and closed his eyes.
Time flowed slowly by. Even the ticking of the clock hands seemed amplified.
It wasn't until the bell signaling the end of lunch break rang that Gu Qiumian sleepily opened her eyes.
A few strands of hair stuck to her lips. The girl had low blood sugar and always zoned out for a bit after waking up. She habitually yawned and slowly rose from her desk, but the cramping in her lower abdomen made her groan in pain, and she slowly lay back down, clutching her stomach in discomfort.
Perhaps she'd caught a chill—she really wasn't feeling well today, even during her nap.
She seemed to have had a rather melancholy dream. It was in a nighttime classroom. The lights were off, and an old black-and-white film played on the projector screen. The ending was somewhat sad. Why would she be watching a movie in an empty classroom? Someone seemed to be sitting beside her, but she didn't know who... She tried hard to turn her head to look, and she wasn't sure if she'd seen in the end, because after waking up, this was all she could remember.
She instinctively looked toward the seat beside her, but it was completely empty.
It was just a dream, nothing more.
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